Beabadoobee was just three years old when she and her parents moved from Iloilo City (where she was born) to London. But though her early memories of the Philippines are scant—as she has lived most of her life away—she was never without connection to the country’s culture, one way or another.
Filipino pop music always filled their home. She grew up hearing the vernacular and can understand it well—well enough, in fact, to follow soap operas and other dramas on television.
“I can watch ‘Maalaala Mo Kaya!’” she tells the packed crowd in the first of her two soldout concerts at the New Frontier Theater last week. And that makes the fact that she can’t speak Tagalog—or Hiligaynon—all the more “annoying.” “I hate myself for it,” she says, only half in jest.
But just because she can’t speak it, doesn’t mean she can’t sing in it. Still, she had a small favor to ask. “I want you to sing with me so I don’t embarrass myself,” she says, giggling. That was probably the nerves talking because, in her trepidation, she managed to create one of evening’s most poignant moments.
With her sweet voice, accompanied only by the gentle strumming of an acoustic guitar, she sang “Panalangin” by the Apo Hiking Society. Suddenly, Beabadoobee was Beatrice Kristi Laus—the little girl whose car rides home to Camden or long drives around Aklan during visits—were soundtracked by the legendary trio’s music. “That was scary, bitch!” she jokes, relieved, after the final word was sung and guitar chord strummed.
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A moment for lolo
In her second show the following night, she was joined onstage by none other than Jim Paredes—one-third of Apo—who had obliged her with a last-minute rehearsal backstage and a few lines from other Apo favorites like “Ewan,” “Awit ng Barkada,” and “Princesa.”
The 25-year-old singer-songwriter couldn’t believe that she was singing with an actual member of Apo, whom her lolo had loved all his life, and whose songs her mother played all the time. Not a few tears were shed. “I knew up there, I had my lolo proud,” she says.
In an interview three years ago, Beabadoobee told us that her lack of fluency in Tagalog doesn’t necessarily get in the way of her appreciation for it. She finds the language “entrancing, genuine, honest”—qualities that resonate with her music, sometimes in ways she doesn’t even notice. “They kind of slip their way in,” she says.
And although that might sound vague in theory, her performance of “Panalangin” couldn’t have made that sentiment clearer. Here was a song released 20 years before she was born, in a language she doesn’t really write in—but not once did it feel out of place in her set. This was especially true midway through the show, when she dialed down the volume and grunge to make way for softer ballads, which echoed her bedroom pop roots and highlighted the sweet fragility of her voice.
“Glue Song,” a musical love letter to a loved one and to Iloilo City, was romantic, made more heartwarming by the addition of lush strings. “Girl Song,” on the other hand, was a piano-driven confessional about insecurities and self-worth—about “a girl who overthinks about proportions or her waist / The creases on her face.”
Of course, no Beabadoobee show would be complete without the speak-sing, lo-fi sensibilities of “Coffee”—her breakthrough hit that she would eventually break away from.
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Embracing her roots
From the longing and alienation of her early DIY tracks, to the teenage angst of “Fake It Flowers,” and the coming-of-age nostalgia of “Beatopia,” Beabadoobee has taken a turn toward the more mature and nuanced. In her newest album “This Is How Tomorrow Moves,” she reckons with the complexities of womanhood—all wrapped in a punchy indie rock package.
She channeled early-2000s alternative rock in “Take a Bite,” by way of The Cardigans. “California,” which explores the ache of one-sided long-distance longing, was similarly wired, but with a bit of country tinge. “Real Man” was refreshingly playful, like a flirty taunt wrapped in a jazz-inflected groove. “Beaches,” meanwhile, is Beabadoobee’s personal favorite—and with its infectiously sun-soaked production, it wasn’t hard to see why.
Just like her Manila concert in 2022, this one—mounted by Live Nation Philippines—was just as sparse in terms of stage production. (They did throw in some white drapes this time, though.) But Beabadoobee isn’t one for elaborate setups and flashy designs. For her, it’s about emotional connection above all. And really, who can argue with the sound of her young fans’ incessant screams and impassioned singalongs?
For someone who started out writing in the comfort of her bedroom, she has grown into a noticeably more expressive and confident performer onstage. She didn’t need to do a whole lot—just a cool lean back here, a knowing smirk there as she strummed her guitar. Just enough to show that she was completely at home onstage.
Once struggling with alienation in an all-girls’ Catholic school, she admittedly shied away from her Filipino identity. But now—especially in Manila, in front of a crowd she’s inspired with both story and music—embracing her roots must have felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“This morning I had dilis and champorado. I’ve been eating rice every single day,” Beabadobee says. “I’m eating fucking good!”
