Audio Insurgency: Pilgrim to a Pillar

Nov. 11, 2123 - Sunday

Embarking on a journey through the fluorescent-drenched streets of Fog City, I navigated my way to the steep hills of this enigma. Gone were the days when you could park where you needed; the auto-tow streets now lay claim to vehicles without self-awareness. The engine hummed softly before turning off, slicing through the mist-laden air. A parking security pointed the way, as if it helped – "Silly robot didn’t even ask where I was going." Like a pilgrim, I hiked down the valley and climbed the slopes on foot. Looking at my device, I knew it was here, atop the hill of petrified production houses, all broken and covered in dust, where the pulse signal was being transmitted – Audio Insurgency, a surviving pillar.

The valley, a district once synonymous with the zenith of legendary bands like REVELATION and CRIMSON ZEPHYR, now wears a cloak of nostalgia. Its walls, lined with weathered event posters from a bygone era, whisper tales of the sonic life the nights had to offer. They didn’t use social networks nor hologram projections back in the day. The tale of Audio Insurgency is interwoven with the Valley's history itself. My mission was to hear their story, a bridge between the past and present, and its founders, Oneil and Jethro, in this cybernetic age of Fog.

The obelisk housing Audio Insurgency stood inconspicuously amidst the shades of neon purple glow—a visual icon preluding the mood of the lifelong music practitioners it harbored. Its walls, canvases of vibrant graphic designs, spoke of contrast against the sanitized cold air that permeated my skin on the way here. Inside, the space was an Aladdin’s cave of sound equipment. Speakers, towering like ancient monoliths, formed a labyrinthine network, a physical embodiment of their hunger for quality gear. Where virtual reality and synthetic beats threatened to eclipse raw instruments, they stood as defiant sentinels, guarding the sanctity of amplified sound.

The genie, who sits in a corridor of organized chaos, is a maestro in his element. As the night unfurled, he shared stories that painted the canvas of their journey—a narrative rich with triumphs and trials. Oneil’s journey had taken him from inviting prog bands to the legendary AYUYANG back in the late 2000s to recent years crossing continents, outside the fog, to the far reaches of Shanghai, in pursuit of securing the finest audio equipment. Each piece was a carefully chosen weapon in their arsenal against the encroaching tide of "Pwedena" music, a genre consumed endlessly by the masses.

Jethro's presence, though not physical, was palpable. His graphic designs adorn the virtual walls, giving visual voice to the auditory persistence they led. His insights beamed from his retreat outside Fog City. "It's not that our standards are too high that only a few can reach them. The bar that we set is super necessary. We just want bands who really worked hard to make their music sound right, which is actually easier said than done.” I understood the sentiment. Their care for quality equipment would be meaningless if they didn’t show the same level of care for their line-up selection. They risk being construed as elitist to some degree, but a risk they take nonetheless. An unapologetic level of musicianship is required to some extent.

Backstage, my conversation with Oneil was interrupted by the arrival of a group of musicians, each carrying their instruments like sacred relics. Some from the old school, some from the new, all drawn to the same pulse. The space suddenly transformed into an arena of raw talent, as the jams ignited the air with electrifying energy.

Tonight, like many nights before, Audio Insurgency nurtures generations of musicians. Many Fog-born musicians, whether they admit it or not, in one way or another, were inspired by these towering figures. Their philosophy was simple yet profound—provide a consistent platform where creatives who put in the effort can perform unfettered by the constraints of a mediocre sound system. The events they organized were not just gigs; they were acts of endurance, and each note played was born of a hunger for great sound, a resilient strike saying, “Kailangan tuloy-tuloy lang.”

As peak hour approached, the essence of Audio Insurgency's mission crystallized. The crowd banged their heads in the air as tight metal bands played, then loosened up to the groove of a different band, a testament to the enduring power of variety - what’s left of it. The scene needs more bands, but at least for those who choose the hard life of a musician, they won’t stress about quality gear even in Fog City. Gone were the days when there were so many bands lining up that they had trouble assigning who plays first in the early hours.

For a minute, I stepped out of the Audio Insurgency event to absorb our conversation, the words lingering in my mind as I lit a cigarette. Their story was a microcosm of a larger narrative—a district that had once led the prog genre, now striving to either reclaim its lost glory or scale to new heights. With undying labor, they continue to create the city’s pulse where many exhausted their energies and diverted their priorities. It speaks volumes when musicians who play outside the country come back and contribute their hard earnings to improve sound quality.

As the light of the moon caresses the skyline of Valley Virtuoso, my journey through the heart of Audio Insurgency comes to an end. Band and audience alike help carry and store the equipment, ready for the next wave.

In a city caught between the past and the future, Audio Insurgency stands as a bridge. Their story is not just about music; it's about the power of consistency, the enduring resonance of a melody that refuses to fade into silence. In the landscape of Fog City, their legacy will remain, a timeless echo in the Valley of Virtuosos.