The lights cut to black for just a moment, and then it was 1995 again.
In a country where rock music once defined a generation's restlessness and longing, Razorback returned to the stage at Cubao's New Frontier Theater on February 7, offering a sold-out congregation of mostly fifty-something Filipinos the rare gift of collective memory made audible. The reunion was not merely nostalgia — it was a reckoning with time, loss, and the enduring power of music to hold a community together across decades. With a national tour now extending to Baguio, Davao, and Cebu, the band's homecoming has become a pilgrimage.
- Decades of pent-up longing erupted the moment the opening notes of 'Natutulog Kong Mundo' rang out, pulling lyrics from the crowd as if no time had passed at all.
- The absence of Mon Legaspi, who died in 2022, cast a quiet shadow over the celebration, with the band honoring him and fellow fallen musician Brian Velasco mid-set.
- Tickets were slow to move at first — VIP seats only sold out after extra chairs were added — but once word spread, the room filled with people who had been waiting thirty years for this night.
- Basti Artadi commanded the stage with two rules — no tackiness, no cowardice — and the band delivered two hours and twenty-one songs without ever loosening their hold on the room.
- The reunion is now a national tour, carrying the band to Baguio, Davao, and Cebu through April, signaling that the hunger for what Razorback built has not faded — it has only deepened.
The lights went dark for just a moment at the New Frontier Theater in Cubao, and then Razorback walked out. It was February 7, but it felt like 1995. Wolf Gemora behind the drums, Manuel Legarda on bass, Marco Cuneta on guitar in place of the late Mon Legaspi, and Basti Artadi at the mic — hair restored to its 90s wave — ready to reclaim something that had been waiting a long time to be reclaimed.
The crowd was mostly in their fifties: veterans of Weekends Live, Club Dredd, and the NU Rock Awards, people who remembered the bars and the songs and the particular electricity of that era. They came to remember, and the band gave them everything. Gemora's drumming was relentless, Legarda moved with quiet precision, Cuneta proved a revelation, and Artadi bent the room to his will. He opened with two rules — no tackiness, no cowardice — and cracked a joke about everyone's backs that landed because every person there understood exactly what he meant.
The band paid tribute to Legaspi and to Brian Velasco, a drummer who had played with both Brain Salad and Razorback, performing 'Hell Looks' in his honor. Artadi said Mon would be cursing him from the afterlife — a line that carried both grief and love. The twenty-one-song set moved through 'Arise,' 'Halik ni Hudas,' 'Mata ng Diyos,' and closed with 'Weightless' just before 10:30 p.m. One attendee described the whole night as 'beautiful and starry and oh so wild' — words lifted from the song 'Darkness Fell,' and a perfect fit.
The reunion does not end in Cubao. Ovation has announced a national tour: Baguio on March 21, Davao on March 26, and Cebu on April 19. For those who missed the sold-out night, or who simply want to live it again, the road is open. Razorback is not finished reminding the Philippines what it once felt like to be young and loud and alive to rock music.
The lights cut to black for just a moment at the New Frontier Theater in Cubao on the evening of February 7, and then four figures walked onto the stage. It was 1995 again. Wolf Gemora behind the drums, Manuel Legarda on bass, Marco Cuneta on guitar—stepping in for Mon Legaspi, who died in 2022—and Basti Artadi at the microphone, his hair restored to its 90s length and wave. Razorback had come home. The opening notes of "Natutulog Kong Mundo" brought the crowd to its feet, voices pulling lyrics from memory like they'd been waiting thirty years to sing them again. The band moved into "Arise" and held the room for two hours straight, twenty-one songs without releasing their grip. The audience was mostly people in their fifties, the ones who'd lived through Weekends Live and Club Dredd and the NU Rock Awards, who remembered the bars where the band would decompress after shows. They'd come to remember.
Gemora's drumming was pure force. Legarda moved across the bass with the precision of someone who'd never stopped playing. Cuneta proved himself a revelation, and Artadi commanded the stage with a voice that seemed to bend the room to his will. He opened the show with two rules: no tackiness, no cowardice. He asked the crowd how their backs were holding up—a joke that landed because everyone there understood the weight of time. When the band paid tribute to Legaspi, Artadi said Mon would be cursing him from wherever he was in the afterlife. They also honored Brian Velasco, a drummer who'd played with Brain Salad and Razorback, with a performance of "Hell Looks."
The energy in the room was the kind that only happens when people who lived through something together get to live through it again. One concertgoer stood the entire time, singing and dancing through every song. Others took sitting breaks—the body remembers its age, even when the spirit doesn't. The sold-out show had taken time to fill; the VIP section didn't sell out until the production announced they'd add seats. But once word spread, the room filled. These were people who'd waited decades for this.
The band closed with "Halik ni Hudas," "Mata ng Diyos," "As Oceans," and finally "Weightless." By 10:30 p.m., it was over. The whole night wrapped in what one attendee called "beautiful and starry and oh so wild"—words borrowed from the song "Darkness Fell," a perfect description of what had just happened. Some people went home early enough to be in bed by midnight. Others stayed to talk with friends about the moments that mattered, the songs that had soundtracked their lives.
The reunion isn't ending there. Ovation has announced a national tour: March 21 at the University of Baguio, March 26 at the SMX Convention Center in Davao, and April 19 at the Waterfront Hotel in Cebu. The band that defined a generation's relationship with rock music in the Philippines is taking that reunion on the road. For fans who couldn't make it to Cubao, or who want to relive the night again, the tour offers a second chance. For Razorback, it's a signal that the appetite for what they built in the 1990s hasn't dimmed—it's only grown deeper with time.
Citas Notables
Two rules for tonight: no tackiness, no cowardice— Basti Artadi, opening the show
Beautiful and starry and oh so wild— Concert attendee, borrowing lyrics from 'Darkness Fell' to describe the experience
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
What was it like in that room when they started playing? Did it feel like a concert or something else?
It felt like stepping through a door. The moment they opened with that first song, everyone in the theater was suddenly twenty-five again, or thirty, or forty. The years didn't disappear—you could see them in people's faces, in how carefully some folks moved—but the music made them irrelevant for two hours.
The band had to replace their guitarist because of a death four years ago. How did that affect the show?
Marco Cuneta filled that role, and he was genuinely excellent. But there was a weight to it. When they paid tribute to Mon Legaspi, you felt the absence. Artadi made a joke about Mon cursing him from the afterlife, which is exactly the kind of thing that lets a room grieve and laugh at the same time. It honored what was lost without letting it consume the night.
Why did it take so long for the VIP section to sell out?
The audience skewed older—mostly people in their fifties. A lot of them probably didn't think about VIP seating the way younger concertgoers do. They just wanted to be there. Once the production made it clear the seats existed, people bought them. But it tells you something about who shows up for nostalgia: they're not always thinking about status. They're thinking about memory.
What happens now that they've announced a tour?
The reunion becomes real in a different way. A single sold-out show in Manila is one thing. A tour across the country—Baguio, Davao, Cebu—that's a statement that this band still matters to people everywhere. It also means fans who couldn't get to Cubao get their own night. The question is whether the magic holds when you're not in that specific room, that specific moment.