Ely Buendia is a ‘Method Adaptor’

Ely is back to his rockstar roots for Method Adaptor. The artist explains that he finds comfort in the genre and the ‘devil-may-care’ vibe it’s known for. “It sustained me in my twenties, when I was going through the pitfalls of fame, and it’s sustaining me now, in my fifties.”

His sophomore album comes with a two-decade age gap from Wanted Bedspacer, released in 2000. This time around, the musician says he has more clarity and a stronger sense of identity.

“The main difference is the intent. Wanted was an experimental album in every sense of the word,” he says. “I was experimenting with recording techniques, arrangements, songwriting and even the way I sang. It was done on a 5mb workstation in my living room! Method is me saying, ‘This is who I am now. This is what I sound like. Here’s what I want to sing about.’”

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The album’s sequencing is mentally stimulating, to say the least. It opens with the unexpectedly mellow Faithful Song, an unconventional choice for an opener, and all the more intriguing because of it. The lyrics hit loud and clear, arguably the most emotionally exposed Ely has sounded in years. It plays like a love letter to someone just out of reach, and we are left silent as witnesses to something that is achingly personal. At the tail end, Esprit De Corpse sandwiches all tracks, returning once more to the artist’s quiet contemplation of mortality.

“My mother was the biggest influence on me musically. It was her taste in OPM and western music that made me want to sing,” he explains. “She was my biggest fan. There were things that I wish I said to her while she could still hear me before she passed away, but I choked. Faithful Song is me correcting that mistake, trying to reach her in the afterworld.”

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Powerful songs like Bulaklak sa Buwan, Sige and Tamang Hinala greet you at the album’s centre. Two standouts, he shares, were recorded at Abbey Road: Kandarapa and Deadbeat Creeper.

“It was like a fever dream,” he gushes. “To be honest, recording there was an afterthought. I went there as a tourist. Booking a session was the only way I could get in. Having said that, the energy was different. I was also struck by the professionalism and how courteous the engineers and staff were, something I see very little of here, sadly.”

The eighth track, Kontrabando, was inspired by a film Ely had recently watched. “It’s available for free on Facebook!” he says, after I confessed that I hadn’t seen it. Like a regular fan, I made a rather bold, albeit misguided, assumption about its meaning. I didn’t quite get it, but he was kind enough to reassure me that my interpretation wasn’t entirely off the mark. 

“That’s valid. The meaning of these lines is different for me and possibly far simpler than your interpretation, and I want to keep it that way,” he says. “I don’t like explaining my songs and find it very satisfying that the listener has his or her own take. It’s more fun that way!”

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Storytelling has always been a defining feature of Ely’s music and fortunately, that style remains intact in his later work. His new album still spools out like a film, thanks to his deliberate approach to the song order.

“For Method Adaptor, I liken the sequencing of songs to a great movie. It should flow, it should tell a story, it should mean something,” he says. 

He also adds that attitude was key in brewing his latest project. “I listened to a lot of indie punk bands from the last decade and was happy they didn’t sound all that different from my older, major influences like [David] Bowie or Lou Reed. Again, it’s all about the attitude for me.”

He utilised the Moog synthesiser extensively on this record, something that’s not particularly new for him. For Chance Passenger, the songwriter experimented with AI. “I couldn’t replicate the vocals on the demo, it just had this vibe that I couldn’t capture again,” he explains. “I used a track separation tool to isolate the vocals and use the demo vocal, which you won’t believe was recorded on a cheap microphone in my office.” 

Reflecting on his approach, Ely offers a glimpse into his creative motivation: “I guess not being arrogant keeps me motivated, in a sense that I always feel the past work I’ve done could always be improved, that it doesn’t represent who I am at the moment, and that I could always be a better musician or songwriter and never consider myself content with past successes.”

Does a bona fide rockstar experience pressure? Ely admits that he does, though it largely depends on how prepared he feels. “I only feel nervous when I know I haven’t prepared properly for a show,” he confesses. “That means rehearsing, making sure the gear and sound system are in good shape, all of that.” 

But even with everything in place, there’s another kind of anxiety that lingers—the expectations of the crowd. “I also get anxious when I know people are expecting songs I won’t play. I’ve had a lot of bad experiences with that in the past, and there’s nothing worse than feeling out of sync with the audience.” 

Another form of pressure, perhaps less obvious, but no less persistent, is the expectation around output: the silent demand that artists continue to release new material, to remain visible, relevant, consumable. I asked Ely whether he ever feels obliged to serve not just the audience, but the idea of being a ‘generational voice’. 

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“The word responsibility is not in my vocabulary,” he asserts. “As an artist, I dislike it in all its forms. But I do also think that as an artist it is my responsibility to be honest.”

Ely says that when it comes to song production, he’s content to move at whatever pace feels right in the moment. He reflects on how bands like The Beatles, managed to release new albums every few months while still maintaining quality. On the flip side, he points out that bands like Guns N’ Roses, with Chinese Democracy, can take forever and still end up with something that doesn’t quite measure up.

“The Eheads alone released an album every year. Personally, at this stage in my career, I like to take my time in between releasing new material.”

With social media present in the modern music scene, access to songs has shifted dramatically. Not long ago, we had to scour the music store for cassettes; now, tracks can go viral in seconds. All it needs is a short hook and a chorus so repetitive and overstimulating it plays in your head for hours.

Curious about how this shift has influenced the way people discover and connect with music today, I posed the question to Ely. His response was direct, yet thought-provoking. “At the risk of sounding snotty, I think the media more than at any other time in history, now panders to the masses who should not be pandered to, but instead educated on what great art truly is.”

He doesn’t mince words when it comes to the consequences of viral success. “It means people mistake the number of views for meaningful work and that’s bad overall.” 

Shaped by multiple artistic phases, the artist now fully appreciates the strength of his new materials; they embody, after all, the hard-won truths he learnt after enduring the sighs and highs of his career.

“Having tasted success and a lot of it, of course I miss it sometimes, especially when I consider my work now to be far superior than before, but that’s life,” he says. 

 “I don’t do ‘difficult’ songs for the sake of it. I’ve just learnt to be more open with my songwriting and not letting outside pressures get to me.” 

Wherever Ely Buendia’s voice first found you—in your childhood classroom, your family’s car stereo or blaring through the aisles of your local grocery store—the music has always felt both his and ours. Given freely, evolving gracefully with the times, like a true Method Adaptor.

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