
Punk rock has always been for the misfit and the underdog.
The punk music scene in the West thrived during the late 1970s and early 1980s, gaining attention from mainstream media as provocateurs. The counterculture it later birthed grew beyond just the three-piece band setup to spawn a movement in literature, fashion, politics, and an ideology of refusal.
Against such underpinnings of confrontation as expression, cultures beyond the West have since assimilated punk, drawing from the spiritual well of its primal screams to communicate their own unique fury. It’s no surprise that Filipino-Americans have also gravitated towards punk and its sub-genres, seeking to form their own tribe and articulate their own experiences.
‘ ‘3’: ‘image’: ‘jcr:6ef8f809-d2e7-4f72-9c64-3589f1a6f89b’ ‘imageCaption’: ‘Solo project Obsolete Sun says “Never before had I played a show where my music was that well received, and where I felt so understood.”

It’s this same spirit that brought Jeremiah “JJ” Weber, the man behind solo industrial and hardcore project Obsolete Sun, to perform onstage for the first time at Aklasan Festival 2022 in San Francisco.
Playing there was a life-changing experience for Weber: “I felt more seen as a musician than I ever had in my previous 10 years of playing shows.”
Weber is a 30-year-old accounting student and grocery store worker. Born and raised in San Diego, California, his father was Caucasian, while his mother is a Filipina from Zamboanga.
“Never before had I played a show where my music was that well received, and where I felt so understood,” Weber wrote to CNN Philippines Life. “People understood my music, aesthetics, and personality without me ever having to explain myself. I felt so ‘at home’ at Aklasan Fest. This experience set off a fire inside of me.”
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As an event that caters to a brash and loud genre played by a minority with about as many subgenres as California wine varieties, there is a surprising feeling of shared perspective and efforts at inclusivity. For the past eight years, the Aklasan Fest has welcomed those in attendance to listen and mosh, regardless of whatever brand of fringe you were: straight-edge, tatted, vegan, working class, white collar, or LGBTQIA+. Among the estimated 200-strong who went last August 12— held for the first time in San Diego’s Ché Cafe — there was also a commonality of overlapping identity, whether immigrant or third culture kid.
One of the event’s unifying factors isn’t just a shared ethnic background, but also a cultural and political belief system that leaned towards the radical. Punk music as a vehicle for political statement was something the festival bands this year—Aklasan’s eighth installment, after a two-year break due to COVID—shared, from headliners Negative Blast to sludge punk outfit Posy; sound artist MattxIbarra to hardcore mainstays AninoKo.
‘ ’12’: ‘image’: ‘jcr:aa5d556b-8998-4126-a44d-2d422186c97f’ ‘imageCaption’: ‘AninoKo vocalist Rupert Estanislao raised the flag of punk bayanihan by being the founder of Aklasan Festival and Aklasan Records, its

AninoKo in particular, a group made up of five immigrants, have continually highlighted the social and economic issues facing both Filipinos in the United States and in the Philippines through their songs.
With such gems as the 23-seconder “T*** Ina Mo Trump” and the slightly longer (at 59 seconds) “Anak Diaspora,” AninoKo vocalist Rupert Estanislao and his bandmates have forged a sound for Fil-Am hardcore that talks about the immigrant experience as well as the diaspora.
He’s also raised the flag of punk bayanihan by being the founder of Aklasan Festival and Aklasan Records, its compatriot outfit for releases. “All the values and the hopes that we had for Aklasan Fest when we started it eight years ago culminated into perfection [last August 23],” said Estanislao, blown away with how much the festival has grown beyond what they intended, into a hub of connection and inspiration.
“People came from as far as Las Vegas, Albuquerque, Olympia, and Seattle. That night I also realized andami palang Pinoys in San Diego!” he said.
The first Aklasan Festival was in 2014 at Submission Gallery, a Latino punk-run venue in the Mission neighborhood of San Francisco. Estanislao and his fellow organizers wanted to gather—at the time—the five active and “Filipino-identified/Filipino-adjacent punk and hardcore bands.”
“I was with Jesse Gonzales in PiNoisepop Music Festival,” said Estanislao, “I modeled Aklasan after that same Asian American music festival I once played in, run by the Gonzales brothers who also came from the Philippine punk scene in the ‘80s and ‘90s.”
Like many of those who went to America during the “great waves of immigration,” when the Filipino population in the US increased from 105,000 to 501,000 between 1960 and 1980, Estanislao and other Filipino émigrés chose to settle in California.
‘ ’21’: ‘image’: ‘jcr:0ee2228f-c9d8-450f-82c1-318a298655fe’ ‘imageCaption’: ‘MattxIbarra performing at the Aklasan Festival last Aug. 12.

According to a migration study released last August, the current population of Filipinos makes them the most numerous Asian ethnicity in The Golden State. Estanislao experienced a second coming of age against a milieu similar to what formed the California Filipino-American community. A loose ethnic hub of Pinoytowns now across cities going back more than a century, the same narrative detailed in Carlos Bulosan’s “America is in the Heart,” about the 1950’s Great Depression in California.
“My history here in America was filled with domestic violence,” Estanislao said. “Back in the Philippines, I came from a broken home and nakitira ako dati sa mga kamag-anak at sa kaibigan ng kamag anak. Since di nila ako kadugo minsan hindi ako trinatratong tao. Noon pa, nagtanim ako ng galit from those experiences. Being unwelcome, being an outsider,” Estanislao continued.
Nilalait nila ako because I was into metal, punk, and grunge. 1993 was a closed circuit for musical tastes but when I found the same people who listened to Anthrax and Philippine Violators, well I found my tribe.”
Then when I emigrated to the US fully in 1993, lahat ata ng Filipino na nakilala ko puro gangsta rap and hip-hop ang gusto,” added Estanislao. But I was into Metallica and Soundgarden. Nilalait nila ako because I was into metal, punk, and grunge. 1993 was a closed circuit for musical tastes but when I found the same people who listened to Anthrax and Philippine Violators, well I found my tribe.”
Estanislao later formed pioneering Fil-Am punk outfit Eskapo in 1996 with his friends in Vallejo. From there he never shied away from “expressing my history and heritage.” Being able to articulate his experiences and rage—the pain of being left out and marginalized—became catharsis, an essential outlet.
‘ ’28’: ‘image’: ‘jcr:e87ab7d6-1842-46bb-aed5-f15fc50a292c’ ‘imageCaption’: ‘For the past eight years, the Aklasan Fest has welcomed all

By forming Aklasan Festival, he also wanted to provide a similar venue for other Filipino-Americans who may be unwelcome elsewhere, marginalized in the greater punk scene, or have yet to find a community to embrace.
“Punk is a subculture, but the overarching culture of the USA can be oppressive if you are seeking to carve out space for people of color and immigrant stories,” wrote Abi Ooze, an artist from Missouri who performed at the 2019 festival.
“Aklasan Records and its fest are so important to me,” Ooze continued. “To eat pancit and be immersed with people speaking my father tongue, all while surrounded by studded vests and combat boots? Truly an amazing weekend…There is nothing else like it in the states.”
“To play Aklasan Fest, your band must have a Filipino front person or have a strong Filipino identity in the overall vibe of the band. Here in the US, rock and punk are still very ‘bro’—white and predominantly male,” nodded Estanislao.
At 46, and now the father of two kids, passing the torch to a new generation of punks has been important to Estanislao and his fellow organizers. Having started from San Francisco, this year’s venue being Che Café in San Diego was a huge accomplishment for them. Estanislao took a back seat and handed over the logistical duties to JJ Weber (a.k.a Obsolete Sun) and Carmela Prudencio. The partners took the reins, organized, and decided the line-up of artists for 2023.
“With the next generation of Fil-Am punks at Aklasan, I hope they continue to inspire and to make it a space for Fil-Am women, gays, and trans people who don’t feel welcome in every space they go to.”
“The most fun part for me was scouting the bands. [But] it was a demanding process,” said Weber, confessing that this year’s festival took over 11 months from planning to execution.
“The most rewarding part of this experience was finding a sense of belonging alongside others searching for it themselves,” said art curator and 2023 organizer Carmela Prudencio.
“Folks are thinking about starting their own Filipino punk bands and asking about plans for next year,” she continued. “Some youth have already approached me asking how they can organize their own music and arts events.”
The festival has come a long way from Estanislao and the Aklasan Records team just haunting MySpace and message boards to find Fil-Am acts to put on stage. It has since evolved into a place that fosters shared identity and inspires “so many young Filipinos to start their own punk bands,” said Weber.
Frankie Ortanez of Kanta Kanta, was not originally a musician at all, recounted Weber, but was inspired to start a punk band after attending an earlier Aklasan Fest. Describing themselves as “Angry, anti-imperialist, queer bay area hardcore punk for the people,” Kanta Kanta has since released two albums of scathing radical punk.
‘ ’40’: ‘image’: ‘jcr:1708a632-bb71-4c9d-aeaf-93675b371df6’ ‘imageCaption’: ‘Punk bands such as Final Bombardment performed live at the

“Aklasan has that impact on so many,” confirmed Weber. “There are many who would never have even considered [forming a band] otherwise.”
“I had a blast showing my friends and bandmates about our food and culture, and the kindness that our people bring in,” said Kristine Nevrose, vocalist for the raw punk and power goth band SOH (System of Hate) from Los Angeles, about performing at the 2023 event.
To Estanislao, this is exactly the kind of networked strength they want to cultivate in the burgeoning Fil-Am punk community they initially envisioned. Their version of punk bayanihan.
“I feel so honored every time someone says ‘It changed my life.’ Every year I get a message like that. And [in 2023] a good majority, like 80 percent of the crowd, were in the 18 to 21 years age range. Sila na ang magtatayo ng flag next time.”
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Estanislao is also set on fostering sustained connection between the US and Philippines punk scenes. They have relationships with local punks from almost every corner of the archipelago, distributing their music and merchandise to the Western market. AninoKo make it a point to wear Filipino band shirts on-stage too, like Vampire State from Cebu and Still Ill Records from Manila.
“It was through our old radio show ‘The Punk Connection’ that we supported Aklasan, announcing their events and releases,” said Renmin Nadela, a former radio DJ on Jam 88.3 and drummer for Philippine punk stalwarts Bandang X and Agaw Agimat. “Proud of what they have started in the US,” Nadela continued. “If I were in the US, as a Filipino musician in the punk scene, this is exactly the community I would seek to belong in. It is where Fil-Am Punks can cultivate their skills and grow.”
Ronaldo Vivo Jr, drummer of hardcore group Abanglupa, who also co-owns heavy music label Sound Carpentry Recordings stated that he likes the kind of hardcore punk that AninoKo and the rest of the Aklasan artists produce.
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