BANGKOK—I am inside a performance hall here in Central World, one of Bangkok’s biggest malls, together with mostly-Filipino fans who are waiting for SB19 to begin their concert. 

Most of the fans, who call themselves “A’TIN” (pronounced “eighteen”), seem to feel at home in the venue, singing along to every song even without the lyrics flashing on the screens. Some are wearing fan merchandise (shirts, hats) and are carrying the signature light sticks; others have come prepared with posters, many addressed to their bias (i.e., their favorite member) among the quintet composed of Pablo, Josh, Stell, Ken and Justin.

Some of the fans are based in Bangkok, but many have flown in from different parts of the Philippines, especially with the concert conveniently taking place during the long Undas weekend. The concert is part of the band’s “Simula at Wakas” world tour that has taken them to North America, the Middle East, and other Asian cities.

Other fans came from Singapore and other Asian cities. As fans were quick to tell me, SB19’s fandom transcends borders; later, one would share a social media post reporting that a Thai actor was in attendance. 

I am no stranger to SB19’s songs, which routinely figure in the OPM playlists that I listen to during my daily workouts and runs. Beyond their pop-catchy tunes, I like their playful deconstruction of language. For instance, “Gento” turns the word ginto (gold) into a rhythmic pun on ganito (like this), imbuing social commentary with lyrical alchemy. “Dam” derives from the last syllable of pakiramdam (feeling), but also doubles as an expression in itself while doubling a rhythmic device. 

Their songs also capture the zeitgeist of the contemporary Filipino experience. What can be more Filipino (and Asian) than paying tribute to one’s parents, as they do so beautifully in “MAPA”? And there can’t be anything more relatable for Filipinos than the triumphant underdog given voice in “SLMT”: 

Sabi nila ‘di ko raw kaya (hm)

‘Lang mapapala wala raw pag-asa

Bukambibig ng madla’y puro panggagaya

Pero salamat sa lahat ng naniwala.

“Nyebe” (Snow), meanwhile, speaks to and for feelings of desire, longing, and hope that surely hits differently for our diasporic nation:

Ohh nyebe nyebe nyebe

Malamig ma’y ‘di na bale

Nyebe nyebe nyebe

Basta’t nand’yan ka parati

Nanlalamig ang bisig

May kaba pa sa ‘king dibdib

Marinig lang ang ‘yong tinig

Matutunaw din lahat ng nyebe.

Indeed, unlike bands whose repertoire revolves mostly around hugot (an elicited emotion), sex, or both, SB19’s songs—alongside, I must add, those of Bini and other P-pop acts that have followed their footsteps—encompass a broader range of themes, emotions, and aspirations. In their musical universe, we glimpse fragments of a Filipino dream.

But, of course, far beyond the music, the appeal also lies in the choreography—the dance moves, the lights, the charisma, and the band members themselves whose bodies and faces align with the aesthetics of pop stardom. Their perfectly synchronized movements and carefully curated visuals are undeniably inspired by K-pop (the band was trained, after all, by a subsidiary of a South Korean entertainment company), but there is also something distinctly Filipino in their performances, from their sense of humor to their efforts to connect to the crowd. During their concert in Japan, for instance, a friend told me about how they referenced the ongoing corruption scandal in the Philippines when singing “Kapangyarihan” (Power), their protest anthem featuring Ben&Ben.

The life stories of the band members likewise resonate with their fandom, from Ken who moved from Mindanao to Manila to pursue his dreams, to Josh who has opened up about growing up in hardship and being evicted from their apartment at the age of 15. Their narratives of hardship, perseverance, and self-belief mirror the aspirations and struggles of Filipinos of all ages, making their success story—and their songs that narrate this story—feel both personal and collective.

Then, as with all fandoms, there is also the sense of belonging: something that is particularly true in foreign venues where Filipino musical acts serve to bring together the diaspora. Listening to conversations in the packed venue, I hear friendships made, discussions about life in Chiang Mai or Phuket; comparisons between life in Bangkok and Manila. The SB19 band members themselves, while on stage, reflect on how being in Bangkok “feels like home,” and such an observation surely resonates with the experiences of Filipinos across the region, as well as the Thais and other Asians in the audience, who, I would like to think, comprise the emergence of a regional pop culture. 

As I left the hall, I was filled with amazement about SB19’s music coming to life—a reminder that in our increasingly-digital age, there will always be the appeal of live performances; shows like this will surely go on.  

I also left with a reaffirmation of the wealth of our musical talent and a realization that we have much to say to the region and to the world—including in verse and in song. Although it is premature for me to call myself part of “A’Tin,” I am proud to call SB19 ours.

Gideon Lasco is an anthropologist and physician currently serving as professorial lecturer at the University of the Philippines Diliman and as Takemi Fellow at the Harvard School of Public Health. A Palanca Award-winning essayist and longtime commentator on health, culture and society, he is the author of five books, including “The Philippines Is Not a Small Country” (2020), a winner of the National Book Award.