From Queens to Manila: A 4th of July OPM Showcase Lights Up NYC at SOB’s

The Subway Series was alive and well. While the Mets and Yankees went head-to-head at Citi Field and fireworks burst above the Brooklyn Bridge, another kind of celebration was brewing downtown. The streets of New York were buzzing with sound—Spanish, hip-hop, laughter, the crackle of fireworks—and the familiar aroma of hot dogs and grilled burgers filled the air. But instead of staying out in the heat, we headed off on a different kind of July 4th adventure—one that would take us halfway across the world without leaving Manhattan.

David Reyeg; Photo by Leo

Just before midnight, SOB’s (Sounds of Brazil) transformed into something magical. Not quite the Filipino neighborhoods of Queens where the food and culture feel like home, but something more fleeting, more electric. For one night only, SOB’s became a pocket of Manila, with music as the bridge between worlds. This wasn’t just a concert—it was an OPM homecoming. Artists from across the Philippines took the stage to bring the soul of their country to a city that always has room for more stories, more sounds, and more heart.

The night opened with David Reyeg, an up-and-coming alt-rock artist, and his band. From the second they hit the stage, their energy was off the charts. David’s vocals were raw and passionate, and the chemistry between him and his bandmates was undeniable. You could tell this wasn’t just a performance—it was a release. Their music moved like a wave through the crowd, instantly drawing us in. There were no frills, no pretense—just a group of musicians pouring their hearts out in every riff and beat. It was the perfect way to kick off the night, and they left the room buzzing.

Then, as if the switch had been flipped, Silent Sanctuary took the stage—and the entire mood shifted. The six-member band—Raymund, Anjo, Allen, Kim, Roonie, and Poch—didn’t just play songs; they told stories. The moment the first notes rang out, the crowd surged forward, phones in the air, voices ready to sing every word. And they did. Hits like “Ikaw Lamang” and “Kundiman” were met with instant recognition, and for those few minutes, we weren’t just in New York—we were in a packed bar somewhere in Quezon City, surrounded by old friends and familiar feelings.

Silent Sanctuary; photo by Leo

Raymund, ever the showman, took moments between songs to joke with the crowd, sing “Happy Birthday” to audience members, and play a light-hearted name game. But the emotional weight of their music still lingered, especially during the instrumental moments—when cello and violin wrapped around each other, and the air in SOB’s turned thick with nostalgia. Whether you understood every lyric or not, you felt them. You felt what they meant.

But it was Maki who closed out the night with a set that was as intimate as it was explosive. The second he stepped on stage, the room lit up. His fans—Filipino families, Gen Zers, even curious first-time listeners—welcomed him with the kind of warmth that could only come from deep connection. Between songs, Maki spoke to the crowd—not as a performer, but as a friend. He talked about heartbreak, betrayal, and the kind of emotional bruises that only time (and maybe a good song) can heal. The crowd listened closely, knowing those stories all too well.

When he sang “Dilaw,” “Bughaw,” and “Bakit,” the entire room was in sync—swaying, singing, reaching for the kind of catharsis only music can offer. He even included a cover, giving the audience something familiar and deeply heartfelt. Every note felt intentional, every word a little confession. By the time he reached his final chorus, it was clear: Maki wasn’t just performing. He was sharing himself.

Maki; photo by Leo

As the final notes echoed through the venue and the lights dimmed, I realized I hadn’t just watched a show. I had felt it. SOB’s had become more than a venue—it was a memory, one that instantly transported me to the times I spent in Manila with my partner and her family. The warmth, the community, the late-night karaoke, the shared food, the feeling of belonging—that same spirit was alive in that room.

This night wasn’t about production or spectacle. It was about heart. About showing how powerful Filipino music can be when it’s given space to breathe and be heard. A reminder that OPM, like K-pop or J-pop, is more than a genre—it’s a lifeline for a community scattered around the world but still connected by the music they grew up with.

So if you weren’t there this time, don’t worry—there will be more. Because if this night proved anything, it’s that the Filipino music scene has the power, talent, and soul to make the world listen.

And next time? You’ll want to be in the crowd. For now, check out our full photo gallery!