As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. That means I earn commissions from my sponsored links or I make money when readers (you) purchase items through my links. Your purchase allows me to continue working as a stay-at-home dad who moonlights as a farmer and a musician. Needless to say, this post contains affiliate links.
Fête de la Musique is here again.
Tamad Si Juan just won Muziklaban. CONGRATS TO THEM ONCE MORE! REPRESENT!!!
Every time I open Facebook, somebody’s announcing a gig, releasing a single, or sharing rehearsal photos from a cramped studio somewhere in Davao. The scene feels alive in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve been paying attention for a while.
And somehow, it’s already been a month since Trashbunk released Come And Give It To Me.
I wasn’t planning on writing about the song.
To be honest, I didn’t think there was much to explain.
The lyrics practically tell you everything already.
Half of the first verse sounds like someone trying to write lyrics while running out of ideas.
The other half is us mentioning bands we grew up listening to.
That’s it.
Or at least that’s what I thought.
The funny thing is that Come And Give It To Me knows exactly what it is.
At its core, it’s built on some of the oldest tricks in the nu-metal handbook. Chunky 0-1-0-1 riffs. Turntable scratches. A chorus designed more for shouting than singing. And of course, no self-respecting nu-metal-inspired song would be complete without somebody yelling “GET THE F@#$% UP!“ right before the breakdown.
If anything, the song feels like a parody of nu-metal at first glance.
Then again, maybe parody isn’t the right word.
Tribute might be closer.
The song wears its influences so openly that it almost feels impossible to separate sincerity from humor. One moment it’s pounding away with a riff that could’ve come from a late-night MTV2 block in 2001. The next moment it’s throwing shoutouts at local bands and inviting everybody in the room to lose their minds.
That’s probably why I’ve grown more fond of it over time.
We weren’t trying to reinvent anything.
We weren’t trying to save rock music.
We just wanted to write the kind of song that would’ve made the younger version of ourselves immediately start headbanging in front of a bedroom mirror.
Listening back to the track recently, I realized that I don’t hear Trashbunk as much as I hear everybody else.
I hear Project Satellite.
Those guys have influenced us more than they’ll probably ever know. Every time I’ve seen them live, there’s this energy that takes over the room. Everyone is moving. Nobody stands still. At some point I started calling it #gilingcore, and honestly, that’s still the best way I can describe it.
Then there’s Dieglocke.
I remember being there during the release of After Taste, almost a year before Trashbunk was even a band. Back then I was just another guy in the crowd trying to catch every local show I could. I don’t remember every song they played that night, but I remember the riffs. I remember the atmosphere. I remember thinking that these guys looked like they sailed straight out of a Viking saga and somehow ended up in Davao.
The nickname “Vikings of Davao” never felt exaggerated to me.
And then there’s Amana.
Another band that quietly became part of the soundtrack of growing up around the local scene. The kind of band you don’t fully appreciate until years later when you realize how many younger musicians were paying attention.
That’s why those names ended up in the song.
Not because we needed extra lines to fill a verse.
Because those bands are part of the reason Trashbunk exists.
Nobody starts from nothing.
Every local band is built from old gig posters, borrowed ideas, favorite records, conversations after shows, and the people who came before them.
Even having Scazix on the track came from that same place.
For those who haven’t heard of him yet, Scazix is a local rapper who’s been putting in work and preparing his own releases. Having him jump onto the song didn’t feel like some calculated collaboration. It felt natural. A local artist working with another local artist because that’s what healthy scenes do.
Looking back, I think Come And Give It To Me accidentally became a snapshot of a moment.
Not just for Trashbunk.
For the people around us, the bands that inspired us, the artists we’re excited to see grow, a music community that’s still finding new ways to surprise itself.
Tamad Si Juan winning Muziklaban feels like part of that story.
Fête de la Musique returning every year feels like part of that story too.
So does every small gig, every rehearsal space, every band still figuring things out one song at a time.
Maybe that’s why I still like this track a month later.
Not because it’s our deepest song.
It’s definitely not.
The chorus is literally just:
“Come and give it to me.”
Repeated over and over.
The breakdown is basically an invitation to lose your mind for a few seconds.
There’s no hidden message.
No grand philosophy, no attempt to sound smarter than we are.
It’s loud, straightforward, fun, and maybe that’s enough.
Maybe not every song needs to carry the weight of the world.
Sometimes it’s enough to celebrate where you came from, acknowledge the people who inspired you, and make something you’d want to hear in a packed room full of friends.
A month later, that’s what Come And Give It To Me means to me.
Not a statement.
Not a masterpiece.
Just a reminder that we’re lucky to be part of this thing.
So what are you waiting for??? LISTEN TO “COME AND GIVE IT TO ME” NOW!
All platforms here! <——–HERE!
