“Liyab.”
“Ahon.”
These weren’t just songs. They were the spark.
The firestarter tracks. The first two songs lit the fuse and marked the birth of Setsuna.
A year ago, the band was just an idea—driven by late-night talks, deep scars, old friendships, and a hunger that refused to die. Now, on July 7, 2025, they celebrate their first anniversary. Not with ego, but with a quiet kind of pride—the kind that comes from doing something real. Something honest.
And those first songs?
They still burn.
The Spark: Liyab and Ahon
“Liyab” was never just a song. It was their story-in-progress.
At first, it was supposed to be on the first record. But the band quickly realized: this track wasn’t finished—because their story wasn’t finished.
“Nagbabago yung lyrics palagi,” they admit.
“The song is about our journey—nagbabago yung phase and challenges, kaya nababago din yung sulat.”
So they made the call: Liyab will be finalized on the second album, where it can carry the full weight of everything they’ve been through.
That left Ahon to lead the charge—a battle cry for anyone climbing out of their own personal abyss. A song that struck a chord so deep, it recently reached a milestone 200,000 views on YouTube.
Therapy, Not a Trend
“Hindi talaga namin naging option mag-stop,” they say. And you believe them. Because when they talk about their music, you don’t hear metrics or marketing plans—you hear therapy.
Every jam session is a breath of fresh air after long work hours. Every rehearsal is a reminder of why they started in the first place. These songs they write and play together aren’t just noise; they’re lifelines.
Kahit mahirap. Lalo na sa logistics.
They’re scattered across different cities. Some in Pangasinan, others in the city. Each practice means traveling for hours, sacrificing personal time, making room in a calendar that’s already bursting at the seams. But they do it anyway. No grand speeches. Just pure dedication.
“Kasi prio namin is work and family. Kapag may hindi available, hindi namin pinipilit. Basta kung kelan lang pwede.”
It’s that kind of groundedness that makes their journey even more powerful. This isn’t blind ambition. It’s sustainable passion.
The Songs That Followed
After Ahon came the third official track: “Silaw.”
Silaw was like a flare gun fired into the night sky.
A warning. A confession. A moment of clarity in a world full of false lights.
It came fast and hard—and fans felt it.
Then came Dalangin, a softer ache. A whispered prayer for something more. For healing, for forgiveness, for peace. It was raw and vulnerable, just like the nights it was written in.
Finally, they dropped Harinawa. An old word, rarely sung, now reborn in melody. It means sana, hopefully, may it be so. A word that sounds like longing—and lands like hope.
Each song painted a different piece of their emotional journey.
None of them were easy. All of them were real.
The Rise of Ahon: 200K Strong
In just one year, Ahon didn’t just rise—it soared.
It became a battle cry for fans, and recently hit a massive milestone:
200,000 views on YouTube.
The photo says it all: a child holding a flame, symbolizing innocence, strength, and the spark we all carry in dark times. It’s more than a number. It’s a reflection of how many people found something in that song—something worth holding onto.
“Di namin namamalayan na naging effective pala sa’min ‘yung ganong way.”
They didn’t chase virality. It just found them.
A Band of Many Roots
Each member brought history. War scars. Reputation.
Mighty Ji is a fixture in Pangasinan’s live scene.
Toshi earned his stripes in the underground rap community, making waves with every bar. His group, Plan B, didn’t just stay underground—they broke through. Signed under Sony Music Philippines, they brought major-label energy to the mix.
“Parang each of us may kanya-kanya kaming connections.
Kaya napag-sama-sama na lang namin siguro,” they say.
So when did they join forces?
It wasn’t just a band—it was a collision of worlds.
A meeting of minds sharpened by years of grind.
Sacrifice in the Silence
Asked if they ever felt like quitting, their answer was simple:
No.
Because every time they make a song, they feel something real.
“Kasi ramdam namin sa mga nagagawa naming materials,” they explain.
You can feel it in the pain of Silaw, the longing in Dalangin, the fire in Liyab, the redemption in Ahon, and the quiet hope of Harinawa.
These aren’t singles. These are confessions. Diaries. War cries.
The Backbone Behind the Band
Setsuna didn’t do it alone. Never claimed to.
Special thanks to:
- LOIS Jeans – Style with soul
- Point B Studios – Where rawness met polish
- Radio Manila Music Group – For amplifying their voice
- Grand Escape Films – For giving the songs a cinematic pulse
- Papsys HQ
- Cavern Band Studio
- Jojam Music Studio
- North Studio
- Istakap Records
- Groovelabs Productions
- Excapelabs
These names aren’t just credits. They’re co-architects of the fire.
What’s Next?
More. But not faster. Just deeper.
If Year One was about lighting the fire, Year Two is about learning how to keep it burning—without getting consumed. There’s no hunger for mainstream. Just a hunger to heal, connect, and create songs that sound like real life.
Final Words from the Underground
Setsuna didn’t arrive with a bang. They arrived like a flicker.
But flickers can become flames. And flames?
They spread.
Happy anniversary, Setsuna.
Here’s to more liyab, more dalangin, more ahon, more silaw, and more harinawa.
More songs for those of us still trying to rise.
