Through Vince A’s debut, love as a Filipino language finds a new voice

On a recent night in San Jose, Vince A stepped onto the stage at Era Lounge with a fever still lingering in his body. Fighting what he thought might even be the flu, but none of it mattered once the lights dimmed and the crowd began to cheer. 

“I let it all out. I left it all on the dance floor,” he told me, still sounding a little congested when we spoke days later. “It was an experience I’ll never forget.”

The show was a release party for “High Fidelity," Vince’s debut EP under the rising label Bolo Music Group. The room brimmed with the kind of love he sings about — family members he hadn’t seen in years, mentors from his earliest open mics and community figures who’ve shaped his journey. At one point, Ruby Ibarra and Lasi, two of Bolo’s leading voices, were filming him from the crowd “like proud parents,” he laughed. 

The Filipino American singer/songwriter, raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, has spent the last several years cutting his teeth on stages across California, but this night felt different. It was less a performance than a homecoming, a moment when songs he had written in solitude suddenly became collective.

“There are moments on stage where you just feel the energy from the audience,” Vince said. “It gives you the confidence to just try something new.” 

That night, he reached for his talk box for the first time, twisting the songs into something fresh, alive, and singular to the people in the room. 

“I like when we can do the songs a little differently live than we do in the studio,” he added. “You only get to hear this version live … I could not have had a better audience for the ‘High Fidelity’ release show. I will remember everybody who was there forever.”

In the days that followed, as he recovered, Vince was still processing it all. And it’s here, off stage and away from the lights, where we began our conversation.

‘High Fidelity’ in love

Vince describes his debut EP, "High Fidelity," as “a cinematic meditation on life.” It isn’t just a collection of tracks to him, but a living archive of stories. 

He asks me, “When you listen to it, can you also picture… can you see what’s going on through these lyrics, through the music?” 

That cinematic instinct isn’t just about aesthetics: it’s about honesty. For him, the songs are stitched from his own memories and experiences, layered with the stories he grew up hearing.

 “Of course you have to make some things exciting,” he admits, “but the songs are very truthful.”

At the core of "High Fidelity" is love. Not the flattened, easy version of it, but its full spectrum: joy, heartbreak, longing, starting over. Vince doesn’t shy away from love’s messiness or its lessons.

“Every part of love is important to growing,” he said. “You need heartbreak to appreciate happiness. Being happy in love is something we all long for. And starting over just makes us stronger.”

His songs are not just confessions, but questions: What went wrong this time? How can I be better? They circle around that vulnerable refrain of worthiness. 

“You are worthy of love,” Vince reflected. 

It’s a philosophy that feels distinctly Filipino, even if he doesn’t name it as such at first. 

Filipino music — what we call OPM, or Original Pilipino Music — is a love language in itself, and it’s one of excess: over-the-top yearning, gut-punching ballads, heartbreak staged like an epic. To be Filipino is to know how deeply love saturates the songs we grow up with, whether sung in English, Tagalog, or both. Vince’s work mirrors that lineage. His own vulnerability and over-the-edge honesty feel like a continuation of that tradition.

In "High Fidelity," love becomes both archive and anthem, threading through his stories not just as personal reflection, but as part of a cultural inheritance: the instinct to sing about love until it swells larger than life.

Love in Filipino language

If "High Fidelity" is Vince’s cinematic meditation on life, then love is its recurring motif — a thread woven not just through his music but through the cultural fabric that shaped him. For a Filipino American artist, this feels almost inevitable.

“Did I see myself as part of this larger Filipino tradition? I guess so,” Vince said. “If you grew up like me, I was never going to escape that. It was around me all the time. It does feel like this is in my DNA. This flows through my veins. And I am honored to be part of that tradition.”

That inheritance runs deep. His grandfather once won a singing competition in the Philippines and was offered a record deal, but chose family instead, an act of devotion that Vince still calls “the most romantic story I’ve ever heard.” 

His uncles, too, became recording artists in the 1990s. Karaoke nights, his father’s Elvis CDs on the way to school, and relatives who built their own lives around song all left an imprint. 

“I wanted to be like my grandpa, I wanted to be like my uncles,” he said. “I am very honored to be able to carry on that tradition of musicians, songwriters. And being able to tell my story through these love songs.”

This tradition also revealed itself early. In middle school, Vince was already writing songs for girls — his first way of communicating affection and vulnerability. Performing them in high school, he realized the power of what music could carry. 

“I had people telling me they were skipping class to come listen to the one song I wrote. That was the moment that told me, ‘"I don't really know if there’s anything better in this world than that feeling,’” he said.

Just like the OPM ballads and karaoke anthems that fuel Filipino family gatherings, love, in Filipino music, is rarely subtle.

“Filipino culture is very dramatic, wholehearted and over-the-top,” he said. “But I think love is dramatic, wholehearted, and love is over-the-top. Lots of crying, lots of tears, happy endings. We only want to go through an amazing love story and fight for love to get to a happy ending. But also, sometimes there is not a happy ending. And I think it’s OK to make peace with that.”

That honesty is what grounds his songwriting. Vince is not interested in polishing love into a single, glossy ideal; he writes it as a spectrum. 

“I wanted to make a song where love wraps you, and it’s the greatest feeling on earth … but I also wanted to talk about how sometimes you just can’t save it. And it feels like you’re on a sinking ship in the middle of the ocean,” he said.

It’s a vision of love that feels deeply Filipino: equal parts hope and heartbreak, willing to feel everything all the way through. For him, representing those extremes is not just a creative choice, but a responsibility.

“What I hope people understand when they play my songs about love is that it’s OK to be going through what you’re going through,” he said. “Somebody out there has felt the same way that they are feeling right now. If you’re in love, if you’re going through a breakup, if you’re starting over — it’s all part of life. It’s only temporary. If you’re happy in love, then ride that wave. If you’re heartbroken, that’s OK too. Love will find you.”

Finding the face beneath

After speaking about love, we pivoted toward something more intimate and vulnerable. 

“I wore a lot of masks, actually, because I was not happy with who I was. I was very scared,” he admitted. 

On stage, that mask takes shape in “Vince A,” the persona his girlfriend named, a version of himself that can command a crowd and be larger than life. Offstage, though, he is still shy, inward, often caught in his own head. 

“I guess those two aspects of me are the real Vince,” he said. “Someone who is very reserved off stage, and then someone who is insane on stage.”

Vince, in progress, shares that he’s still learning to be present, not to be swallowed by anxiety or overthinking. 

“Even when I’m talking to someone, I sometimes feel like I’m not giving them my full attention and I feel bad, because I really do want to give whoever is in front of me 100%,” he said.

It’s an admission that feels as relatable as it is revealing, a reminder that behind the rising artist is someone still navigating the everyday, with all its joys and stumbling blocks. “If you’re there too, then just know I’m right there with you,” Vince says, closing the gap between himself and anyone listening.

Building Bridges with Listeners

Looking ahead, with his debut EP as his foundation, he’s stepping into something larger than himself: a community and a future that feels newly possible.

“Before Bolo, I was just doing music, hoping it would work out,” Vince admitted. “Being part of it reshaped my identity as a human. Like, I need to take this more seriously… I was always searching for a path, or where I was going to fit into all this. And Bolo really gave me that. A place to be, to grow. And I’ll appreciate that for the rest of my life.”

There’s a weight that comes with that belonging, the responsibility of representation. Vince sees it in the eyes of his little cousins sending him demos, or strangers on Instagram telling him they’re inspired by his journey. He feels it in the way his mentors and label have opened doors, showing him what it means to carry a community forward. 

“I just want to do right by Bolo, right by those people,” he said. “If a guy like me can make music and get noticed by someone as amazing as Ruby and our music team, so can you. Follow your dreams and never give up.”

For Vince, this new chapter also means shedding the weight of old expectations to follow the “normal route” to college and the job market.

“But at the end of the day, it’s what you want for yourself. This life is your own. You need to take it for yourself. Otherwise, you might not be happy after time goes by and you didn’t set out to do what you’ve always wanted to do,” he said.

Now, with his EP out in the world, he’s thinking less about whether people will like the music and more about the conversations and connections it sparks. That means sharing more of himself. Onstage and off, online and in person.

“Community is important. I want to meet folks at events, have conversations, and let those interactions inspire the next songs,” he said.

The story begins with love, and it closes there too. Not just the kind written into songs, but the kind that shows up as community, collaboration, and commitment. Love, in all its Filipino drama and vulnerability, is still Vince’s language. Only now, it’s not just for him — it’s for everyone who’s listening and everyone still daring to dream.