Rejoice, all ye fans of ‘alternative’ OPM. Arise and shine, and bear witness to the resurrection of Cookie Chua - one of the really wondrous voices alive - and the rest of Color It Red. But first, a historical liner note: Color It Red is among the handful of bands who’ve been there and done that when OPM was way uncool and “alternative” and “indie” were such dirty words - a pity for such a set of talents at the time (though politics may be to blame). Cookie Chua, in particular, had the voice of a lovely and mysterious goddess of the urban rainforest, an unrecognized world-class talent. She still does have that voice, of course, and thank God it now comes descending upon the city once again, after a creative hibernation, via this eponymous album. Here’s how you ought to behave in the presence of indie royalty:

Right at the opening tracks (“Dalawa,” “Speak to Me”), you are to be instantly lured, captivated by the wonderfully mellifluous alt-pop appeal.

By the third track (the jazzy, sultry “Stay” by S. Baja), you are to give in, moaning in complete surrender, declaring this single your favorite.

Remind yourself that you’re dealing with an alternative material here, even with most of the existing ‘alternatives’ in town considered. And while you’re at it, you are to marvel at the relative diversity of tracks in this album – from the soft, gentle, innocent (“Speak to Me”), to the danceable (“You”), to the naughty but very sensible (“Panalo”); from themes of domestic bliss (“Ikaw at Ako”), to the more controversial ones about personal and national freedom (“Panalo,” “Sweet Freedom”).

Even if you don’t share the politics of Conrado de Quiros (an ardent Color It Red supporter), you are to admit surprise at two particular numbers: “From the Other Side of the Sea” and “Sweet Freedom,” which make you want to press for the return of the Bells of Balangiga, the infamous American war trophy, dammit. You don’t fail to note, too, that “Other Side…” was written by the poet Marra Pl. Lanot, even though you may not readily like the forced melody the poem is set to.

Furthermore, you are to exclaim an unfeigned affection for Bopip Paraguya’s bass and Barbi Cristi and Ariel Policarpio’s guitars, not to mention the attention-grabbing trumpets, and hail them all as the kind of thing only seasoned performers can give. You, too, ought to admire the poetic simplicity of most of the lyrics and the easy-to-digest, LSS-prone, yet undeniably beautiful, mesmerizing melodies, the musical alchemy of finely-aged red wine.

If you must complain at all, complain only that the richly textured vocals and mastery at the instruments are underappreciated; that if Bayang Barrios is mainstreamed (in the neoethnic-tinged TV theme “Malayo Man, Malapit Din”), why not Cookie Chua and Color It Red?

You ought to have professed total love and devotion by the time you reach the last track, the equally raspy jazz piece “If You Loved Only Me” (words and music also by the keyboardist, Sam Salazar-Baja). You declare the song your second favorite.

Finally, you are to bow down in reverence and thanksgiving, grateful that your goddess is back with her band’s very own album, after six years of being holed up in indie limbo.