(Author’s note. This is part 2 of 2. For continuity, read part 1 first if you have not yet read it, at -https://tribune.net.ph/2026/02/20/pinoys-as-global-musicians-amsterdam-1.)

I found out that this Pinoy band, whose name I forgot, had been on the road for six long years. They used to play for the Holland-America Line, on a cruise ship in the Caribbean, which catered to moneyed tourists who picked up each other in a “love boat.” This was before the coronavirus days. After the pandemic, Filipino musicians started avoiding the love boats because they reeked of virus carriers.

I discovered that Filipino bands were extremely exploited by their managers, predominantly German. Here is their story.

JESSIE: The Dutch band you saw last night gets about double our pay, we discovered.

ME: But they are a lousy group. You are the rave, the main attraction. You played one hour per set and took a 30-minute break. They played 30 minutes per set and took an hour break. That’s unfair.

JESSIE: That’s the contract agreement. Nothing we can do.

ME: (angrily) It’s against the law of supply and demand. You are more in demand. You should get higher pay. It’s racism. Get another manager.

JESSIE: We don’t know any other manager.

ME: Deal directly with the night clubs.

JESSIE: They won’t agree. The clubs need the manager, who can black-list them. The clubs are helpless without the manager. So we move around through his contacts like bees in a bed of flowers — London, Paris, Rome, you name it. We can’t go on our own. We don’t have that kind of contacts. Our stints are very short, a month or two, then we move on. That’s the way it works.

ME: Don’t you feel angry?

JESSIE: At first, we were. But we are helpless. We learned to accept it. We are a bunch of high-class slaves.

ME: Can I talk to your manager?

JESSIE: Are you kidding? We don’t even see him. Our paychecks in US dollars are delivered by a courier. Even if you talk to him, he will just laugh at you. Forget it, Bernie. I know you mean well but...

ME: What about the Dutch band?

JESSIE: They get their contract directly from the club. They are a local band. They are based only in the Netherlands. But even if we are exploited, life is good for me. I have a girlfriend in every port, a baby at every port.

ME: Haven’t you heard of condoms?

JESSIE: The girls want my baby, even without me around. In fact, I am just a baby machine for them. They have a funny notion that their babies will inherit my musical talent. A matter of genes, they say.

ME: So, you are like Johnny Appleseed, sowing your seeds everywhere but they do all the reaping.

JESSIE: What can I do? They idolize me. I have a newborn baby in Berlin and another in London. One is coming up in Madrid in a month. They are not mine. They belong to the girls.

“High-class slaves.” The term stuck with me like the aftertaste of bad coffee. Jessie was having the time of his life, making babies for his fans. He had forgotten the slave part, and just stuck to the high-class part. And even with a baby in every port, he was as free as a bird.

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