The Golden Voice A Filipino Heartbreaker

To hold the world at his feet as a great singer on any world stage in that recognition, he had to pinch himself twice every morning. 

Manila was a long way from Las Vegas and his sell-out shows every night. He thought about how tired Elvis or Tom Jones must have been or would have been singing to their fans every night. It was too easy to get into drugs, he thought. And burnout. He had been warned by his guru that a slippery slide is mostly one way off-stage; no matter the fan's roar, they soon dump the druggy. Bogeyman, it's all about 

The Red Eyes and Hyper Actions. Those Media cameras following you to look up your arses for their sensation in their payday 

No sensibility was this Stars game

He was at a regular exercise gym. He liked the rowing machine, kept his body firm, and had a strict diet with the two-hour pool routine. He had come this far; he wasn't going to throw a lifetime achievement away for nothing. This was a result of sheer hard work, as he smiled to himself.

There was an art in keeping wealthy people happy, and looking back at his poverty-stricken upbringing always brought that sadness in that voice. This was a gift of the showman that lived inside of him.

His roots lived and helped him to grow yet stay humble, so greatness overflowed on any stage. Such was his talent and massive range as a powerful tenor. You could argue his Welsh father's roots, as his mother would always say in her reminiscence of where the hell he had disappeared to, just gone off the face of the earth.

Local Tagalog village life was tough and ingrained in his duties. No  bank balance was always Family Running on Empty. His brother and sister were all struggling, and his mother was working in Saudi Arabia as a nurse to make ends meet for  both boys. Working at the Coca-Cola Bottling Dept. had helped in the starvation stakes. So lucky to get a job. Sadly, he knew he had a British father but had only seen him once when he was in the oil business working offshore. The thought but knew he did have a Dad somewhere  overwhelmed him. Life is what Grandma & Pa were left to hold the family together. It was always tough & rough, but they survived, those Battling Brothers. He was now Six Feet Four and filling out; the Jokes Stopped and the fights

He liked to help out. His sister, who was a part-time-only female DJ,  took a lot of skill packing the sound equipment on a jeepney and carrying her equipment. He also liked the sounds he found; he had a great ear for her music to get those amplifiers and sound systems in the right places. People liked to dance, and she had the knack of picking her show songs and hits and had a good following fan base. Everyone always asked when the next gig and was it Free to get in.

He had no idea about singing or what range of voice he had; he had nothing. Everyone just let him be the roadie that Mr. Hookup and his brother helped. Just lately he had found a girlfriend so lost in love down to him alone. It was heavy work humping sound equipment about, but they managed to get everything on the one jeepney. 

This gig was what she had hoped to get her enough money to trade what she had for the latest sound with lights. He would help with the loadout at Jimmy Mr. Sound Electronics shop. Luckily, he was sweet on his sister and gave her a good deal—lots more controls on this projection speed box, fantastic range, and the strobe lights were all the latest techno rage. She could get extra pay for this new investment. She wanted to know every last detail and every knob's function. They spent all morning setting up and testing before handing over one peso. 

But always good Jimmy was honest, and he liked her. That was the plus. Jimmy was a good piano player two nights a week at the Holiday Inn Hotel as the Base Combo Serenaders, just a trio of piano, drums, and saxophone playing soft, laid-back lounge instrumental music. Now, that morning, her brother was put on the spot as they needed to amplify sounds from the stage mic setup, and they asked her brother to just sing or whistle anything. The karaoke machine told him the words while they suggested sounds, and she learned from Jimmy what knobs to twiddle. Watching the sound needles on amplifications, was that DJ Heart of Control? She was good.  

They Both were flabbergasted at his voice. Jimmy said, "Junior." You needed to be on stage with a voice as rare as that. You have  a real talent you've got there. You're pitch-perfect, did you know that? Why don't you just learn a few songs? I'm sure we get extra for our two nights with Combo Singer Extra. He didn't think he was that good. He liked the idea of money being handy. 

His mother's affectionate Welsh name for him was “Shw-mae.” Jnr  pronounced “SHU-MY” or “SHUM-AI,” which was the Welsh word for “hello.” It had stuck like glue in the village. He was a novelty and full of fun. She had told him he was conceived in Boracay the night the karaoke machine broke down on their holidays. With his friends Neil and Carman, they were gold prospecting up at Tenggara and found nothing in the Gonzaga Mountains, so they declared war on the bars or holiday to Boracay. Kiwi Neil was just as wild; there was something about working 28/28 and then spending their own money to find nothing but a pack of lies, so whenever his mom started on about his lost dad, he would just nod and smile and hear it all before.

He liked a whole range of singers and songs, none better than the Belters. He called them Belters. Tom Jones was a Belter who had that sex appeal and wide range of musical appeal, as did Elvis. They could all stand and deliver. He imagined them as highwaymen making their presence known. They had the love and fear with come-to-bed eyes. Jimmy had said to Shumai, "You have to find the real you."

It's time; you're 23 soon. You don't want to be at the Coca-Cola Bottling Plant for life, do you? Singing gets you a Freedom Pass and a couple of gigs a week, that's for sure. What you don't have, you don't miss, but at least try to get up onto that first step. Trying and not succeeding is the truth.

You tried to hold your head up for doing just that, but to try and win, then your life is ordained up in heaven. Ring Bells in those clouds of Love and What Money Can Bring. 

Shumai felt that urge, at last, some morsel of recognition, not knowing what to expect. The Holiday Inn had all the night dinner jackets, and a few safety pins made short work of nips and tucks, especially for tall men.

 The hotel was the closest thing on the airport perimeter base to five-star luxury, had a nine-hole golf course and American chefs, and was a single man's paradise of outer Angeles City walking street nightlife, while the hotel lounge catered to many a ladies' hen party. You get what you pay for. Twice a week the Combo had an addition. Let's hope he could sing "Happy Birthday." Jimmy said we might get a few tips off table 69, laughing that most ladies had flown up from Hong Kong for their Play Away Girly Hen Party and could have quite a fun night. Jimmy said, "Don't worry, I got the karaoke screen up so Shumai doesn't have to worry about the words; just concentrate on the delivery." Remember Pitch Perfect? You can win that race. Take your time, pal; we are in no hurry. The show goes on even if they throw us out.

Frivolities started when the cake came out, and he gave them a good “Happy Birthday,” and then Clapton said, “You look lovely tonight.”  Jimmy thought, "Bloody marvellous!" Ladies loved him; they all looked the part of white-coated penguins with polished beaks. He remarked to the drummer, "It seems like Shumai's going to get a fan club tonight, his first night on the job." Lucky. During the present giving and cake cutting, the Combo let himself loose with the Party In Town. The place was packed. All tables were full of those play-away weekend couples from Manila to Cebu and Hong Kong and Mainland China, with lots of Korean golfers.

The hotel was always full, he called the dirty weekenders, and the shyness shone on pretty maids' faces. Friday and Saturday nights and Sundays were dead nights for the lounge unless it was raining; then Jimmy might get a call to strike up the band. The floor manager grasped the Mood Swing with the Singer, more like a cabaret floor show. He was doing a bloody good job, and they liked him.

The Ladies, while being as discreet as they could, could not help those Presents that were unwrapped of dildos and Vibrators of all deadly Daring in a public space, laughter and screams—nobody complained about the sexy underwear show, just girls having boisterous hen party fun.