There are eleven million Filipinos working overseas, a million of which left the Philippines in 2007, and Arnel Pineda is one of them.
I’m sure you readers have already heard about Arnel Pineda, the new Philippine-born lead singer for the American band Journey: his hardscrabble life as a homeless twelve-year old with that burning talent; the videos of his cover band discovered on YouTube by Neal Schon, the Journey guitarist, looking for a new vocalist; maybe even the fantastic tale of how he got his visa. (If not, be edified: run off to YouTube and watch a CBS News Sunday Morning feature on the band from May.)
Now that you’re back — I hope you watched it all the way to the end, then went and called your mom — some thoughts. It’s a hell of a story, a tale for anyone who ever pretended to sing with a mic in the privacy of their bedrooms, its immigrant-American drama eminently marketable, and I’m sure his fellow band members in Journey recognized this. But it is clear that what Journey saw and heard, in that tiny YouTube window — what you also saw and heard — was that soaring, expressive voice of his (”the voice that has it all”, Schon calls it), an instrument that practically brooks no arguments. A quick look at the different tunes — power ballads and karaoke showstoppers all — that his band covers shows Pineda to be jaw-droppingly versatile, at least in the rock-belter tradition. “The man can sing anything,” Schon writes in the new album’s liner notes. Arnel Pineda is Robert Plant and Sting and Kenny Loggins all at the same time.
My friend Barb calls Pineda “the ultimate OFW” — that’s short for “Overseas Filipino Worker”, a bureaucratic term used by the Philippine government — and it’s an apt term, because it makes us think about the nature of Pineda’s labor, that he, in fact, is traveling overseas to work. (It should be pointed out that the very fact that there are 11 million Filipinos working overseas underscores the Philippine government’s parasitic dependence on the export of cheap labor to countries where workers’ rights are fraught with uncertainty.) Or maybe it’s just me, the cynic in myself that makes me think about these matters, as Pineda, like many other Filipinos, also hopped on the midnight train going anywhere.
And it makes me wonder: Do the guys hang out with him after work? What do they talk about — are they all friendly, or are the conversations sometimes awkward? Does he tell them stories about how he was a big Journey fan back in the day? Do the other band members reminisce about Steve, then remember he’s not there anymore? When they rehearse the old songs, does Pineda try to sing them like Steve? Does the band want him to sing it like Steve? Does he, like the other Filipino musicians I’ve interviewed, hole up in his hotel room with the old Journey CDs and sing the songs over and over until he gets them right?
Does he feel lonely? Does he get homesick? Does he think about his former bandmates, his family, his people, his homeland, thousands of miles away? Does he get to sneak out, away from the tour bus, and find the nearest Filipino restaurant? Does he get tired of the American food on tour, and long for tapsilog in the mornings?
[Next, answers to the rhetorical questions, kind of, in Part Three: It's Steve, and It's Not Steve.]