This singing businessman makes sweet music to last a lifetime

Okay, we failed miserably folks.

We went to the office of Jose Mari Chan, hoping to glean some insights into the man as a sugar specialist – alright, call him sugar baron, he won’t mind – and not the multi-awarded songwriter-singer. (Christmas in Our Hearts has Double Diamond Record status while the earlier Constant Change has Diamond Record status.) But we came away with a haunting acapella rendition of Beautiful Girl on our iPhone voice recorder as well as snatches of Can We Just Stop and Talk Awhile, Deep in My Heart and Haha-napin Ko, as well as the bouncy jingle Walang Tatalo sa Alaska.

There is just no compartmentalizing Chan, the artist, and Chan, the miller-trader.

Music 24/7

Growing up in 1950s Iloilo in a household where his maternal grandmother always had music playing in the background, his mother played the piano and even his workaholic father sang, it was inevitable the youngster with the rather prominent ears would absorb the melodies and rhythms that filled their humble abode.

Yet, as he discovered a passion for listening to the likes of Paul Anka, Frank Sinatra and other hitmakers of those days, finding out that he could perform their covers with a band he formed, and later pen songs that made his peers swoon, reality set in.

“Most Chinese are gifted in the arts,” he recounts. “But for the Chinese immigrants to the Philippines, surviving was much more important, and they had to work hard to do so.

Chan’s father Antonio had sailed from Fujian province to Manila, summoned by a distant relative, who dreamt that the boy’s father had appeared to him imploring that he be sent to the Philippines and be given a chance to make something of himself. This was done and the young fellow was brought to La Carlota in Negros Occidental where he stayed a couple of years before moving to Iloilo.

He saw Chan’s mother Florencia Lim, espying her during her coronation as Miss Visayas by actor Ronnie Poe’s father, Fernando Poe, Sr. Little did he know she was to be his future wife.

Chan senior never discouraged his son from pursuing his art, but nevertheless spelled out the facts of life for him early on. The younger Chan recalls: “He told me, ‘I know you love music and you’re probably good at it, but let me tell you, your voice is ordinary.’”

When Chan reminded the older gentleman that he did have a flair for composing, he was told that that particular field “would not be enough to support a family.” It was then he realized the wisdom and concern voiced by his parent.

“My dad said he had worked hard to build a business (sugar trading) and invited me to work with him and learn the ropes.”

Sweetening skills

Today, Chan harbors no regrets about not being able to go full-time into the recording industry. Not even during the Martial Law years when he and his wife Mary Ann Anzaldo and their three children Liza, Joe and Michael packed up to move to New York where he honed his entrepreneurial skills further. He became a sugar importer, which entailed traveling to balmy haciendas in Central and South America to purchase the commodity. “I got to use my Spanish 101,” he chuckles. “But it was tough competing with the big boys because we were just a little company.” Two other children Franco and Angelica were born during the Chans’ exile, which stretched to 11 years.

When Corazon Aquino ascended to the presidency, Chan and his brood returned to reestablish roots. Meanwhile, Chan senior had upgraded by going into manufacturing, and encouraged Chan and his younger brother Steven to do the same in addition to trading. Today, Chan has a sugar refinery in Binalbagan, Negros Occidental and shuttles between the municipality and Manila to oversee the operations of Biscom Inc., which he heads as chairman and president. About 900 employees work for the company.

The old Lindy Locsin-designed Hyatt Regency, along Roxas Boulevard, used to belong to Chan until he handed over the building to another group, which relaunched the once popular hotel, known for its excellent jazz lounge and Japanese restaurant, into a hotel with a casino. “I sold that long ago,” he says with some wistfulness.

Lucrative sideline

Aware that his image as a best-selling artist at times eclipses his role as a serious entrepreneur, Chan stresses that songwriting for him and the limelight have remained a “hobby.”

“I have friends who spend days on the golf course, and I don’t even spend that much time on my music. It’s a hobby though that pays,” he says, eyes crinkling with amusement, belying the joy he experiences trying out notes and bars.

That sideline, however, continues to allow him – with his wife by his side – to crisscross the globe to destinations as disparate as the US West Coast, Dublin, Malaysia, Jakarta and even Tubod, Lanao del Norte, where an audience, composed largely of Muslim folk, requested the surprising encore of Christmas in Our Hearts. “They may not believe in Jesus, but I swear to God, they knew the lyrics and sang along with me,” he remembers that concert in a packed gym. “My music transcended religion.

“I love the music, not because of the admiration, the standing ovation or the talent fee they pay me. No, it’s because when someone comes up and shares that Tell Me Your Name was the song he used to sing to his girlfriend, and the man is now 75, nakakataba ng puso [it warms the heart]. Or when I hear little children sing:
‘Let’s sing “Merry Christmas and a happy holiday’ – words that came from my mind and my heart – that pleasure cannot be bought.”

As he told Tina Dumlao in her seminal work, Himig at Titik: “When a song becomes popular, it is like seeing a child of yours becoming president of a bank, even becoming President of the Republic. That’s how I felt about ‘Christmas in Our Hearts;’ because it is the biggest selling album of all time in the Philippines and the recording industry acknowledges that.”

When the boss is on tour, Biscom is run by his children and staff. The youngest Angelica, a marine scientist, recently asked to join the firm.

While Chan’s mother and grandmother were unabashedly proud of their boy’s musicality and fame as a leading Filipino artist, his father was sometimes bemused by his offspring’s success. Chan recalls: “I had a concert in Carnegie Hall, and without my knowing, he bought two tickets and went with an American friend to watch me.

“After the show, he surprised me in my dressing room, and while congratulating me for filling up the place, he said that I must have had a lot of friends who showed up. To which, I said: ‘Pa, they’re fans!’”

From time to time, Antonio Chan would advise his firstborn “not to wait and retire while you’re on top.”
“Pa, you don’t retire from a hobby,” the son would gently remind the parent.

Food for the spirit

Enriched by his music, Chan counsels his peers or anyone engaged in the highly stressful business arena to get a life. “Find something that will enliven your spirit. Music does that for me. Maybe painting is better for you; each person has a different talent.

“Music just happens to be in our DNA. Maraming taong mahilig sa music [many are attracted to music].”

Another activity Chan allots time for is serving once a month as lector and commentator at Sanctuario de San Antonio along McKinley Road in Makati. He started as a church volunteer back when he was a New York resident, an experience that has taught him to enunciate, modulate and emphasize certain portions, while reading Bible passages during Mass. “I want to make sure people understand every single word of the Word,” he says.

Again, we attempt to see if it is at all possible to paint a portrait of Jose Mari Chan, the entrepreneur, who’s different from Jose Mari Chan, the artist.

No way, Jose, it seems.

Says Chan: “I’m myself all the time, even when I talk to Pepsi executives or on stage.
“You cannot separate the man from his music nor the music from the man.”

Photos by Harvey Tapan