“It is ironic to see these established artists fall victim to the same injustice and poverty they protested against; their voices now silenced by age, illness and the onerous contracts forced upon them.”
This story first appeared on ourbrew.ph.
MANILA, Philippines – By the early 1980s, Pinoy rock and its gentler brother Pinoy folk-rock had reached a saturation point of sorts. The mass market was turning back to corny pop songs and part of the younger generation was channeling its restless energy through the nihilistic attitude of punk rock.
With her angelic voice, soulful eyes and catchy acoustic songs, Coritha has given Pinoy folk rock a longer run.
Her eponymous debut album included the timeless classics “Oras Na,” “Sierra Madre,” “Lolo Jose,” and “Maligayang Mundo.” A call to self-reflection and action, “Oras Na” resonated with audiences and the galvanizing anti-dictatorship movement. The song was heard on jukeboxes and radio stations and played at rallies.
After the euphoria of the EDSA Revolution of 1986, the country’s unrest turned into routine. Musical tastes changed again and Coritha disappeared from the public eye. No one seemed to know what had happened to her. Her songs remained, but where was the singer?
Without radio presenter Julius Babao, we would not have known about her dire medical situation and the hard times she went through.
Working musicians can relate to the tough times. They live gig to gig, even when most professionals are past retirement age; the pay is meager and the hours are torture for old bodies. But this close-knit community has been holding benefit concerts to raise money for Coritha, as they have always done for fellow musicians. It is a tragedy and a farce that working musicians in this industry and in this country can only rely on each other in times of need.
Like Coritha, most of the beneficiaries of this unsolicited generosity are experienced musicians who started out as professionals before being signed to record labels in the late ’70s. Pinoy rock was at its peak then, and record labels were looking for the next big thing.
Some of these musicians were honored as artists of tradition and respected for works that stand the test of time and storm. Coritha, Asin, Heber Bartolome and other folk-rock musicians from the same mold wrote songs that held up a mirror to society and the self. Yet their songs not only reflected reality, they provoked and disturbed. They were effective antidotes to the despair and apathy that prevailed in the years leading up to Aquino’s assassination in 1983.
It is ironic to see these established artists now falling victim to the same injustice and poverty they once protested against, their voices now silenced by age, illness and the onerous contracts imposed on them when they were young and unbothered by the unforgiving, some would say ruthless, methods of the industry they entered.
Absurd and unfair
Remember, the ’70s were a different time. Musically, it was an exciting time of creative expression. Young rock musicians cared less about the intricacies of contracts and copyrights, licenses and mechanical rights. They just wanted to record an album and share their music. This nonchalant attitude provided an opportunity to lock them into contracts with exploitative terms.
According to the artists we spoke to, these contracts often stipulated royalties in the single digits and in perpetuity. A typical example is a groundbreaking group whose royalties for their first album were set at 3 pesos. Publishing rights were assigned to a supposedly independent publisher, which turned out to be an appendage of the label.
Artists are often shocked to learn that they do not own the rights to their songs. For example, a group from the ’70s once notified their label of their intention to release a live recording of their hits. They were told they could not do so, not without first paying the label and publisher who owns the rights. Strange and absurd, but true. Artists have to pay for the right to re-record or re-release the songs they wrote. I’m told that these conditions lasted well into the ’90s and were binding on a whole generation of solo artists and musicians.
What are the options? You can always take these parties to court. One famous pop artist actually won a release from his contract, and his case could serve as a model for other musicians in a similar situation. But not everyone has the means and physical strength to bear the costs and consequences of a lengthy legal battle.
The other option is to appeal to their good angels or, belatedly, to their conscience. But the chances of that are as slim as the chances of Duterte confessing his sins.
These parties continue to profit from the works of established artists who are now too old or too ill to actively perform. They can do whatever they want with the songs, and the artists have no control over how their songs are used or packaged. This is the reality of when songs are treated not as creative works – the best of which are pieces of an artist’s soul – but as commodities.
When Coritha’s songs are played on streaming services or in video bars or used as background music for Instagram reels and other commercial uses, who benefits? If it were Coritha, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. – Rappler.com
