Jose Miguel arrives at the shoot 30 minutes early. By the time the team gets there, he’s already seated, two iced coffees waiting on the table. One for the interviewer, one for his talent manager. He stands up, smiles, and slides the drinks forward as if thoughtful gestures are simply part of his rhythm.
It’s an unexpectedly gentle introduction to someone who writes songs about emotional crossroads. Yet his single Dalawa carries a weight that reveals the more complicated layers beneath that calm exterior. His voice glides low and warm, cool on the surface but edged with the kind of questions people ask themselves when they’re torn between staying, leaving, or just holding on a little longer. Dalawa hasn’t found its big moment yet, but it feels like the kind of song that could. It’s honest, intimate, and grounded in the confusion most listeners know far too well.
But the roots of his music stretch far beyond this single.
The unsolicited comment that changed everything
In grade school, he performed at a Parents’ Quarterly Forum. It wasn’t his first time singing, but it was one of the first times he stood onstage in front of a larger crowd. The next day, a classmate passed along a message from his mother.
“Migs, my mom said you should just play guitar. You shouldn’t sing.”
He laughs about it now, but it cut deep at the time. He’d grown up in a household where his parents backed every dream, so hearing something that harsh out of nowhere landed like a shock. “I didn’t know how to take criticism at that age,” he says. “So my way of thinking was, I need to get back at that person by being good.” He didn’t have the tools yet to process feedback, but his instinct wasn’t to disappear. He wanted to show he could rise to the challenge.
That moment kept him singing, kept him practicing, and kept him chasing a better version of his own voice long before love and heartbreak gave him stories to write about.
Music at home and expectations at the table
Jose (or Migs as he prefers to be called) grew up in a family of entrepreneurs. His parents have run a manpower company for over three decades, and as the eldest child, he always knew he’d eventually face some version of the family expectation: take the lead one day, continue what his father built.
Responsibility lived in the air at home. Yet in another corner of the house, music breathed just as strongly. His grandfather loved to sing. Old jazz standards, Sinatra, Kundiman, the kind of songs that never leave your memory once they settle in. Those were his earliest lessons, when singing was nothing more than something he enjoyed.
As he got older, curiosity pushed him across different styles. He tried OPM, he tried heavier genres, he tried whatever felt exciting at the moment. That exploration eventually led him to VIVA after a supportive family friend encouraged him to audition. High school then became a routine of classes in Alabang and long drives to Quezon City for training. He rehearsed for hours every day, performed at school events, and occasionally used charm to keep his grades afloat. It wasn’t predictable, but it taught him something every musician eventually learns: talent only gets you so far. Discipline carries you the rest of the way.
The long road to Dalawa
Dalawa started more than five years ago, during a time when his questions were less about career and more about love. He was in a long-term relationship and stuck in the kind of emotional in–between many people are afraid to admit.
“I was confused if I wanted to stay or not,” he shares. “And if I stayed, is it out of comfort, or is it because I really wanted to work it out?”
Those questions became the seed of Dalawa.
He decided to write the song in Filipino. Tagalog isn’t his first language, but it felt right for the story he wanted to tell. He grew up with Kundiman and OPM, and some emotions just sit more naturally in Tagalog. Certain words hit differently. Certain lines feel more honest.
The writing took years. Early versions got comments about sounding a little too conyo, so the song ended up parked for a while. Then, last year, he went back to it with fresh eyes and a bit more experience behind him. He sat down with a trusted collaborator and went through Dalawa line by line, tweaking words but keeping the core feeling exactly where it needed to be. Once the lyrics felt right, recording and wrapping up the track took only a month or two.
Five years of living and reflecting, distilled into one song about a love that might be resting on habit instead of choice.
The creative businessman
What makes Migs stand out isn’t just his voice or his songwriting. It’s the way he manages to hold art and business at the same time without letting either go.
During the pandemic, when many manpower workers faced retrenchment, he helped launch JGO Delivery, a platform that gave riders more flexible ways to earn. Later, when FamilyMart branches began closing and his mother’s franchise took a hit, his family had a choice. Walk away, or build something new.
They chose to build.
They already had the warehouse, suppliers, and logistics in place, so they decided to create their own convenience store concept. That became JGO Mart, a brand focused on grab-and-go food and essentials. One store became several. Now the branches serve BPO centers, terminals, and busy office areas.
Migs talks about the business side with the same warmth he has for music, but the motivation shifts slightly. Business allows him to support his family and employees. Music allows him to support himself emotionally.
“The business does a lot for other people,” he says. “The music is more for my soul.”
His phone buzzes at odd hours with messages from store staff and producers. He doesn’t treat either side as a side project. When he’s at the office, he’s fully present as a founder. When he’s in the studio, he’s fully present as a musician. He doesn’t believe in half-measures.
“Don’t half-ass what you do,” he says. “If you’re gonna do it, go all in.”
Staying authentic in a world of trends
The Filipino music scene today moves fast. Trends, challenges, sped-up tracks, and algorithm-driven discovery shape the landscape. Jose respects the artists who thrive in that environment. He even joins a trend occasionally, mostly to let people discover his work.
But authenticity is his anchor.
His sound has evolved across the years, yet his natural huskiness and jazz-influenced tone give him a distinct identity. He doesn’t want to be boxed in, but he knows where his voice sits comfortably. Right now, he’s exploring and refining that sound. He’s honest about being in a transition period, and that honesty makes him stand out even more.
Looking toward 2026
Migs talks about the future with a calm kind of certainty. He doesn’t claim he’ll own the year ahead, but he carries the quiet discipline of someone who’s ready for a long run. In business, he hopes to keep JGO Mart growing while staying people-centered. In music, he wants to share more stories like Dalawa, songs that speak to emotional crossroads with sincerity instead of spectacle.
Beyond plans, he’s still the gentleman who arrives early, brings coffee, speaks honestly about failure, and writes songs that feel like private conversations with yourself.
If 2026 becomes his year, it won’t be because he forced it. It’ll be because every step he’s taken has quietly led him here.
