On Cover: Bred to be Professional Problem Solvers - Girlie, MArey & Leah Managing The Madness of Being Booked, Burn Out and Still Making Hits Happen

Manila, Philippines — Artists often stand at the center of every story. They are the faces onstage, the names on the marquee, the ones fans celebrate when a song tops charts or a sold-out crowd sings every lyric back to them. But behind every release, every performance, every career-defining decision, there is an entire ecosystem quietly making sure things happen exactly as they should.

At the center of that ecosystem are managers.

Falling Into the Job

For 1Z Entertainment’s Leah Gonzales, Lock’d In’s Girlie, and Tarsier Records’ Marey Garcia, artist management is equal parts logistics, leadership, emotional labor, and crisis management. It is a job that demands long hours, difficult conversations, and an almost relentless ability to stay composed—even when everything else is falling apart.

And interestingly enough, none of them originally intended to do it. Unlike many professions, artist management rarely follows a straightforward path.

For Girlie, who now manages artists including Al James and ALLMO$T, management began simply as helping a friend.

“I didn’t really plan on becoming a manager,” she says. “I’ve always loved hip-hop and being around the culture, but artist management happened naturally.”

As Al James’ career grew, so did the demands that came with it. What started as helping with schedules and day-to-day coordination slowly evolved into something much bigger.

“Looking back, it really started more as helping a friend than pursuing a career in management.”

Leah’s story unfolded just as unexpectedly. Long before becoming one of the people working closely with SB19 and 1Z Entertainment’s roster, she was in an entirely different industry: event styling and hospitality.

“I had no background in artist management,” she recalls. “The opportunity found me.”

Her first encounter with SB19 happened while handling artist hospitality for a show at Araneta Coliseum. What began as freelance work eventually led to road management duties, then artist handling, and eventually management itself.

“I’m just here kung kailangan niyo ako,” she says. “Kung ano man need niyo.”

Marey’s route was perhaps the furthest from entertainment. A former pre-med student who initially planned to pursue medicine, who used to do music as well, she eventually found herself moving through research, marketing, and record label operations before stepping into management.

“There came a point where I asked myself, ‘Is this really what I want?’” she shares. “Eventually, my feet brought me back to music.”

Looking back, she realizes management was already becoming part of her work long before she formally carried the title.

“You just find yourself actually doing some part of management without knowing it.”

More Than Schedules

Ask people what managers do and most would probably answer with some variation of schedules, bookings, contracts, or appearances. Of course, it is far more complicated.

Managers sit at the intersection of artists, labels, teams, clients, brands, production staff, and fans. They coordinate all these moving parts while ensuring that the artist remains protected, supported, and creatively fulfilled.

“It’s not just about taking care of the artist,” Marey explains. “You become the glue of the team.”

A significant portion of that work is emotional.

“As I’ve grown in this industry, I’ve realized that a big part of my job is building and maintaining relationships,” Girlie says. “Hindi lang bookings, contracts, at events ang mina-manage mo.”

Artists and team members often come to managers not just with work concerns, but with frustrations, disappointments, and deeply personal struggles.

“There are times when artists and even the team come to talk about their frustrations or when they simply need someone to listen,” she says. “That’s never written in a contract, but it’s a big part of my job.”

Between handling schedules and coordinating campaigns, managers inevitably become sounding boards, and sometimes even emotional anchors for the people around them. Marey describes this aspect of management as emotional labor.

“You have to deal with emotions and forget about your own because you have to stay objective.”

Because when things go wrong, managers rarely have the luxury of processing their own feelings first.

“Sometimes they need time to process,” Marey says. “They need the time to become emotional. Pero ikaw hindi. Kailangan, ‘Okay, ano gagawin?’”

Leah echoes the sentiment.

“You can’t look pressured in front of the artists,” she says. “You have to show them the situation and what solution you can offer.”

Becoming the ‘Villain’

Managers are often the people who say no.

No to schedules that don’t make sense. No to opportunities that aren’t aligned. No to requests that could compromise an artist’s well-being, privacy, or peace of mind.

And because of that, they often become the easiest people to blame.

For many fans, management exists in the background mainly only visible for when something goes wrong, or when access is denied. The difficult conversations, sleepless nights, endless negotiations and last-minute crises, and the weight of making decisions that could directly affect someone else’s career that happen behind the scenes rarely make it into public view.

One of the biggest misconceptions about management, according to the three women, is that the job is glamorous.

“People think management is glamorous because what people usually see are the wins and highlights,” Girlie says.

“But in reality, a big part of it is planning, problem-solving, and difficult conversations.”

Leah agrees, adding that managers are often perceived as gatekeepers.

“I think people feel that I’m gatekeeping the artist,” she says. “But I’m not trying to gatekeep them. I’m just trying to protect them.”

She recalls one particular incident during an out-of-town tour with SB19. After an eight-hour trip, the group had just arrived at their hotel and were visibly exhausted. Unbeknownst to management, media had already been waiting downstairs.

Because the artists were not prepared for interviews, Leah declined the request and suggested conducting interviews at the actual show instead. The next day, she found herself publicly criticized.

“I got tabloided because I said no,” she says matter-of-factly.

For Marey, however, saying no is rarely the starting point. “No isn’t the default answer,” she explains. “We really want to hear the artists—where they want to, what they want to do—and we’re more of a support team.”

Still, she acknowledges that there are moments when managers need to step in. When difficult decisions have to be made, Marey believes artists deserve more than a simple rejection.

“We explain and paint the bigger picture so they understand things more than just saying, ‘No, bawal’ without a reason.”

The experience, however, only reinforced a reality familiar to many managers: sometimes protecting artists means accepting that you will become the villain in someone else’s story.

Protecting Authenticity

Coming all at once, brand deals, collabs, appearances, and invitations—as artists become more successful, opportunities multiply.

So do opinions.

In today’s industry, where visibility is often treated as currency, there is constant pressure to always be present, always be producing content, and always be saying yes.

Girlie, however, believes restraint still matters.

“Not every opportunity needs a ‘yes,’ I think part of this job is knowing which opinions matter and which ones don’t,” Girlie explains. “At the end of the day, I always go back to what feels right for the artists and what they actually want to build.”

Working with artists such as Al James and ALLMO$T fundamentally changed the way she views management.

“Success doesn’t just have one formula,” she says. “Iba-iba ang path ng isang artist, their own pace and their own way of connecting with people. I don’t see my job as changing them. I see it as helping them stay true to that vision and creating opportunities that align with who they already are.”

That philosophy becomes especially important when managing artists known for authenticity.

“The pressure is making sure every decision still feels authentic to the artist,” she explains. “Hindi naman perfect lahat ng moves, but I always ask if it aligns with who they are.”

For Marey, preserving authenticity begins with understanding an artist at their core. Rather than imposing an image, she believes management should help artists build from who they already are.

“We build that branding from the core of the artist,” she explains. “Once you know that core, you know where to place them and where not to.”

That foundation also allows artists to grow without losing themselves in the process.

“Once you know your core, you learn how to expand it,” Marey says.

The challenge, she explains, is making sure growth never comes at the expense of authenticity. In an industry constantly chasing trends, she believes management should resist simply following what is already popular.

“What we realized is that we created the demand,” she says. “Nobody knew they needed a Maki in their playlists. We just knew there was a space, a gap, and we built Maki to fill that gap.”

Rather than merely supplying what is already “in,” Marey believes management should help create demand by building artists around who they genuinely are.

Even disagreements become part of the process.

“Management is guidance, not control,” Girlie says. “I guide the artist, but I don’t want to be controlling because creatives sila.”

Marey shares a similar philosophy. While their team gives artists the freedom to explore creatively, she believes that freedom must always come with accountability.

“Freedom is a power,” she says, “and freedom always comes with responsibility.”

Managers may guide, advise, and paint the bigger picture, but artists ultimately remain active participants in shaping their own careers.

For all three managers, trust ultimately makes those difficult conversations possible.

“When you have a good relationship, you can always compromise,” Marey says.

When Things Go Wrong

No matter how carefully something is planned, live entertainment always has a way of humbling even the most experienced teams. In an industry where dozens of moving parts have to work in sync, unpredictability is less an exception and more of an inevitability.

Technical difficulties. Delayed flights. Last-minute changes. Cancelled opportunities. Sudden schedule shifts. Worst case scenario, entire plans being reworked in a matter of minutes.

For Leah, years of handling performances have taught her one crucial lesson: always be prepared.

“Every time SB19 performs, there’s always something,” she says with a laugh.

Experiencing technical difficulties and unforeseen problems during shows has changed how she approaches both work and life.

“I’ve learned to always be five steps ahead,” she says. “Every problem should already have a possible solution.”

Preparation, however, goes beyond logistics. Managers also need to steady artists during moments of uncertainty.

“When there’s a problem, you become the support system,” Leah says. “If they see that you’re affected, it can affect their performance.”

Girlie points to another kind of disappointment: opportunities that seem certain until they suddenly disappear.

“There were opportunities that looked very promising already,” she recalls. “Everything seemed set, then suddenly it didn’t push through.”

At first, she found these moments frustrating. Over time, however, they taught her a valuable lesson.

“It taught me to manage expectations better and accept that some things are beyond our control.”

For Marey, one of the industry’s hardest lessons hasn’t been just about operations or crisis management, instead, learning to accept the transient nature of the work, and of the people within it.

“Losing artists, losing people—it made ‘people come and go’ more salient.”

Relationships are built in this line of work, and those departures can be particularly painful. Teams evolve and paths diverge, and despite of years of working closely together, people eventually move.

The reality, they agree, is that management is less about preventing problems and more about learning how to navigate them; developing the needed resilience and perspective, and the ability to continue.

The Cost of Caring

The greatest sacrifice in management, all three agree, is time.

“This industry doesn’t really follow office hours,” Girlie says.

The industry doesn’t operate within a nine-to-five schedule, nor does it recognize weekends, or special occasions. Artists perform when opportunity arises, people need to meet hard deadlines, and problems unfortunately don’t wait for business hours.

“There have been times I’m with my family or friends, or even on vacation, but part of my mind is still thinking about upcoming events, inquiries, my artist, and my team.”

Leah shares a similar experience.

“You’ll miss celebrations, special occasions, and time for yourself because you need to travel for shows or because there’s important work that needs to be done.”

Over time, the idea of a perfect work-life balance begins to feel unrealistic. Marey says, managers learn to redefine what balance means altogether.

“You learn work-life harmony instead.”

Beyond the long hours and missed occasions lies another cost that is far less visible: the emotional weight of caring.

Managers do not simply oversee careers; they invest in people. They celebrate victories alongside their artists, carry disappointments with them, and often shoulder responsibilities that extend far beyond the job description.

For Girlie, guilt naturally comes with caring deeply about the people you work with.

“There are moments when you think you could’ve done more,” she says. “But over time, I’ve learned not to carry everything on my shoulders.”

Leah approaches guilt by focusing on the bigger picture.

“I can’t dwell on feeling guilty,” she says. “Whatever decision I make, I need to stand by it because I believe it’s what’s best for the team and for SB19.”

And despite the exhaustion, all three remain deeply committed to what they do.

“If you love what you do,” Marey says, “it’s a happy kind of tired.”

The Leaders They Are Becoming

None of the three claim to have management completely figured out. In fact, they all describe leadership as something they are still actively learning.

“Honestly, I’m just trying to be a better leader than I was yesterday,” Girlie says.

Marey hopes to become an advocate—someone who listens, empowers, and recognizes both strengths and weaknesses.

“We practice democracy,” she says. “We listen to each other, we empower each other.”

Leah, meanwhile, hopes to remain both passionate and teachable.

“Being passionate also means having a teachable heart,” she says.

Because in an industry that changes constantly, growth is perhaps the only constant.

Behind every artist after all, is an entire support system, people carrying immense responsibility quietly and often invisibly. The first to arrive and often the last to leave. They absorb pressure, make difficult decisions, protect their artists, and hold entire teams together—usually without recognition.

The product of all the hard work are all what we see as the finished performances, the successful releases, and the artists being confident on stage.

And perhaps that is the truest measure of artist management: doing all of that not for recognition, but for the people who trust you with their dreams.

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ON COVER GIRLIE TAMONDONG MAREY GARCIA LEAH GONZALES CREATIVE DIRECTOR M STORY BY H WRITER JAS RICO PHOTOGRAPHER DWIGHT LUNA  SET ASSISTANT LAI MARASIGAN THEO GASPAR  HMUA SOFIA SY NOCON  SPECIAL THANKS JOB CORPUZ CAMILLE PATERNO LOCATION RAGE ROOM CIRCUIT

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