Posted on January 22, 2008

FROM MAMBO TO MAMBO: THE LEGACY CONTINUES
The Story of SERGIO RIVERA and GRUPO CARIBE
By Chico Alvarez Peraza

THE SOURCE

Sergio Rivera's music ideals stem from the deep legacy of the Cuban són, a simplistic folk music which over the past century has manifested itself in various other forms, laying down the rhythmic foundation for what was to later become the "mambo". I know that for some people it is quite hard to equate Miguel Matamoros or Ignacio Piñeiro with the likes of Damáso Perez Prado, but believe me there is a connection there.

Building upon the legacy of these two, Prado's early experiments produced an integration of ensemble playing not unlike that of Matamoro's famed trio, nor was it disimiliar to Piñeiro's urbanized version of the són. The source was always there, ready to be tapped into and expanded. Simultaneously, the (future) king of mambo was incorporating a full dimensional sound, much like that of the North American jazzbands that were headed by Basie, Ellington and Kenton. At their peak, these bands projected a spontenaiety of ideas that seemed more like the personal expression of its individual members rather than the structured ideas of an arranger. Prado was greatly influenced by this collectiveness, thus the legacy of New Orleans was also represented in his work. The gestation period for Prado had actually begun in the late nineteen thirties, while he was still a pianist with the Casino De La Playa Orchestra. He traveled to New York during those years, peddling his charts, but made little headway there. His ideas were ridiculed by a few of the established bandleaders, while causing some of the more proggressive ones to take notice. Despite the apperance of such charismatic figures as Miguelito Valdes and Chano Pozo, New York was not yet fertile ground for the new format. Back in Cuba, Prado's ideas would prove too radical for the purists, which is probably why he met with such resistance from the musical establishment. In addition to his being blacklisted by the publishing firms, Prado realized that he could not be able to achieve the type of "sound" he wanted with the caliber of trumpeters that integrated the Casino De La Playa. So he exiled himself to Mexico, where he subsequently found an abundance of brass players who were more than willing to execute his multi-dimensional concept. Prior to his arrival in Mexico, Prado could only imagine how his elaborate orchestrations would sound; multi-layered sounds and textures, interweaving and overlapping over rhythms that countered other rhythms, melodies juxtaposed one upon the other, quite similiar in concept to the contrapuntal bolero which Patricio Ballagas had formulated decades earlier. A wide-angle view shows us how Prado's "mambo" re-created musically what the Africans did naturally, which was to hold various conversations at the same time, without losing sight of the main topic. It may well be that this ancient form of expression is also what laid down the foundation for early jazz music.

By the time Prado began to develop his "sound", jazz had been plucked from the dance halls and put upon the concert stage, acquiring a considerable degree of sophistication. The main difference of course was that Prado's mambo was rhythmically closer to its African roots, unlike the són which stemmed from both African and Iberian roots. At its peak the mambo was still seen as primitive and uninhibited. Ironically, this was why it appealed to so much. Prado's charts incorporated that "collective" sound which had made jazz what it was, only now, instead of one or two individual soloists "talking" at the same time, there were many soloists talking at the same time, only in different sections of the arrangement. Most importantly, they were in playing in perfect harmony. Call and response was clearly defined by the various sections of the band, and not just in the montuno. Although Prado wanted American jazz to be part of the equation, he did not want it to domitate the mood the way Dizzy Gillespie's be-bop had done. He once said to me that he thought Dizzy's music was too "chaotic" and that although he admired both Diz and Kenton, he wanted to make his music acceptable to all audiences, which is why he made it easy and fun to dance to. Many of Prado's players were great soloists and improvisors who freely exchanged ideas within and counter to the horn ensemble and the rhythm section. At the core of it all was the vague concept of "clave", a sort of invisible "pulse" or "feel" around which the various rhythmic elements seemed to revolve, quite naturally. These elements gave the Prado orchestra an exciting and spontaneous unity which permeated with purely folkloric strains. In retrospect, that was probably the first real "fusion" in Cuban music. The pies de resistance was his acquisition of vocalist Beny Moré, who unwillingly became a pivotal figure in the development of the "mambo". Their association was brief but productive.

THE INSPIRATION

Since there already existed an abundance of work for large groups during this period, the Prado aggregation of the late forties formed a happy amalgam of individual talents who played together often enough to emerge as a single thriving, throbbing organism, which was actually more than the sum of its parts. Prado's syncopated charts submersed all the individual talent into a highly polished group sound. It was a well-knit organization, governed by a strict form that was adhered to religiously. Within that framework was of course the "montuno" section, a magical place where the musicians were ultimately let loose to improvise. This was the genesis for the mambo madness of the 1950's, and the reason for its endurance. It was an era that produced a synthesis of sounds and an abundance of talent which is still being talked about today. Prado's mambo band set the standards by which the Lecuona Cuban Boys, Bebo Valdes, Noro Morales, Beny Moré, Orquesta Riverside, Jose Curbelo, The Castro Brothers, Machito, Tito Rodriguez, Tito Puente and many others would later follow.

THE LEGACY

Sergio Rivera's present band is exactly that type of organization. In like manner, they have achieved the same kind of oneness that the aforementioned bands did in the early years, without losing their individual character. The soloist is made even greater by his (or her) contribution to the whole. While a steady flow of work is very scarce these days, Rivera contends that this music is here to stay, but only if the musicians respect and acknowledge the roots. To his credit he has managed to maintain a working unit that is always available when needed. As delighful as his band sounded before, it sounds even better now, because they have finally achieved that unity of feeling and purpose which is missing from most "latin" bands today. In the true sense of the word, Rivera and his fellow musicians are "mamberos". Not only do they bring the excitement of the mambo to their dancing audience, but they also capture the essence of what Prado and his pioneers did sixty years earlier, which was to breathe the life blood of true art into their performances, making their music a living thing, existing on its own, as pure entertainment, over and above the individual parts. At the risk of sounding redundant, this band definitely equals more than the sum of its parts. All that was needed was for Rivera and the guys to reproduce that same kind of commitment in the studio. And indeed they have, for the proof is in the pudding, as they say. Grupo Caribe now has a brand new independent release out on the market, aptly titled "SOMOS CARIBEÑOS".

THE CONCEPT

The music contained on their CD chronicles one of the most committed and gratifying quests of the post-Fania period. As with their three previous releases, Sergio Rivera and his Grupo Caribe have set out to make a believer out of you. But of what? Well, their goal is quite simple; they believe that good music (no wait...make that great music) can still be offered up in large doses to any and all who wish to listen. This time around they have ventured into the commercial market with the express purpose of offering their die-hard fans the same kind of excitement that was once so prevalent in the "latin" community. So far they have been successful, and this time I think that they have outdone even themselves.

While this recording is blessed with musical diversity and technological know-how, it is nonetheless a labor of love, a project which has been primarily formed from the center of the Afro-Caribbean evolution, the nitty-gritty of it all, straight-up from the roots of a near-mythical place where Cuban dance forms such as mambo and són are cleverly interwoven with Puerto Rican bómba and plena, forming a lovely tapestry of sound, laced together with the contemporary jazz expressions of today. New York City is for many historians the proverbial gathering place where decades ago the montuno met up with the blues and be-bop fused profusely with rumba callejera, bringing all the various ingredients to a slow simmer until the kettle finally boiled over with its own "sabor" (flava). For those who cannot yet see the whole picture, "Somos Caribeños" clearly illustrates what the New York Sound is all about. Surprisingly, it accomplishes the task without compromising its far away roots.

Underneath their Caribbean mosaic of sound lies a polyrhythmic foundation and a musical concept that was indiscriminately set into motion centuries ago by the first generation of Africans who arrived in the New World. Whether you choose to call their place of origin a "solár", a "barracón", a "manglár" a "bohío" or even a "barrio" is of no consequence, as they are nothing more than romanticized names, magical places where ordinary folk dances were dressed up and sent off to the ballrooms of the bourgeoisie class, where ordinary musicians were ultimately transformed into kings and queens of swing. It is a story that has a parallel in American society as well. In keeping with that tradition, Grupo Caribe is now presenting their own stepped-up version of the Afro-American-Caribbean experience. They make no pretense about what it is, and do not seek to intellectualize it in any way. Stripped down to the bone, their music is still dance music, pure and simple, and they take no prisoners. Damáso is probably smiling right now, I'm sure.

As mythical and far removed from today's hip-hop world as this rootsy music may seem to some, its impact on modern society has been quite real. For one thing it continues to defy extinction, and while there are still many conflictive and confusing labels to describe its essence, it has ultimately defied categorization. I mean, who can say for sure what "latin music" is anyway? A very little known and publicized fact is that Caribbean music has been touching and overlapping American music for more than half a century, influencing everyone from Ray Charles and James Brown, from David Bowie to Ry Cooder. Even Paul Simon and Mick Jagger have fallen under its tropical spell. I said no prisoners, right?

THE BAND

Having been ignored by the recording industry, Grupo Caribe's "old school" style has nonetheless managed to outlive as many pretty boy bands as the industry has sought to create. Urban-American pop culture has succeeded in overwhelming and saturating the market, by simply putting far too many dance fads out there. Each generation comes up with something new and then no sooner do they move out of their teenage years than its all over. Trendy music tends to come and go and subsequently the accompanying dances are short lived, In contrast, the most basic "latin" steps, those which emerged during the early Caribbean migration period still remain intact. As a matter of fact, "latin" dance steps such as the cha cha chá, merengue and the mambo, which came later on, have now been officially recognized by the National Dance Council of America and the World Dance Council. So much for them being just "fads"(this in itself is quite unique, as folk dances do not usually figure in any ballroom categories worldwide).

Long ago, the roots of this music were literally uplifted and transplanted to more urban settings, cosmopolitan centers where their presence was initially ignored. In the very early part of the 20th century, they blossomed in related forms, scattering in different places, where they willingly (or perhaps unwillingly) meshed with all sorts of foreign influences. The music endured, until eventually it crossed over into the upper echelons of American society. The tango and the conga are prime examples of this, and what could be more African than these two dance forms. Ironically, we usually associate them with European types, and perhaps herein lies the secret of their staying power.

In the big ports and cities of the new world such as La Habana, San Juan, Veracruz, Caracas, Mexico, D.F. and New York City, the quiet beauty of the Caribbean landscape was re-shaped by asphalt and steel. Strangely, it was in these concentrated places where the island roots continued to grow. Amidst all this urbanization, the cry of "Somos Caribeños" arose from within its landmark tenement buildings, making a musical statement that was tantamount to a battle cry. The transplanted caribeños seemed to be saying: "here we are, we didn't ask to come, but here are, accept us for what we are, because we are here to stay". Indeed they were, and so has their collective music stayed, not as a passing fad, but as a valid art form. Quietly and without fanfare, traditional Caribbean music seeped into the mainstream of American popular music. That's another part of the secret of its endurance. America has been listening to this music for a long time, only they didn't know it.

Decades have passed since the first Caribeans arrived. Their musical traditions have managed to survive all sorts of cultural assaults, fads and what-not. It was (and still is) a joyous music, and we "isleños" seem to hold on to it dearly, perhaps its our way of reminding ourselves to celebrate our beginnings, and to preserve our long ago lost traditions, while simultaneously welcoming everyone who wants to dance with us. Not only does this music take no prisoners, it is all-inclusive. Just about anyone can savour its condiment. Que chévere!

THE MUSIC

New York City is as urban as it can get, and while Grupo Caribe's music obviously adheres to the commercial image of "salsa" their new production is nonetheless a deliberate attempt by Mr. Rivera in capturing and preserving the classic, driving sound of the seventies, a time when the creative emphasis was on individualized arrangements, and not on assembly line style charts. It was a period when composers and orchestrators were the key figures, when lyrical content was as important as the arrangement and when the vocal prowess of the lead singer was paramount. During its heyday vocal phrasing meant everything, it either made you what you are or it broke you, and highly stylized instrumental solos were par for the course. It was a virtual dancer's heaven, where all the various elements meshed, forming a unique mosaic of bodies, as identifiable and diverse as New York City itself, a place where every street corner and park seemed to breathe clave, and urbanized life revolved around an infinite variety of Caribbean rhythms, each one complimented by beautiful melodies that were clearly defined and up-front. Why, you could actually understand what the vocalist was saying to you.

Surely it must have been these elements combined which formed the rock-solid foundation for the improvisational element in the music, visa vi the "jazz element" (the proverbial icing on the cake), another one of those "secrets" which have practically been rendered null and void by the recording industry. Remember the eagerly awaited piano solo? It was dismissed long ago, along with the tasty trumpet floreo and the on-the-spot soneo. These were three very important ingredients which have now met with the same fate as the moña (an ad-lib mambo). It too seems to have been lost these days (well, almost anyway). The only thing that seems to matter to the promoters is how the singer looks and walks on stage, and not whether he or she can improvise over a montuno. It is no longer about the music, but about how many tickets are being sold (that was always an important factor but not the most important one. Indeed, as most of the 70's generation went out to dance their blues away, which meant spending money). So then, what happened?

In countering this, Grupo Caribe has put out the word..."nada, no ha pasado nada". Once again we have Sergio and the guys trying to rescue these lost elements, by involving such talented soneros as Tito Allen, Luisito Ayala and Herman Olivera, all of whom thrive amidst the orchestral settings of Ray Santos, Oscar Hernandez, Jose Madera and David Forestier (to which Mr. Rivera has added his own contribution).

THE LEADER

As far back as I can remember Sergio has been incorporating new and exotic ideas into his piano playing, but his command of the guajeo was and still remains equally impressive. While his career and music have lacked the grandstanding of more visible and imitated pianists, as well as the fame and fortune that usually come from such transcendent success, it has been consistent with his deep knowledge of the music and his unselfish personality. He is more than just a glorified leader, he is an integral part of the band, a comrade and a friend to his sidemen. Sergio's musical development prior to his becoming a bandleader in many ways reflects his musical formation during the so-called "salsa boom", an epoch when chaos and self-destructivenes reigned supreme. Through it all he remains the same soft-spoken, low-keyed indiviudual that he was when I first saw him performing with Orestes Vilato and Los Kimbos, and that was over twenty five years ago. Only a close encounter with this man brings home the magnetism of his persona. His playful and yet serious attitude and the gentle and yet rich speaking voice which he posseses are only part of his success. I have watched him play his instrument many a time, and  I guess the most impressive thing is the way he just closes his eyes and gets into the music, not in a pretentious or brash way, but rather like a young kid who is just having fun, playing for the sheer enjoyment of those around him. That's Sergio Rivera.

"SOMOS CARIBEÑOS" is the fourth endeavor by Sergio and his Grupo Caribe, presenting traditional and popular dance rhythms such as mambo, bolero, cha cha chá, compársa, guaguancó, and guarácha. For this new recording he has added veteran Pete Miranda on baritone sax, for a richer and more robust sound. Other performers are Louis Bauso on coro, tumbadoras, bongó and other minor percussion instruments; David Forestier on timbales; Willie Cintrón on the bass, Al Acosta on tenor, alto sax and flute; Roberto Rodriguez on trumpet and Raul Navarrette on the trombone.

The opener is the very carnivalesque "La Comparsa De Los Rumberos". Written by Juan "Paye" Rodriguez and arranged by the legendary Ray Santos, it features smooth Herman Olivera on lead vocals. The rhythm section is in top form here, bringing forth an air of authenticity to this genre which is rare outside of Cuba and Brasil. Effortlessly it seems, these guys have set free the spirits of the ancestors, evoking in the listener the care-free and raucus feeling of mardi gras. Optimum inspiraciones can be heard throughout this tune by Pete Mirada, Roberto Rodriguez, Al Acosta and Raul Navarrette, their collective solos building up to a frenzy, conjuring up images of 1950's Santiago De Cuba and La Habana, reminding us too of the Pan-Africanism of this music. "La Comparsa De Los Rumberos" brings the diaspora all together and if one listens closely enough, one can hear a slight touch of bómba over here, a bit of jála jála over there and a snip of mozanbíque just about everywhere, with a slight dash of calypso and perhaps even a nice mambo thrown in for good measure. It is one helluva way to open a CD.

"Somos Caribeños" is my personal favorite. It was penned by Alfredo "Male" Torres and arranged by David Forestier, with vocalist Luisito Ayala handling the lead this time. It starts as a laid back guarácha, breaking into a solid montuno with some nice mambos on top. The song itself celebrates the diversity of the Antillean islands, with special emphasis on their indigenous native population, long ago thought to be extinct, but who nonetheless live on, occupying a spot in the hearts of their mestizo descendants.

"El Rey" opens up as a guaguancó callejéro, one of the three main Afro-Cuban dances associated with the word "rumba" (not to be confused with the conjunto style guaguancó de salón, popularized in Cuba by Arsenio Rodriguez, and later introduced into the local dance clubs by the bands of Machito, Tito Puente and Tito Rodriguez.) Here, it very quickly moves into a Palladium style mambo. "El Rey" is another Juan "Paye" Rodriguez composition, arranged by José Madera and featuring veteran sonero Tito Allen at his usual best. On this one, Sergio and the guys fondly remember one of New York's most beloved bandleaders, Ernest "Tito" Puente, a pivotal figure in the popularization of the Cuban mambo among New Yorkers. Listen to the arranger's unmistakable bow to his mentor, as Madéra cuts loose on the paila.

"Bobby Capó" is a smooth bolero-cha cha chá written by Juan "Paye" Rodriguez and arranged by Ray Santos, with Luisíto, Herman and Liza Bauso sharing the vocals. On this cut, Grupo Caribe keeps us all in tune to the beautiful melodies created by one of Puerto Rico's most prolific composers and crooners. Most of us will immediately recognize vignettes of his most famous tunes, cleverly interwoven into the song and the arrangement. The muted trumpet work of Roberto Rodriguez is especially effective on this one, as it evokes a romantic and more innocent period, a reflection I guess, of more simpler way of life.

"Saludando" is yet another jewel by Juan "Paye" Rodriguez, with an arrangement by Sergio Rivera, giving free reign to Luisíto Ayala's improvisational talents. This fast-paced mambo rips through the dance floor with a fraternal salutation to all the various countries which have in recent years embraced the music of the Caribbean basin. Sergio's tasty piano solo is reminiscent of the pre-salsa era, in that it is short and sweet.

Next up is the old Cuban standard "Negro De Sociedad", originally an afro-son written by Ojea, and arranged masterfully by Jose Madéra, with Luisíto again on the lead. The song-form tells of a time in the not so distant past, when Caribbeans of African descent were required to "step-up" in society, in order to be accepted by the European ruling classes. It may be a direct result of colonialism, but it comes not without its benefits.

"Tambor La Rumba" is by newcomer Lino Iglesia, with a superb Oscar Hernández arrangement and Luisito Ayala again cutting loose on the improvs. It's a straight-ahead guarácha-mambo that evokes the memory of some of the greatest (past and present) rumberos of the bygone mambo era. The heavens open up and we can almost see them dancing and drumming through the clouds, as Louie Bauzo gives us a taste of what rumba is all about here on earth.

"Bongó" is an old favorite theme revisited by Chino "Meláo" De Jesús, with an arrangement by the late José Febles, and Herman Olivera showing us what it's all about as far as "soneos" are concerned.

"Homenaje A Los Bailadores" is yet another up-tempo piece by Juan "Paye" Rodriguez, again with an arrangement by Ray Santos, and Herman Olivera once again taking it to the summit. He sings to the dancers, as diverse in their styles as the music itself is. Roberto Rodriguez shines on this one with his fiery trumpet solos.

"A La Buena De Dios" is the last cut on the CD and it too is by Chino "Meláo" De Jesús, with help from Pablo Canti. The arrangement on this one is by pianist Gil Lopez, with Luisíto Ayala once again at the healm. Al Acosta's fine flute work gives the tune an air of charanga, with the brass complimenting his tasty solos. Toward the end Pete Miranda's baritone sax gives it a nice ballsy feel. This is another swinging guaguancó, with a message that comes through loud and clear....live for today....by the grace of God.....for tomorrow may never come. Herman and Luisíto urge us all to...stay on the straight and narrow path, to live and let live, and to just let the Creator be our guide.

At its zenith, the music we call "salsa" was taken for granted - its real roots forgotten - and now it seems to be endangered. The players have changed, and the soul of it all was somehow lost. The incredible success of the Buenavista Social Club was a wake-up call to those roots, and now there are many young people looking toward those roots. True, the setting for this music is no longer the solár, the barracón, the manglár, the bohío or even the barrio, but the essence is still there. The roots have remained intact, and the new slogan is "Somos Caribeños". It remains for groups such as Sergio Rivera and Caribe to lead the way. Here it is, savour it, very slowly - and then go for it. A bailar se ha dicho!

CHICO ALVAREZ PERAZA,
New York City, January 2008