Michael Simon is an extremely talented composer and musician. His horn-playing is marked with the blazing staccato accents that punctuate his playing as they emerge like fireballs from the bell of his horn. He rarely plays in long lines here, preferring to make short stabbing forays into the melody, entwined with his brother Edward’s galloping arpeggios and the swerving interloping of Peter Brainin’s tenor saxophone or Miguel Zenon’s alto horn. He is wont to tear down a melodic line, recasting it somewhere in the middle of a sequence to construct an altogether new melodic motif. Or he might retreat into a harmonic role, softly suggesting a muted chord that changes the complexion of the music altogether. All this suits his role as a musical facilitator of sorts throughout this album, where his voice appears to be heard not always at the forefront of the music, but when you least expect it, making for a delightful surprise always.

Thus, New York Encounter is itself an album of surprises. The superb blues of “Blues del Silencio trio” for instance, which is a soul-stirring minor blues, for instance, breaks down the swagger of his Latin rhythms after they are boldly stated. This is a wonderful surprise, as is the gentle, culo e’puya drums that rock throughout the myriad pirouettes of “Joy is Within”. In fact Simon’s drumming brother has much to do not only with the unwavering high quality of the rhythm section but with the wondrous character of the music itself. His subtle coloring of “Sabor Intimo” is brilliantly contrasted with the bold statements on “Mi Amigo el Machista” and the joyous celebration of “Fiestas”. Edward Simon completes the superb filial presence on this album.

It would be remiss if the presence of bassists, Andy Gonzalez and Boris Kozlov were not acknowledged here. Gonzalez plays with growling muscularity and his roaring accents match the sinewy thrusts of percussion and brass. Kozlov is a revelation as he negotiates the shifting rhythms of the Latin tinge with great intellect and purple-toned majesty. A word about Kozlov: He is a White Russian of a bassist and his lineage spans continents as he aligns himself as much with the complex structures of the music of Charles Mingus as well as with the twists and turns of his Latin peers. His insidious tone contains large dollops of joy as well and this bodes well for his sustained presence in the world of Latin rhythms. So full marks to Michael Simon with another splendid album that is both interminably joyful and utterly memorable as well.

Track Listing: Mi Amigo el Machista; New York Encounter; House of Thoughts; Sabor Intimo; Fiestas; Blues del Silencio Trio; Joy is Within; Equanimity.

Personnel: Michael Simon: trumpet (1, 2, 4-8), flugelhorn (3); Miguel Zenón: alto saxophone (1, 3-6, 8); Peter Brainin: tenor saxophone (1-5); Edward Simon: piano; Andy Gonzalez: bass (1, 2, 7); Boris Kozlov: bass (3-6, 8); Marlon Simon: drum set, bata drums, minor percussion, timpani, gong, vocals (7); Roberto Quintero: congas, güiro (4), parranda drum (3), culo e’puya drums—prima, cruzao, pujao—(7), vocals (7); Luisito Quintero: timbales (1); Noah Bless: trombone (7).

Michael Simon on the web: www.michaelsimon.nl

Review written by: Raul da Gama

Amorim is a thoughtful player, sharing the course that the music takes with bassist, Jorge Albuquerque and percussion colorist, Rafael Barata, both of whom appear to have such an empathy with the guitarist that they appear to share a musical brain. Amorim starts the chain of events by inventing a line, born of a fanciful idea. He then lets the gauntlet open slightly and seemingly invites Albuquerque in. The bassist embellishes the line with tonal and timbral values that dapple like sunlight on a window sill. Barata might jump in if invited to rattle the music with almost harmonically tuned percussion. The stretching of one such a line is brilliantly displayed on the brooding portrait, “Daniel” where the musicians exchange ideas frequently as each urges the song forward towards its inevitable destination: the complete sketch of the persona in question.

Rhythmically Amorim displays much virtuosity and deft expression as he charges onward through the energetic shuffle of “Maracatú.” He is much more circumspect in the manner in which he delays the rhythmic advance of the chart, on “Portraits” and, especially, the magnificently laid out “Bantu.” The diminished chord changes that flavour the former tune and the spacious melody provide a roomy interior in which Amorim crafts his great curved harmonies, chased down by the resonating electric bass of Albuquerque and the polyrhythmic effervescence of Barata rumbles and brassy splashes. The spare voicings of the music is also in beautiful evidence on “Morning,” “Leblon” and “Prece.” The electric urgency of “Ribeirinha” and the ghostly percussion on “Amarak” make both charts impossible to predict as they progress mysteriously onwards.

The majesty and mysticism of “Music Box” make that chart a perfectly tantalizing one to end the session with. In normal circumstances an album that barely ever rises above sotto voce almost throughout might have been somewhat difficult to endure for the length of time that Portraits lasts. However, the relatively impenetrable mystery of the music on the album keeps it always fresh and stunningly beautiful. It also marks a new phase for the guitarist that keeps Brazil’s great tradition of guitarists alive and well and, well, on a roll.

Tracks: Ribeirinha; Morning; Amarak; Maracatú Portraits; Bantu; Leblon; Prece; Daniel; Music Box.

Personnel: Marcos Amorim: electric and acoustic guitars; Jorge Albuquerque: electric and acoustic basses; Rafael Barata: drums and percussion; Sergio Nunes: cello (8).

Marcos Amorim on the web: www.luzdaluamusic.mus.br

Review written by: Raul da Gama

Burk goes a step further in his re-imaginations—further, that is, than imagining their creation in an African setting, with primordial percussive breaks by Lebron. What he has done is to “teach” the motives to each of his hands to play the contrapuntal parts in the different keys, and then recreated the augmented, diminished, inverted and retrograde figures almost independently of each other by varying the pulse of each motive, delaying the left hand whilst accelerating the right for instance, and vice versa. Adding loops and overdubs then added to the harmonic possibilities. But at the core is Burk’s unbridled virtuosity, with its sublime control over dynamics and expression that sets him in a class by himself.

Those who are familiar with the progressions of Bach’s original “First Inventions” will also marvel at Burk’s sometimes irreverent interpretations and re-imaginations, especially when Burk delves into the realm of contrapuntal dissonance. And then there is the spectacular interaction of Lebron’s superb percussion, which also conjures elemental visions of, for instance, a calm earth, or one in the midst of turbulence—his wind percussion in “Beach Party” being absolutely superb. Burk also outdoes himself in the re-interpretation of Bach’s exercise throughout, and his “Unduality Ten: Bach to the Future” (for each of the key changes are referred to as “Undualities”) is perhaps one of the high points of the album. Another must surely be Burk’s own imagination and extension of the original exercise in “Unduality Thirteen: Vox Bach.” And the Monk-like, chopped elegance of “Unduality Twelve: Bach Out” is a stunning inversion in itself. But to end the expedition with chorale counterpoint that chips and cracks open the scale is truly inspired.

Clearly on the strength of this album Greg Burk must be considered one of the most inspired innovators in music. His album, Unduality must be one of the most surprising sets of improvisations this year, on the level as anything that that other genius, Bobby McFerrin might re-invent vocally, perhaps.

Tracks: Unduality One: B Prepared; Unduality Two: Bach in Action; Rubastica; Unduality Three: Bach to You; Guateke; Unduality Four: Bach and Forth; Little Taste; Unduality Five: Bach Entrance; Camino della Tristeza; Unduality Six: Bach in the USSR; Tropical Turbulence; Unduality Seven: Bach to Nature; First Impression; Delain; Unduality Eight: Bachlava; V.N. Greg; Unduality Nine: Bach to Bach; Beach Party; Unduality Ten: Bach to the Future; Unduality Eleven: Out Bach; Quantieraba; Unduality Twelve: Bach Out; Unduality Thirteen: Vox Bach.

Personnel: Greg Burk: piano, Moog, voice and percussion; Vicente Lebron: congas, tambora, Gua Gua, clave, triangle, voice, talking drum, guira and cowbell triada.

Greg Burk on the web: www.gregburk.com

Review written by: Raul da Gama

Feature written by: Chico Alvarez Peraza

Grammy winner Raphael Cruz is probably the best kept secret in Latin jazz. His latest recording, “Time Travel” is a must for any lover of fascinatin’ rhythms. But exactly where does his inspiration come from?

Latinjazznet.com is proud to present this insight into the man who literally stole the show and walked away with the 2005 Grammy for Best Latin Jazz Recording. I’m referring of course to "Bebop Timba", the highly creative CD that was (unfortunately) never heard or talked about again.

The question still remains: Why? Before I delve into this curious enigma, allow me to fast forward a minute to the present.

LOST IN SPACE

Long before the release of “Time Traveler”, his third recording as a leader, the buzz was already out about the project and about Raphael Cruz’ new group as well. “I’m really excited about it” he says.“There is just no way to label it. We are a tight ensemble that is really into the dynamics of the music, we use shadings and we are trying to get away from the strict syncopated emphasis on clave based rhythms. Mind you, the clave is always there, but in more subtle ways than usual. It creates a mood for the rest of the band to follow, but it doesn’t dominate that mood. As a soloist myself, I feel that the musician should be allowed more space to be heard, to stretch out without too much interference from or adherence to the rhythm section”.

Raphael has long been recognized by his fellow musicians as a gifted percussionist and bandleader, possessor of exquisite sensitivity and impeccable timing, a veteran who has shared both the stage and the recording studio with such legendary performers as Mongo Santamaría, Ray Barretto, George Benson, Paquito D’Rivera, Herbie Mann, McCoy Tyner, Bette Midler, Flora Purim and Chaka Khan. He performs on Cuban, Brazilian, African and exotic percussion instruments, as well as the traditional drum kit, and is fluent in all musical styles. And yet, a full and comprehensive awareness of his talents has been limited mostly to an inner circle of jazz and latin musicians, radio personalities, and a few perceptive listeners and critics.

Although Raphael is usually classed as a fusion artist, his real roots appear to lie in the Tata Güines tradition. This is not to say that he sounds like Tata, but rather that he shares many things in common with him. Like the legendary Cuban master, Raphael’s contribution to a particular tune pays careful attention to the inner dynamics of the composition, and like Tata, he approaches the conga drums in much the same manner as a jazz trap drummer does his drum set. Elaborating on his role as a drummer, he adds: “The most important thing for me is to feel comfortable with the tune and not have to fight with my instrument. The music invariably suffers when you fight your instrument. I tend to forget about my instrument as a showcase, often treating it like it’s not there, concentrating more on the music as a whole, rather than with my own part. I started to feel this way about music in general when I first heard Miles Davis’ controversial album ‘Bitches Brew’. It was like a revelation to me, and for the life of me I could not understand why so many critics had come down on him the way they did. I actually saw people walking out on one of his performances at the Village Gate. This guy was so far ahead of his time, I had never heard anything so beautiful, he seemed to be lost in space. Or rather, he was the master of his own space”.

SINGING A SONG AND TELLING A STORY

Raphael Cruz is first and foremost an accompanist who blends in with the overall sound of the group, stepping out only when it is called for. Although his touch is light and elegant, he can still swing with the best of ‘em. His solos are like songs, full of melodic-like phrases, and rarely does he simply go off on a tune, as often happens with lesser astute musicians who fill up space just for the sake of it. On the bandstand, he seems to merge with his instrument. He is in total command and the control which he asserts over the difficult drum patterns is astonishing. He is never flashy, but rather he tells a story, singing a song, if you will.

But Raphael can also cook, like a gourmet chef, with a quiet intensity, at a low flame – one that burns bright. Musically, he feeds off the soloists, often complementing them, never trying to upstage them in any way. His rhythmic sense is acute, and he knows how to keep the time lively by playing around the soloist. He can be like a metronome when he wants to, but he prefers to "play" with the rhythms, at times riffing "around" and "behind" the beat. His solos are often nostalgic voyages culled from the Afro-Cuban and Bop traditions, thoughtfully constructed, with much attention to what is going on around him. To his credit he has surrounded himself with a crew of equally adept musicians, such as Ariel de La Portilla, Enrique Henaine, Manuel Valera and Diego Lopez, who form the nucleus of his working unit. Collectively they conjure up feelings that are both refined and deep, hot and sensual. But then, what else should you expect from jazz musicians?

BREAKING WITH THE PAST, WHILE NEVER FORGETTING IT

Musically, Mr. Cruz is very much the non-conformist. As a first-class musician, he knows that conformism is little more than imitation, and that imitation is at best just part of the learning process. Only when the learning process is complete does the musician really begin to find a modem of expression that is truly his or hers. And that’s when the struggle really begins. A true artist cannot merely substitute himself for those who came before them. He or she must add to that tradition or traditions. Raphael has eloquently proven himself successful in adding his own link to that fascinatin’ chain of Caribbean rhythms. It is quite appropriate then, that he should hail from an island that has been turning out happy rhythms for centuries.

Raphael Cruz was born on May 27th, 1947, in the Dominican Republic, in the town of Villa Vasquez, located in the northeastern province of Monte Cristi, an area rich with rhythms and folklore. His parents were Spaniards who migrated from Cuba, another link in that cultural chain. They settled in Santiago de Los Caballeros. At a very early age, Raphael moved to the capital city of Santo Domingo, where he initiated his grade school education in the “Escuela Chile”. Drawn to music, he enrolled in that school’s marching band, initially playing the snare drum, then the bass drum and finally mastering the xylophone. From there he graduated to the “Colegio Don Bosco”, where he continued his musical studies. He played in that school’s marching band, studying both theory and solfeggio, acquiring the necessary reading skills and technique that were needed in order to become a classical musician. By the time he graduated Don Bosco he had also mastered orchestral percussion. These are percussion instruments used in orchestras which play mainly classical European music and related styles. Generally within such a curriculum, students are required to study all aspects of orchestral playing. Marimba, snare drum and timpani are the three most basic areas of study. Orchestral percussion usually does not include drum set studies. Although Raphael was quite proficient on all of these instruments, his interest in hand drums, and in particular with popular Latin American rhythms was becoming more and more evident. Soon, that inclination began taking him down a different road. “I didn’t exactly know where I was going at this time, but I knew that I wasn’t going to be a classical musician”.

SANTO DOMINGO: INFLUENCES, LEGENDS AND HEROES

The nineteen sixties ushered in the so-called “British Invasion” (Beatles, Rolling Stones, Dave Clark Five, Herman’s Hermits, etc), and Raphael submersed himself deep into the waters of popular American music, eventually forming his first group, which he called “Los X 6”. It turned out to be an invaluable learning experience for him, and he vividly recalled that the band was quite frightening. “We were composed mainly of aficionados, so we formulated a style that was greatly influenced by iconic American and British rock and pop artists like Jimi Hendrix, Cream and The Beach Boys. Even Chubby Checker and Bill Haley’s Comets were in the mix. We played at many social events, and we were even featured regularly on Dominican television, via ‘Teenager’s Matinee’, a show that aired every Sunday. Once the band finally got tight, we’d work on more tunes, until we had just about every rock & roll tune known to mankind down pat. We became the ‘house band’ for this very popular show, which ran consecutively for a number of years. But deep down inside, I knew there was more to it than just playing someone else’s material”.

By 1964 it was evident that in Santo Domingo a certain love affair between young people and rock & roll had developed. One has only to see archival footage of Johnny Ventura during this period to understand this phenomenon. He looked like a black Elvis Presley. The term "hipster" immediately comes to my mind. Although the hipster image originated after the "golden age of jazz", during the pre-bop 1940′s, there seemed to be no real relation to jazz during the sixties. It seems as if it had merely crossed over into the following decade. The tag itself was coined when the word "hip" arose to describe aficionados of the growing jazz scene. In the U.S. a "hipster" was often defined as a "character who likes hot jazz". Initially, hipsters were usually middle-class white youths seeking to emulate the lifestyle of the largely-black jazz musicians they followed. The word "cool" would take preference in decades to come. However, both in the rebellious Caribbean and in that urban monster known as Mexico City, it was a case of life imitating art. Raphael was quite aware of these images, as most young people were at the time, and it reflected not only in his music but in his appearance as well. The type of assimilation that he described to me was typical of most young musicians throughout the Caribbean basin. I myself experienced this while still a youth in Cuba. Rock was the thing.

And yet, it was Raphael’s exposure to the “typical” sound of Dominican music that shaped and later defined his musical expression, along with his awareness of the ever-popular Cuban dance forms, namely mambo, guajira, bembé and cha cha chá. Without these genres, there probably would have never have been anything resembling Latin jazz. They formed the basic foundation for most instrumental latin music of the time.

A fellow percussionist who was then making the same rounds as Raphael was drummer and timbalero Carmelo García. García was only one of many musicians who would leave their mark on the emerging music scene in Santo Domingo, influencing just about everyone who came in contact with him. Raphael recalls their special relationship. “Carmelo was one of the most solicited drummers of that era, having played principally with the bands of Rafael Solano and José Reyes. We soon became friends and Carmelo mentored me, introducing me to the rudiments of the music and teaching me about the rich folklore of the Caribbean".

García was a kind of latin hipster, although a traditionalist in many ways, and he passed on much of his knowledge to Raphael, including such things as Ortiz’ concept of transculturation. Because Dominican music has always been closely intertwined with that of its neighbor, Haiti, it is believed that the merengue (as a musical genre) originated there. For well over fifty years it has remained the official native dance of the Dominican Republic, having evolved from the French contredanse, which was an internationally popular form of music and dance during the late 18th century. Both secular and sacred religious music can be found all along the island, with drums and human voices being their principle interpreters. Salve is a call-and-response type of singing that uses güira, panderos, atabales and other African instruments. It is highly ceremonial and often used in pilgrimages or at parties dedicated to saints. Palo is also played at religious ceremonies and has its roots in the Congo region of central-west Africa. Palo shares much the same pantheon of deities/saints as the religious traditions of Cuba, Haiti, Brazil and parts of South America. The instruments played in a palo are the same as salves, only without the panderos. Salve is related to palo in that it is played in many of the same contexts, but with different instruments and utilizing diverse rhythm patterns. During his formative years, much of this music was alien to Raphael, but as he grew more influenced by popular music, he began to understand and appreciate the significance of the folkloric traditions.

It was also in Santo Domingo that Raphael was first exposed to many of the great Cuban artists, not only those who were still living in Cuba but also those who were now residing in the U.S. At home, his parents never ceased to listen to the great Cuban soneros and guaracheros, such as Arsenio Rodríguez, Trio Matamoros, Vicentico Valdés, Rolando La Serie and Beny Moré. And like most Dominican households, a recording by Duo Los Compadres was a standard fixture. “My parents were crazy about Cuban music, and I was fortunate to have heard such visiting artists as Mongo Santamaría, Los Muñequitos, La Lupe, Olga Guillot and Miguelito Valdés, among others. I was also able to hear Puerto Rican bands who visited regularly, such as Cortijo y su Combo, and later El Gran Combo, which came out of the Cortijo aggregation. It was Carmelo who got me into all that stuff”. Like all who really knew the man, Raphael considers García a genius. He still treasures the recordings Carmelo made with Mongo.

Through the miracle of radio, young Raphael was transplanted to near and far away lands, made fully aware that there were other cultures out there besides his own. Not only did he listen to Cuban radio, which was very influential at that time, but also to the local Dominican public radio stations which featured all forms of Caribbean music, as well as the music of Brasil, the U.S. and Latin America. Remembering those early years, he elaborates. “Like most of us who grew up in that era, I was literally ‘blown away’ and ‘turned on’ to the inspirational melodies of Antonio Jobim, Vinicius de Moraes and Joäo Gilberto. Equally moving for me was the exciting samba schools and the carnival ensembles, as well as the jazz tinged bossa nova of Stan Getz and other North American musicians. By way of the bossa nova, I started getting into traditional jazz, roughly at around the same time, and I even landed a gig with jazz pianist Jorge Taveras’ trio”.

With all these influences spinning around in his young head, it was inevitable that Raphael Cruz would venture into an experimental wall of sound, incorporating everything he heard into his own pop/rock ensemble. Logically, the next stop on his musical voyage would have to be the capital of jazz, Harlem. But as fate would have it, there was a slight detour he would have to make first.

ISLA DEL ENCANTO: LA NUEVA OLA

As he began developing a taste for sophisticated harmonies and intricate rhythms, Raphael decided to move to Puerto Rico, where he would live for ten years and where his musical consciousness would be further influenced by the African based rhythms of that sister island. While still living in the Dominican Republic, Raphael had hooked up with a couple of Puerto Rican musicians who needed a drummer for a local engagement in Santo Domingo. It was the start of something really big for him. “I formed part of a trio that featured musicians Orly Vazquez and Francisco Tirado. They were looking for someone who could play what was then referred to as ‘acid rock’. I returned with them to Puerto Rico, and shortly afterwards we landed a gig in nearby St. Thomas. The name of the place was “The Pirates Spot” and I remember that there were at least 16 rock groups from Puerto Rico playing there. Through our connection in St. Thomas we got an offer to travel to Mexico City, where we played in the famous ‘Red Zone’, a bohemian corner of aristocratic roots, something similar to New York’s Greenwich Village. The trio was called ‘Kaleidescope’. For the Mexico City gig we replaced Orly with Dominican guitarist Héctor Gutierrez, and then we went on to play in Veracruz and in other cities as well. We even recorded an album for the Orfeon label. This is crazy, but I just found out that the album we made in Mexico over forty years ago is being re-issued in Germany.”

After settling in Puerto Rico, Raphael really got into the tumbadoras, or conga drums as they are called in the U.S. His goal at the time was to become the consumate all-around percussionist, thereby assuring himself of a steady flow of work. He recalls: “During that period I was performing with Lucecita Benítez, Julio Angel, Danny Rivera and Alberto Carrión. These artists, for the most part were influenced by American rock music, although they each embraced (to a certain degree) the traditional Puerto Rican jíbaro and (to a lesser extent) the black music of the caseríos, adding to their oveall mix a more ‘tropicalized’ version of the nueva trova, a movement in Cuban music that emerged after the Cuban Revolution (around 1967-68), reflecting the consequent political and social changes there. It is related to the ‘nueva canción’ of Latin America, especially Puerto Rico and Venezuela. Some of the nueva trova musicians were also influenced by the rock and music of that time, so the connection with those groups I mentioned was only logical”.

Also worthy of mention would be the jazz tinged “feeling” movement which came out of Cuba around the same time. Ironically, while all this music was merging beautifully in Puerto Rico, latin New Yorkers were still flocking to dance halls, enamored with popular Cuban dance music, which they referred to as ‘latin music’. Raphael recalls: “Because of the Machito-Bauzá-Gillespie-Pozo collaborations, the jazz connection to latin music in New York was much stronger and the main icons and heroes were instrumentalists. In Puerto Rico it was the opposite. Those artists whom I played with there were all singers, so it was only natural that they embraced those genres. These styles were very big, but they were not what you would call jazz”.

Yet, there was another invasion of sorts taking place right around that time on the island. Although it had arrived rather late, the ‘bebop’ jazz sound that had emerged in New York during the nineteen fifties was making a big impact there, while in the mainland a whole new style of jazz was emerging. As the new decade approached, post-bop cool jazz and its offspring acid jazz were creating quite a stir. Before long names like Coltrane, Parker, Gillespie and Monk had all became household words among the up and coming musicians. Raphael mingled freely with the in-crowd which dug these contemporary sounds, and it began to rub off on him. He began collecting vinyl albums which he purchased at a local record store that catered to the island’s jazz set. It was all coming to him second hand, but at least he was getting his first taste of jazz, albeit in a land where very few jazzmen had been popular. By the time the U.S. embargo put a stop to the flow of dance music coming from Cuba, Puerto Ricans in general were keenly aware of the Afro-Cuban jazz fusion that was being played stateside by Cal, Mongo, Willie, Puente and Shearing, on both sides of the continent. But that style of Latin jazz was slowly fading and a whole new sound was already in the making. Most of these artists, save Shearing, would make the necessary transition in order to survive, both creatively and economically. "Funk" was in the air and it was penetrating the old vanguard.

Record labels such as Blue Note, CTI, Arista and CBS were distributing some great jazz on the island at that time. A new crop of Brazilian artists were making their mark in Puerto Rico too. Airto, Flora, Moacir, etc. And from the Big Apple came Miles, Chick and Herbie, so that wave after wave of new music entered the island. Musicians like Raphael were being drawn toward the epicenter of that sound, New York. Rafael Cortijo’s “La Maquina Del Tiempo” (a financial flop for the Coco label), along with the advent of Cuba’s Irakere, were seen as major developments in the new style of Caribbean jazz.

It was in Puerto Rico that Raphael would form his first band, RAICES, in 1976, with fellow islanders Monchi Sifre, Roberto “Pura” Cazar, Carlos Melendez and Amaury Lopez, all of whom were swimming the same currents as Raphael. One thing lead to another, as they say, and it was inevitable that a major label should take interest in them. Before long, Raíces was off to Miami to record at Criteria Studios, for Nemperor Records (formed in 1966 by Brian Epstein as Nemperor Artists, Inc., it was a subsidiary of Atlantic Records). Raíces’ executive producer was Nat Weiss, the lawyer for the Beatles. The studio A&R man was Bruce Botnick, who was responsible for putting Jim Morrison and the Doors on the map. Wave after wave of jazz-rock-latin fusion albums hit the record stores. Following Irakere’s debut in 1978 at the Newport Jazz Festival, Afro-Cuban rhythms were now front and center, and jazz was drawn closer and closer to clave. Unfortunately for Cortijo, the label never followed up with a second album, and by all accounts Cortijo just lost interest. Meanwhile, Irakere became a favorite of the fusionistic set. Raíces would not be so lucky.

NEW YORK CITY: BRIGHTS WILL GET YOU, AND MESS YOU AROUND

After coming to New York in the late seventies to perform with Raíces, Raphael decided to stay in our area for a while, at which time he worked the metropolitan club-circuit, for about three years. Unfortunately, Raíces did not last very long. They did manage however (and within a relatively short period) to get booked in all the top clubs in New York, Long Island, New Jersey and Connecticut. In 1977 they opened at the Dr. Pepper Jazz Festival in Central Park for the great Miles Davis, and garnered some rave reviews from the New York press. But fusionistic jazz did not take the country by storm, as many would have wanted, not in the way that latin rock had done. Raphael went on to be a studio musician, because commercially speaking, that was where the "real" money was. He worked for all the major labels, such as Warner Bros., Arista, CBS and toured with the likes of Stanley Turrentine, Herbie Mann, Dr. John, Carly Simon, Bette Midler and of course The Crusaders, the one group that kept him busy all year round. He didn’t want to tour exclusively, because studio work was quite lucrative at the time. As many musicians will tell you, when a player leaves town there will always be someone waiting to take their place. In the comfort of the studio, he had made great music alongside the likes of Steve Gadd, Jack de Johnette, Ray Barretto and Ralph MacDonald. He also worked some of the Broadway shows, before returning once again to Puerto Rico, where he formed a quintet along with Ender Dueño, Eddie "Guagua" Rivera, Carlos Melendez and Amunni Nasser. Under Raphael’s leadership, the group broke all previous attendance records at the Tetuan 20 Club in Old San Juan with their review "Tropicalia".

NEW ORLEANS: MUSICIANS WANTED, FUSIONISTS NEED NOT APPLY

A year into his stay on the island Raphael received a call from percussionist Mark Sanders in New Orleans, asking him if he wanted to work with Sanders’ band "Caliente". He immediately accepted and that decision led to his leaving the island permanently. "I found myself in the birthplace of Jazz, New Orleans, where I lived for about four years, performing in the company of such notables as Dr. John and the renowned pianist Ellis Marsalis Jr. I was maturing in an environment that exposed me to the best musical traditions and practices of that historical city. My first gig in the Crescent City was with the Neville Brothers, at the 1984 World’s Fair. All this had put me in a very privileged position, and inevitably those influences began to flow freely from my mind and body, manifesting themselves in the music that is now such an integral part of my life. Yet, there was something still missing from my life, and I truly didn’t know what it was".

Worthy of mention is the fact that vocalist Harry Connick, Jr. was Raphael’s pianist during that period, whenever he lead a Latin jazz group in New Orleans. The group played locally in all the clubs in the city, and would prove to be the prototype for the band which he now fronts. “This was the group that more or less established me in New Orleans”, he says. “I was feeling comfortable down there, and feeling comfortable with music is very important to me. Music for me is a labor of love, and I really felt the love down there. But at this time I was still searching for a particular sound that I kept hearing in my mind and it wasn’t happening there. Three years later, I went back to New York City and began to seek out the musicians who would eventually make that sound a reality”.

During the 1980′s, an era that for latin-flavored jazz was actually quite grim, Raphael nearly dropped out of the scene, but thanks to an incredible resurgence in this type of music, he began appearing regularly in clubs, theaters and concert halls, headlining in such venues as Town Hall, CBGB Gallery, Blue Note, Birdland, Zinc Bar, NJPAC (New Jersey Performing Arts Center in Newark, NJ) and many other venues that catered to jazz in related forms. He managed to travel abroad, often fronting a quintet made up of a who’s who in jazz. Latin jazz records did not sell well during this period (did they ever?) so more and more labels began turning their backs on the artists who performed this style. Raphael hung in there as best he could, and surfaced again at the tail end of the nineties. Never one to give up, he returned to the studio in 1998 with a group of excellent musicians, recording his first date as a leader. The result was the very creative "A Mano", which was released a year later. It was a labor of love for all involved, and the entire CD was recorded in one 14 hour session, with minimal overdubs. Memorable versions of "Stella By Starlight", "Night And Day", "Body And Soul", "Footprints" were recorded, and even Bob Dylan’s "Mr. Tambourine Man" got the Raphael Cruz treatment. He was on his way, so to speak. It would still prove to be quite a bumpy road.

Throughout the next decade, an extraordinary amount of jazz hit the New York area: various festivals flourished, not to mention the usual riches within the club scene. It was a time reserved not only for youth, but also for the mature crowd. But Raphael was not content at just playing straight ahead jazz for traditionalists. New aesthetic combinations, new attitudes toward repertoire, new paradigms and new venues all made for a more creative surge. Diversity was now the thing, and unlike the jazz festivals of the past, with their brand-polishing and sentimental favorites, these events really showed the public where the music and the culture of jazz in New York were going. Yet, Latin jazz remained marginalized. Raphael Cruz was definitely on his way, in a manner of speaking. The road to success, as they say, would turn out to be quite a bumpy one.

THE QUEST FOR RECOGNITION: A NEW (BUT OLD DILEMA)

It was at this precise point in time, when so many young percussionists sounded alike and all too often they seemed to emphasize their chops rather than their soul and authenticity, that a re-awakening began to take place, an appreciation of such subtle percussion stylists as Raphael Cruz. Slowly, some of the lightning-fast Giovanni Hidalgo clones began to learn the value of understatement, the proper usage of space, the discipline of clave and the relaxation of true swing. It was truly satisfying to have had such an institution as Raphael Cruz and his magnificent group, and of course to have heard and played his various CD’s on my radio show. I found them rich in beauty, nuance, controlled passion and un-aldulterated rhythm. But hey, that was just my humble opinion. History always seems to repeat itself, and once again, the public would have to be damned, because, in the purists eyes (or should I say ears?) these sessions did not reflect a valid art form. In 2008, Raphael’s music simply did not meet the standards of the old school Tito Puente, Ray Barretto or Poncho Sanchez format. So here we are again, in 2010, and experimental music such as that heard on "Time Traveler" is to be excluded from review. As with many artists before him, Raphael’s material has not been included in the rotation line-up of certain stations, (including one station that prides itself as being the premier jazz station in the U.S.) More often than not, these radio programers won’t give indy artists a logical reason as to why their music is not aired. The reasoning (or the lack of it) is mind boggling. So it is left to the alternative music stations to play, and as we all know, there aren’t really too many non-commercial stations out there. But this does not indicate that alternative Latin jazz is a lost cause.

By now, many devotees of fusionistic jazz (those who listen to alternative radio) have at one time or another heard Raphael’s first CD, "A Mano" and perhaps an equal amount have even contemplated purchasing it, which to my mind, is one of the greatest compliments that one can offer a jazz musician. Surely, Afro-Cuban Jazz lovers have delighted in hearing Raphael’s second production, "Bebop Timba", which won him the prestigious Grammy award for musical excellence in 2004. I believe that in anyone’s book this would have to rank as the second highest honor a musician can receive. For the record, Raphael Cruz won the coveted prize for the "Best Latin Jazz Recording of 2004". It was the best kept secret in America.

Earlier on I mentioned Raphael’s most recent endeavor; “Time Travel”, another gem of a record that includes an impressionable guest list; Sonny Fortune, Claudio Roditi, Dave Valentin, Raleph Vowen, Danilo Avilés, Stefan Held, Manuel Valera, Sergio Brandau, Pablo Vergara, Greg Murphy, Román Diaz, Giovanni Valladares, Diego Lopez, Alexis Zayas, Víctor Prieto, David Oquendo and myself, Chico Alvarez. The production was handled jointly by Raphael and Luis Güell, the recording and mastering engineer who had also been involved in one way or another with Raphael’s first two CD’s. Starting with "Bebop Timba", Güell now had a direct hand in the way Raphael’s music was recorded, and I assure you that the result has been sheer magic, which is why Güell’s studio wall is also decorated with a certificate from NARAS. Latinjazznet.com wishes them both the best of luck in their future projects together and hopes that their next collaboration will garner them their second Grammy.
Mr. Cruz currently resides with his family in North Bergen, New Jersey, and is a very active member of the arts community in the Hudson County area, often touring outside the area as well. To most of his friends and colleagues however, he is simply known as “Rafi”.

CODA

It is my contention that the past is inexplicably linked to the present, especially when it comes to the subject of music. Musicians (and all artists for that matter) tend to return to the past for inspiration and guidance, but it is definitely not the only place where one finds such inspiration. I asked a certain question at the beginning of this piece, and now, as we begin to wrap it up, I reiterate by asking Mr. Cruz himself to answer that question: "Rafi, exactly where does your inspiration come from?"

Raphael: "Inspiration, for me, comes from many different sources; past, present and future. It is a combination of genres, styles, moods and hues that I have been tuned into throughout my life. There may even be some concepts rolling around in my mind which have not fully developed yet. My experience helps me as well, because my influences are many. I have been blessed to have played with some of the best musicians in the world. Musical inspiration is like a painting, and it usually comes to me in colors. I see movement in these colors. But inspiration can also be very spiritual and transcendental. Remember that no one finishes a painting in one day, it must be worked on it, slowly. I can’t pinpoint any particular style or any one artist, it is an all-encompassing and inclusive sound, universal you might say. Ultimately, my appreciation for the music which has been evolving in my head since my formative years takes root. Each layer of sound leaves an impression on me, each generation has something new to offer, and while I always revert back to my roots, I never lose sight of what’s happening out there today. I incorporate everything that I see and hear in the world into my own version of the world. It is a deeply personal vision that is manifested in the music that I play and write. Ultimately, the feelings, the colors, the rhythms and the vision transfer themselves to the musicians with whom I play, so that they too feel it, they may experience it differently, but it all comes together, as a painting."

Raphael Cruz on the web: www.raphaelcruz.net

Feature written by: Chico Alvarez Peraza

To a large extent this is Austerlitz’s exegesis of the exodus of the African Diaspora as it melded into the Caribbean nation the Dominican Republic on an island, significantly, shared by that other maverick nation, Haiti. Of no less significance is the fact that like the avant garde musicians of the 60’s and the new movement occupied in solitary splendour by Anthony Braxton, the music flows like a flood tide as it finds a powerful confluence in the music of Charlie Parker and the bebop musicians. Moreover, Austerlitz succeeds in melting away the barriers that constrict musical literature by so-called genre. This truly exciting musical journey begins and ends in the African realm as it subsumes the “New World” that even Europe cow-towed to during and for centuries after The Age of Enlightenment. Perhaps Africa is the “New World” after all and the new Age of Enlightenment has dawned there.

Austerlitz’s journey begins with a powerful invocation to the Orisha, Elegba—or as he calls her, Elegbára. The music of “Bara Súwà Yo” is united in spectacular fashion with the contemporary spoken word—Logos in majestic ascent with ancient chants rendered as rhythmic figures fused into a spectacular whole by Austerlitz’s bass clarinet. “Underground Palo” in the second sequence of the musical score is the new Spiritual, a fascinating chart whose escarpment overlooks John Coltrane’s “Song of The Underground Railroad” and features a might chant that plays off the other instruments, especially the hypnotic ritual Afro-Dominican “palos” drumming. Freedom from slavery is gloriously suggested here as the music merges into a spectacular improvisation on one of Austerlitz’s reeds.

“Journey” is a fascinating addition to the symphony and is written in multiple meters as the music criss-crosses its way—like the exodus of the African Diaspora—through India, where the drone of the sitar blends with the talking drums of Kwaku Kwaakye Obeng. Nineteenth Century impressionistic modes collide with amorphous Indian ragas and African polyrhythm. The clarinet colors the musical canvas in several overdubbed incarnations. The resultant music is quite simply spectacular. In the subsequent sequence Austerlitz’s music traverses another hundred years. The significance of the jazz idiom cannot be over emphasized enough as the composer and performers zigzag their way through the last significant movement in its history—bebop. Austerlitz’s reworking of Charlie Parker’s “Ornithology” gives new importance to Bird’s masterpiece.

In the fourth section of this symphonic work, Austerlitz finds himself confronted by the staggering beauty of the geography of his new universe. The harmonics of “Mountains” is as striking as the vertical prospect of the topographical vistas and the linear arpeggios also suggest the extent of the musical canvas. Here, too, Austerlitz recomposes over a classic modern chart: His “East Broadway Merengue” is a startling revisit to the musical environs of Sonny Rollins’ classic “East Broadway Rundown,” which is superbly recast here. The setting is so apt for Michael S. Harper’s poetry, featuring sassy swaggering rhythms in three sections that bring the journey close to the formidable close that returns the music to an African canvas in a coda that features solo work on reeds by Austerlitz.

The musicians are masterful throughout. Led by Austerlitz, who soars like a great bird with a reed and a thermal only to swoop and tumble at every turn with graceful abandon. His solo improvisations are brimful with fresh ideas. His intonation is masterly and his phrasing gentle and evocative. Austerlitz is the consummate technician, but whose virtuoso skills are put to perfect use with emotional readings of his work and in some cases the compositions of others. His ensemble is also blessed with great talent—Santi DeBriano, Barry Olsen the percussionists, especially Phoenix Rivera, are just a few of those who perform with great skill and emotion too.

This is a work of great mastery and importance. It is only a matter of time before it receives its just desserts.

Tracks: Chapter One: In-Vocation: Bara Súwà Yo; Chapter Two: Palo and Beyond: Underground Palo; One Peace; Journey; Thunder Flow; Chapter Three: Merengue and Bebop: Ornithology; Sisterhood is Powerful; Santiago; Chapter Four: Poetry and Song: Mountain’s Music; A Place Inside; East Broadway Merengue (Featuring “The Latin American Poem”); Two Poems (Featuring “Br’er Sterling and the Rocker” and “Twiddlin’ Thumbs”); World Consciousness-Arena (Featuring “Corrected Review”); Chapter Four: Out-Vocation: Bara Súwà Yo (Reprise).

Personnel: Paul Austerlitz: contrabass clarinet, bass clarinet, clarinet, tenor saxophone, voice; Barry Olsen: piano ( 1 – 3, 7, 10, 13); Gustavo Rodriguez: keyboards (6, 9, 11); Angelina Tallaj: piano (8); Santi DeBriano: acoustic bass (1, 3, 12, 13); Bernie Miñoso: acoustic bass (2, 5, 7, 10); Dave Zinno: acoustic bass (4); Juan Valdéz: electric bass (6, 9, 11); Phoenix Rivera: drum set (2, 5, 7, 10); Royal Hartigan: drum set (1, 3, 12, 13); Wellington Valenzuela: drum set (6, 9, 11); Kwaku Kwaakye Obeng: donno, cowbell (1, 3, 4, 13); José Duluc: palos, balsié, güira, voice (2, 5, 7, 10); Julio Figueroa: tambora, conga, bong& #243, güira (6 – 8, 10, 11, 13); Michael S. Harper: poet (11 – 13); Regie Gibson: spoken word (1); Renee Cologne: voice (9, 10).

Paul Austerlitz on the web: www.paulausterlitz.org

Review written by: Raul da Gama

The magnificent ablutions begin with “Un Atardecer en Cartagena de Indias” and continue through “Oye,” but it is only when the music of “Yaoundé” heats up that the real entrancement begins. Bassist, John Benitez is superb here as is pianist, Manuel Valera who play in deep sympathy with Torres to make the initial supplication—like the beginning of a Santeria séance. From then on, things are almost trance-like. Torres excels again in his conga master class, “Tumaco” and a sensuous melt down of sorts occurs in the beautiful Bambuco Colombiano, the riveting “Bambuco (To Santa Fe de Bogota). Played in a magnetic meter of 6/8 and creating a hypnotic swagger, Torres revives an old Colombian Polska to cool things down.

Torres’ next agenda is more personal. His music now addresses private blessings and with superb attention to detail he brings the mastery of saxophonist Joel Frahm, brass player, Michael Rodriguez and pianist Manuel Valera together for the next part of the spirit awakening. Here, though Torres directs his music to the blessing of small things—everything that the Lord made. Much of the music is an exaltation of personal relationships. The love of an artist who is concerned about the state of human condition. Torres proves himself to be a very committed artist here.

As a percussionist, Samuel Torres is not classical. His cut and slash is daring and he uses his gnarled palms to make the skins talk. His taps with the tips of his hands and the resonating howl brought forth by cupped palms is astounding. He can make almost vocal insinuations with his various small percussion instruments and his use of the Llaneras and various chekere and caxixis is both votive and melodic. It would be remiss not to mention also the fine addition of Anat Cohen, whose woody, breathtaking round sounds on “Macondo” are short, yet memorable.

Torres has certainly attempted something really ambitious. To the extent that he has managed to maintain the level of energy that is required conducting a sort of ritual prayer and cleansing, this album hold up at most levels. It bears listening over and over again and like the skin of an onion, more meaning is revealed as the music leads the listener closer to the center of its being.

Tracks: Un Atardecer en Cartagena de Indias; Oye; Yaoundé Tumaco; Bambuco (To Santa Fe de Bogota); Cosita Rica – The Richness of Small Things; La Niña en el Agua – The Girl in the Water (To my love Larita); Macondo (Para Lucho Bermúdez); Ronca el Canalete; Lincoln Tunnel; Rio Magdalena; A Rose (To my grandmother); Chia – The Moon Goddess (La diosa Luna); Camino del Barrio (To my uncle Edy Martinez and all the Musicians from the Golden Era of Salsa in NY).

Personnel: Samuel Torres: congas, kalimba, cajon, Mexican Llaneras, udu, djembe, tambor alegre, guache, Colombian tambora, talking drum, shakers, shakere, cowbell, Brasilian caxixis, African Ago-go, LP lu-bar chimes, percussion effects; Joel Frahm: tenor, soprano saxophones; Michael Rodriguez: trumpet, flugelhorn; Manuel Valera: piano, Fender Rhodes, Nord Keyboards, John Benitez: acoustic, electric basses; Ernesto Simpson: drums; Anat Cohen: clarinet (8); Ralph Irizarry: timbal (10, 14); Sofia Rei Koutsovitis: vocal (9); Andrés Garcia: Colombian Tiple (5).

Samuel Torres on the web: www.samueltorres.com

Review written by: Raul da Gama

Interview conducted by: Raul da Gama

My palms are wet, but I am not nervous—just uncontrollably excited to be talking with Claudio Roditi, an iconic figure in music. With Brasilian guitarist, Ricardo Silveira and percussionist Duduka da Fonseca, another Brasilian and long-time resident of the Big Apple, Roditi is a seminal figure in the pursuit of a rare idiom in music. Some call it Samba Jazz. If that was meant to conjure images similar to Latin Jazz it certainly goes a long way in to putting the sound into a rather straight jacketed perspective. What would be more appropriate should have been a term like Afro-Cuban music. That term has color and suggests a whole palette of sounds. Musica Brasileira- Jazz somehow does it better. It suggests a complete setting; the feelings and emotions of saudade and alegria that are at the heart of and course through the music called choro and disappear under the surface of the broad palette of sounds—not just rhythms—but sounds and silence of both urban and pastoral Brasil.

This really is what Claudio Roditi brought to the idiom of jazz, melded it in, blending the shuffle of samba with the swagger of swing, pouring in molten emotion from a heart and soul filled with music. It is what I saw when I went back to one of my favourite images of the musician. This appears on the film version of Dizzy Gillespie’s United Nations Orchestra, one of the last great big bands to grace our planet. This is the fabled performance of Dizzy’s great band at the Royal Festival Hall, London on June, 10, 1989. There are many occasions to gasp in wonder. One sticks in my memory: Dizzy kicks off the set with a rousing version of “Tin Tin Deo” and it is time for the formidable trumpet section to get into the act. The section comprises its leader, the great Dizzy himself, Arturo Sandoval, playing both trumpet and piccolo trumpet and Roditi. The next track is D’Rivera’s “Seresta” and Paquito holds court. His solo is timed for last, after Diz’s wild romp all over the horn, the voice cracking with characteristic Dizzyness and after Sandoval’s pyrotechnics on his trumpet. Roditi returned to solo on “A Night in Tunisia.” Here he captures not only the romance and magical mystery of the North African destination, but also its complex rhythms. It is easy for him. He is Brasilian, of course. Roditi also features prominently in the triangular conversation at the end of the song.

As his turn arrives, Roditi stands, closes his eyes and breathes softly as he sets a blue flame to the embouchure, that blows out gingerly but with spectacular loops and pirouettes. The musical whorl unfolds with the sensational cold fire that Claudio Roditi has been known for. He shuffles the notes, weaving in and out of phrases and lines that suggest a Brasilian twist to the song. The track is Paquito D’Rivera’s “Samba for Carmen” and soon Roditi is in a three-way conversation with Paquito, Slide Hampton, who joins in and himself. Just when the musicians are getting comfortable with that bag, he switches almost unnoticed into a wide, swinging mode, soaring as if chasing one note after the other that escapes the bell of his horn, flying high and mighty. Through all this his eyes are shut as if he were in a gently swinging trance. He might have been. The music more than suggests it—that Musica Brasileira- jazz, picked up with swelling polyrhythm by the other Brasilian in the band, percussionist, Airto, who shuffles his gongs, pandeiro, and rubs his cubical. But Claudio Roditi’s eyes remain closed. Saudade, e paz e alegria…

This is what I hear in Claudio Roditi’s voice… peace, longing and joy. Nothing has changed since then. I expect that nothing will as I dial the number given me for his home in New Jersey. The phone rings and a soft male voice says “Hello…” as if singing a song.

“Claudio..?” I ask… “Yeah,” he answers, and now it’s his turn… “Raul? Contente encontrá-lo…” he continues. I ask to continue in English, always embarrassed by my watered down, Anglo Portuguese accent. He agrees.

I feel I know his music better than I know him when I call, so my aim is to get to know him. What made him come to the United States and stay for so long? Most Brasilians do not. Their longing for Brasil is too much to keep them away from that country for too long. Their connection is umbilical and that chord is never cut. Something else is mystifying. I have just heard his new album and it is one full of his songs. I believe that he is a marvellous composer. He just does not know that. Either this or perhaps he does not think so himself. I want to know more about this and as it relates to his album, Simpatico I hope that we’ll talk about that too. And of course I will ask about Brazilliance x 4. That is an album that gets regular airplay at my house. The groove is hypnotic and exhilarating.

I can hardly wait. I jump right in. “Well, Claudio, let me begin by asking you when you came to the United States and how did you decide to come here?” I ask.

His answer is somewhat oblique, like the way he attacks a solo—inside out: “It was sometime in the mid-60’s… I had always loved to play jazz and there were very few people who were playing it in those days. Remember these were the heady days of Bossa Nova…. I mean don’t get me wrong. I love Bossa… I was playing that too, but…” his voice trails off for a bit as if he is nostalgic…

“But I was crazy about jazz… I heard Dizzy Gillespie, Miles, Clifford Brown, Lee Morgan—a particular favourite of mine—in fact they say I remind them of him…” he adds. “Who is ‘they’? “I ask…

“Critics… writers…” he says with a short laugh. I am just glad that I did not suggest anything like this. Of course, I also believe that while his approach may be like Clifford Brown, or even Fats Navarro, a sliding type of attack…legato and even slurred, as well as more deeply intoned notes, unlike the dazzling, sharp brightness of, say Dizzy, even Miles…

I let that go… perhaps I will bring it up later… and wait for him to continue.

“As I was saying,” he continues, when I stop pontificating, “In 1966, I took a trip to Austria to attend a jazz camp and I ended up staying there for a year. This trip was one of the most meaningful for me. I got to play with some fine guys there. There were no restrictions… I was in heaven… I was playing trumpet there and then I met Art Farmer, a great guy and a great horn player. He was playing the much softer, flugelhorn and I loved the sound. It was then, with Art’s encouragement that I took up the flugelhorn.

“Art was a great guy. He showed me many things and we enjoyed some fine times together. I think that if not for Art I may never have played the flugelhorn, or it would have taken a lot longer for me to discover this instrument…

“Anyway… as I was saying, I loved the Austrian experience. I was able to get away from Brasil… not that I was desperate to, but I was always hoping that I would be able to get a more world experience. I also knew that once I went to Europe I would somehow have a greater chance of getting to America… I don’t know why I thought that, but I certainly felt more confident that I would go the America and be able to realize my dream of playing the music of jazz…”

I am curious. Can this be coming from a Brasilian? I ask him, “But what about Brasil?”

He probably could see that coming and he was ready. “Listen,” he said, I am Brasilian. I will never stop being Brasilian and the culture will always lie there. You will always hear me sounding Brasilian underneath it all. I cannot help that… It is deeply etched in me… It comes from deep within, and I don’t even know about it. But as far as jazz is concerned, my love for this music is enormous. It feeds me in a different way… Also, I did want to ‘make it’ here…”

And so you did, irmaõ, I say to myself, so you did… And how!

“Then I came to America,” he says, as if that were the most natural thing to do. “…That was in 1970… And I set up shop here. It took me awhile but there were Brasilians here and they were helpful. I got into the Berklee School of music… A couple of years there and I had the opportunity to dwell upon the style of Clifford Brown and Lee Morgan there… Maybe that is why everyone talks about it…

“I made connections and these were all over the place and in six years (1976) I moved permanently to New York. One of my best early memories of my time in New York was hanging out at the Village Gate… I remember also Ray Barretto—and I remember him very fondly—in fact I played with him at the Village Gate. There is a recording somewhere…” he adds, as if these details are too much to remember… His voice trails off…

“You know,” he says suddenly, as if remembering something too important not to bring it up immediately and making a jump-cut in his own biopic in the bargain, “I have a unique career… You talked about my Brasilian-ness… well; I must be the only Brasilian musician to play with almost every kind of musician… You know what I am saying?

“I have played with Tito Puente, Mario Bauza in his big band… I have played with Jose Rodriguez in Brasil. I have played in salsa bands and in hard-core Afro-Cuban ensembles—too many to name here—including those deeply dedicated to Yemaya… And I have also played with Art Farmer…”

“And Dizzy Gillespie,” I remind him. “Yes, Dizzy too… You know what, it is crazy these days. Even now people who do not really know me… But when they recognize me they say to me, ‘Hey! Aren’t you the guy who played with Dizzy Gillespie?

“Two weeks ago, I was in Pittsburgh with Roger Humphries (the drummer, who played with Horace Silver on his quintessential Blue Note album, Song for My Father in 1964) and his brother Gregory and this young Latino trumpeter comes up to me and says just that… How I laughed… To think that I am still remembered from that band…”

I too find that quite amazing. Claudio Roditi has moved so far from there, even though he still plays in that Big Band, which gets together sometimes to play Dizzy’s repertoire. But Roditi has such a singular style. In fact he was recognized twice for it very publically. The first time was in 1995, for his solo work, Symphonic Bossa Nova with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and Ettore Stratta, which was nominated for a Grammy that year. The second came in 2009 when Brazilliance x4 (Resonance Records, 2009) was nominated again. In this music, which is far from the mainstream pop and hip-hop music, to be nominated is recognition enough. The rest is politics.

George Klabin’s record label offers a new musical home for Claudio Roditi. Klabin is a great patron. You can tell, when Roditi speaks of him so fondly—as if Klabin knows exactly why. But here Roditi is going and always seems to be there, waiting for him. It is on the tip of my tongue to get to the second reason that I am talking with Claudio Roditi—Simpatico. But he beats me to it. He explains the difference between the two.

“Brazilliance is different for me, for two reasons. First, you know, of course, that it is a ‘live’ record. We were playing this gig at Rising Jazz Stars, in Beverley Hills and Klabin went over the tapes sometime after that and realized that we had something there, so he brought us in to the studio to fill it out. I took Duduka (da Fonseca), pianist Helio Alves, and bassist Leonardo Cioglia into the studio and recorded other tracks. In the end, we settled on what you hear on the album, but essentially it came about because of that gig.

“But Simpatico was totally different. I wanted to do an album of just my songs—songs I had composed myself… George Klabin likes the idea of ‘Roditi, The Composer…’ It is kind of flattering to me. I have never thought of myself as a composer, but I too got caught up in the excitement. I had composed one song with Ricardo Silveira, my great friend the guitarist, when we played together in 1980; I think it was, when we were playing with Herbie Mann. I have written some charts over the years, but never thought of doing an album of my own compositions. I am funny in this way… When I write more, I play less… and when I play more, I write less or nothing at all… You know what I mean?”

Of course I do… But to hear him say it somehow is a startling admission. I wonder then if he suppresses his urges to compose, especially when the ideas start to come fast and furious at times.

“Oh I write those down, but to sit and work at a piece and polish it takes time and it is difficult to refuse a gig or some other assignment… And you know how things are at this time, eh?” He seems to read my mind. I think that we are on sacred ground now, so I do not probe or pursue something that he adheres to with such cold logic. So I approach his second Resonance Records release…

Simpatico has a softer ring to it than his previous production, Brazilliance x4. The title is an evocative one. Roditi is listening to his inner voice here. And he is giving in to its desires and its notions. It is a voice with secret chords and changes that speaks to the soul. To listen is to hear treat the matters of the heart with sympathy and let unbridled desire flow. This perhaps is how the music first happens. Then the hard work of polishing the songs begins. With Claudio Roditi it did not matter… he has had all the time in the world.

Part of the polished nature of the album is the players Roditi has surrounded himself with. Pianist Helio Alves and percussion colorist, Duduka da Fonseca are regular band mates. Both musicians, like Roditi, are Brasilian, but long time residents of the United States, as comfortable in the jazz idiom as they are creating oceans of sound in Musica Brasileira, the idiom that Roditi helped shape. They also understand perfectly how to get involved in the musical tapestry that Roditi weaves softly around him and are virtuoso players in their own right. To add another damper to the mix, Roditi hosts Michael Dease, a young trombonist who plays brilliantly throughout, adding a touch of class in his contrapuntal playing and reading of Roditi’s playing. Romero Lubambo has long been fancied as an inheritor of the majestic spot left vacant by Laurindo Almeida. A guitarist with a deft touch and very expressive intonation and dynamic, Lubambo brings an air of grace to complement the pianism of Helio Alves. John Lee, occupying the bass chair, in place of Leonardo Cioglia, is an old friend and band mate from Dizzy’s United Nations Orchestra. Roditi had played with Luizão Maia, another electric bassist from Brasil, years earlier and somehow, Lee fits the slot quite well, as Maia would have, had he been there for the asking. Roditi and Lee develop a wonderful understanding throughout and the bassist solos on “Slow Fire” using a tremolo that feels like a con arco stretch.

Roditi’s compositions reveal a startling warmth about the composer’s nature. In a sense this is reminiscent of Jobim and Johnny Alf, the latter happens to be a particular favourite of Roditi. Alf never got the recognition he deserved and was writing music in the Bossa Nova mode long before it became standard to call it so. But being a self-effacing musician, he continues to live and write in relative anonymity in Brasil. Roditi champions his cause yet again with an elegiac ballad, “Alfitude” honouring his long time friend. The song has a find inside-out melody that twists and winds in a downward spiral with Roditi and Dease playing counterpoint in the first chorus, before Roditi stretches, squeezing out notes that speak of the silent admiration he has for Alf and the anguish at his being ignored before Dease returns to solo with compassionate grace, followed by a beautiful break by Alves.

On “Piccolo Blues” Roditi plays the little trumpet with such dexterity, making it appear so easy to play. In reality it is notoriously difficult to play. Nevertheless, Roditi shows his mastery of it with a fiery opening theme that plays homage to the blues idiom as well. An old friend, Kuno Schmid, orchestrates “Slow Fire” and Roditi is back on familiar ground, playing behind and ahead of strings again as he did on his first Grammy nominated album, Symphonic Bossa Nova. Roditi’s playing burns with a bright blue flame here as does John Lee’s.

“How Intensitive” is an oblique Bossa Nova tribute to Jobim and even features a sly quote from Jobim’s own, “How Insensitive.” There is unmistakable romantic side to Claudio Roditi and this manifests itself in his elegiac charts, all ballads in honour of his wife of many years, “A Dream for Kristen.” Then there is the homage to his parents, “Alberto and Daisy” a blues for a friend, “Blues for Ronni” and a magical tribute to a friend’s daughter, “Waltz for Joana.” This last song features a vocal by Roditi that shows him to be a singer with perfect pitch on this deceptively simple melody. It bodes well for more vocal work in future as Roditi joins the ranks of Chet Baker as a master of the ballad, singing unlike Baker in a husky and captivating tenor with warmth and regal splendour.

I ask Roditi how easy it was to make this album. “Not very,” he answers, “But I was made comfortable by George Klabin’s confidence and support,” he adds. “I was also happy to be back in the studio with Helio, Duduka, Romero, John and Michael. And Kuno is fantastic when he gets going. George and he have a tremendous rapport.

“So in the end it became a very rewarding project. I suppose I had to get it out of my system… composing I mean,” he says with a bright laugh. Would he do it again? Somehow I want to hear him say, “In a heartbeat.” But Claudio Roditi being Claudio Roditi he says with a barely perceptible shrug, “I don’t really know… I want to play so I guess that means no composing for a awhile.” How about gathering some older charts and reworking them for a big band, or doing them in symphonic form, I ask. “Who knows,” he says sounding as if he is considering the prospect. And there is that commitment to play Musica Brasileira-Jazz… Like the rest of his fans around the world and in Brasil, I can only wait with bated breath.

Claudio Roditi on the web: www.facebook.com/claudioroditi

Interview conducted by: Raul da Gama

Por Chico Alvarez Peraza

ciudad de Nueva York, abril 22, 2010

80 AÑOS POR EL SENDERO DEL EXITO

Con esta edición, Latin Jazz Network rinde homenaje a CÁNDIDO CAMERO, percusionista cubano que hoy por hoy celebra sus 80 años de vida artística. Su trayectoria musical lo ha llevado desde su tierra natal a la úrbe nuevayorquina y más allá de la babel de hierro.

El percusionista ha viajado por todo el continente Latinoamericano, pasando tambien por las capitales de Europa. Cándido, personalmente me relató que hasta en el archipiélago del Japón sonaron los parches (cueros) de su adorado tambor.

Mi trabajo aquí es modesto, mi intención es de enriquecer el entusiasmo y el conocimiento de nuestros lectores con todo el cariño que se merece éste baluarte. Lo considero como un amigo, y como buen amigo que soy, les contaré no solo de sus grandes exitos, sino de su caballerosidad como persona.

Comienzo mi reportaje expresando que la imágen de Cándido me llamó la atención por primera vez hace más de cuarenta años. Lo ví ilustrado en las carátulas de algunos discos suyos que encontré en un “record shop” situado en la calle Rivington en el bajo Manhattan. Me refiero a los discos “Long Play”, reliquias de una epoca más sencilla, y, si no me falla la memoria el primer disco que tomé en mis manos fue “Candido The Volcanic”. Luego encontré “Candido In Indigo” y al ladito de éste estaba colocado “Candido’s Comparsa”.

Recuerdo que compré los tres elepés el mismo día y en su total me costaron unos nueve dólares. Eso sería como por el año 1965, cuando empecé a coleccionar discos de jazz. Anterior a esta compra solo tenía en mi colección algunos discos sencillos de 45 rpm, que en su mayoría eran del género de rokanról y por supuesto varios elepés de música “latina” y de “soul”.

Sin saber, me embarcaba yo en un viaje musical que me llevaría hasta lo más profundo de la experiencia cultural americana; hasta la propia raíz.

RAICES HABANERAS: COMO EMPEZÓ LA COSA

En cuanto a música bailable se trata, creo que no seré el primer autor en decir que Cuba le ha regalado al mundo una fortuna; ni tampoco el primero en hablarles del aporte cultural de los músicos cubanos a esta gran ciudad (Nueva York).

Solamente hay que dar un repaso al tiempo para recordar que fue precisamente aquí donde arribaron los primeros ritmos netamentes cubanos. Estos llegaron a comienzos del siglo veinte, en barcos de vapor, con instrumentos autóctonos y melodias enroscadas en las gargantas de varios soneros y músicos de color.

Recordemos que ya para el 1920 la ley de la prohibición (tambien conocida como el “experimento noble”) había abierto las puertas para el intercambio cultural y comercial entre Cuba y los bebedores estadounidenses. En aquella época surgía el primer “boom” turístico norteamericano y la ironía de este capítulo nos provoca cierta risa, porque la “ley seca” hizo que miles de “refugiados” americanos pasaran sus vacaciones “mojándose” con el famoso ron cubano. Habia que ver como aquellos “turistas de fin de semana” se estremecían al son de una guitarra, acompañada por la botíja, el tres, las claves, las maracas y el bongó.

Después de casi diez años de “prosperidad”, la caída de Wall Street en 1929 produjo una catástrofe americana que afectó tanto a Cuba como a los Estados Unidos. La Gran Depresión económica que se acercaba no podía permitir que los americanos continuaran sus escapadas a la capital cubana para “mojarse”, y, por consiguiente surgió el fenómeno de un éxodo al reves.

Cientos de músicos cubanos tomaron el ejemplo de las orquestas de Don Azpiázu, Alfredo Brito y Manolo Castro, y se trasladaron a Nueva York y a otras ciudades del “norte” (asi es que le llamaban a los Estados Unidos). Precisamente, era allí donde los bailadores de salón esperaban su música cadenciosa con gran ansiedad.

A pesar de que aquella crisis económica no le permitía viajar, el ciudadano americano siempre encontró dinero para festejar, y como el virus cubano ya lo había picado, era solo cuestión de tiempo. Asi fue que empezó la cosa, y en medio de grandes vicisitudes el criollísimo son estaba al explotar.

Con el tremendísimo exito del pregón “El Manicero” en 1930, la música cubana había penetrado en la fibra de la sociedad americana de forma contundente. En Cuba, el joven Cándido veía estos acontecimientos con ansiedad. Mientras tanto, Antonio Machín y otros pioneros impulsaban el son y los demás generos cubanos, penetrando su cadencia musical y su clave en las venas de la colonia hispanoamericana de Nueva York.

De repente, se produjo en la úrbe nuevayorquina una explosión de música cubana, particularmente con el género sonero, que habia llegado con Azpiázu y Machín bajo el seudónimo de “rhumba”. Fue en aquel momento cuando se implantaron sus raices, y se quedó para siempre nuestro son, aunque cambiaría de tímbre y de nombre muy a menudo en el futuro.

En el año 1933 se abolió la ley seca y el mundo siguió su agitado pulso. Durante esa época surgieron en Cuba grandes figuras, cuyos nombres saltaban las fronteras de la isla. En las siguientes decadas se sucedieron ciertas olas de inmigración desde Cuba hacia los Estados Unidos. Entre miles y miles de artistas y músicos cubanos que tomaron el rumbo hacia el norte a mediados de los años cuarenta, estaba nuestro Cándido. Y no fue por casualidad, pues su destino ya se había marcado desde temprana edad.

Nacido en el año 1921, Cándido se habia iniciado en la música desde niño, tamborileando sobre latas vacías de leche condensada en lugar de bongós. A los catorce años ya era todo un profesional. Pasó a tocar el trés, y rapidamente se integró a los famosos sextetos de su barrio, como por ejemplo Los Jóvenes Del Cerro, del cantante Carlos Azcona; Los Jovenes Sociales, del maraquero Jose Salínas; el Conjunto Gloria Habanera de Floro Acosta y el grupo del cantante Vicentico Valdés, que llevaba el nombre de El Nacional Juvenil. Tambien estuvo con Tata Gutiérrez y su grupo Bolero 1935, y el Conjunto Apolo de Raúl Diaz.

Varias veces le sirvió de suplénte al gran Arsenio Rodríguez y se destacó con el grupo Diseño Moderno de Marcelino Valdés, tumbador de mucha fama en Nueva York, por su participación en la orquesta de Tito Rodríguez.

Volvió a tocar el bongó en el 1946 y despues pasó a las tumbadoras con la orquesta del show La Corte Suprema Del Arte, en la emisora CMQ, mientras alternaba con Armando Romeu y su Orquesta Tropicana. Ahí conoció al maestro Bebo Valdés y según el ganador del Grammy para el año 2009, Cándido fue un personaje clave en el desarrollo de su creación: el ritmo de batanga.

Sin embargo, Cándido no se conformaba con el mero toque de sones y la rumba de solar. Soñaba con el mundo del espectáculo, con el teatro vernáculo y las luces de Broadway. Otros músicos compartian su sueño: Machito, Mario Bauzá, Miguelito Valdés y Chano Pozo.

El éxodo de músicos continuaría durante la segunda guerra mundial, y creo que el fenómeno histórico de la diáspora musical cubana en los Estados Unidos se merece un libro aparte. Y claro, Cándido se merecería entonces un capítulo para el solo.

LAS OLAS DEL CAMBIO – UN ESTUDIO SOBRE LA PERSEVERANCIA

Todo el que ha conocido a Cándido debe de entender que aunque el camino que lo condújo al éxito fue largo y duro, su historial está impregnado de emociones íntimas y de anécdotas interesantísimas. Este señor lleva en su mente una gran cantidad de recuerdos, saturados de alegría y de sabor tropical.

Me contó una vez que en aquel humilde barrio habanero de El Cerro, le ayudaba a su amigo Mongo Santamaría a repartir el correo por todo la vecindad, para que éste terminara temprano y ambos pudieran ir al cabaret a tocar música. Algunos decanos que aún viven, podrán regresar el tiempo, a través de sus recuerdos, para servir de testigos de aquella rara fecundación musical, el mestizaje musical del jazz norteamericano y el son cubano, cuyo arquitecto fue el genial Arsenio Rodriguez Scull. De ahi nace el son montuno, trampolín para todo lo que llegaría más tarde.

Al final de la década de los treinta hubo músicos de ambos paises que empezaron a experimentar con otra notable síntesis, que aún no tenia nombre ni llevaba etiqueta. Los más atrevídos inovadores del nuevo ritmo serían Stan Kenton y Damáso Perez Prado, que habian sembrado la semilla de aquel fenómeno que venía; sin ni siquiera haberse conocido. Me refiero al jazz latino, conocido en su inicio como jazz afrocubano.

Pero mientras Kenton solo experimentaba, Prado buscaba el éxito commercial, el ”jonrón” que lo sacaría para siempre de la pobreza. A pesar de su genio musical y su talento innato, el ilustre y excéntrico Prado no encontró ese éxito en Cuba, ni tampoco en Nueva York. Las ideas avanzadas de este pianista matancero lo llevarían a suelo azteca, lugar donde le esperaba el éxito rotundo.

Mientras tanto, el tiempo pasaba y el volcánico Cándido tampoco lograba su sueño en Cuba. Desde aquel rincón habanero escuchaba en la radio a la innovadora y formidable orquesta de Machito y Mario, y se veía tocando en los clubes nocturnes de Harlem. Fue así que nuestro Cándido decidió buscar fama y fortuna en la babel de hierro. Eso es historia.

CÁNDIDO Y LOS RASCACIELOS: EL SUEÑO REALIZADO

Un dia como cualquier otro se realizó aquel sueño de Cándido, mediante una gira que se llevó a cabo por la ciudad de Nueva York, con la pareja de bailarines Carmen y Rolando, una gira que culminó con el show llamado “Tidbits of 1946” (chismecítos del 1946).

Y ahi estaba Cándido, entre la rumba de salón y el swing de Benny Goodman, trabajando con los mejores jazzistas de la babel y acompañando a las parejas de baile más famosas de la capital habanera.

Al fin, ahí estaba él; entre la belleza excepcional de una cubanía que había dejado su huella eterna por los caminos de otras latitudes y la disciplina estructurada del jazz moderno. Los norteamericanos le llaman a este fenómeno “the best of both worlds”.

De inmediato se dio cuenta de que su destino era el no volver jamás a la incertidumbre. En mente y en corazón, regresaba el tiempo y recordaba que desde muy temprana edad el jazz ya lo había llamado, y asi fue que Cándido Camero alzó su vista hacia la meca de la música afroamericana: Nueva York.

A la edad de 25 años llegó a los Estados Unidos y muy pronto comenzó a tocar en el Club Le Downbeat con el pianista de jazz Billy Taylor. Debería de haberse sentido eufórico, al saber que la ciudad de los rascacielos lo acogía con brazos abiertos. Pero resultó algo inesperado, pues al nuevayorquino hispano también le gustaba la gozadera, y en pleno ambiente bailable Cándido logró despojar su ritmo contagioso con las orquestas de Machito y de José Curbelo. Asi fue que logró insertarse dentro del mundo “latino” estadounidense.

De esta forma creó una dualidad musical en su persona y dentro de poco tiempo se veía la figura de Cándido, acompañando a los comediantes Dean Martin y Jerry Lewis en el Habana Madrid, o viajando por Puerto Rico y la Republica Dominicana con la pareja de baile René y Estela, la más famosa pareja de bailarines cubanos. Quizas en algún salon de baile se sentían sus toques callejeros, que le hablaban directamente a los rumberos desterrados y a la comunidad latinoamericana de la urbe. La sangre llama.

CÁNDIDO Y CHANO – LOS PRIMEROS PIONEROS DEL JAZZ LATINO

En su mayoría, los historiadores están de acuerdo y está bien documentado que Cándido llegó a Nueva York un año antes que Chano Pozo y que se estableció aquí dentro de los círculos de jazz.

Sin mucha fanfarria, el caballero del bongó asimiló el ambiente crudo y segregado del norte y trabajó lo suficiente como para sobrevivir. No lucía egoísta ni alardoso, ni llamaba la atención, excepto cuando le tocaba hacer sonar los parches de su pequeño instrumento.

Y eso sí, dominaba también las tumbadoras y le hacia competencia a Chano. Su mera presencia en un escenario conducía a los espectadores a gritar “Candído” (con el acento en la í, pronunciado “Candeedo”). Al escuchar el vítor del publico el mulato tamborileaba sus dedos sobre el pellejo del bongó, o sobre las tumbadoras. A veces, quinteaba sobre ambos tambores a la vez, con el mismo ánimo de vivir aquel ritmo contagioso que lo estremecía cuando era un niño y tocaba las latas de leche en su querido barrio de El Cerro.

Pero resulta que en ese momento la historia toma un rumbo inesperado, y con la ayuda clave del músico Mario Bauzá, el extravagante Chano se vincula con el más popular y avanzado de los jazzistas: Dizzy Gillespie, y la colaboracíon de estos dos va formando la célula de lo que hoy le llaman jazz latino (Latin Jazz).

CÁNDIDO EN LA VANGUARDIA: EL DESTINO INTERVIENE

Ahora, pongan atención; la personalidad de Cándido era completamente opuesta a la de Chano. Y sin embargo ahí tenían a Cándido, bien parecido, con cierta educación, introvertido y humilde. Un hombre que se vestía con traje y no buscaba ser el centro de la atención de todos, pero eso sí, metía tremendo show aunque no era escandaloso.

Mientras tanto la farándula nuevayorquina se fijába más en el extrovertido y ambicioso Chano, promoter de su propio imágen, brusco, bullicioso y feo, que vestía como los famosos “chuchéros” de La Habana.

La guapería cubana se enfrentaba a la sublime manisfestación de un ser muy humilde y tranquilo. El punto clave en aquellos momentos no era el hecho de que Chano fuese mejor intérprete, percusionista ni animador (showman), sino que logró ser su propio promotor. Un espectáculo en sí que cantaba a lo africano y era de tez oscura, prieto, y por ende le daba un toque auténtico a lo afrocubano.

Cándido era de piel clara, un mulato fino que hablaba con una voz suave, mientras que Chano mantenía la imagen del típico negro de solar.

Quizas en un ambiente social como el de hoy esto no sería motivo de dilema, pero acordamos que aquella era otra época, se vivía en un sistema donde la lucha entre las clases (el “class struggle”) se destacaba, y ahi tenemos la principal diferencia entre estos dos pioneros del tambor cubano.

Por su carisma extravagante Chano cayó en el foco de la publicidad, su nombre y su figura se escuchaban y se veían con más frecuencia que las de Cándido. Dada su asociación con Dizzy y su reputación de “guapo” que se prestaba para controversias, Chano florecía.

Por otra parte un sosegado, modesto y discreto Cándido se desenvolvía en otro ámbito, en un ambiente menos callejero, menos peligroso y hasta cierto punto más sofisticado. La comunidad jazzista lo veía como un caballero, no como al Chano, quien había desarrollado una fama de “busca pleito”.

Sin embargo, la figura de Chano sigue siendo la más celebrada de los dos, precisamente por estas cosas, pero aún más porque fue un tumbador agresivo; y además de ser un formidable compositor y bailarín, fue un rumbero por excelencia. Al César lo del César.

Me parece una buena idea hacer esta comparación entre ambos y lanzar una descripción de sus diferentes caracteres, aunque quiero dejar muy claro que no estoy favoreciendo a ninguno de los dos sobre el otro. Chano jamás le hubiese robado la posición a Cándido, y vice versa. Cada uno tenia su don. Lo que plantéo aqui son cosas del destino y del comercialismo, nada más.

Chano Pozo era Chano Pozo y Cándido Camero era y sigue siendo Cándido Camero. Ambos son de los nuestros. No se trata de polémica, sino de una misma historia en la cual se presentan dos verdaderos baluartes, ambos dignos de admiración por nuestra comunidad nuevayorquina. Dos grandes de nuestra música urbana. Creo que no está en mi el definir quién fue el mejor, eso estára siempre con el público.

Ambos fueron pioneros, y sin embargo por esas cosas de la vida y por condiciones que muchos desconocen, la fama se le pegó más a Chano, y claro, despues de su trágica muerte, se convirtió en un mito y una leyenda. Mientras tanto, Cándido siguió su trayectoria de caballero y músico complaciente.

Es quizas por esto, que nunca se le dió el mismo mérito que a Chano. Con el tiempo el público nuevayorquino se olvidaría de Chano, y surgirían otros congueros estelares como Mongo Santamaría, Patato Valdés, Armando Peraza, Franciso Aguabella, Tata Güines, Sabú Martínez, Ray Barreto y algunos más.

Y en medio de los contendientes, se encontraba de nuevo nuestro Cándido, batallando como un campeón entre los campeones. A principios de la decada de los ‘50, fue solista de la orquesta de Stan Kenton, con la cual recorrió el país tocando tres tumbadoras en un período en que otros tocaban sólo una (o quizás dos). Además, raspaba el güiro y tocaba el cencerro con el pie. Cándido fue el primer multi-percusionista en la historia del jazz y creó un estilo único al interpretar melodías como las que hacían los pianistas y los percusionistas de las orquestas sinfónicas. En cuanto a este tipo de afinación se refiere, su único rival sería Patato, que aún vivía en Cuba.

CÁNDIDO Y LA FIEBRE MAMBERA: EL NUEVO RITMO ES EL QUE MANDA

De repente estalló el nuevo ritmo, en México. Y el mundo se puso a bailar mambo. Ni la música de concierto ni los combos de jazz le llamaban ya la atención a la juventud, y las bandas grandes comenzaron a desaparecer. Simultáneamente llegó el rokanról, y Cándido se mantuvo firme, porque tenía su fundamento.

Supo adaptarse a todo lo que estuviera en boga, y conste que, en años posteriores, el callado y apartado Cándido tambien quedaría en el olvido, pero por cierto tiempo, aunque a mi criterio fue simplemente porque él ya no figuraba en la musica popular bailable. Se movía en otro ambiente.

En 1951 Cándido regresó a su patria y realizó giras por toda la isla con el cantante Orlando “Cascarita” Guerra y los bailarines Gloria Y Rolando. A su retorno a Nueva York en el ‘52 Cándido se acopló con Dizzy Gillespie y de ahí en adelante su fama fue creciendo. Incluso, allá por el ’54 la famosísima sección de ritmo de los maestros Machito y Bauzá se unió a Cándido para desarrollar un proyecto muy elaborado, con músicos de óptima calidad, encabezados por el propio Gillespie, cuyo titulo era “The Manteca Suite”.

El clásico tema de Chano volvió a hacer historia y a la vez señaló la desaparición de las orquestas jazzband (big band). Aquel acontecimiento, no obstante, Cándido se hallaba de gira con la banda gigante de Kenton, ese mismo año, aunque en el ambiente social ya le quedaban poco tiempo a las orquestonas como estas.

Su magnifica ejecución percutíva se puede apreciar bien en las grabaciones de Kenton para el sello Capitol; como por ejemplo “Have A Havana”, en donde se une a su primer amor, el bongó. Solo hay que escuchar el tema “Bacante” para ver que en aquellos momentos Cándido era el dueño de ese instrumento.

Tambien hubo giras a lo largo de los Estados Unidos con Tito Puente, Joe Loco y Miguelito Valdés, mediante los famosos festivales nombrados “Mambo U.S.A”. Ya para el ‘57 se presentía la muerte del mambo a nivel internacional, aunque en el patio nuevayorquino aún reinaban sus melodias y su baile contagioso.

Esa verdad se la deben los nuevayorquinos al famoso salón de baile conocido como El Palédiun (Palladium Ballroom), en donde Cándido se presentó muy a menudo (como solista). Ese mismo año la fiebre mambera lo llevó a Venezuela y después a las montañas de Monticello con Los Lecuona Cuban Boys, pero la musa le volvía a llamar hacia la gran manzana, adonde algo muy especial lo esperaba.

En un instante, el destino de Cándido Camero cambió, y ese destino se llamó Tony Bennett. La historia nos indica que cuando el caballero de las congas se unió al cantante y caballero italiano-americano, de ahi en adelante su sueño se hizo realidad. Juntos, viajaron el mundo y nos informa el propio Cándido que su rostro fue usado para introducir e ilustrar la tumbadora (conga drum) en el World Book Encyclopedia (desde el año 1960 hasta el 1972) en la sección de instrumentos de percusión. A finales de aquella epoca tan increíble ya Cándido se habia destacado como una verdadera estrella de jazz, y en el año 1959 su nombre figuraba junto a los de Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie y Miles Davis en el afamado Club Birdland. ¡Que manera de terminar una decada!

CÁNDIDO Y LA NUEVA OLA: UN NUEVO COMIENZO

Durante la decada de los ‘60 el volátil Cándido se había destacado principalmente como acompañante de artistas al estilo de Las Vegas y de Broadway. No fue bobo, pues se sabía muy bien que ahí estaba la plata. Sin embargo, no se le pegó la misma fama que se adquiere tocando en salones de baile. Esto no es universal, es un fenómeno muy particular a nuestra ciudad.

Sin embargo yo lo veía mucho en el show del Chateau Madrid, en el mismo lugar que ahora ocupa el Latin Quarter, tocando para bailadores, junto a Israel “Cachao” Lopez y otros músicos que dejaron el ambiente rumbero para la seguridad del cabaret. Allí acompañaban a artistas de nombre como Celia Cruz, Xiomara Alfaro, Olga Guillot, Bobby Capó, Pedro Vargas, Rolando La Serie, Myrta Silva, Roberto Ledesma, Vicentico Valdes y un elénco de artistas internacionales.

Pero ese ambiente era para hombres de plata, y la creciente clientela del boogaloo y la salsa se movía en otro ambiente, más barato, aunque a mi criterio ahí se gozaba más, por que la plata corría por otras vias, quizas por la yerba y el huele huele, que no costaban tanto como la bebida. Además, la juventud de esa época ya estaba perdiendo el gusto por lo genuinamente cubano, y el nuevo híbrido estaba ya en sazón.

En Nueva York no solo se experimentaba por otras vias en cuanto a la propia música, sino en cuanto al vestuario, la ética y hasta en el propio baile se desviaba de la norma. Surgió para aquel entonces el baile al estilo “soul” y “boogaloo”, y ahi estaba nuestro Cándido de nuevo, grabando cosas bailables que cabían dentro de la etiqueta de “crossover”. Anticipando los cambios de gusto en la juventud, el volcán de las congas empezó a grabar como solista en el 1962 para el sello Roulette, lanzando el elepé titulado “Conga Soul”.

RECONOCIMIENTO MUNDIAL: MÁS ALLÁ DEL SUEÑO

En el mundo de la farándula internacional, el amable Cándido se ha destacado como percusionista y su imagen siempre ha estado vinculada a grandes eminencias como el antes mencionado Dizzy Gillespie. La lista de colaboradores incluye Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins, Tony Bennett, Steve Allen, Machito, Tommy Dorsey, Jackie Gleason, Tony Bennet, Chico O’Farrill, Patti Page, Charo, Luis Vigoreux, Nancy Ames, Polly Bergen, Pat Boone, Joe Franklyn y Mike Wallace.

Fue nombrado “Maestro del Jazz del 2008” por la agencia pública National Endowment for the Arts (NEA). Este premio es el máximo reconocimiento a la música denominada jazz en toda la nación y hasta la fecha ha sido de mucha honra para 100 grandes figuras del género. Este músico de 89 años ha sido solamente el segundo cubano en recibir el reconocimiento. El saxofonista y clarinetista Paquito D’Rivera, fue nombrado en el 2005.

Debo de mencionar su aparición en la television junto a Lena Horne en el show de Ed Sullivan, tanto como su presentación con la orquesta de Duke Ellington en la producción “The Drum Is A Woman” (el tambor es una mujer) y además con Charlie Parker en su concierto con violines en Carnegie Hall.

Se destacó junto al pianista británico George Shearing en “Latin Escapade”, para el sello Capitol. Como líder grabó varios discos para el sello ABC Paramount Records. Entre los antes mencionados elepés estan tambien “Latin Fire”, “Calypso Dance Party”, y “Candido”.

Duró con esa empresa hasta el 1965, integrandose despues al sello Tico en el ‘67, dejando solamente una joya musical de géneros bailables cubanos. Este disco se tituló “Brujerías de Cándido” e incluye al maestro Israel “Cachao” López en el bajo, con el respaldo de la orquesta de Tito Puente. Otra grabación, muy de colecionista, es una en la cual Cándido toca el bajo de madera junto a los jazzistas Ray Bryant al piano, Art Blakey y Sabú Martínez en la percusión y el legendario Oscar Pettiford en el cello. El tema se titúla “Oscalypso”.

Cándido lideró un cuarteto entre los años ’60 y ’64 en el Club Liborio de la calle 48 y Broadway. El grupo destacaba piano, bajo y trompeta, mientras que Cándido tocaba varios instrumentos de percusión. Abría el show como solista y luego entraban los músicos uno por uno, y empezaban a tocar, al estilo muy cubano de descarga.

En el ’64 realizó una gira con el famoso Trío Los Panchos en el Japón y desde el ‘65 al ‘79 volvió a los estudios de grabación, contratado por varios sellos de prestigio que lanzaron los siguientes elepés; “1,000 Finger Man” (Solid State, 1970), “Beautiful” (Blue Note, 1970), “Drum Fever” (Polydor, 1973), “Candido Funk” y “Dancin’ and Prancin” (Ambos para Salsoul, 1979).

Despues de un breve periodo en la penúmbra, Cándido resucitó en el año 1981, más o menos cuando el mundo empezaba a reconocer al talentoso pianista cubano Marco Rizo. Trabajó con frecuencia para el cuarteto de Rizo, hasta el 1985. Mientras tanto hacía giras con otro gran pianista; el panameño Rafael Benítez.

En el ‘81 ambos fueron a tocar en los carnavales de Panamá y despues acompañaron a Xiomara Alfaro por todo Centroamerica. De ahí Cándido se unió a la agencia de Steven Scott Productions & Orchestra para tocar exclusivamente en fiestas privadas. Con esta agencia trabajó por diez años, y al comenzar la década de los noventa, se integró al renombrado grupo “The Conga Kings”, con el cual grabó varios discos.

Con este grupo se han realizado varios conciertos y giras a nivel internacional. Recientemente el cineasta Iván Acosta produjo un documental sobre la vida de Cándido titulado “Manos De Fuego”. Además, uno de sus conciertos fue grabado en vivo y lanzado al mercado con el mismo título.

Por mi parte, me siento orgulloso de poder contarle a nuestros lectores sobre algunos aspectos de la historia del jazz latino y me alegro mucho que Cándido ahora esté recibiendo el reconocimiento por su habilidad como percusionista y por su sonrisa de buena gente.

Su aporte al jazz es indiscutible, aunque en el ambiente latino a Cándido no le han llegado a dar el homenaje que verdaderamente se merece. Francamente, esto yo lo veo como un atraso. Claro, sabemos (y aceptamos) que ya no vivímos en la época dorada, que es otra era completamente diferente; sobrevivímos dentro de un comercialismo a donde “lo nuestro” ya no es lo nuestro. Las imágenes de Cándido y de Chano han llegado a ser opacadas por otras figuras que ahora pretenden ser “pioneros”. ¡Que horror!

¿Por qué será que en las flamboyantes ceremonias de los premios “Lo Nuestro” no dan espacio para estas figures clásicas? ¿Será porque no existen categorias de instrumentistas rítmicos? Que lástima que ahora no quieran reconocer a Cándido, el primer percusionista en incorporar la tumbadora al jazz a través de su trabajo con Gillespie, Kenton y Tony Bennett.

Sin embargo, existe un tal llamado “jol de la fama” (Hall of Fame) para la música rokanrolera, y me he fijado que ahí si le rinden verdaderos homenajes a los pioneros de ese género. Entonces, ¿porqué no lo hacemos nosotros tambien? ¿Que pasará con nuestro legado musical, si nosotros mismos no lo mantememos en primera plana? ¿Se perderá para siempre? ¿Cuándo será que los “latinos” le daremos un merecido reconocimiento a las leyendas como Cándido Camero?

Su veteranía alcanza ya 80 años, pero esto no significa que ha llegado a la edad del retiro. Segun Cándido: ‘cuando estoy frente a estos tres tambores me siento como un niño’. Y como un buen vino añejo, el hombre de las manos de fuego sigue deleitando a su público, porque su sabor, su ritmo y su sello único lo avalúan para sentirse orgulloso de ser el decano del tambor en los Estados Unidos.

Here is the challenge: Take some of the Duke’s most personal music – it is all personal really – and turn it all over to the Latin idiom and rhythm, which substitutes “swing” for “clave” whether obvious or implied. The second and more challenging task is to assign (instrumental) voices to play the melody and to harmonize and then to solo in the third voice so to speak. Should a flute solo or should a tenor? Should Johnny “Rabbit” Hodges slide in and swirl all over the tune and should a wailing Nance and his muted trumpet follow him… Conundrums like these occupied Duke and he cooked his music with the ingredients of his vastly talented instrumentalists in a myriad different ways. This is, after all, what made for the “Ellington Sound” and resulted in Strayhorn’s prophetic remark. Here, Brun is truly up for the challenge.

The other aspect of this music is that the Latin idiom is flamboyant (and may only be infinitely subtle when needed, but in a vastly different way). In addition, that too when strings are added for subtle changes in color. Brun employs none on this project, except the bass, which is played exclusively pizzacato. Bright Latin tones and colors are earthy and bold, whereas Duke could be fey and nuanced in a one-hundred-and-sixty-odd-shades-of-grey sort of way. Moreover, Duke’s hues were ever evolving shades of cyan and Bruns are in violet, magenta, yellow, and reds. Does that mean that Dukes music sounds necessarily brighter in Latin? Yes, because the piano and the clave hidden in Latin melodic deconstruction necessarily makes it so.

Brun paints subtle shades in the rhythm, playing his wide variety of percussion instruments with great sensitivity and finesse. He and pianist, Benjamin Irom make a glorious version of “In a Sentimental Mood” come to Ducal life with Pedro “Pete” Ojeda playing those dying end-notes to close Barnett’s and Irom’s phrases. Barnett’s solo is diaphanious and the ensemble captures perfectly the langorous “saudades” of the song.

Judi Deleón fits the vocal part of the orchestra well with her sinewy, bluesy approach to song. She brings a nervy vulnerability to “Lover Man,” not exactly a song from the Ellington songbook, but one that offers a refreshing perspective on Billie Holiday’s classic song nevertheless. “Gabe” Pintor on the moving version of “Solitude,” conjours another Ducal alum, Ben Webster, with his breath-and emotion-filled saxophone as he literally carries the song, while Brun is outstanding as he dances in a slow bolero just under the melody. “Gabe” Pintor is stellar again, as he carrys the melody of “Sophisticated Lady” from start to finish. A vastly slowed- down version of “Fleurette Africaine” stars pianist, Benjamin Irom and majestic harmonics from bassist, George Prado, as is Brun’s harmonically strong tumbadoras work.

It is infinitely possible, though not necessarily easy to find the pocket for Dukes more danceable songs, such as “Perdido,” “C-Jam Blues” and “It Don’t Mean a Thing (If You Ain’t Got That Swing).” Still it is a great challenge to keep the integrity of the melody, while creating a “clave equavalent” of the swing of delight in each of the songs. Brun seems to have cracked the Ducal code in all of the above.

“Caravan” is very possibly the finest rearrangement of a song in the Duke’s ouvre. It is possible to see hip-swinging dancers in the Caribbean sashaying with elegantly bred Bedouin as the proverbial “Caravan” moves to an inevitable conclusion. The playfully sinister bassline lays down a perfect groove for the piano con clave too.

So what happens when a Latin plays a tribute to “The Master Duke Ellington”? Strange and wonderful things happen. How about: Duke must be beaming enigmatically in heaven as he shadow-conducts this wonderful ensemble saying, “I told you so…” The music he lovingly called jazz is truly universal.

Tracks: Upper Manhattan Medical Group (U.M.M.G); Satin Doll (Muñeca); Flamingo; In a Sentimental Mood; Lover Man; Solitude; Perdido; Sophisticated Lady; C Jam Blues; In a Mellow Tone; It don’t Mean a Thing (If you Ain’t Got That Swing); Cotton Tail; Fleurette Africaine; Caravan (La Caravana Reprise).

Personnel: Henry Brun: tumbadoras, quinto, bongo, cowbell, timbales, cúa, maracas, guiro, shakers, clave; Travis Davis: piano, keyboards; Rafael “Ralph” Petitón: electric bass; Gabriel “Gabe” Pintor: alto and tenor saxophone; Judi Deleón: vocals; Justo Almario: alto and tenor saxophone & flute (1, 12); Vernon “Spot” Barnett: tenor saxophone (4); Dr. John Mills: tenor saxophone and flute (5, 8, 11); Phillippe Vieux: baritone saxophone (5, 11); Dr. Benjamin Irom: piano (4, 13); Pedro “Pete” Ojeda: electric bass (4); George Prado: double bass (13).

Henry Brun on the web: www.henrybrun.com

Review written by: Raul da Gama

Mystery and magic lie at the heart and soul of artistic creation… It is better to leave it at that, or better still to put it all down to “duende”… This is one of those mystical, indefinable words that pierce deep in the heart of Spanish culture. The great Spanish poet, Federico García Lorca wrote that “duende” could only be in the depths of abandonment – in the “final blood-filled room of the soul.” Its power is likened to a moment which transcends time… a moment of immortality. Among musicians alive today, guitarist Paco de Lucía captures this… So does pianist Chano Domínguez, the bassist Renaud García-Fons. And now, it seems that Miguel Blanco has brought together a group of musicians who display a remarkable ability to radiate this magical quality.

The music on Mediterraciones from the Afrodisian Orchestra brings alive all traditional musics from Spain in a molten mix of volcanic lava. The energy generated by this record palpitates throughout. Miguel Blanco, bassist and musical director winds up the musical tension to such an extent that there is no let up until the final notes of the eighth track resonate in the inner ear and finally die down. “Desarraigo” sets the pace. This is a fiery flamenco sketch carved out and applied to the big band juerga setting. It has all the makings of a traditional flamenco – cante, baile (suggested by the cracking handclaps and superbly resonant cajón by percussion colorist, Jorge Pérez) and guitarra from Israel Sandoval. The glue that binds it all together is memorable glissandos that slide form the mouthpiece of the soprano saxophone of Jaime Muela.

“Retumba,” explodes in thunderclaps and is more sinister, which goes miles in winding up the tension of the music. Muela plays the fabled Turkish flute, the ney, here and the aching sound creates a glacial character for the composition before Raul Marques’ trumpet moans his solo in a slow-drag manner, with the emotional intensity of a cante jondo. Then Israel Sandoval’s guitar solo, like an outpouring of the soul, almost conjuring up ancient soleares that twists down to a Jimi Hendrix-like conclusion. There is only a brief respite during “Nonna I Nil,” its beguiling title belies the softness of its balladry. Both keyboardist, Marta Sánchez and in a rare turn, Miguel Blanco excite and agitate the music delightfully. The ensemble has a warm glow burning throughout and Jorge Pérez taps his udu drum as José San Martín creates bright cymbal splashes.

“Boletus Obsoletus” is a quirky arabesque of a song that inhabits a kind of electric fog. Its mystery deepens toward the middle of the piece where Roberto Pacheco’s trombone solos in dissonant fashion, while Blanco and the percussionists provide veritable bedrock under the solo. “Habanera Excentrica” has a rough-timbre vocal-like harmonic progression to release an almost ravaged core of the song. The incisive rhythm is coupled with a white-hot near violent emotional intensity. Once again, Jaime Muela – this time on tenor saxophone – drives up the heat and Rubén Salvador keeps the fire alive with his trumpet.

“La Brisa” and the title track “Mediterraciones” co-exist and twist the music from a light fluttering of “La Brisa” to a deeper more moody “Mediterraciones”. In the former track Marta Sanchez plays off Juan Ramos Callejas’ mighty wail on his alto saxophone. The title tune features Miguel Blanco’s ability to write for dense harmonies. This is a sinister tune, capturing the historic elements of Mediterranean art history, accented by Pérez on congas. Carlos Rossi on flugelhorn shines in the middle eight. “Te Llamé y No Estabas” is another beguiling title and is a perfect bookend for “Desarraigo”. It unfolds in rapid silky movements accented by the handclap, cajón and other percussion that melds into the brass and woodwinds to create the openings for soloists – Sánchez on keyboards, Ramón Callejas on soprano saxophone and Inaki Araquistain on tenor saxophone.

This is a quintessential record that is bursting not only with energy, but also with the ingenuity of melding Spanish song with modern American music. Miguel Blanco excels as he creates arrangements for his own charts in masterful fashion. The leader has an innate feel for musical instruments and expresses his voice with candor and classic audacity. In doing so he has produced a record that will rank with those path-breaking ones made by Chano Domínguez.

Track listing:

Desarraigo; Retumba; Nonna I Nil; Boletus Obsoletus; Habanera Excentrica; La Brisa; Mediterraciones; Te Llamé y No Estabas.

Personnel:

Fernando Hurtado: trumpet and flugelhorn; Paul Gil: trumpet and flugelhorn; Carlos Rossi: trumpet and flugelhorn; Raul Marques: trumpet and flugelhorn; Roberto Pacheco: trombone; Roberto Bazán: trombone; Santi Canada,: trombone; Guillermo Baez: trombone; Juan Ramón Callejas: alto and soprano saxophones; Miguel Malla: alto saxophone and clarinet; Jaime Muela: flutes, soprano and tenor saxophones; Iñaki Araquistain: tenor saxophone and flute; Sergio Bienzobas: baritone saxophone and bass clarinet; Marta Sánchez: piano and keyboards; Israel Sandoval: guitar; José San Martín: drums and triangles; Jorge Pérez: cajón, darbouka, shékere, djembe, udu; Miguel Blanco: electric and acoustic bass, and musical direction; Guests: Saul Quiros: handclaps (1, 4, 6, 8); Rubén Salvador: trumpet (5); Pepe Prat: congas and bells (4), bongos (6).

Afrodisian Orchestra on the web: www.myspace.com/afrodisianorchestra

Review written by: Raul da Gama