Grammy Winner Raphael Cruz Reaffirms his commitment to Latin Jazz!

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

Our Man From La Habana – Cándido Camero: Uno De Los Nuestros

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.

Bobby Carcassés en Jazz Gallery – Nueva York

Bobby Carcassés: Luna de Miel en Nueva York
Un eterno romance entre lo cubano y el jazz demuestra que la cosa va en serio

Reseña por Chico Alvarez Peraza

Fotografías por Verónica Carcassés

El pasado jueves 11 de marzo, se presentó por segunda vez en el Jazz Gallery de la calle Hudson en el bajo Manhattan el improvisador de jazz, cantante, trompetista, pianista, percusionista y dibujante cubano Bobby Carcassés. Su música ha sido categorizada como “jazz cubano” y el propio Bobby ocupa hoy un lugar importantísimo en la historia de este género.

Como lo había hecho ya en otras ocasiones, Bobby le brindó a sus admiradores alma y corazón; les presentó un repertorio original envuelto en sus propios arreglos; mezclados con adaptaciones de varios temas que pertenecen tanto al repertorio clásico y variado del jazz como al cancionero americano. Junto a Bobby, un elenco de musicos cubanos desterrados: el destacado alto saxofonista y percusionista Yosvany Terry; su hermano, el inquieto Yunior Terry en el bajo acústico; el pianista por excelencia Manuel Valera; el ritmo contagioso de Marvin Diz, haciendo de lo suyo con tres tumbaboras mientras el formidable Dafnis Prieto le daba el toque final al asunto con una batería americana (drum set). Y para ñapa, la agresiva combinación cubana se unió para descargar en dos temas con la flautista americana Andrea Brachfeld, a quien Bobby había invitado a participar. Así, de forma contundente y con cierto aire “libre” (free form), Carcassés fundió ambos generos en forma muy peculiar, y por supuesto “a lo cubano”. A mi entender, esa es su frase favorita… Lea la reseña completa

Vea el slideshow: Bobby Carcassés: Luna de Miel en Nueva York (este enlace abrirá en una ventana nueva)

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 3

THE INTERVIEW – Part III – August, 2008 – April, 2009:

Conversations Between CHICO ALVAREZ PERAZA and HARVEY AVERNE

CAP: I have noticed that today’s latin jazz is so much more diverse than it was back then. Of course, we could say that the musicians in New York picked up where the Cubans had left off, but that would be speculating. It’s my contention that the Cubans were not alone in their endeavor, and that various ethnic groups were also responsible for the development of this hybrid music. For example, I have recently been enlightened as to just how much American Jews have contributed to the dissemination of what we latinos stubbornly refer to as “our music”. Virtually no credit is given to them (nor to Afro-Americans for that matter). The borscht belt is but one piece of the puzzle, I suppose. And no one has yet to examine the South American influences. Still, the genesis of it all can be found in the Havana-New Orleans connection. Having said that – and with a bit of indignation – I can’t help but wonder what brilliant elitist-wanna-be-genius-authority-on-latin-music mind has now come up with the idea that “El Barrio” is the birthplace of “latin jazz”. This kind of irresponsible writing only serves to create more confusion and propagate certain myths, not to mention that it totally misinforms the very gullible younger generation. I am quite sure that “regionalism” will once again rear its ugly head on this matter.

HA: Chico, this is deep. Let me just say that without Cuban music and American jazz we would not have anything resembling latin jazz, but I have to say that Harlem did play a major role in its development. For me, that’s where it all came together. Up until this day if you walk down the streets of El Barrio on a nice day and listen to the music coming from the cars, apartments and shops you will notice that it is not the sounds of latin jazz that you hear (for the most part anyway). Do the same walk in Harlem and you will find that the Afro-Cuban Jazz influence there is much stronger.

CAP: Harvey, when it comes to Afro-Cuban Jazz, we both know that it’s not just about the Cubans, but the revisionists are nonetheless working overtime to “set the record straight” as they say. They want to prove that everything comes out of New York, and that Spanish Harlem is the epicenter of everything “latino”. What these self-proclaimed musicologists fail to see is that this music had already gone through its own cultural metamorphosis – long before they even heard of it. Fernando Ortiz coined the phrase “transculturation” and he traced the seeds of that process to places like New Orleans, Havana, Veracruz, Cartagena, Caracas, Paris etc. Perez Prado may have produced his jazzed-up version of the “mambo” while in Mexico and the Harlemites may have given the music a new name – “Cubop” – but by that time it was thoroughly documented (through films and recordings) as Cuba’s “popular” music. The earliest forms have been preserved for posterity, available as we speak on youtube.com and illustrated in academically well-edited books. And I’m not talking about your local Mickey Mouse cub reporter types either, I’m referring to all those eyewitnesses who “lived” the experience and who are a lot more knowledgeable than the sabelotodos who are just beginning to get their feet wet. There are a few writers who are really trying to get it right, no doubt. But they only scratch the surface. Back in the day – I’m talking pre-Fania here – we had some real scholars. They did their homework, putting in long hours of research, meeting with and interviewing the progenitors. So you see, there is indeed a consensus of opinion among educators that we had visionaries in both countries (USA and Cuba) who had been merging these two musical worlds since the early part of the twentieth century. The problem is that the main focus has (always) been on the Chano Pozo/Dizzy Gillespie/Mario Bauza/Machito collaborations. Sadly, after the 1962 trade embargo the cultural interplay between the two countries was no longer available. The late Louie Ramirez and I spoke at length about this. As you know, his uncle was the great pianist Joe Loco. I don’t know, is it just me, or did you also notice that after they shut down Cuba, latin jazz began to diminish in popularity.

HA: You are correct Chico. And I do see where you’re coming from. Your dislike for the “authoritarian” know-it-all types is only equal to my utter disdain for “traditionalists” (not to be confused with “tradition”, which I deeply respect). After the embargo, latin jazz was sort of relegated to maybe a handful of artists who really pushed it to the max. It was hip music, and mostly stayed within the realm of dance rhythms, so it’s appeal was far more universal than straight ahead traditional and very improvisational jazz. And it wasn’t ethnically restricted, I would say it was actually inclusive. On the other hand, straight ahead jazz got way too elitist. Jazz fans, for the most part are really an elitist and closed minded bunch. Yeah, they love the music, but rather than nurture it, they stiffle it. They have evolved into the sabelotodo/anti-change/anti-growth/anti/experimentation “traditionalist” group (if I stated this before, screw it, let them hear it again, it deserves repeating, because repetition is their mantra and their way of life any damned way).

CAP: Pretty strong words, Harvey. Looks like it’s you who are starting to go deep now.

HA: I know, but it’s true. Look, any time that a jazz artist deviated from traditional jazz and experimented, as was the case in Miles Davis’ “Bitches Brew” album for example, they were brutally attacked by the whole entire “traditionalist” jazz establishment, including their so-called “jazz fans”. Some are in a way like the elitist Upper West Side New York Times loving type book crowd (only certain books and writing styles are acceptable, everything else is looked down and frowned upon). The “Holier Than Thou”, high and mighty intellectual set. The bullshit is even worse in the art field, those poor bastards had to starve, cut off their ears, die and be buried in the ground -for God knows how long- before their art became fashionable, sold in the auction houses and galleries and later displayed in the museums of the world. The upper echelon snobbish assholes who made the artist’s lives a living hell wound up earning multi-millions of dollars buying, selling, and (finally) appreciating the artist’s work. In turn, the real artists leave our world penniless, feeling insecure and insignificant. They die wondering if their life’s work was valid or had some meaning, or whether it was of less than minor importance. I’m sure Vincent Van Gogh (wherever he is) must be grateful for the adoration and love bestowed on him now, even if it is just a little late, don’t you think? At least he had the interest, love, encouragement and support from his brother Theo. Some never even get that.

CAP: Well Mr. Averne, you are as they say “pulling no punches” today.

HA: Chico, I’m going for the TKO on this one. Allow me to personally thank the “traditionalist establishment” of the various art forms on behalf of all the dead composers, artists, musicians, playwrights, authors, etc. who lived miserable sub-standard lives waiting for that much delayed societal approval. The way that our new talent is treated, encouraged and nurtured is inane and completely unforgivable as far as I’m concerned. History proves that from the beginning of time our society has had an innate fear of any new or different ideas in regards to science, philosophy, religion, basic freedoms etc. Remember Columbus and the world is flat scenario? And Freud’s theories of the human subconscious and the sexual instincts of man? Old Sigmund really shook up western civilization, and for this he paid dearly. And, if my memory serves me correctly Galileo lived out his final years under house arrest for the invention of the telescope. How fucked up is that Chico?

CAP: It’s as bad as it gets, I guess.

HA: Having said that, allow me to once again cite the Miles Davis “Bitches Brew” album as the perfect example. My brother is a worshipper of all things traditional. Period. He is an “only traditional jazz will do” type jazz lover and a former saxophonist. As a “traditionalist” he still hasn’t forgiven Miles for going electric on that album. All Miles did was plug some electric cords into a socket and experiment with some new sounds that he was hearing in that genius brain of his. Mind you, it was all about the instruments, albeit electric, played by great musicians requiring no less expertise or talent than on the acoustic instruments. God forbid we should allow that fact into the equation. Simply put, no new instruments or sounds would be permitted. The innovators were put on notice.

CAP: The “audacity of change” – to borrow a line from president Obama.

HA: Yes, and for that Sir Miles Davis was vilified and crucified. That’s right, I’m talking about Mr. Miles Davis, the ultimate non-comformist. “How dare he betray us”! Was he also expected to die frustrated, driven mad by conformity? I highly recomend reading a short piece by Maya Angelou entitled “Haters”.

CAP: I happen to think that “Bitches Brew” is a perfect example of what you’re talking about Harvey, although every one of Miles’ albums was a “first”.

HA: Of course they were. But to the best of my knowledge that was Miles’ biggest album ever. Even more importantly, “Bitches Brew” brought so many new fans to jazz music, which it desperately needed then, needs now and will always need. It was that same “traditionalist” elitist mentality that loved the Buena Vista Social Club to the exclusion of all the other Cuban and Latin bands. The same crowd that couldn’t see past Buena Vista and appreciate the great bands from New York, Cuba and the Caribbean. It was musicians like Eddie Palmieri, Adalberto Alvarez, Papo Lucca, Eddie Zervigon, Larry Harlow, etc. who brought something fresh into the traditional Cuban repertoire. They built upon that traditional foundation, and never lost site of its roots. Their respect for the old masters such as Arsenio Rodriguez, Fajardo, Lilí Martinez, Aragón, etc. came through in every record they ever made. What Buenavista did was a complete about face, that is to say that they actually took it way back in time, to the roots, which was beautiful in its own right. No one ever knocked what they did, on the contrary we all respect them greatly for giving us that foundation. But we must also acknowledge that there are many new artists who continue to build upon that foundation, thereby enhancing our traditional values. I think that it is an affront to those values to create a musical time freeze within which all refinement or experimentation cannot be respectfully encouraged or analyzed with an open mind. That which cannot be permitted to evolve will surely decay over time. To block the most creative minds in our talent pool is to sentence them (and us) to a life of repetition in an ever changing world. Granted, every new and different idea throughout man’s history began its journey crudely, rough around the edges, much like we all do at the beginning of our lives. Hopefully, with proper education and encouragement we can become valuable contributing members of society. This is something that the”traditionalists” can’t seem to get straight!

CAP: I see what you mean Harvey, but still, these so called “elitists” were not then and are certainly not now in the majority, they are and always will be a minority.

HA: Yes, but they have amazing power and are very influential in political and economic circles. Also with the media as well. I think Buena Vista’s debut album did approximately a million units. It was that elitist minority who initially supported Buenavista and who eventually pulled the latino audience into it, but that was way later. Let me point something out to you and the readers. Initially, Buena Vista Social Club was a very interesting promotional concept that began to snowball beautifully according to plan. Long before the movie ever came out it was a home run. People (and they know who they are) who never called me to discuss any specific musical work were now calling to tell me about this fabulous Cuban group and this great new album that they had purchased at Barnes & Noble or Borders. The album was beautifully executed, but musically speaking there was absolutely nothing new about it except the addition of American pop artist Ry Cooder and his twangy Hawaiian guitar sound. To me the most remarkable achievement was that some 1000 plus years of Cuban historical talent was still able to perform in the studio and on stage so well. More than fifty years ago Harlow and I were learning our craft listening to the same music and loving it while growing up in Brooklyn. Buenavista was a resurgence that turned into a grass roots word of mouth movement and a promotion campaign of the highest degree. First of all, the word was out that Buenavista would never get any airplay because the stateside Cuban owned radio stations and the Spanish media would boycott them as they did every other artist from Cuba. Therefore, Nonesuch Records didn’t waste any money on traditional promotional methods, not a dime was spent on radio promotion or TV. Instead, they spent their initial promotional budget at Barnes & Noble, Borders book stores, Starbucks, etc., places where the intellectual bunch go to read, buy books and music or just drink coffee. That was exactly how they started to promote this group’s album. Secondly, there was a political angle to it as well, which helped sell the concept. Can you imagine this? Here we have a group of senior Cuban artists who had long been discarded and forgotten in their own homeland and who were not being formally recognized in the USA because of the dreaded embargo! It seemed to be the politically correct thing to write about then, and would be even more appropriate now. Their story received a lot of ink, in the New York Times, Washington Post, LA Times, Time Magazine, Newsweek, etc. It was a great story, very romantic. The musicians themselves were very good, and then you had an icon like Ry Cooder promoting them as well. Cooder was the brains behind the whole thing and I’m not surprised that a non-latino had the vision and was responsible for the success of the project. Often times it takes an outsider to see something that those who are in the middle of it all cannot. Kind of like the old “you can’t see the forest for the trees” syndrome. Initially and for a good while, the CD sold mostly in book stores, etc. and very little in record stores and other outlets. Little by little it mushroomed into a monster seller. Of course, when the record and big box stores saw how well it was selling, they picked up on it and immediately stocked it.

CAP: I can understand the analogy here, but this was long after the demise of latin jazz. It seems odd to me that you would cite the jazz purists exclusively, as I do recall that it was those same purists who fell head over heels in love with Machito’s Roulette recording of “Kenya”, which remains to this day a classic piece of music and a prime example of how well fusion can work. In contrast to what you have said, the “latino music purists” of that era (for lack of a better word) rejected that album totally (at that time). The rejection worked in reverse. In regards to that type of purism, they were no better than the jazz elitists that you have mentioned here Harvey. And there were other factors involved. First and foremost, I think, the “salsa” boom overshadowed latin jazz, even though many salsa bands still played it somewhat. Subsequently we had all these other modalities which came later, such as merengue house, funk, disco, reggaeton, etc., and even the newly arrived timba, which is nothing more than old school funk with a lot of Afro-Cuban percussion and jazz/rap vocals added on top. Each one of these fads has taken their toll, and has invariably swayed the listener’s attention away from latin jazz. While we baby boomers still remember it fondly, the now generation does not seem to care much about it. Let’s look at some of the causes for that, from your perspective that is.

HA: Okay. Initially, Jerry Massucci was one of the main causes, at least I have to think so.You see, Fania was like Motown in many ways. Motown started out black, then it changed its focus and its image within the genre. Fania on the other hand created an image. In its own way, it was a movement, even stronger I think in latin music than Motown was in r&b/soul, where you still had Atlantic, Stax/Volt and all the other labels competing within that market and genre. Even so, it is the Motown sound that to this day remains the most powerful force ever from the genre of black American music, as evidenced by how much Motown material we hear every day in movies, TV radio, commercials, compilation albums etc. And so it is with Fania – only to a lesser degree – because it is a musical and ethnic niche that could never captivate the anglo mainstream.

CAP: Why so?

HA: Too much prejudice still abounds in our country. Yet “Our Latin Thing” remains so amazingly resilient and powerful in the “latin” world and beyond. Motown and Fania were very similar in that they both signed younger artists and had more of a street sound. Even with the established artists like Pacheco, Harlow and Barretto, it was a very young Willie Colon with Hector Lavoe, Ruben Blades and later on Ismael Miranda who sold the most units.To have been on Fania was and remains a prestigious thing. People would go into a record store and ask: “what’s new on Fania?” and still do because of all the excellent compilations that are being released every month.

CAP: A very popular and influential label indeed, but there were two other latin labels who were competing strongly with Fania as well, weren’t there? Caytronics and your own label, Coco.

HA: Yes, and I’ve been told that collectors, audiophiles and hard-core latin music lovers did something similar with my label. They would go into a record store and buy almost everything new that came out on Coco. I think that this was because the quality of Coco’s productions and our much smaller carefully chosen artist roster. We had built a trusting relationship with our audience and the radio. The expectation was that if it was on Coco it had to be good. My label had to go to tremendous extremes to be different than Fania, which we did intentionally and I thank God to a great degree it worked.

CAP: And Caytronics?

HA: Truthfully, Caytronics never really got that big with the young crowd anyway. Joe Cayre was a brilliant business man, and he made out like a bandit by licensing product from RCA, Columbia, Ariola, and other companies from abroad as well, displaying and selling his product in large big box retail outlets and chain stores around the USA and Puerto Rico. But he didn’t have the passion for the music in the same way Jerry and I did. You pretty much had to produce your own music to get “into it” the way we did. Don’t get me wrong, Joe Cayre did put out some great music on the label’s two subsidiaries, Mericana and Salsoul (ie Cachao, Roberto Torres, Chocolate and Grupo Folklorico y Experimental). His licensed product included Vicky Carr, Roberto Carlos, Camilo Sesto and the icon Julio Iglesias, who was a very big seller. The big labels at that time, RCA, Columbia, Ariola, etc. were not licensing or releasing music that their own subsidiaries were recording in all the Latin American countries and Mexico. Yes, there were three labels that were manufacturing large amounts of records, but they were all different. I was the only one who was competing with Fania big time. Caytronics had no competition at the time, amazing but true. There were other labels that popped up later on, when Coco was no longer around, but they never produced the quality of music that Coco did. I never viewed myself as a “salsa producer only”, as I produced all types of latin music. Nor did I view Coco as just a “salsa” record company. From the beginning, Coco was conceived as a full service Spanish record company, period. Even before the Eddie Palmieri fiasco, I had started to branch out. I could never understand why Morris Levy and Jerry Massucci didn’t want to encompass the full spectrum of latin music. You went into these countries and it was always the same distribution set-up, maybe some different radio stations or formats, maybe a few deejays would be mixing different genres, but the potential for sales was always there. If it was in Spanish, and it was very good, then there was no reason for me not to put it out, promote and sell it. So you see Coco was different than Fania from the gitgo, and I wanted us to be different. I could never have competed with Jerry’s beloved Fania label by releasing only “salsa” records and imitating his business model. Also important in Coco’s development was my love for all the different styles and flavors of “la musica latina”. I could never be that one dimensional. Coco had monster hits in balada (Spanish rock ballad) pop, musica folklorica and of course my beloved “salsa”.The bar that Coco set musically with “The Sun Of Latin Music” for salsa was also set for latin jazz via Cortijo’s “La Maquina Del Tiempo” (Time Machine). In latin pop the standard bearer was “Muy Amigos” featuring “Para Decir Adios”. Among the New York style charanga bands it was Orchestra Broadway’s “Pasaporte” featuring “Isla Del Encanto” that broke the mold. In Puerto Rican folkloric music it was Danny Rivera’s “Alborada”, an album that was way ahead of its time.

CAP: Seems to me that neither you nor Jerry Massucci were interested in latin jazz, am I correct?

HA: Look Chico, personally I loved it, but as a businessman I could not afford to invest time and money in such a small market, not back then, and certainly not now either. The TropiJazz label drove Ralph Mercado into bankruptcy, or at the very least it was the beginning of his problems. At one point in time I asked him: “why are you wasting your money and energy on this music that is selling so poorly?” You see we had that kind of relationship. I could talk to him, and he had respect for my opinion. I was the record man and he was the promoter. He was selling aproximately six thousand units of his top TropiJazz artists like Tito Puente, Eddie Palmieri and even less on releases by Giovanni Hidalgo, etc. He showed me some numbers that made me gasp. The artwork alone on one of Giovanni’s CD’s cost him six big ones, because he had to do the cover art twice! It seems that Giovanni did not like the way the cover came out, a cover which he himself had commissioned. I said: “Ralphy, this is a losing proposition, there are very few outlets to expose this music to the public”. I mean there was only one major jazz station that was playing his artists. He told me that he always wanted to be number one in some category of the record business, and that could only happen in the latin jazz category. Maybe he loved the music enough to take the risks he was taking. I just don’t know. The reality was that these records were not selling well, and TropiJazz was consistently bleeding money. Now you might be thinking, well then, what were the reasons? Was it lack of exposure? Lack of outlets? Or simply lack of demand? When we venture into such a territory we have to be able to control these things. We have to be in control of the marketing, the distribution and the promotion in order to create the demand. You can take that any way you want to, but that’s the name of the game in the record business. So then, if we assume that he did have those things under control, what else could have resulted such low sales figures? For me, lack of demand is the only logical answer.

CAP: Are you saying then that it was the music that did itself in?

HA: Let me put it this way Chico. I think that the latin jazz of the fifties and sixties was better music, and today’s musicians are partly to blame for the lack of demand. I’m going to use this as a point of reference, when a jazz player first comes to New York, their initial work probably is going to be with the latin bands, specially if they’re horn players, but this goes for other instrumentalists also. You usually break into the New York scene by playing latin music, because there is or at least there was a lot of work in that field. That was the case in my time. Back then most of the good bands were doing doubles and triples. If you were a new guy in town and the musicians liked the way you played they would recommend you to the latin bandleaders they knew. Anyway, Chick Corea was around at that time, and I needed a piano player for a gig. Marty Sheller was playing with me and he brought Chick to play with the Arvito band a few times. Chick is a great all around player, and has had a beautiful career as a jazzman, but since those early days, he has not really done a lot of latin music, possibly none at all I would say. So, what’s been happening for too long a time is that for some reason – and I’m no expert on this – but maybe, once the artists get back into the jazz circuit they get a little too high falootin’ and never again visit their latin roots. I have always wondered about that. Certainly, Eddie Palmieri has never forsaken those roots – and remember – I haven’t heard an awful lot of latin jazz in the last few years. There aren’t a lot of places to hear it either, unless you buy a recording. I also often wonder how Paquito D’Rivera and Arturo Sandoval’s jazz records are doing – sales wise that is. I know that Dave Valentin has made a bunch of records and Poncho Sanchez also records quite often. I wonder how they are really selling. That’s always in the back of my mind, because I like all that stuff, it’s really good music and I wish it would make a comeback and find an audience. But it has to be more commercial for me to get back into it, most of it just doesn’t stand up to the more melodic classic latin jazz of my era. Also Chico, you know how I hate making good musical productions that basically don’t get heard and never see the light of day.

CAP: I know, I know, and in my early days I too had my share of “tax shelters”. As far as TropiJazz is concerned though, I won’t dispute what you say Harvey, because I haven’t seen the figures. But I can say (from experience) that latin jazz is definitely a musician’s genre, and that they do support it, among themselves. You know, musicians actually buy CD’s these days. But the general public? Well that’s another story. I personally don’t think that they do, otherwise you would see and hear a lot more bands playing latin jazz and record companies recording it.

HA: Well Chico, it’s not a business then, is it? If the musicians are not hard-wired enough to incorporate both styles with recognizable elements into their repertoire and the public is not attracted to what they are playing, like the bands used to do in the old days, or like the case of the well promoted Buenavista Social Club, then maybe they deserve what is happening to them. I just don’t know. It’s hard enough for latino musicians to get their own typical music played, much less getting any of their more jazzy stuff to cross into the mainstream. Anyway, I feel the music which I produced for Coco was also very well received and respected by musicians and critics alike, even if it wasn’t all that jazz tinged. If the bands that I produced and worked with back then could do it, why can’t the bands of today do it?

CAP: Personally, I try to separate the two different musical categories. Whenever the gig calls for latin jazz, then that’s what I play, sans the vocals. If it calls for a more dance oriented music, with strong vocals then that’s what I give them, with more emphasis on the montuno and less free-blowing. Some audiences are comfortable with both styles. For the most part, the music falls into separate categories, and even the radio stations divide it up this way. It’s not like in the Palladium era, when both styles were incorporated into the repertoire, fifty-fifty, and when the radio stations featured both styles within their playlists. On my radio show of course, I do just the opposite, I mix them all up, because there are no restrictions on me, in terms of what I can or cannot play. That’s the beauty of non-commercial radio, you are not being tagged as this thing or that. At least I’m not.

HA: That was also the case in my early experiences as a bandleader. No one could pigeon-hole me. Remember that I had Marty Sheller working with my band, and he was very well versed in both styles, which meant that we had a healthy balance of both jazz and latin. Marty really knows how to get a nice blend and he incorporated that fusionistic approach again during his time with Mongo. The same thing happened with Eddie’s first band “La Perfecta”, when he had Barry Rogers playing with him. In retrospect I think that most latin bands had that kind of integrated sound, although not all of them to the same degree. But to me, the consumate latin jazz recording of my time was done by Sabu Martinez, and that was another project in which Marty was involved. It was a black cover with an illustration on the cover, I think it was a bongosero or a conga player.

CAP: You must mean “Sabu’s Jazz Espagnole”, which by the way was a commercial flop for Al Santiago’s Alegre label. Yet, it still remains a helluva recording, a classic among classics.

HA: That’s the one Chico. And I still love it, even though I haven’t heard it in thirty years. It’s my favorite latin jazz album from that time period. I think it was recorded live at Birdland, with Marty Sheller playing trumpet solos and doing some of the killer charts. I even think Frank Malabe and Bobby Porcelli were in the band, and Symphony Sid had something to do with it as the announcer on the recording. It’s been a long time since, but I know that both Marty and Frankie were in the Arvito band at a very young age prior to that recording, so I guess my ability to spot young up and coming talent has always been an important element in my career. My active search for new talent continued long after my performing days were over and still continues. It always gives me great pleasure to discover new and talented artists. Believe me when I say that I can appreciate both Al Santiago’s and Ralph Mercado’s willingness to record this music and these artists, despite taking a financial beating by doing so. We all loved this music, and we all made some records that didn’t sell well, but made us feel warm inside. That’s the nature of the beast. But we must always try to remember that we are in the music and record business and we have the same problems, responsibilities and obligations as every other business.

CAP: I take it then that the TropiJazz label was not successful in its endeavor, correct?

HA: Correct. But don’t take my word for it, I would ask Eddie Rodriguez if I were you, he practically ran that label. He knows the figures, but I can tell you right now that very few of those albums ever sold six thousand units, if they ever got that high and most sold a lot less. All those albums cost way too much to produce, considering the soft sales potential, there was just no profit coming in. The lesser known artists sold even less copies. What they did was create a resurgence among the musicians who loved to play that music. The reality is that latin jazz was something that Ralphy liked and he wanted to do right by it. If the major labels would have decided to invest in that music then he would have never been number one in latin jazz. He cornered the market so to speak, but the market betrayed him, and it was only good to a handful of artists, those who had the big names made their money on the gigs. What happened to Ralph Mercado was not unique, other latin jazz labels met the same fate.

CAP: In your opinion, what would bring back latin jazz to the point where it was in the sixties? Please sum up this whole phenomenon for us, if you will. (Harvey pauses for a long moment)

HA: Maybe some good songs, by this I mean “hit” songs. Material that is really musically sound to begin with – not necessarily original – but hey, enough with the standards already. Something that has the attraction of a “Watermelon Man” or a “Mas Que Nada”, something with a really good commercial hook. You know, everything doesn’t have to be instrumental. A lot of these artists are really just showing off their chops, and they don’t take into consideration that the audience may not want to hear a fifteen minute solo. Why not make the solos shorter, and don’t start blowin’ right away. Constructing a good performance is like romancing a woman. The first thing to come out of your mouth should not be “hey baby, let’s jump into bed”, even if that’s what you both want to happen. No, you take her out, you have some nice conversation, you wine, you dine, you make her feel comfortable, a strong communication must be established, and then you hope that what you show her, (who you really are) creates some interest on her part. You do the same thing with an audience, and it doesn’t matter whether they are a jazz audience or not. You first have to find your audience and then meet them at their level. Then you take them step by step on a musical journey with you. Don’t just play for your own enjoyment or to impress other musicians, play to the audience and to the guys in the band. If you do your best to please them, then hopefully they will feel your good vibes and follow your lead. By the way, this holds true for any kind of music. You can’t just hit ‘em on the head and say “dig this, I’m bad”! The last thing you want to do is act like an arrogant putz– (that’s Jewish for jerk) – and don’t disrespect them afterwards by implying “wow, this was a great album and nobody bought it – it was way over their heads and that’s why it didn’t sell”. It’s so easy to blame the audience for everything. “People don’t know shit” is a phrase that I’ve heard come out of musicians mouths a hundred or more times. In my own case, I messed up big time with “La Maquina Del Tiempo” (Time Machine), because I didn’t think about the audience. Chico, I was in musical lala land, totally enchanted by the music and the charts, in fact I was so into it that I forgot about the audience. I still have mixed emotions about it, because even though everyone always compliments me on the album (including my production and mixing), in addition to the wonderful job that the musicians did, I know that I could have done more to widen its appeal. In fact I met this week with Tony Moreno and Juan Hidalgo of MP/JN about fixing UP that album.

CAP: You once said to me that no one could dance to Cortijo’s “Time Machine” because it was too fast. So then isn’t that an equally important element, if not the main element in latin jazz, the not-so-secret ingredient that made the latin jazz of the sixties so popular?

HA: True, it appears to be a very important element, but I’m not so sure that it’s the main element. Take a great artist like Dave Valentin for example, he probably won’t appeal to a strictly dance crowd. You see, if Dave is constructing his music specifically for a concert jazz audience, remember he is first and foremost a great flautist and primarily a jazz artist. As such I think he would tend to downplay the danceability part of it. The latin undercurrent is there, because no latino ever forsakes his or her roots completely, but it doesn’t play a dominant role. Straight ahead “salsa” artists on the other hand use a minimal amount of jazz elements on top (mainly in the harmonies and phrasing) but keep the basic clave foundation intact. With “Watermelon Man”, “Soul Sauce”, “Cuban Nightmare”, “Mambo Inn”, “Manteca”, “El Mundo De Las Locas”, etc. you had a more even kind of mix. Mongo, Cal, Machito, Mario, Dizzy and both Titos were geniuses at perfectly blending the two worlds, so their music was more of a fifty-fifty proposition. And while I still think fondly of the Sabu album, it’s been so long since I’ve actually heard it that, well who knows, maybe I might not even include it among my favorites today. So much has transpired since then, decades of jazz tinged music has been recorded, plus I’ve grown musically as well. I’d like to listen to it again and re-evaluate it. Hey, Bobby Marin or somebody out there, please send me a copy (laughter).

CAP: While we are on the subject of geniuses Harvey, mustn’t leave out those two bulwarks of the musical score sheet, Mr. Rene Hernandez and Mr. Arturo “Chico” O’Farrill.

HA: No way would I leave them out. They were both giants in their own right. Even though I never had the opportunity to work with Chico O’Farrill I loved the work he did with other artists. Unfortunately, he did not live in New York at that time, although I’m sure that his genius would have eventually wound up on the Coco label, in one way or another, had not the label gone under. I did however, have an ongoing artistic andpersonal relationship with Rene Hernandez. I bumped into him while he was living in Puerto Rico, right after his television gig in San Juan with Tito Rodriguez had ended. Both Eddie and I instinctively knew that Rene was the man we needed for our next project together. I must tell you, watching Rene Hernandez and Eddie Palmieri collaborate on an arrangement was really something to behold. It was an honor for me to be present in the same room [and] working with these guys. They would play off each others ideas, [and] it was more than just a give and take situation. It was like an exquisite meeting of the minds. Rene was a master arranger, quite experienced, with a proven track record[,] and a very humble man indeed. He was a keen observer who patiently “listened” to you and understood exactly what you needed. I don’t think any other arranger ever understood Eddie Palmieri the way Rene did, he was amazingly respectful of Eddie’s input. An unorthodox chord here, a few notes added there, a break that was originally not even supposed to happen, and so forth and so on. Often, a particular idea by one of them would spark the other’s imagination, igniting each other’s creativity and before you knew it -voilá!- it was like witnessing music at its inception, in its purest form. The music they created was so magical. Together, they constructed many a masterpiece. I’m very happy that you brought him up Chico. Neither Eddie, Coco nor I have ever completely recovered from the blow of Rene’s demise. The only real big hit that Eddie had after Coco was “El Dia Que Me Quieras” (on Fania), sung by the great Cheo Feliciano. Not surprisingly, that too was a Rene Hernandez arrangement, and one that Eddie had been holding onto for a long time. Rene’s legacy is preserved not only on that classic tango/salsa number, but on many of Coco’s Grammy winning recordings, as well as hundreds of other albums, for posterity.

CAP: Besides “Unfinished Masterpiece”, were there any other incidents that would go down as unsavory or unusual, in your opinion?

HA: There was this one night of negotiation with Ismael Rivera in a bar in La Perla, Puerto Rico. I was preparing to produce Cortijo y Su Combo Original’s “Juntos Otra Vez”. It would be a live concert and album recorded at Roberto Clemente Coliseo in PR. Ismael got mad at me because I wouldn’t give in to his insane money demands and he left me stranded, alone in a part of town that no gringo should ever be in by himself. I looked around and as my heart began to race, I knew I had to think fast. I started playing music on the juke box – Cortijo, Harlow, El Gran Combo, La Lupe, Danny Rivera, Celia Cruz, Eddie Palmieri, Hector Lavoe, Willy, Andy, Pellin, Miranda, etc. – all the people that I had worked with or knew in the past. My knowledge of the music, the lyrics, my bar top conga drumming (breaks and all) and my coro singing probably saved my ass. Buying a few rounds for everyone probably didn’t hurt either (laughter). When Ismael came back a couple of hours later he expected to find a desperate record executive who was ready to give in to his outrageous demands. Instead we all welcomed him to the party! He laughed and said: “Harvey, you sanamambíche”. The negotiations were over right there, without another word being spoken. I thanked him, we shook hands and I handed him the bar tab. Chico, the look on Ismael’s face, I know you can see this picture in your mind’s eye, because you have to know him to appreciate this. His smile turned to a look of amazed disbelief and then as his anger was about to explode, I started laughing and told him that I had already paid it. This is not just another one of your everyday “Salsa Saves A Jew” stories, this is a part of latin music history.

CAP: So then it wasn’t all that bad, right? Fun was surely had by all who knew and loved this music. What happened then? To stifle the growth of such an up and coming label?

HA: Chico, no one knows the real behind the scenes stories like I do. I will simply state here for the record, in my own quotable words that there had to have been a deal cut between my dishonest scheming partner (who was in charge of administration and distribution) and a certain crooked shoe salesman turned 10th Avenue distributer, probably using an east coast manufacturing plant’s back door to rip off Coco at it’s peak moment of success (we had the biggest receivables due for a 4th quarter during the 1977 Christmas season or any 12 week period in our history). There were, for example, altered check alerts from my bank, and bookeeper and accountant discrepancies. I still don’t know how I got caught up in it, I was an idiot to let my artists and myself down. We all got screwed and I blame myself for not seeing the handwriting on the wall and for not looking over my shoulder. Too busy I guess. Just as disco music was putting a stranglehold on “salsa”, Coco Records went belly up – Chapter Eleven. I was just beginning to take off and go full speed ahead with Coco, and it was over in a flash. Puff! What a terrible waste and an unnecessary tragedy. In the final stages of the conspiracy, Audio Fidelity Enterprises bought Coco out of bankruptcy for only $70,000, my ex-partner stayed on with them and ran the label into the ground for the second time. Audio Fidelity owner Danny Pugliese met me once at the Casino in Cannes and informed me that he had been hoodwinked, and that he had no idea that I was the whole show at Coco and that my partner didn’t know which end was up.

CAP: And after that?

HA: I hung in there, doing Euro/Disco productions while living in Paris and Belgium, I even had a few international disco hits as producer and mixer. I worked with Regine and Patrick Hernandez of “Born To Be Alive” fame, etc. But my heart was always in my latin music. My accumulative experience as President and/or General Manager running labels such as Fania, Vaya, UA Latino, Coco, Graffitti, Gala and Prism gave me an edge that most producers or executives today can’t comprehend. In my way of thinking the music is always first and foremost. If you worry about the music, it will automatically take care of everyone and everything, includingthe bottom line (as long as the money people are honest). As producers, we take credit when the record is a hit, but should also take full responsibility when it flops.

CAP: Who were some of your contemporaries in the business, those whom you viewed as “real” producers, who cared about the music and the bottom line, groundbreakers whom you admired or liked their work? Your favorites, if you will.

HA: Before I answer let me just say this, a real producer should never think about the bottom line, because it’s not really ours. We should only think about the music, and making hit records that will ultimately create dollars, never forgetting for a moment that it’s the fans that we are trying to seduce with our humble efforts. I don’t equate the two. Do you?

CAP: No, but that doesn’t mean that I like to throw away my money, just for the sake of art. It is after all, a business.

HA: Chico you are so right. Ultimately, it has to be about the bottom line, but it’s not the main reason that we go into the music business. We do it to produce music that the public loves, and they in turn show us some love by buying our records. This is our life’s work and the way we reap the rewards. Everything takes care of itself if you sell product, a producer doesn’t worry about the bottom line anymore than Joe Torre worried about the Yankees’ bottom line. Ball players worry about banging out homers, striking out the other players and winning games. We producers worry about producing hit records and that ultimately benefits everyone involved. Let Universal, Sony, BMG, EMI, Warners, etc. worry about the bottom line, it’s never been talent’s problem. We just want to do great music and get paid well for our work. Yeah, that’s the ticket, to make some money, and of course keep the music real. If I may Chico, I’d like to describe to you and your readers what ecstacy is to Harvey Averne. It’s turning on the radio, flipping the dial to three or four stations to find that they are all playing the same song, my song. My friend, that’s even better than sex.

CAP: I can really relate to that Harvey, except maybe about the sex part (laughter). But all kidding aside, who are your favorite producers?

HA: There were some producers who really took chances and tried to do something different. My list includes Sergio George, Ramon Sanchez, Al Santiago, George Goldner, Willie Colón, Barry Rogers, Don Costa, David Foster, Quincy Jones, Manuel Alejandro, Gilberto Santa Rosa, Joe Cuba, Larry Harlow, Marco Antonio Solis, Rudy Perez, Gustavo Santaolalla, Cuto Soto, Isidro Infante and of course Ray Barretto. There are many producers who do very good work that are not on this list, but I have only listed the ones who I believe tried to bring the music to the next level. If I have forgotten anyone (and I’m sure that I did) I apologize in advance. It’s hard, uncertain and even scary work to break new ground. It’s so easy to fail and even if it’s good, what will the media think about this new music? Will the public like it? What about the “don’t change a note for me, not if you care for me, stay, funny valentine, stay” crowd? Scary stuff Chico, it’s way easier to stick with tried and proven formulas. Here’s something else. You can’t worry about false deadlines – deadlines killed more productions than Al Qaeda killed people. It takes nine months to have a baby and believe me my babies are my productions. Even if you are in a hurry you can’t rush it, the baby comes out when its ready and not a moment before. The illusive pursuit of perfection is maddening. I’m sure that’s what drove Ray and it’s what drives me as well. My early work as freelance producer helped shape the way I listen to a production and how I view the business end of it. Even more important to my development was my early experience as a working musician, dating back to those first summer resort gigs. I think I see the business from every perspective and it all seems so simple. It goes something like this; until an artist makes the cash register ring, they are not important to the business. The suits can live without you, they will give you such a hard time, they won’t even return your calls. Then, when you become a star (God willing) and are creating sales and dollars, it’s your turn. It’s payback time and now you have the leverage to get even. It’s just like in the real world, only now it’s probably you who won’t return the calls. Most successful producers and artists understand exactly what I mean. I hate that about the business, but that’s the way it is.

CAP: Where does Coco stand today? I mean the catalogue that is. Certainly you’ve been out of the Coco picture since the late seventies, and the material which has been reissued just doesn’t seem to meet the standards of the original releases.

HA: Chico, your observations are on the mark. Coco was bought from AFE by Tony Moreno of MP Records in 1989, and a lot of changes were made. Tony is one of my dearest friends, and knows better than anyone the amazing care that I put into every one of my productions. When I mentioned to him that some things did not sound like the final approved masters and mixes, he told me that some album covers and masters were not necessarily the final takes and that this was what AFE ultimately delivered to him. I guess Tony did the best he could with what he received, hence the different sound and covers on some of the recordings. I feel the changes that were ultimately made distorted the historical significance of these recordings, thereby altering a musical legacy which should have never been tampered with in the first place.

CAP: Any regrets?

HA: My only regret is that I didn’t stay and fight back when things got bad. I’m not bitter, but it did get ugly and I was so angry and heartbroken that all this historic material had been screwed around with from company to company. Most of what we’ve been talking about here, my work as producer for Coco, was done in a mere five year period between 1972-1977. I was getting so much better and learning with every production. Aside from Coco, another album that deserves special mention is “Naci Para Cantar” by Lalo Rodriguez, which I produced for the EMI Latino label. It went platinum – in case you didn’t know. This was done at the height of the “salsa sensual” period, when no other type of salsa was selling. My concept was as follows, and my instructions to Ramon Sanchez and the other arrangers before charts were written – was that Lalo, like myself, were graduates of the Eddie Palmieri School of Music. I wanted hard driving dance music – “salsa dura” that would not compromise who Lalo was in any way. The results I needed had to highlight extremely melodic sweet horn fills in all the right places, melodic vocals, inspiraciones and coros, all floating like an umbrella of sweetness above the uncompromising killer rhythms that Lalo was known for. Thus, giving the illusion and feeling of being in the “salsa sensual” mode, but in reality without holding back on the swing. Lalo’s voice was good, but not in top form for this album. In spite of this, it remains for me some of my best work and certainly some of my best mixes.

CAP: That’s it?

HA: No, I got more! I regret not having been on better terms with Ralph Mercado in the end. Jerry Massucci had this vision way back in the late sixties, and no one before him ever had that kind of vision or nerve. There were some great labels before ours, fine producers and artists, but no one else had ever come up with the idea of promoting latin music/salsa on a global scale. Ralphy and I were part of that vision, and we spent a lot of time and energy planning the campaign to spread “Our Latin Thing” around the world. Jerry was more of a doer, and a gambler. This man not only had vision, he had cojones like none other. The solid foundation that Jerry built was the primary reasons for me getting into the record business. We were all together on this, albeit each in our way, contributing our own particular expertise to the “salsa” recipe. Our musical differences of opinion were many, we disagreed on moral grounds and we differed in our business practices as well, but in the end we respected what the other had contributed to the campaign, whether individually or in unison. Deep down inside, I think we knew it was going to be more exciting and fun on the way up, maybe it always is. If you put aside the millions, the Grammy’s and all the awards and the sold-out concerts, if you put aside the egos and all the trimmings of fame and fortune, the bottom line is that the three of us were major fans of the music. We each loved this music, and it gave us all so much. For each of us latin music was numero uno, the thing we lived for. The day it became “the business of music” and more than just about the music, that’s the day the fun began to die. Now that Jerry and Ralph are both gone – and they will never be replaced – of this I am sure. I know that whenever I am asked a question in regards to the beginning of the “golden era of salsa”, the kind of question that only the three of us could answer, these two giants will be in my mind and in my heart. Chico, that was the best time of my life and no matter what I’ll always be glad that I was around to enjoy it. Also, I feel blessed to have been a part of Eddie Palmieri’s success as well. It wasn’t all negative you see. He was a great inspiration to me, I loved hanging out with the man and I learned so much about latin music from him.

CAP: Kinda reminds me of that old Bob Hope song….”thanks for the memories”. You’re not going to cry are you?

HA: No, Chico I’m not. But I do want to thank them all for the memories. More than fifty years worth of great memories my man. And I can’t wait to see what the next fifty is like.

CAP: Memories notwithstanding, what does the future hold for Harvey Averne?

HA: Well, I can’t foresee the future, but at present I have a great desire to combat the problems of the record business the way I always have, with commercial concepts and musical solutions. I like all the popular music of today, but my heart’s desire would be for Tony and Juan to bring me in to work on restoring the original Coco catalogue. I believe that if they were reissued again on Coco (distributed of course by MP/J&N Sony), restoring, preserving the original mixes and keeping the original covers intact, these masterpieces would sell all over again. That would make me, along with thousands of salsa music lovers and latin music historians very happy. I bet Juan and Tony would even be ecstatic about that (Harvey smiles). Coco aside, I would welcome the opportunity to work with the right company and explore some of my new ideas and concepts. The Harvey Averne of today wants to produce great hits with exciting new artists and make albums that no music lover can live without. Just like I always did. Anyway, no matter what the future holds for me Chico, looking back at all this with you, I sure had one helluva ride.

CAP: Well, Harvey, you know what they say, it ain’t over until the bearded guy sings…or something like that… (laughter)

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – Preamble

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 1

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 2

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 2

THE INTERVIEW – Part II – August, 2008 – April, 2009:

Conversations Between CHICO ALVAREZ PERAZA and HARVEY AVERNE

CAP: As we all know Harvey, your own career as a musician did not take you to the heights that you wanted to reach. In fact, years went by without any recording at all, until “My Dream” came along, which was phenomenal, so much so that shortly afterwards the industry began to see your name on backliners as “producer”. I have already cited “Acid” as a point of reference, but I’m sure there were many others that you are equally proud of.

HA: Yes, of course there were. I immediately think of the tune “My Dream”, which was on my debut album “Viva Soul”. That album gave me the first real taste of success in the record business. Fania Records made the deal for me with Atlantic Records. I co-wrote that tune with trumpeter Marty Sheller in 1967. I was so in love with the girl for whom I wrote it, and you know what? -the public felt that love. Also my lyrics spoke of the occupational captivity I was enduring. “To work when I could groove is a drag, this rut I’m in can’t be the right bag”. You know, just working for the money was destroying my soul. At that time my conscience and my heart were calling out to me – should I leave the money and take a big gamble that could wind up being a disaster? It was a critical point in my life. I had never written a song before Chico, but you know, people can feel the truth. Never underestimate the public, because they know what touches them deep down inside in a really meaningful way. I remember vividly that Jerry Wexler – the ultimate renaissance music man – personally signed me, and while I was excitedly explaining to him all the things I wanted to add to my (already overcrowded) production, he calmly said to me: “Harvey, most of the time it’s what you take ‘out’ of a production that creates the hit and ‘not’ what you add”. I will never forget that advice, as I will never forget Tom Dowd and Arif Mardin, who mixed “Viva Soul”. I will always be thankful to Jerry Massucci for making that one album deal, simply because I asked him to. You see Chico, I felt that “Viva Soul” belonged on Atlantic, more so than on Fania. The vocalist on the album was Kenny Seymour, a talented and seasoned soul singer, formerly with Little Anthony and The Imperials. His vocals helped that recording cross-over, the band was really into it, it was a labor of love for all, but “My Dream” obviously put me in the spotlight. Jerry Massucci granted to me “My Dream” and helped set me on a completely different course. Suddenly, the buzz was out about the Harvey Averne Dozen and that’s when I started doing some freelance A&R work for other labels. I produced one album for music mogul Morris Levy’s Tico label that I’m especially proud of, “The Queen Does Her Thing”, which featured the incomparable and unpredictable La Lupe backed by many of the New York Philarmonic Orchestra’s top musicians. The superb orchestrations for that album were done by Marty Sheller. I wrote two songs especially for La Lupe, taking into consideration her heavily delicious Cuban accent -”Ciao My Love” and “Love Is So Fine”. “The Queen of Latin Song” did not disappoint me. The album also yielded the monster hit classic “Se Acabo”.

CAP: Any others which you might think of at this time?

HA: Sure. My favorite ballad album production is “Muy Amigos”, the Eydie Gorme/Danny Rivera recording for Gala Records, a label that I co-owned with Eydie’s husband and partner for life, Steve Lawrence. It included the classic hit “Para Decir Adios” and was nominated for a Grammy in 1977. I produced and mixed it, Don Costa was the conducter and arranger. We utilized the same studio musicians that Don used for Frank Sinatra’s recordings. And I just love my production of Danny Rivera’s “Alborada”. I am extremely proud of the way we presented the folkloric music of Puerto Rico within a symphonic setting. This time we used the best musicians from the Puerto Rico Symphony Orchestra. The amazing arrangements were crafted by Pedro Rivera Toledo. Then we really got into some Cuban charanga with “Pasaporte” by Orchestra Broadway, which featured Gene Hernandez’ memorable composition, “Isla del Encanto”. This was, by the way, the first number one “hit” recorded by Broadway and the only one that has stood the test of time. Also, you must remember that charanga bands had not been popular in PR since the sixties, and in fact were not getting any quality air time on the island, no matter how good they were. “Isla Del Encanto” broke the taboo. Sadly, that kind of success was never repeated again by a charanga in PR. Coco also had great success with Lissette Alvarez’ Spanish version of “Copacabana” (produced by Frank Fiore). My Grammy nominated production of the Machito Orchestra’s “Fireworks” album with Lalo Rodriguez was a total labor of love – for all those involved. “Fireworks” by the way, brought back into the limelight a mighty musical institution, after many difficult and hard years.

CAP: Don’t forget the first Eddie Palmieri album, “Sentido”.

HA: (Smiles). How could I possibly forget that one? It was the one I cut my Eddie Palmieri recording teeth on. By the way Chico, I am a pretty good writer too, check out my “Sentido” and “Sun of Latin Music” liner notes. I could write a book about my experiences with Eddie, Jerry Massucci, Ralph Mercado and the underbelly of the latin record/music business in general.

CAP: I bet you could. So tell us, is it safe to say that right around the time of Richard Nader’s first big “Latin Concert” at Madison Square Garden, Harvey Averne the producer began to feel the need to start his own label? To “flex his muscles”, as they say?

HA: Yeah, by that time I had gone as far as I could as a musician. I was thirty six, tired of rehearsing, practicing, touring and performing. I found working behind the scenes much more creative and interesting, and I realized that my forté was getting the best performances out of creative people, getting them all on the same page, to perform as a team you might say. Starting with the musical concepts, organizing, mixing, polishing, finishing, right on through to the creation of exciting promotional campaigns had become quite challenging and fulfilling to me. The producer is the glue that holds everything together, or else the concept could easily fall apart. I tried my hand at producing shows, such as the successful Latin Music Festival which was held at the Academy of Music Theatre (it marked the second such event in New York City history). But promoting spectacular events wasn’t really in the cards for me, even though in 1995 I did produce and promote a sold-out concert at Lehigh University for FunStuff starring Marc Anthony, India, Frankie Ruiz and Edwin Rivera. Ralph Mercado was the one destined to be the “padrino” of salsa festivals, not me. Still, it was a wonderful experience.

CAP: Then your real vocation was producing?

HA: I think so. Having been hired by Jerry Massucci and Johnny Pacheco during Fania’s infancy demonstrated that I could move forth on this. Being put in charge of promotion, production, sales, interacting with all the artists and running the company, made me feel that I had gained an edge. If you recall, that’s when I produced Ray Barretto’s groundbreaking “Acid” album, which was a life changing experience for me. For the first time I was able to see how a truly professional artist worked. Ray knew exactly what he wanted, he demanded and accepted only the best musicians, the best studios and the best engineers. He never settled for an expedient mix. He was the first artist that I worked with who really spent time on the mix. At the time most latin record companies expected a producer to mix a whole 10 or 12 track album in seven or eight hours. With Ray’s “Acid”, we would spend more than three hours on each tune, which was unheard of in the cuchifrito style of latin music recordings at the time. This was why his albums always excelled. His choice of material, amazing preparation and his professionalism were never exceeded by any other artist I ever worked with. Even though Jerry Masucci put his name on “Acid”as co-producer he never really had anything to do with the way it turned out musically. To this day, many record label executives feel entitled to list themselves as executive or co-producers. As for my own company Coco Records, I never put my name on anything that I did not produce myself, nor did I allow anyone else to do so.

CAP: Harvey, you’ve probably been asked this question a million times during the last forty plus years, but what exactly does a record producer really do?

HA: My man, do you also read minds? I was hoping that you would ask me that. A record producer functions in exactly the same way a movie director does. We should never have been called producers in the first place, because in the movie industry the producer handles mainly the financial part, while the director handles all the creative stuff. We should have been called directors and followed the movie business model because that’s what we are. That’s why my recent credits say “produced, directed and mixed” by Harvey Averne, in the hopes that people will finally understand what it is that a record producer does.

CAP: No doubt you exploited those early Tico and Fania experiences when you were involved in the recording of “Jungle Fever”.

HA: To be truthful, I was not involved in the production end of it. I was the bandleader of the Chakachás, whose big hit was “Jungle Fever” – which as you once pointed out may not have been the most musically challenging, but a huge commercial crossover hit nonetheless. It sold two million copies in 1972 and is considered by some to be the first real international “disco” hit. It has twice been used on the hit HBO series “Entourage”, in “Boogie Nights” and many other movies, as well as on TV and record compilations. We played the Apollo Theatre four times that year and did a lot of television as well. By then I had a different concept and approach, I knew how to get things done, the right way. I had acquired an understanding regarding the merging of the commercial and creative aspects of the business. After the colossal success of “Jungle Fever”, I accepted an offer from United Artists Records and was named head of their latin music division (UA Latino). Things were really beginning to move forward in the latin music industry and even though this was a very good position, I really didn’t see a future there for me. By the end of that year the Fania empire had grown by leaps and bounds, and I felt that I was seasoned and knowledgeable enough to go it alone. Finally, I made the big move and started my own label Coco Records. Right around that time, in 1972, I retired from performing altogether. I had learned the business from the inside out and I felt confident enough to put my own ideas to work in my own record company.

CAP: If my memory serves me correctly, when your company was still in its infancy, it was called Mango Records, which I really liked very much. What happened to make you change it to Coco Records?

HA: You’re correct about the name change. I was initially inspired by an article which ran in New York Magazine titled “The Big Mango”. It dealt with the increasing influence of Spanish-speaking cultures on New York and was obviously a spinoff on the term “Big Apple”. In fact, the issue’s cover featured an illustration of the mango fruit. At the same time I was quite influenced by the artwork used on the vinyl LP label backdrop for The Beatles’ newly formed label Apple Records, which showed an apple cut in half. For Mango Records, we used the halved mango for my vinyl LP logo. Shortly after I had released the first few albums, and immediately after Eddie Palmieri’s “Sentido” album came out I received a lawyer’s letter. It seemed that Chris Blackwell (owner of Island Records) and Denny Cordell had a little known reggae label called Mango (which I had never heard of until then). It was a “cease and desist” notice informing us that we were infringing on their rights by using their name “Mango Records”. It felt like a David & Goliath situation to me, except I already had enough of a battle on my hands starting a new record company and struggling against Fania’s domination. It seemed to me that one Goliath at a time was challenging enough. I didn’t want to expend one minute’s worth of energy, nor did I wish to use up any of my limited resources fighting for a company name against a sophisticated, internationally well known, multi business savvy billionare like Chris Blackwell. By the time I reached the signatures on the bottom of the lawyer’s letter I had given up my beloved Mango Records name and had already mentally changed the name to “Coco Records”. I immediately called graphic artist Izzy Sanabria and gave him the idea for the new company logo, instructing him to replace the mango vinyl LP backdrop with the halved coconut. And that was that, case closed. Pa’lante as they say.

CAP:After you decided to become your own man, what exactly was your first move? Signing up talented and hungry musicians, I suppose. (I give Harvey my sarcastic smile)

HA: What else does the “new kid on the block” do? He buys two good ready-made recordings and artist contracts from Cuban dancer Ralph Lew and Puerto Rican promotion man Sammy Vargas. Then he establishes a distribution and promotion pipeline and network, finds cozy and free office space (compliments of singer/producer/composer Steve Tyrell) and gets everything ready and in place in order to put his concepts to work. That was me Chico, I was the new kid on the block. Naturally, I wasn’t about to start from scratch, so I began to search for a heavyweight I could hang with and develop a relationship with. Fania had just about everybody under contract who was anybody. I looked around for someone who was popular, still had big upside potential and was not financially or creatively satisfied.

CAP: Enter Mr. Eddie Palmieri, “el molestoso”.

HA: You got it Chico. And let me just state for the record that before I ever went into the studio to record “Sentido”, I bought Eddie Palmieri’s recording contract from Morris Levy for $35,000 cash. I also bought his management/booking contract from the Jose Curbelo agency for $10,000. I offered Ralph Mercado a partnership in the Avocado Booking Agency that I was creating after having acquired Eddie’s booking contract and I convinced Ralph to get out of the “Cheetah” (which had seen better days). Eddie would be our first and primary artist. I believed others would follow Eddie’s lead, that’s how much confidence I had in him as a trend setting artist. Ralph accepted my offer on the condition that I would remain a silent partner. My invisibility would insure that Massucci would not block his artists from signing with the agency and Ralph would not lose his valuable participation with the “Fania All Stars” concerts. A day after the contracts were signed, he called and mentioned that the name “Avocado” concerned him and that he didn’t want to be called an “aguacate”. He wanted to change our name to the Ralph Mercado Booking Agency. I agreed and after we were partners for about six months (during which time we had become the number one agency in New York), Ralph felt that he was doing too much work and that splitting the money with me was not fair to him, so he asked me to step aside. This was always Ralph’s pattern, with all his partners. I was doing so well with Coco that I said okay, but to even the score I expected Ralph to reciprocate and channel some artists Coco’s way (which he never did). Soon thereafter my dear friend Ray Aviles approached me and asked me to legally release Ralph from our deal and not sue, in order that he and Ralph could form a new partnership. Ray had Madison Square Garden connections from back in the days when he worked with Jack Hooke and Dick Clark. I really didn’t want to sue Ralph (that was the amazing charisma of the man), and truth be told I will always love him even though we had stopped speaking for several years. He was the only one who ever reneged on a deal with me that I ever let go without a lawsuit. You see Chico, when I enter into a contract I expect everyone to keep their word and do their part. They in turn should expect that I will also keep my word, or else we’ll see each other in court. Why would I do otherwise? We pay lawyers a fortune, we put an agreement down on paper, to remind everyone involved years later just what it was exactly that we originally agreed to. People have a tendency to forget, so a contract is the great reminder for everyone concerned. By the way, after a while Ralph did the same thing to Ray Aviles.

CAP: Harvey, this is some very interesting stuff, man. Why have you never revealed these things before?

HA: Chico, a good poker player must always have an ace in the hole. A lot of this stuff has never been told, but because you have a certain way with your interviewing style, you opened me up. Believe me, everything I’m telling you is relevant, and you can quote me. For example, I paid Morris Levy $3,500 a month in cash over a period of ten months, so he turns around and tells his mafia partners/backers that he sold the contract for $3,500 flat, instead of $35,000 total. That’s what I mean when I say that I know the underbelly of the beast known as show business. For the record, I never set out to be the biggest or most powerful latin record company, I did however set out to be the best. After I announced the formation of Coco, I put out the word that I was looking for talented artists. I was not looking for rapid growth and I definitely wanted to remain (relatively) small, with not too many artists, a boutique record company that provided a creative environment where a half dozen or so artists could become superstars or at least become bigger than they were prior to signing with Coco. I believed I could achieve this by respectfully giving their careers anglo quality direction, big company service, concentrated promotion/publicity and customized production. A big company with a large roster of artists could never provide or achieve that kind of individualized attention to their careers.

CAP: So then, “Sentido” gave you and Eddie a shot in the arm, right? I mean it was the start of something big, as the song says.

HA: Sure did. It put Coco on the map, so to speak. But every good project has its good points and its drawbacks. Marketing Eddie Palmieri’s “Sentido” had several unusual hurdles to overcome. I realized early on that while Eddie was very popular in New York and sold very well in the big U.S. urban markets, his sales were weaker in Puerto Rico. All the other latin artists sold twice as many albums in PR than they did in the U.S. Jerry Massucci had all the deejays and radio stations down there in his pocket. He was even able to dictate to them whether or not to play artists who recorded for other record labels. That’s how powerful the Fania machine was. I told Eddie that we needed a great record, one that couldn’t miss and that would go over big in PR. Truth is we both needed that market Chico. Eddie came up with two monsters, “Puerto Rico” and “Adoracion”. The rest of the material on that album were fillers, which was typical of most Palmieri records. This had been Eddie’s pattern over the years and during the recording sessions I was so mesmerized by his artistry and his music that he got me too! But I learned my lesson well, and never again accepted fillers or lame material from any of my artists. The public was buying an album, not a single, so I insisted that they deserved an album’s worth of quality material for their money. As long as I had four or five originals with “hit” potential (which I called my rice and beans tracks) I was a satisfied, happy producer and record company owner. I would then have enough material to work, promote and keep them on the radio until the next album came out. As for the rest of the tracks, I always encouraged my artists to experiment, to express themselves and let their music grow. That way they could expand their fan base and none of us would get trapped in a box and forced to be repetitive. The music was no longer just about dancing. Lyrics now took a front seat and the arrangement became a more crucial element in the success of a recording that now was quite dependent on the story. My arrangers were instructed to take into consideration the mood of the song, the story line, the hooks and even the impact that breaks had on the story line.

CAP: And the musicians, were they behind you on this?

HA: Chico, they came through with flying colors! I made them all aware that it was imperative they provide strong rhythmic support, sensitivity and embellishment for every word of every sentence that came out of the singer’s mouth. Eddie and I both knew how important that was, and so did Fania. Massucci’s blockade notwithstanding, “Adoración” was such a powerful recorded performance that the minute it hit the turntables in PR, the radio deejays could not resist playing it. They knew Coco had made them the proverbial “offer that they couldn’t refuse”. It was that good Chico, they had to play it, or else their audience would flip the dial to another station that was spinning that track. After Eddie’s first single shook up the island, we followed it up with “Puerto Rico” and the rest is history. Those two cuts carried the album and it was really a giant step forward for such a new company. With the follow up album “The Sun of Latin Music” my approach was different. I waited until we had five potential hits before recording the album. “Deseo Salvaje”, a bolero from an unknown sixteen year old singer named Lalo was a real sleeper. “Nada De Ti”, “Un Dia Bonito”, “Nunca Contigo” and “Una Rosa Española” were all winners. It was really an album full of great hits as opposed to an album that had maybe one or two big hits. Overall, no “one-hit” album could ever come close to the total album concept we achieved with “Sun Of Latin Music”. So here was little Coco Records, with Eddie Palmieri and the greatest salsa band of the moment, with producer Harvey Averne at the helm, winning the first Grammy ever given in the “latin music” category. Throughout the years, I have been told by many music critics that “The Sun Of Latin Music” established for our music what the Beatles’ “Sargeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” did for rock. To this day, every “salsa” recording is invariably compared to”The Sun Of Latin Music”. Also, our album covers had turned away from using the recording artist’s photos and toward fine artwork and graphics. I think that it was right after that when you came on board as freelance art director. The Coco concept was definitely working.

CAP: Well Harvey, it certainly has been a helluva long time since we collaborated on all those great Coco releases. Or rather, I should say, since I worked for you in that capacity, designing numerous album covers, including “Unfinished Masterpiece”, which sadly, my original design and the original title were never used. A great opportunity was missed there, but hey, that’s all water under the bridge anyway.

HA: Chico, I may have never told you this, but I really did love your design with the four pieces of coconuts laying face up on a wooden floor, dye-cut and all. Had the album title remained “Kinkamache”, which had the same musical content as “Unfinished Masterpiece”, your cover most certainly would have been the Grammy winning cover that year. But When Eddie tried to blackmail me and threatened to tell everyone in the media not to play the album because it was “unfinished” I knew I had to get creative. I immediately went on the offense, changing the album title to “Unfinished Masterpiece”, thereby answering Eddie’s claim right on the front cover. Unfinished? Perhaps. Masterpiece? You decide. My marketing concept was to get the media to listen to the album and then to critique it. That was the tricky part. I knew they would love it once they heard it and that ultimately they would give the album rave reviews.

CAP: So then marketing was the name of the game.

HA: You got it! And what a brainstorm of a marketing concept that was, if I do say so myself! Certainly the proof is in the pudding. Another Grammy winner, in fact, the second Grammy awarded in the newly created “latin music” category. All Eddie’s guys gladly came back to re-record their parts, because no one except him knew what was going on within the chaos he created. His piano tracks were the only performances that were acceptable to him and me on the entire recording. On “Resemblance” I was faced with a different problem. Eddie wanted to record the big band live. The tempo was extremely erratic and fluctuated like crazy. The arrangement was by Edy Martinez, who played electric keyboard and conducted this huge monster size orchestra. However, Martinez as conductor was not in total control of the orchestra, due to the fact that they were playing a jazz waltz, which is in 3/4 time and was then basically uncharted territory for a latin band. It was chaotic and overwhelming, but once again, Eddie’s part on the acoustic piano and Martinez on electric keyboard were cool. After the President of the United States turned down my request to declare “Resemblance” a federal disaster area, I was forced to bring in two acknowledged jazz greats for major damage control (laughter). First, Ron Carter (the number one jazz bassist in the world), had to play in-between the cracks and underneath a previously recorded band track (with major tempo problems). I asked him to even out the time by playing through this mine field and without a drummer no less. God bless Ron Carter, he saved my ass! Then I brought in Steve Gadd (the world’s greatest session drummer) to deal with the messed-up tempo, but at least Steve could follow the road map which Ron had laid out. I edited, overdubbed, directed and mixed everything just like I did in “Sentido” and “The Sun of Latin Music”, pretty much without Eddie’s help or distractions. Usually, after the band sessions and maybe some overdubs, Eddie would let me do my thing and when I finished my work I would present it to him for his final approval. We never had any real disagreements at all over the final mixes. I can recall him asking for some adjustments which I was happy to do especially since he was always on the money.

CAP: And rightfully so, since it was his music to begin with.

HA: And I respected that it was his music. I also knew how he wanted it and that’s exactly how he got it. His was the most progressive and complicated latin music of its day, more so than even “Siembra”, but it was being attempted with the least amount of preparation or rehearsal than any music I had ever worked on before. Eddie was always a “no show” at rehearsals, yet he was the only one who was fully prepared for the record dates. The band members never had a clue about anything regarding new material, unless Eddie had already tried it out on a gig, which he rarely did. This made everyone extremely alert and on their toes, and they never knew what to expect. Let me add that the musicians in Eddie’s band were the best in the business, and were all about the music. We were each willing to go through anything that was thrown at us for the sake of the music and no band ever had a better swing than the Eddie Palmieri band. When those guys were on, they were on fire! Working with a genius will never be easy and most always will be crazy difficult. But therein resides the greatest music, and make no mistake about it Mr. Alvarez, Eddie Palmieri was and still is a bona fide genius. I have found that the best way to deal with any problem in the music business is to find a musical solution. Pure and simple. And that’s what I always tried to do. Anyway, a “hit” record fixes everything (laughter).

CAP: But surely, there was enough material on that album for you to have released it “as is”, no?

HA: Chico, the truth is that without “Resemblance” and “Random Thoughts” I did not have enough quality material to put the album out. Believe me I would have never put it out if it had not been up to mine and Eddie’s standards. My reputation and integrity were on the line and the latin business would have killed this gringo if it wasn’t top quality Palmieri material. It was a hard fought battle. Eddie is a formidable opponent and a great salesman. The assumption of the public and the media automatically was and is as follows; the poor, innocent, sweet, always mistreated and abused artist goes against the Big, Always Bad, Certainly Crooked, Always Doing Bad Shit Record Company. At his peak, Eddie Palmieri was a latin god, and as such easily managed to get his side of the Coco-Palmieri conflict on the front pages of Billboard magazine, as well as Cash Box, Record World and in many newspapers, radio, TV, anglo and latino publications wordwide, and for free. You see, publications know that the fans enjoy reading juicy sorted stories, including how their beloved idols are being taken advantage of and mistreated by us awful business types, which is really a crock. I am not saying that record companies are never in the wrong, but more often than not it’s the talented diva type artists who are taking advantage of their celebrity and playing head games, because they know that the labels need their product and sales in order to survive. So they squeeze and they demand and if they are important enough they receive. Such is life in the music business.

CAP: And what was your response to all the media hype, and to their so-called uneven coverage?

HA: Well, if I had decided to present my side to the public, I would have been compelled to take out very expensive full page ads, in order to answer Eddie’s accusations. Let’s face it, the record mogul’s side of the story does not make interesting copy. In spite of Eddie, we both came out okay in the end. I was fighting for my professional integrity and my company’s survival. Thank God it turned out alright. Not great, but okay. I have learned that music artists, sports figures, movie stars and the like all have great leverage against the companies which they are signed to, if they generate dollars for them. This is the whole truth and nothing but the truth. If you sell product or you fill up the seats, any CEO (including me) will do anything short of committing professional suicide to get you to perform. They need the sales and the dollars. That’s why we always read stories about Stephon Marbury, Terrel Owens, Manny Ramirez, Lindsey Lohan and other stars who are not living up to the terms of their contracts. Agreements which they, their lawyers, managers and accountants had negotiated for months and signed off on. All of a sudden, one fine day, they wake up feeling that these agreements have become insufficient and are a great inconvenience. Words like honor and ethics, coupled with signed contracts become meaningless, and the lawyers get richer. I needed Eddie Palmieri for those very reasons, but I also harbored a deep love for latin music, which superceeced all of the above, or else I would have gone into the more lucrative r&b, soul, rock or even country music fields. The music that I chose to perform and to which I have devoted my entire life to has fulfilled and motivated me from my early years in the Catskills right on through “Unfinished Masterpiece”. In spite of everything, right up until this very moment latin music has satisfied me beyond my wildest dreams.

CAP: I don’t think anyone ever questioned your professionalism or your love for the music. We all knew you long before that period, as a musician and recording artist. You were always part of the popular culture. You certainly did have that “latin” look, in an Italian sort of way.

HA: Chico, I guess I am a guy who is enchanted by cultures. From my late teens on, Spanish-speaking cultures, music, food and customs fascinated me. Latin American music became my epicenter, the most dominant, enriching and influential factor in my life. To this day it’s who I am, how I will be and want to be remembered. However, while growing up in the Jewish-Italian neighborhood of East New York, Brooklyn, my earliest friendships were with Italians. Their culture, music, food, cars, dress, jewelry, happy homes, really good family ties, interesting and powerful men (some with unusual life styles) had an amazing impact on me at a very early age. From the time I was 13 years old my first gigs were Italian and Jewish affairs. I played all types of weddings, block parties, sweet sixteens, as well as bar-mitzvahs and the like. I thank you for the compliment, that I looked Italian when I was a young man. I think I learned a lot from the guys on the block, my old friends are still in touch with me to this day. The old Italian idea of integrity, where your word or a hand shake is as good as a signed contract, “Omerta” (sworn to silence), never rat on your own and never mess with a friend’s woman. Respect is important in their culture and very important to me also. All this teaches you to act like a man. In the “Unfinished Masterpiece” situation, I think I acted like a man, and I have my Italian and Jewish upbringing and influences to thank for that. Eventually Eddie proved me right. First, by rejecting all year long the many awards “Unfinished Masterpiece” received (this was his way of not recognizing the album). Then by boycotting, rejecting and refusing to accept the Latin New York magazine award for the “Album of the Year”, while on the same night and on the same stage of the Beacon Theatre here in New York he accepted the “Pianist Of The Year” award (for the same album). I was voted “Producer of The Year” and many of Eddie’s guys also won awards for the album. That night he publicly acknowledged only the original piano tracks he recorded on the initial session and nothing else. In the end, he showed his true colors by going to the 1976 NARAS ceremony and accepting the Grammy award for “Best Album” in the Latin Music category for “Unfinished Masterpiece”. So much for the controversy. I guess the Eddie Palmieri boycott kinda ended that night.

CAP: All that cultural street savvy may have helped you in your personal life, and even in your business dealings, but did the album actually do well, I mean in terms of sales?

HA: Chico, it was the best marketing work I ever did. “Unfinished Masterpiece” was the most profitable Palmieri album to date and historic in many ways. Working with Eddie forced all of us to dig way down and come up with something better than we ever knew we were capable of doing. Musically, it was very good, but certainly not his best. As far as it creating a demand, it was a monster and still remains one of his best selling albums. Due to all the negative publicity at first, in addition to the excellent publicity that it received later on, the entire latin music industry and the latino community knew all about this album. All that negative publicity stimulated curiosity, and then winning the Grammy created big time publicity, sales and profits. We have a saying in show business: “There is no such thing as bad publicity, as long as they spell your name right”.

CAP: An old saying, but one that still holds true. Go on, please.

HA: Chico, I’ve needed to get all of this stuff off my chest for a long time. Sorry it had to be on you, but you’re the one who opened Pandora’s Box. I still can’t believe to this day that Eddie tried to hold me up me for an additional $10,000 to do the final session which he had already been paid for. He was way overdrawn and owed Coco more than $50,000 in advances. These were 1972 dollars, an amount that was considered a fortune back then. Coco Records gave him the best contract any “salsa” artist ever had at that time. More than $10,000 advance per album. Fania and Tico were still paying something like $500, or $1,000 per album maybe a little more to their bigger artists. We also gave him co-ownership in Ying Yang publishing, which was unheard of at the time. Chico, this was Eddie’s history and pattern long before he signed with Coco, so I guess I should not have been too surprised. That the split happened after only three studio albums, well, that came as a big surprise to me. The shame of it all is that if we had completed four or five albums together without any problems, indicating a change in his output and pattern at the time, then the majors would have gained sufficient confidence in his credibility and dependability factor, thus they would have been more than willing to put millions of dollars on the table for both of us.

CAP: Talk about an opportunity being lost! But let’s get back for a moment to the subject of “latin jazz”, okay?

HA: Go for it baby. It’s your interview.

CAP: At the height of the “salsa boom”, which by the way coincided with the period in which you and Eddie were riding the crest of a wave of success, was “latin jazz” an important element in your releases? Or had it already become passe? I can certainly hear that element on the three Palmieri albums, as I do on that one particular Cortijo album, but I never did hear much latin jazz coming from the other artists who were on the Coco label.

HA: Chico, if any of the artists who were signed to my label wanted to explore new concepts or experiment with jazz and other genres, I would always encourage them, but hardly anyone wanted to record latin jazz at that time, not even Cortijo. As a matter of fact, the album which you referenced, “La Maquina Del Tiempo” (Time Machine), did not really represent him musically. That was the only album on Coco where I gave someone else co-producer credits. So allow me to give credit where it is due. The entire concept was created by keyboardist Pepe Castillo and guitarist/cuatrista Edgardo Miranda. They were the brains behind that project, they worked together on all those great arrangements. However, it was Pepe who convinced Cortijo and I to try something different. They both came to me with a proposition for a very jazz oriented project, which had a bit of a Brazilian flavor on a couple of songs. I listened to what they had in mind and liked it very much.

CAP: And how did Cortijo feel about it?

HA:You have to remember that Cortijo was already at an advanced age and that this type of music was for him really way out there. It was radically different than anything he had done before. In those days we had a couple of often-used expressions; “if you’re more than twenty two, it just won’t do” and another one was “if it doesn’t dance it doesn’t sell”. Keep that in mind and picture me listening to this magnificent music – it literally took me out there- and here was Cortijo at his age and still playing his ass off, so I say “okay, I probably won’t make any money with this, but what the hell, this is great music, so let’s do it”. Deep down inside, I knew that financially this was going to be my pie in the face production, but I was so enchanted with the music that I forgot the golden “if it don’t dance it don’t sell” rule. The tempos were way too fast, but somehow I didn’t notice. When Cortijo mentioned this to Pepe, he disagreed with him and told him not to mention it to me, and you know what Chico? The old man was right! This is something that has really bothered me -no-tortured me- all these years. I get so many compliments about that album, people from all over the world keep telling me how great it is.

CAP: And you obviously disagree?

HA: It eats away at me because I know that the shit was way too fast and that’s why it didn’t sell well. Pepe confessed to me many years later that Cortijo had complained to him that it was too fast, and that he (Pepe) was an arrogant, opinionated and radical young man who wouldn’t listen to anyone. Cortijo was the one who caught it, and in hindsight it shows me (once again) the genius of the old man. This is why we producers must give the artists their proper due, always hear them out and calmly discuss and talk out our differences of opinions. Often times they know what’s best. Because what this genius of a percussionist said in private never reached my ears, I was deprived of his input. I missed the whole point of that project and subsequently the album never got the necessary airplay it deserved. It could easily have been heard by a lot more people, if we had only slowed the tempos down. Today, that album is mostly beloved by musicians, critics and latin jazz devotees because of the artistry of the personnel and the hipness of the arrangements, which were beautifully executed. It’s basically a musician’s album, made by and for musicians, and that’s the essence of latin jazz itself. And I think possibly therein lies the problem. But you know what Chico? That album could still be saved, for lack of a better word. The tempos could be slowed down electronically, without messing up the pitch or altering the keys. I know that by utilizing today’s technology – which was non-existent when “Time Machine” was recorded – I could fix the time on that machine and make it happen for them. “La Maquina Del Tiempo” slowed down kicks ass, as a latin jazz dance album. And by the way Chico, Coco Records and I have been honored with two albums that are included in the top ten greatest salsa albums of all time. One of them is “The Sun Of Latin Music” and the other (surprisingly) is “La Maquina Del Tiempo (Time Machine)”. Ironic, isn’t it? The subtitle could have been “The Salsa Album That Doesn’t Dance”.

CAP: Reverting back to my earlier comments on age differences, did the Cheetah generation bring to the dance floor a completely new and different set of criteria for the music? In your opinion was this period a sort “changing of the guard”, with the old being replaced by the new?

HA: I think that in essence, yes, they definitely did. Most clubs had a dress code, while the Cheetah had an “anything goes” dress code, and so the older bands started losing their appeal, precisely because of the generational difference. This new image, by the way, was induced by Fania. Their artists were so dominant that they inspired the young latinos, not only in terms of the music but also in terms of clothing, speech, attitude, etc. With the release of the film “Our Latin Thing” the
Fania label and its roster of artists knowingly and deliberately created what was considered by outsiders as the “Latin New York” image. You might say it was a hispanic “subculture”. And Coco (with Eddie Palmieri and the most radical band of the moment) picked up on it and brought “rock-n-roll style-no more damn uniforms-everybody do your own thing” all the way home. The “salsa generation” emerged out of this subculture, and the hip latin jazz audience started to wane. Even as all these changes were taking place, many young bands were still including latin jazz in their recordings and live performances, myself included. Prior to our disbanding, the three Harvey Averne Dozen recordings each included at least a couple of instrumental latin jazz numbers. I have recently listened to the “The Harvey Averne Anthology” album (1967-71) for the first time and I realize now that we were not so radical, at least not with the latin jazz genre. We were able to stay true to that style while incorporating such Cuban elements as Beny Moré type guajeos, enveloped within our blues/soul fusion thing. At this time (1971) I was mentally gearing up to take latin music into another direction, which was “latin rock”. With the Harvey Averne Barrio Band (influenced by Santana) we were moving further away from latin jazz. The underlying element in our latin rock was still the traditional sound of son montuno, brought to fruition by the presence of our unique personnel, many of whom were destined to become future Fania All Stars. In other words, the Barrio Band respected and built upon tradition, but [they] were never glued to it.

CAP:And yet, there was a continued widening of the gap. It is interesting to note Harvey, that this type of rift was not just happening in New York City. The generational divide that rocked the United States during the sixties also occurred in Cuba, not to mention the effects that international politics had on the music. We both know that shortly after 1960, jazz itself was being stiffled on the island, because it was considered by the new revolutionary government as “music of the enemy”. I’m curious, do you think that this had any effect on our brand of “latin jazz” – as a style?

HA: Yes I think so, and that’s a very good observation on your part Chico, which now makes me see the common denominator between the “traditionalist” jazz elitist’s “enemy of the music” mentality (totally against all experimentation, change and artist growth) and the Castro government’s “music of the enemy” position. Views which may appear diametrically opposed, but which in effect yield the same result. The latin jazz I loved – stuff by Mongo Santamaria, Cal Tjader, etc. and even some of the earlier big band dance music – that’s what I call “latin jazz”. This was the music that I listened to way before I started producing. There was for example Machito in his heyday, when he used Charlie Parker, Flip Phillips, Buddy Rich and all those jazz greats. I know that they weren’t calling it latin jazz then, so they just put it under the overall jazz umbrella, and this is what it was eventually tagged as. When the Machito band did “Fireworks” for Coco, we produced one of the best latin big band jazz cuts of the decade, namely “Macho”, an awesome piece of music. Machito was the one who came in with the idea for the santería introduction with batá drums and what-not, and then arranger Jorge Millet laid down the road map for all those great jazz soloists, including Charlie Palmieri’s great piano solo, Jon Faddis, Nicky Marrero, etc. And let me tell you Chico, any jazz artist I called for that session, when I told them it was for Machito, they were down for it. No one ever asked me how much money the gig payed, they simply said to me: “what time should I be there”? That was because of the special relationship that began decades earlier, with Mario Bauza, Dizzy Gillespie, Chano Pozo and the Machito Orchestra, resulting in “Manteca” and other equally masterful classics. Jazz musicians loved Machito, and so did I. If you were a really good player, and were playing straight ahead jazz all the time, whenever you got a chance to blow on top of Machito’s Afro-Cuban rhythms, it was a welcome change of pace for you – it was kinda like being in heaven.

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – Preamble

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 1

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 3

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 1

THE INTERVIEW – August, 2008 – April, 2009:

Conversations Between CHICO ALVAREZ PERAZA and HARVEY AVERNE

Below is the unedited version of my interview with Grammy winner Harvey Averne, musician, band leader, record producer and founder of Coco Records. Because it was too extensive to print in its entirety in the April Issue of LATIN BEAT MAGAZINE, I am re-editing it for the readers of latinjazznet.com, with some added questions pertaining to latin jazz in general, and with the generous permission of RUDY MANGUAL, editor and publisher of said magazine.

- CHICO ALVAREZ PERAZA

INTRODUCTION

I spoke with Harvey Averne several times over the past summer, mostly by phone, where our conversations eventually turned from latin jazz and his own personal experiences as a performer to his experiences with superstar Eddie Palmieri, with particular focus on the “Unfinished Masterpiece” controversy, which we discussed at length. Naturally, it is Mr. Averne’s side of the story, raw and uncensored. He is now living in Daytona Beach, Florida, where he maintains a somewhat low profile, albeit not oblivious to the current trends in the latin scene. “Unfinished Masterpiece” notwithstanding, I decided that our readers needed to get more of an insight into Harvey the man, the musician, his label and his experiences within “latin” music circles. So here it is, with the hopes that you will not only enjoy his anecdotes, but that you will also become more informed.

CAP: Harvey, what’s it like to be removed from all the craziness of the music industry? Do you miss it any?

HA: Chico, I love being semi-retired in beautiful Daytona Beach. It’s really a paradise down there, totally stress free. I have a lot of things going on that I never did before and I have a bunch of really good friends to do stuff with. I work out and shoot pool at the Port Orange YMCA and go fishing almost every week. I listen to a lot of music, both recent releases and vintage stuff from back in the day. Whileviewing TV or videos I find myself looking out at the jungle in the back of my home. Have you noticed that good music never gets old?

CAP: Tell me about it bro. I’ve got a record collection that some people would kill for!

HA: I can just imagine Chico. I own a few gems myself, and if I ever do come across a great or interesting new talent I would gladly go back into the studio again. It’s in my blood, man. I would even to do it for an older or established artist, one whom I feel that I have learned something from and who can still perform on a high level. Anyone who knows the work I did with Machito, Cortijo and Fajardo, all of whom were senior citizens at the time they recorded with me, can appreciate the fact that it has been an honor for me to have worked with my idols and to have given something back to them. Even though I knew at the time that these albums were not going to yield any major profits, I recorded them anyway, simply because these guys inspired and gave me everything when I was coming up. My company never made any money from their records, but we didn’t lose any money either. Sometimes you have to do things from the heart. My criteria was that if they still had stage presence and could perform well in the studio, then I was going to do something that would improve their lives. I tried to revive their careers to whatever level I could. Believe me when I say this Chico, it was a labor of love and I got a lot of satisfaction from those sessions. You know, I still get passionate working in a recording studio, and as a matter of fact, I’m working on two projects as we speak. In addition, some of my music is included on “Tribute To The Beatles”, “Latin Funk/Nuyorican Funk” and “El Barrio – Back on the Streets of Spanish Harlem”, three brand new compilations recently released on the Fania label, distributed by Universal. Look for the Harvey Averne “Never Learned To Dance Anthology” (1967-71) a twenty song compilation CD that includes a sixteen page booklet. The album drops May 26th 2009. Whew! All that promo aside, let’s talk some music Mr. Alvarez.

CAP: Sure. I’ll start by taking you on a time trip. What are your musical and cultural roots?

HA: This is the easy part. I was born in 1936, in Brooklyn. My parents were European-American Jews who lived a modest life. They were hard working and very supportive of me during my formative years. My dad was born in Soviet Georgia, he arrived here when he was ten years old. My mother is a native New Yorker of Polish descent. They started me on the violin at the age of nine, then I switched to the accordion. At twelve I turned professional, can you believe it? I can still remember my first summer gig away from home, I was fourteen. By the age of sixteen I was already a full time musician, working small clubs on the weekends. That was so long ago Chico, but I remember it like it was yesterday. At seventeen I was making ninety bucks a weekend – which was a lot of money back then. During my high school years I worked regularly at the Boulevard Night Club on Queens Boulevard in Rego Park, NY and continued working there even after I graduated from Thomas Jefferson High. It was such a fun time for me Chico, it felt great – like I was in heaven – especially after appearing on the same bill with such big name stars as Don Rickles, Jerry Vale, Harry Belafonte, Tony Bennett, Sarah Vaughn, Al Hibbler, The Platters, The Four Aces and The Mills Brothers. Come to think of it, there were also a few up and coming artists who played The Boulevard, like Teddy Randazzo and The Chuckles, The Diamonds, Sally Blair and Della Reese. Another thrill for me was working the Catskill Mountains, especially Brickman’s Hotel in South Fallsburg, which was not too far from The Pines, where Joe Cuba could be heard leading his sextet. That whole area was then known as the borschtbelt, a group of hotels, bungalow colonies, summer campsand kuchaleyns (a Yiddish name that conjures up images of various families in boarding houses, cooking for themselves, a sort of self-sufficient community kitchen and dining room). During the 1940′s, 1950′s, and 1960′s the area was frequented by middle to upper class Jewish New Yorkers, mostly immigrants from Eastern Europe, their children and grandchildren. Because there was such a heavy influx by this group of immigrants, the area was nicknamed the “Jewish Alps” by many people who visited there.

CAP: Is that when you first got hip to Cuban music?

HA: For sure, I always liked it. My dad was a sewing machine operator in a ladies belt factory, surrounded by and friendly with newly arrived Puerto Rican immigrants. All day long he heard songs that were being sung in Spanish and would come home singing “Quiereme Mucho”, “Aquellos Ojos Verdes”, “Besame Mucho”, etc. He sang them beautifully around the house, all the time, in Spanish. I loved to hear those songs, but at the time I didn’t know how to play them. In the Catskills hotel circuit, they always had “American” dance and show bands. They would regularly bring on a “latin” band that would play mambos, tangos, boleros, merengues, fast paced boleros (known as rhumbas) and cha cha cha’s whenever the house band took their break. I had several latin songs that I would mix into my dance sets. Many great latin bands played the borschtbelt. Randy Carlos played the Nemerson and Larry Harlow played Schenk’s Paramount Hotel, where all the latin musicians and dancers would go to jam after their gigs. The Raleigh Hotel in South Fallsburg was the hot spot and Marty Arrett had the dance studio there. In those days every hotel and beach club had a dance team that doubled as instructors, giving dance lessons to mainly Jewish people, teaching them how to mambo, cha cha chá, etc. Some of the Raleigh’s latin bands were La Playa Sextet, La Plata Sextet and Eddie Palmieri, playing one summer each. During the week – for one night only appearances – they would bring up visiting Cuban bands like Aragón and José Fajardo who were booked in the city. Other big name bands were Tito Puente, José Curbelo, Machito and La Sonora Matancera with Celia Cruz on vocals. I would listen to these bands whenever I could, hypnotized by their fascinating rhythms. I was not yet versed on the rudiments, but was learning as I went along.

CAP: So when exactly did Cuban music come into your life?

HA: I think it was around 1951. I was playing a summer gig at the Jockey Country Club in Ellenville, NY, when I accidentally heard a hispanic dishwasher playing his guitar in the back yard of the kitchen. I think his name was Pedro. There he was, with his shiny gold tooth, strumming and singing “Me Lo Dijo Adela” and “Donde Estabas Tu?” I immediately fell in love with those songs and with their unique syncopation. I talked to the owner of the hotel – and Chico I swear I don’t know how I did it, because in those days the kitchen help were never allowed outside their work and lodging areas – but I talked him into letting Pedro go into the playhouse every night, so we could do some “real” latin music. We were an instant hit with Pedro (albeit unpaid but all dressed up) singing his two numbers every night and mingling with the guests. He taught me how to play the tunes properly on my accordion, and that was the first time I actually played Cuban music. The Nevele Hotel – also in Ellenville – was where I played my first away from home six-nites-a-week gig. It was open throughout the entire year, not just the summer season. I remember it as being approximately in the winter of 1956.

CAP: And Pedro?

HA: I never saw him again, sorry to say, but that man changed my life forever. After the Nevele I played just about every hotel in the Catskills, including the Pines, the President, the Concord, Grossingers, Young’s Gap and the Flagler, among others. The last hotel the Arvito band played was Laurels Country Club, a hot singles hotel where the Lecuona Cuban Boys had played for many years. We were booked in there for the summer of 1961. One of the best pianists on the circuit was Charles Fox, who came directly from Paris to play with us and met his beautiful wife Joan there (she was a counselor). To this day they remain one of the great love stories and show biz marriages.

CAP: But surely you didn’t remain just another hotel and club date band, right?

HA: No, not at all. In fact I was already looking toward new horizons. When I was nineteen I partnered with a latin music disc jockey and advertising man named Dick “Ricardo” Sugar. Together, we would promote dances every Sunday afternoon at The Manor in Bayside, Queens. My favorite group at the time was La Playa Sextet – man they were awesome! – they were in competition with Joe Cuba’s sextet for the best small group in the business. That’s when I started toying around with a similar type of group. Chico, believe me when I say that Tito Puente, Joe Cuba and La Playa were my main inspirations. I started a seven piece group, with a full Cuban rhythm section, two trumpets and myself on vibes. My dear friend Larry Harlow worked with me for a while until I fired him and told him to start his own band because he would never listen to me. He did, and the rest – as they say – is history. Now Chico, you have to envision this and it’s really very funny when you think of it. Everyone and their grandmother had a show name, and mine was “Harvito”. On my debut gig as a latin band leader at Brickmans, the hotel owner put my name up on the marquee as “Arvito”, without the H, and they also spelled it that way in the New York Post Resort Section advertisement. When I asked him why he spelled it that way, he replied; “no self-respecting latin band leader would have a name like Harvito, it simply does not sound ‘latin’. From now on you will be Arvito, it’s either that or you can take your band and play somewhere else”. So that’s how I said goodbye to the H and became Arvito. Dick became my personal manager, and through my business relations with him, mine was the first band to sign with his and José Curbelo’s agency “Alpha Artists”. In 1957 we were booked into the Palladium Ballroom.

CAP: I bet that must have been quite an experience for you.

HA: Was it ever! I played opposite Tito Puente. When I heard that he was on the bill, I panicked! The Arvito band was doing mostly Tito and La Playa Sextet covers. Harlow had copied the arrangements right off their recordings, note for note. Also, being a vibe player made it even more difficult for me to go on, what with Tito being such a vibe master and all. I approached Tito at the beginning of the night, introduced myself and explained my predicament to him. I was truthful and told him that while it was my dream to play at the world famous Palladium, he was not part of that dream, for all the obvious reasons. He smiled at me, pinched me on the cheek and said: “Don’t worry kid, I have plenty of numbers, just tell me which ones you are playing tonight, and I won’t repeat them”. In fact, he didn’t even play vibes that night, and I thank God for that! That was Tito for you. From that day forward he became my friend and mentor. Playing at the Palladium on the same bill as Tito really was a dream come true. He inspired me to keep on learning and playing Cuban music. Chico, I really miss him, even after all these years. After the summer of 1961 we played at several beach clubs on Long Island, mostly in Long Beach and Lido Beach, clubs like the Malibu, the Sands, the Shelbourne and the Tropicana. We were a hot little band, performing with all the top latin bands of the day, and without ever having made a record.

CAP: During those early years when you were still performing with your own band, did you play mostly instrumental dance music, or was there also an element of jazz in your book? I’m referring specifically to the fusionistic musical idiom known as “latin jazz”, which was also known for a while as “Cubop” and “Afro Cuban Jazz”.

HA: Truth be told, I was a monster jazz fan until around 1965 or ’66. I frequented every jazz club in the city to hear the likes of Monk, Horace Silver, Art Farmer, Art Blakey, Gerry Mulligan, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, Chet Baker, Stan Getz, Dave Brubeck and John Coltrane. So yes, there was definitely some jazz influence in my choice of material. I loved to hear three, four and five part harmony and lots of melodic lines. That’s what was so nice about the bossa nova, the melodies were so beautiful. All that crazy and way out Bebop stuff never really impressed me very much. I felt that if I wanted to see someone performing acrobatics, I could always go to the Olympics. I believed then as I do now that the song form is of the utmost importance, so before any really hard-blowing improvisations come into play, the tune should have a nicely constructed head. After you’ve clearly stated the melody and your audience is able to recognize it as such, then yeah, go ahead and blow. Knock yourself out, and while you are at it knock my socks off too! I mean it’s all yours from there on bro’. Once they feel comfortable with it, go ahead and construct that beautiful solo, but do it over an established set of the chord changes, in other words make some sense out of it. Create it so your audience can actually anticipate and appreciate where your solo is going. Sure – it’s your solo – and most likely you will feel that it is your music too, which it just might be. As we in the music world tend to feel and express after hearing someone seamlessly execute all of the above; “wow, he (she) really owns that song”.

CAP: I hear you man. And I recall having the exact same reaction when I first got turned on to jazz. I’d be lying if I said I understood all jazz music, but it appears to me that we musicians enter our own little world when we improvise, and sometimes we are oblivious to the people around us. We forget where we are because we are in our own little space and time. Ours is a world that can be likened to layers – layers of culture and musical history. Improvisation is a bona fide skill, but layered underneath all those free style riffs are sketches from our past, places, loved ones, friends, musical influences and endeavors that will ultimately applaud and document not only our efforts but the contributions of others as well. Jazz is a valid art form, with a lot of history, so why downplay the contributions and ideas of those who came first? If a musician starts to improvise on an existing melody and decides to take it too far out there – like in outer space maybe – then I think they’ve missed the point. For that they might as well create their own tune, from scratch. That way they don’t offend the composer or the aficionados who love the song as it was meant to be. Those soloists who deliberately distort the melody are subconsciously seeking to improve it in some way. Either that or they have no respect for it. Nuff said, right Harvey?

HA: Indeed Chico, and I couldn’t have stated it better myself. There is just so much you can say musically after you’ve played the melody. Let me end this train of thought by stating that if a musician – and it doesn’t matter what genre they are playing – if a musician attempts to enhance someone else’s work they could very easily end up subtracting from its beauty rather than embellishing or enhancing it. I also wish musicians would forget about all the poly-stylistic chaos that permeates in free-form jazz. They should proceed with caution when constructing their music, and they should keep it elegant. Actually, tasty is a better word. Jazz musicians – and non-jazz musicians for that matter – should always remember that not everyone feels the music the way they do and not everyone likes uninhibited madness.

CAP: So remember musicians, next time you go off on some crazy head trip, be very careful not to take Harvey and the rest of the audience on such a wild ride.

HA: Whoa! That’s heavy Chico! Wild ride is a pretty good description, especially when no one in the audience is wearing a seat belt (laughter).

CAP: By the way Harvey, now that we are on the subject of wild rides and head trips, where did you go to hear great jazz back then?

HA: My favorite place for jazz was a small club in the East Village, on 8th Street, right around where it merged onto St. Marks Place. It was a cozy type of a place, with wooden church pews for seats. I remember that Monk played there all the time, but for the life of me Chico I can’t remember the name of the joint right now. I heard some great jazz at that spot, as well as in The Village Gate, Birdland, The Village Vanguard and Basin St. East. I also dug listening to Machito, Tito Puente and Tito Rodriguez, who were all heavily into the Afro-Cuban Jazz fusion. So I really did listen to both types of music, and in fact I still love to listen to both genres.

CAP:You could very well be referring to the Five Spot, which highlighted a long residency by pianist Thelonious Monk in 1957. Monk’s seven month stint there was a landmark for both artist and club. I read somewhere that it was the first time he had performed in a New York club since losing his cabaret license in 1951.

HA: Yeah, that’s the one all right! No doubt about it, the Five Spot played a major role in America’s recognition of Monk’s genius. Unless my memory fails me, he was backed by John Coltrane on tenor sax, although I think they played there a lot longer than just seven months. Their appearance made the Five Spot the East Village’s premier jazz club. Monk would return to the club for many engagements in subsequent years. I used to take my brother there quite often, because he was under age and had to be accompanied by an adult.

CAP: That was a bit before my time Harvey, but as I recall hearing some of the elders comment, jazz music flourished alongside the mambo and the cha cha chá, connecting diverse audiences at such places as The Palladium and Birdland. Yet, the mix rarely really traveled outside the confines of the midtown area, except perhaps in the San Francisco Bay area or amongst the Hollywood jet set. And possibly in Europe.

HA: Yes, that’s true. When Larry Harlow first came to me with the band, they weren’t working much and certainly weren’t playing any real jazz. It was really his band, but through my connections with Dick Sugar and Jose Curbelo we began to get regular work after I took the band over. As I mentioned before the Arvito Band did a lot of covers but there was also a guy named Joe Greenwald who wrote some original charts for us. As I recall there were at the time quite a few indie labels such as Mardi Gras, Rainbow, Fiesta etc., that specialized in recording instrumental music and conjunto bands, so there was a market for that kind of thing. We did not have a lead vocalist, so my band played stuff like “Mambo Mist”, “Caravan”, “Mambo Inn”, and other equally jazzy tunes. We also played a few pieces that featured the vibraphone, such as Tito Puente’s “Mambo Diablo”, “Picadillo” and “Philadelphia Mambo” etc. This was the kind of stuff that appealed mainly to young anglos, especially Italians and Jews who were primarily drawn to the heartbeat and danceability of the music, and not necessarily to its jazz overtones.

CAP: How about the young black dancers? Do you think that they related to your music because of its jazz element?

HA: Well naturally, whenever we would play the Cotton Club or any venue in Harlem there were always black dancers giving us the nod whenever we would play a tune like “Caravan”, etc, but from my perspective on the bandstand, it seemed that young black dancers were pretty happy with rhythm ‘n’ blues and later on with soul music. They felt comfortable with that music because it was closer to their southern roots. In contrast, white dancers gravitated more toward latin music than they did to rhythm ‘n’ blues – at the time. Don’t ask me why, I really don’t know the answer to that, but I will speculate that it was because latin music more closely resembled the music of the swing generation, the stuff that their parents danced and listened to. It somehow seeped into their subconscious. Latin American music, specifically the Cuban dances, were very exotic, and most Anglo-American women loved to dance those styles. With the mambo they could dress up and look real sexy like Ava Gardner and feel like Chita Rivera in West Side Story. For sure, there were some great black dancers who frequented the Palladium, but they didn’t do it so much because of the orchestrated jazz influences or the guest jazz soloists. Rather, because of the hard-driving and infectious Afro-Cuban beat. Another thing Chico, the latin bandleaders who played almost exclusively for the anglos would pick certain words for the coros that were easy for non-latinos to pronounce, memorize and sing along with. Tito Rodriguez on the other hand, because he was such a magnificent vocalist – and I can’t understand why we never hear Tito anymore on the radio, it’s like this guy never lived, he was arguably the greatest male singer of my time – surprisingly, Tito also managed to play some of the best instrumental latin jazz ever recorded. My all time instrumental favorite is “El Mundo De Las Locas”, which he recorded live at The Palladium. It’s also radio deejay Joe Gaines’ all time favorite. And this was coming from Tito Rodriguez, my own personal latin Johnny Mathis, a singer’s singer. If you were with a chick in your apartment and put on one of his sexy boleros – oh man – she was yours! God bless you Tito Rodriguez (laughter).

CAP: You know Harvey, I vividly remember a time when the likes of Mongo Santamaria and Cal Tjader – among so many others – all led excellent groups, and they each had their own signature style. This was roughly around 1964 or ’65. Each of these artists managed to work steadily all year round, not only coast to coast but also in Europe and Japan. Then suddenly we began to hear them doing more dance oriented stuff, more commercially tinged material, such as boogaloo and Memphis style soul music. It’s not that latin jazz wasn’t danceable before, ’cause it definitely was. What I’m getting at Harvey, is that it wasn’t at all like it is in the here and now, when the main focus of today’s latin jazz artists is on the concert hall circuit. We are now at a juncture where the audience is visibly non-latino. They are predominantly middle class Europeans, plus a few Asians and blanquitos who have no interest in real dancing. They view the music purely as art. Hispanics on the other hand – those who love to dance are conspicuously missing from that audience. Surely, at their peak during the sixties, the artists which I have just mentioned counted mainly on working class Americans, (ie Blacks, Jews, Italians and Hispanics) as their support group, right?

HA: Well then Chico, that’s really an about face, isn’t it? It’s interesting to note that during the period when the Arvito band was performing primarily at dances, at least 50% of the audience was non-latino. I mean, all you have to do is just look at the many historic pictures of the Palladium Ballroom – and there are many circulating around the internet right now.You can see a very healthy ethnic and racial mix. That club was the proverbial melting pot. If you were going out on the town in New York City circa 1955, one of the places you had to hit was the Palladium. As you said, today’s latin jazz crowd is not as diverse, and not so much into the dance element as we were.

CAP: That’s exactly my point, but let’s fast forward a bit, like maybe ten years or so. It’s also my recollection that those who frequented the jazz clubs in the post Palladium period were the same cross-section of fans who were buying Eddie Palmieri, La Lupe and Tito Puente albums. You know Harvey, I fit perfectly into that category, and I’m sure that you do too. It’s uncanny, but we were so tuned-in to both styles of music. It was hip to go to The Village Gate or some other well known jazz club and listen to your favorite latin artists playing instrumental dance music for a sit-down crowd. It was equally hip to go the ballrooms – they weren’t called discotheques yet – and swing around the dance floor to the sounds of Fajardo, La Sonora Matancera with Celia Cruz, Orchestra Broadway, Pacheco and so many others. And by the way Harvey, none of those dance bands savoured any jazz influences, none whatsoever. It is my contention that the latin jazz audience tends to change every ten years or so, while the dance crowd remains true to their dance masters. There are some older dancers who still follow Orquesta Broadway around, just as they did forty years ago.

HA: Chico, I agree, and come to think of it, there wasn’t a lot of latin jazz being played in the clubs during my time. You might’ve had a headliner such as Mongo Santamaria or a Cal Tjader at The Village Gate, Birdland or Basin St. East, monsters who would always pack them in. But where else could you go hear this music? Scattered around the city you might find a few smaller clubs that weren’t really jazz venues but which would feature jazz tinged music. For example, there was a club that was located on Broadway and 53rd, near Birdland, I can’t recall the club’s name right now, Joe Loco played there quite a lot. So did Charlie Palmieri, when he still had Johnny Pacheco playing flute with him, before they became Orchestra Duboney. I don’t think that they were even a charanga band yet, but were still a big influence on me. Irving Fields was playing American tunes set to Cuban rhythms at the Plaza Hotel, and I remember hearing Noro Morales with a small group of musicians nearby. Also around at the time was the team of Damiron y Chapuseaux, who played some of the better hotel lounges in the midtown area. George Shearing did it for while as well. The sad fact is that this circuit was not really lucrative for most latin musicians, nor was it available to bands that played uncompromising dance music vis-á-vis latin jazz. The bop purists favored listening to straight ahead jazz. In spite of all this, it was quite natural for young hip New Yorkers to seek these bands out, even if it was outside the dance hall ambience. Inevitably, the fans would endure some watered down music, as long as they managed to get a taste of the hot music they loved.

CAP: What do you think happened to change this duplexity? I’m sorry to say that the rift that occurred in the sixties ultimately altered our own rigorous schedules, segregating us into separate camps, and ultimately removing those progressive icons from the mainstream spotlight. In your opinion, did that core audience change – in terms of demographics – or was it merely their tastes in music that changed? Perhaps it was the emergence of a wholly new and different way of promoting that plurality, with a strong focus on a new generation whose social values were somewhat different than their parents. What do you think?

HA: I would say all of the above, but I think that it actually began to change right around the time rock ‘n’ roll entered the picture. Chico, everything changed after rock ‘n’ roll showed up. First of all, touch dancing disappeared. I mean, is that a big enough change for you? The “twist” came in and the mambo went out the window! Everything that followed was more of the same, people were now dancing by themselves, even when they were dancing together. In the pre-rock ‘n’ roll era, couples would be in constant touch with each other and that exotic Caribbean sensuality was ever-present, via the conquest. Dancers were so focused on the romantic element that there was nothing else around that could distract them or grab their attention. Country and Western music had its audience, and opera was for opera lovers, classical music for classical music lovers etc. The pre-baby boom generation had jazz and latin music. Period. Which was why so many American vocalists eventually tried their hand at singing latin tunes, albeit mostly in English but sometimes in Spanish (ie “Nat “King” Cole en Español, Eydie Gorme with Trio Los Panchos, etc). These were the two top selling albums of the day. And many of them, now and again were very successful. The baby boomers however, [they] came of age at the time of Elvis, they were mesmerized by what was then the latest form of American pop culture. Some, like yourself, outgrew that music. Now just rewind for a minute, back to the mambo generation, to a time when you could be sitting in a club very comfortably listening to latin music – which often had many of the same elements and components that were found in jazz – or you could just as easily be mamboing your ass off, then go down the street for a nightcap and hear a small combo playing latin jazz. Suddenly at once both worlds merged beautifully. Musicians could work under the all encompassing “latin” umbrella, doubling from club to club playing this amazing variety of music on the same night, working within many shades and colors, warm, cool and hot. Musicians today cannot find or experience work like that, not any more.

CAP: So you think that it was rock ‘n’ roll that destroyed latin music – or at least latin music as you knew it – right?

HA: Yeah, I think it did, but you know what? In a way I’m happier – in the long run – even though I think we all suffered financially. There was a period there when we really were hurting. I guess it was just time to move on, even though many of us weren’t ready for that kind of change.

CAP: Hold that thought for a minute Harvey, and ponder on this. If it had it not been for rock ‘n’ roll and soul music, then perhaps there wouldn’t have been anything resembling your first hit “My Dream”, Hector Rivera’s “At The Party” or Joe Cuba’s “Bang Bang”?

HA: I understand all that, and they say that change is growth. But listen Chico, when I started my company I didn’t record anything like that. I was in love head over heels with the really typical latin music, and all that other stuff was just business. I was compelled to go into that fusionistic field because a responsible artist must satisfy and accommodate a minimum of two requirements, and often times this can be extremely tricky stuff. Simply put, this is called the “music business”, and it is no different than any other business. So initially we have to be uncompromisingly true to ourselves while at the same time be cognizant of the demands of the market place – aka our audience. Whereas when I did my own thing I followed my heart. Prior to and including all that latin-rock-soul fusion stuff, I had very little contact with the latino public. We – that is the Arvito band – played mostly for the anglo crowd, unless of course some audacious and spirited latinos dared go to an American dance at some swanky hotel like the Statler Hilton, The Plaza, Vanderbilt, Riverside Plaza, Diplomat, Astor or the Roosevelt, etc. When they got there they would find us alternating with big name bands like Tito Rodriguez, Joe Cuba, Tito Puente, La Playa Sextet, etc. Listen Chico, these guys all made a lot of money catering to anglo tastes, which essentially was the same as the latino taste, at least until the advent of rock ‘n’ roll and soul music. To a certain degree, what separated the two audiences was economics, although it was also a matter of feeling “comfortable” with one’s own culture and people. Hispanics back then were more likely be going to the Caborojeño to hear Cortijo, Moncho Leña, etc. When we lost the anglo audience – and they were gone in a flash man, I never saw anything disappear so quickly in my life – we lost our main source of income. That’s when we began to toy around with all those new, up and coming fusionistic fads like latin boogaloo, etc. Typical latin music was becoming more lyrical too, taking more of a story-telling form, like what Motown was doing. No more simple lyrics that anglos could easily pronounce. Spanish was taking over once again, thank God! Now we had an authentically latin audience, the people for whom this music was originally created. Artists like Cortijo, Beny Moré, Fajardo and Orquesta Aragón never created music for anglos. They lived in Spanish speaking countries, so their songs were geared toward people who understood the message. That’s why instrumentals went over so big in the United States. Suddenly, we began catering to that same authentic latin music loving audience, and it was only natural that we do so.

CAP: What about the West Coast? Did the latin bands also cater to the anglos out there?

HA: No, not really. Whenever we got booked out there we found ourselves playing mostly for Mexicans who really loved Caribbean style salsa. When the hybrid music began to take hold, we found a receptive audience in the Chicano barrios. I’m talking specifically about those baby boomers who dug listening to Joe Bataan’s “Gypsy Woman”/”Subway Joe”, Harvey Averne’s “Accept Me”/”My Dream” or Ralphy Pagan’s “I Want To Make It With You”. It’s ironic but that song -which I produced and mixed- did as well out there as it did here in New York and the rest of the East Coast. In my opinion though, I think the West Coast never really caught up to New York in terms of playing latin music for a purely dance crowd. I mean you can hear it in their recordings. They lack a certain spark and their rhythm doesn’t revolve around the montuno as much, meaning that they are not “locked-in” to the clave. They just don’t have that soul sauce (salsa) like we do [here] in New York. Yes, there are exceptions, of that I’m sure.

CAP: Well yes, there were exceptions. There was a brief period in which pianists like Eddie Cano, Rene Touzet and even Cal Tjader were playing some very good latin jazz, albeit as dance music, and then it sort of fizzled, replaced by the harder edged rock style of Santana, Malo, Azteca and El Chicano. Was this a parody to what was occurring in New York?

HA: Sure, we went through our own period of Latin Rock. For example, the Harvey Averne Barrio Band, Toro and Seguida. But the reality is that the West Coast bands were much better at playing that style of music than we were. This was because our brains were hard-wired to real latin music. Our music had a much stronger Afro-Cuban foundation to it. Sure, we played around with other influences, but we always stayed true to our roots even if it was subconsciously. You couldn’t get our kind of groove to catch on out there, not by simply having a New York latin band go out there for a couple of days, maybe a week and then leave. Not back then anyway. You really needed a movement to spring up, like it did in Cali, Colombia. Even when some of our homegrown guys like Pete Bonet for example moved out there, it still didn’t happen. Now dig this Chico, one of New York’s finest – and I’m not talking police here – I mean Oscar Hernandez, the pianist and leader of the Grammy winning Spanish Harlem Orchestra has been living in L.A. for more than three years. If he can’t light a fire out there with that band, then as we say in Italian, “fugetaboutit!” All of our leading exponents were home-grown, born and bred here, second and third generation caribeños. And more importantly, the West Coast didn’t have the strong radio airplay that we did. Nor did they have home-based labels like Fania, Coco, Rico/Combo, etc. to push their artists to the max.

CAP: True, and we also had some really hip radio people as well.

HA: Right! Radio personalities like Dick “Ricardo” Sugar, Symphony Sid, Joe Gaines, Felipe Luciano and Roger Dawson always played the “salsa” hits of the moment, along with the “classics”. Even though there were some stations out there that played our music as well, airtime was limited to a small amount of hours a day, two or three times a week. A good guy to ask about that would be Bill Marin, who was a helluva radio promotion man for Fania and Coco. Bill was based in Los Angeles. I discovered him while I was running Fania and managing Ralphy Pagan. All of a sudden a small record store in downtown LA was ordering Fania releases way out of proportion for a small West Coast record store. I remember that we were scheduled to perform on “Soul Train” that week. After I had checked into the Chateau Marmont Hotel, I headed over to Doran’s record store. I nonchalantly walked in, without announcing myself and almost immediately I overheard this passionate young man talking us up to a couple of young ladies. Bill loved our music and was spreading the word, getting our records played and talking the local promoters into bringing us out to southern California. We didn’t know it at the time, but Bill was the reason Ralphy Pagan was playing the Hollywood Palladium. Afterwards, he helped hook us up with some additional work on the outskirts of Los Angeles, in small urban towns, mostly marginalized areas where the poorest working people lived. These were predominantly Mexicans and Chicanos (a term originally used by, and in reference to U.S. citizens of Mexican descent). That’s where we really found our core audience. We were playing in gymnasium type rooms, big catering halls, small night clubs and sometimes even in minor league baseball stadiums. When latin music moved into the seventies it all changed up on us again, especially in New York. By this time we here on the East Coast had our own 24-hour “hispanic” AM radio stations and disc jockeys like Polito Vega and Paco Navarro, speaking only in Spanish and playing our music to the hard-core latino audience. Our anglo-oriented world was radically changing, once again.

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – Preamble

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 2

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 3

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – Preamble

ARVITO: THE HARVEY AVERNE STORY
FROM THE CATSKILLS TO THE GRAMMYS AND BEYOND!

by CHICO ALVAREZ PERAZA

Preamble: "Montuno Meets the Blues" – A Prelude to Salsa

Sometime around 1968, I became totally disillusioned with Cuban music, or "latin" music as it was called back then. It seemed that the endless array of boogaloos and shingalings were inadvertedly channeling me into another direction. I was an aspiring conga drummer at this point in my life and my main inspiration was Mongo Santamaría, who was one of the chief architects of "latin boogaloo". His version of Herbie Hancock’s "Watermelon Man" was the first son montuno/blues hybrid to "crossover" in the sixties. Another seminal figure was Willie Bobo. My favorite singer, La Lupe, had her sights on becoming a pop crossover artist, and I really loved her version of "Fever". Of course by this time I had discovered straight ahead jazz, beginning in 1962 when I heard Henry Mancini’s theme from the television series "Peter Gunn", a novelty item which opened my ears to a style that revolved around the blues and which would later be referred to as "barbecue music" or "funk". This was practically one hundred per cent instrumental music, the kind you could really groove on, and my favorite instrumentalists were Wes Montgomery, Jimmy Smith, Wild Bill Davis and Donald Byrd. The "Spanish tinge" came later, in terms of my own development.

Despite being exposed to these and other virtuoso jazz-blues instrumentalists, there existed in my life the vocal and upbeat street sound of Motown Soul, which was still very much in my blood, as well as the jumpy pachanga music that first hipped me to syncopated Cuban rhythms. Through the ongoing efforts of latin jazz pioneers such as Mongo, Willie and Cal Tjader I kept an even balance of afro-centric music in my head, despite being bombarded daily by all that insipid music coming out of Liverpool. By the time I graduated high school I had opened myself up to a whole new set of influences, including Herbie Mann, Oscar Peterson and Pharaoh Sanders. I still had no idea what clave was about, and the art of improvisation was alien to me. Yet I knew that this was where I wanted to be, in the hip world of modern jazz. I was young and still in touch with my Cuban roots, especially after hearing the landmark Verve recording by rumberos Patato and Totico. On the other side of the rumba was the fast driving yet light charanga style of the Palmieri Brothers, Pacheco, Quijano, Fajardo and Aragón, coupled with the ballsy and frenzied big band mambos of the "big six" (Machito, Bebo Valdés, Beny Moré, Tito Puente, Tito Rodriguez and René Touzet). Most of this music was already available to me via the scratchy 78 rpms that I inherited from my parents. Years later I discovered that the catalyst for this phenomenon was someone by the name of Dámaso Pérez Prado. What a revelation that was! All I knew about this guy was that he played "Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White". You live and you learn.

And lastly, there was the Stax brand of soul music, which was all the rage at this time, and the reason that I was drawn toward the boogaloo in the first place. Latin soul wasn’t yet labeled as such, nor was it called latin rock either, but as soon as I heard it I instinctively knew that these commercial manifestations were the result of combining son montuno with blues. All this ethnic cross fertilization made for a healthy palet of "soul sauce", and I reveled in the fact that the two genres of music complemented each other so beautifully. It was really a match made in heaven, the perfect combination, and one which made so many of my generation view the flip side of the latin jazz coin. I don’t think I was alone in my passion for the montuno-blues combination, but the fruits of that movement began to yield sour grapes for me, and I soon found the emerging Nuyorican style rather predictable and boring. Johnny Colon’s "Boogaloo Blues" may have started off really nice, but as soon as the singing came in it all fell apart. Almost as if on cue, it seemed to lose that black urban essence, and you didn’t have to listen very hard to see that this music had what Frankie Crocker often referred to as a "hole in its soul".

Faster and more upbeat son montunos replaced the slower guajira and cha cha chá versions, yet nothing seemed to impress me, not even when pianist Pete Rodriguez covered Beny Moré’s "Que Bueno Baila Usted", renaming it "Micaela" and labeling it a boogaloo. It may have been danceable, but musically it was not challenging. Most non-musicians of my generation thought it was something new and marveled at it. Richie Ray and Bobby Cruz’s incursions into this turf were nothing to write home about either. To be fair, there were some highlights during that period, such as pianist Hector Rivera’s "At The Party" album, or the mellow boleros of Joe Cuba. Noteworthy too was "My Dream" by the Harvey Averne Dozen. Joe Battan almost hit the target right on, but apparently he too was restricted by the record label and not allowed to move beyond the "formula". His voice spewed soulfulness, but musically speaking, it was amateur night on almost every groove. I longed for something better, hipper, and eventually found my niche within the jazz tinged music of Louie Ramirez, Pucho Brown and other progressive musicians of that period. Suddenly, I stopped going to the big dances and buying latin records. I frequented small clubs in Greenwich Village which catered to what I started to call "real music". This was music for the head, and not just for the feet. At the corner of 10th Street and Avenue B, in a pub in the Alphabet City section of the East Village just off Thomkins Square Park my love for modern jazz was born. Frequent visits to a bar called The Angry Squire on 7th Avenue and to the world famous Apollo Theatre on 125th Street sealed my fate as a jazz lover – forever after. I first hit The Village Gate in 1963 and it became my all time favorite hang-out. I cried when it finally closed down.

Playing real jazz was out of the question for me, not only because it required some really good chops, but also because clave was not integral to that music, at least not at the time. These were my formative years and I still had not received any formal training in music. I marveled at the ease with which jazzmen played their improvised solos. Professionally, I had found my groove playing with an r&b/soul group out of Jersey City, although I was without any cultural orientation, and I mean none whatsoever. I found myself stuck in the middle of two worlds, and then it happened, as if by magic. I heard Ray Barretto’s recording of "Acid". My antennae spiraled up as soon as I heard the first few bass lines flowing over the clave. This was the record that made me a fan of Ray Barretto for life. I knew his name from the crossover hit "El Watusi", which was pretty much straight ahead Cuban dance music. Truth be told, it was the Spanish language guapería "rap" that made that record unique, and its catchy piano-bass-violin riffs appealed to gringos of all hues (a group which by the way never understood a damned word that was being said).

Another musician to incorporate the unique mix of guajira-blues-son montuno, along with Mongo and Willie, was pianist Eddie Bonnemere, for whom Barretto had worked with as a sideman. His career in terms of playing evolved from the church to the blues, working the cocktail lounge circuit and then back to the church, inspired by the combination of these, and of course by Cuban rhythms. He recorded around ten albums, beginning in 1953, but was never a popular radio star. The closest Bonnemere ever got was a local hit, "Piano Mambo", which was very popular in Harlem. He also worked for 30 years in the jazz ministry at St. Peter’s Lutheran Church in NYC. Largely forgotten in latin music circles, Bonnemere was nonetheless a key figure in the development of this hybrid and responsible for jump starting the careers of many great musicians.

As early as 1960 the stage was being set for a completely new and "americanized" sound. Albeit still a bit premature, the genesis was there, overshadowed perhaps by a few prevailing popular trends, such as rock ‘n’ roll, pop music and certain spin-offs on the traditional Cuban son montuno (namely the lively "pachanga" rhythm). These modalities appealed mainly to hip, young urban "latinos" and not to the old school diehards. The phenomenal cross-over success of "El Watusi" temporarily detoured Barretto from further incursions into the r&b realm, but "soul music" was already on its way and it was simply a matter of time before the two genres would meet head-on. "El Watusi" catapulted Barretto’s recently formed charanga "La Moderna" into the national spotlight, making it one of the most popular dance ensembles of the "pachanga" era (during which time Barretto kept it "típico"). He began to experiment once again after he signed with United Artists Records, but failed to interest the label, which was mainly looking for someone who could produce a groove like Mongo’s. Somewhere in Barretto’s head was that happy medium, the perfect blend, but he didn’t have the musical or financial backing that he needed. And then along came a lawyer by the name of Jerry Massucci. In Mr. Barretto’s own words "the time was right" and Cuban music would never again be the same. "Acid" was also the first record where I noticed there was such a thing as an A&R man, the "third ear", the finisher, that obscure behind-the-scenes someone who invariably took responsibility for turning a project into a reality and a viable commodity (ie, a "hit"). I soon realized that next to the artist, the most important person present at a recording session was the producer. In the case of "Acid", the A&R credits on the backcover listed a name that was not familiar to me, Harvey Averne. I didn’t know it then, but in a few short years I would have a great deal to do with Harvey and his company Coco Records, and even more to learn from the man personally.

The music contained on that seminal album, like all the music Barretto recorded for Fania and other labels during the sixties, chronicled one of the most gratifying periods of the post-mambo era. It was the turning point for Cuban music. In retrospect, it seems true that there were other, more obvious incursions into pop crossover trends, but "Acid" featured music that was primarily formed from the epicenter of the Afro-Cuban evolution, with only a minimal amount of sophistication, virtually no bebop lines and a lot of the early Cachao style descarga feeling woven into contemporary 1968 expressions. It was the best of both worlds, a bridge from La Habana to New York. Sadly, Mr. Barretto was no longer around to relate his unique experiences within that realm to us, so the idea then came to me to interview Mr. Averne and ask him not only about his input into the "Acid" album, but about other equally impressive projects that he produced.

And as fate would have it, I was assigned to interview José Mangual Jr., one of the participants in the classic 1978 "Siembra" recording for the special November issue of Latin Beat. His revelations prompted me to go even further and dig deep into that vast repertoire of music recorded by those artists who were not signed to the Fania label, but who were actively recording during the same period. I immediately thought of Barretto’s "Latino Con Soul" for the United Artists label and Mongo’s "El Pussy Cat", released on Columbia Records, both of which came out during the previous decade, as well as some of the classic Eddie Palmieri recordings for the Tico label. And that’s when the thought hit me. Coco Records! Why not? It was a label which had been at the forefront of the salsa movement, but for some reason it was being ignored by all the authorities of our music, you know who I mean – the faniaphiles. One thing led to another and before I knew it I was having brunch in midtown Manhattan with Harvey Averne, founder and principal producer for the label. Mostly we reminisced about the old days, and I told him I wanted to write about his Coco experiences, particularly about the "Unfinished Masterpiece" album. He agreed, but since he was now living in Florida, I decided to formulate a series of questions within the following week and forward them to him via e-mail. I told him that I was merely a part time storyteller (as opposed to a full time journalist) and by no means a researcher (detective). More often than not, things that are said in private are re-written and then those same anecdotes are altered and retold without much verification. This time I wanted to get the story right, by doing some additional research. My goal was to gather more information and get a real insight into the workings of a recorded masterpiece, and I wanted to view it from both perspectives. Unfortunately, I was unable to reach Eddie Palmieri, who never returned my phone calls. As soon as I began, I realized that doing this via e-mail was not the way to go. A few months later, I met with Harvey once again, this time at a diner in Queens, where the conversation yielded a deeper insight into Harvey the man, the musician, his label and his experiences within "latin" music circles. Immediately following are some excerpts from our somewhat off-beat and informal conversations during the summer of 2008 and the spring of 2009. Needless to say, a whole lot of editing has taken place since then.

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 1

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 2

Arvito: The Harvey Averne Story – The Interview – Part 3