CHICO O’FARRILL: Arquitecto del Jazz Latino

Por CHICO ALVAREZ PERAZA

PREAMBULO

En la actualidad existe una calle en la ciudad de La Habana llamada Calle O’Farrill, cuyo nombre rinde honor a un ex-alcalde de la capital cubana. Este personaje era hijo de un irlandés que arribó en aquel encantador puerto marítimo durante el siglo diecinueve. Como tantos otros emigrantes de la epoca colonial, el irlandés plantó raices y se quedó en la isla para siempre. Y, como muchos otros emigrantes, aportó su granito de arena al desarrollo de aquella diversa cultura, tan diversa que hoy dia se puede apreciar la presencia de catalánes, visigodos, romanos, gallegos, moros, célticos, judíos, yórubas, congos, vascos, ingléses, franceses, haitianos, jamaiquínos, chinos, cartageneros, canarios y hasta mayas.

Antes de la llegada de O’Farrill a La Habana esta ciudad ya disfrutaba de más de tres siglos de cultura. La confluencia de culturas que se dió no solamente en La Habana sino por toda la isla caribeña, desde el mismo momento del llamado descubrimiento, creó las condiciones para lo que a traves de largos siglos sería conocido como la “expresión criolla”. Uno de los acentos más fundamentales de aquella nueva expresión fué la música. Cuba fué, y aún es un punto focal en el contínuo desarrollo de esa música. Durante su larga trayectoria musical Cuba se ha distinguido por sus grandes creadores e intérpretes. Entre ellos, el tataranieto de aquel emigrante irlandés, cuyo nombre fué y aún es sinónimo con el JAZZ LATINO; me refiero al distinguido maestro ARTURO “CHICO” O’FARRILL.

ACLARACIÓN

Con la desaparición física de los pioneros Pérez Prado, Peruchín Justiz, Mario Bauzá y René Hernandez; Chico O’Farrill quedó por varios años como el protagonista más importante de la vieja guardia y de la nueva ola musical cubana en este pais. Su presencia en una ciudad tan cosmopólita como Nueva York – completamente comercializada – aseguró que el género sobreviviera. Su figura amistosa y jovial motivó a miles de músicos jovenes del patio a seguir cultivando el jazz afrocubano. Si existe alguna duda en las mentes de los que ahora leen este escrito, entonces los diríjo a ellos; a los seguidores y admiradores del viejo O’Farrill. Busquen sus testimonios y veran si es cierto o no. El tiempo va volando y ha pasado casi una década de su muerte, y aún, su memoria es venerada y su nombre es respetado por todo aquel o aquella que conozca de música moderna.

BUENO, Y PARA EL QUE NO SABE; HE AQUI UN POQUITO DE HISTORIA

ARTURO “CHICO” O’FARRILL nació en La Habana del 1921, cuando el són imperaba y la cónga arrebataba. Su padre fué un eminente abogado de la epoca republicana, y su anhelo era que su hijo Arturito tambien fuera abogado. El destino, que como todos sabemos no le hace caso a los mortales, llevó al joven Arturito por otro sendero y en 1941 éste se inició en el campo de la música popular. De no haber tomado esta decisión, el historial del jazz afrocubano hubiera sido algo muy diferente. Quizás no hubiera ni existido. Por más de medio siglo, este genial creador musical estuvo a la vanguardia de un estilo innovador que muchos conocen hoy como latin jazz, o jazz latino. En sus inicios este género tuvo varias etiquetas, tal como cubop, mambo jazz y afro-cuban jazz; sin embargo el título que actualmente lleva es el que lo ha colocado en un plano de popularidad a nivel mundial. Si alguna vez el latin jazz tuvo musa, su nombre tendría que ser Chico O’Farrill.

La obra musical de O’Farrill es conocida tanto en la farandula norteamericana como en el mundo bailable latinoamericano por su extensa creatividad, sensibilidad temática, complejo polirítmico y orquestación de magnitud sinfónica, que abarca no solo su amor por la musica de Lecuona sino tambien por la de Debussy y Stravinsky. Su carrera musical comienza en los Estados Unidos, cuando el joven Arturo es internado por su padre en el Riverside Military School de Gainesville, Georgia. Allí nace su amor por las orquestas de jazz (big bands) y dentro de ese ambiente es que se alimenta musicalmente, escuchando las grabaciones de Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Glenn Miller y Tommy Dorsey, tanto que en poco tiempo se integra como trompetista de la banda militar y en varias agrupaciones de baile. Al regresar a Cuba, cursa sus estudios con el compositor Félix Guerrero, quien le sirve como una fuente de inspiración, especialmente en el campo de la composición y en su estudio sobre armonía. Se integra como miembro de la Orquesta Bellamar de Armando Romeu y de la orquesta de Isidro Perez.

Ya desde el 1948 Chico viajaba a Nueva York. Trabajó brevemente como arreglista para varios directores de orquesta, entre ellos Gil Fuller, Noro Morales, Frank “Machito” Grillo y Benny Goodman. En el año ’50 compuso su famoso “Afro-Cuban Jazz Suite” para el empresario Norman Granz y dicha obra fué grabada para el sello de este, utilizando como la base rítmica y acompañante a la orquesta de Machito y como solistas a los jazzistas Charlie Parker, Flip Philips y Buddy Rich.

LOS FABULOSOS AÑOS CINCUENTAS

Entra la siguiente década, y Chico forma su propia orquesta. Mantiene un fuerte horario de trabajo. Para el ’54 se arríma al jazzista Dizzy Gillespie y juntos realizan el famoso “Manteca Suite”. Regresa de nuevo a Cuba en el ’56 e inmediatamente comienza a trabajar para las mejores empresas disqueras de la isla como Panart y RCA Victor, participando en aquellas famosas descargas que hicieron tanta historia. Realiza además una formidable grabación para el popular Cuarteto D’Aida. Esta producción es lanzada de nuevo en disco compacto por BMG durante la última década del siglo veinte. En el 1958 el inquieto O¹Farrill vuelve a mudarse, esta vez para Méjico, y ahi su vida cambia radicalmente. Entra en un periodo de semi-retiro, aunque nunca deja de crear música. Allí compone su famosa “Azteca Suite” para el trompetista Art Farmer, y de nuevo hace historia.

LOS AÑOS ’60: ERA DE EXPERIMENTACIÓN

Durante la siguiente década se manifestarían varios géneros que por su novedad e inmensa popularidad en los Estados Unidos lograrían imponerse alrededor del mundo. Los arquitectos de la nueva moda utilizaron nuevas técnicas, estilos y sonidos, especialmente en el campo de la armonización. De repente la música popular dejó de ser exclusivamente para el salon de baile. Y por supuesto, aparecieron varios icónos del “nuevo sonido”; en el campo del jazz solo hay que mencionar la colaboración de Gil Evans y Miles Davis. El cubísmo y la africanía de Picasso durante las dos epocas anteriores se asociaron misteriosamente con el modernísmo musical; mientras tanto, en el cinema Marlon Brando explotaba con elocuencia y rebeldia sensual.

En el conglomerado latinoamericano, citamos la influencia de los antes mencionados pioneros, en su mayoría cubanos. Desde los años treinta la tradición cubana y el modernísmo americano iban formando una síntesis; los dos géneros caminaban las mismas calles en líneas paralelas que nunca se cruzaban; sin embargo su destino era la fusión. El lugar perfecto para esta convergencia, Nueva York. Conste, los intérpretes serian muchos; pero los arquitectos del sonido “nuevayorquino” lo formarían un grupo selecto, entre ellos el maestro O’Farrill.

Pero, porque Nueva York? Era lógico, y tenía que ser así. Porque Nueva York siempre ha sido la meca, el imán. De la misma manera que se habla del cine antes y después de la llegada de Marlon Brando a Nueva York, a la música moderna cubana se le aplica la misma analogía. El jazz afrocubano antes y después de Chico O’Farrill.

NUEVA YORK: LOS AÑOS FRUCTÍFEROS

Desde Mexico Chico O’farrill continúa escribiendo música para artistas y compositores tan diversos como Beny Moré, Bola De Nieve, Stan Kenton y La Lupe. Vive alli hasta el ’65, cuando decide regresar de nuevo a Nueva York. Su rol, principalmente es el de arreglista y no vuelve a grabar como director de orquesta hasta el 1995, debido a su colaboración con artistas de alta talla como Cal Tjader, Clark Terry, Gato Barbieri, Ringo Starr, David Bowie, Glenn Miller Orchestra, Mario Bauzá y Count Basie (laborando en las ultimas once grabaciones del pianista). Durante un espacio de treinta años, aporta un tesoro musical en el campo del jazz afrocubano, siendo además responsable por varias obras sinfonícas que han recorrido todo el hemisferio. En el campo de la radio y la televisión, su nombre es asociado con un sinnúmero de anuncios comerciales, programas y películas.

Sin embargo su inquietud lo lleva de nuevo al estudio de grabación, y en el ’95 Milestone Records lanza su primer disco compacto “Pure Emotion” (Pura Emoción), ganando el prestigioso premio GRAMMY. Su último disco llevó por titulo “Heart Of A Legend” (Corazón De Una Leyenda) y contiene catorce fabulosos temas, una formidable orquesta de dieciocho profesores y un elenco de artistas internacionales, tales como Paquito D’Rivera, Freddy Cole, Alfredo “Chocolate” Armenteros, “Puntilla” Ríos, Arturo Sandoval, Gato Barbieri, Israel “Cachao” López y Carlos “Patato” Valdés. La participación de todos estos baluartes logró que este disco fuera uno de los mejores de su carrera. De los arreglos se encargó el propio maestro Chico y la dirección musical se la encargó a su hijo, Arturo O’farrill Jr., un formidable pianista y heredero del trono y la batuta.

Luego de su muerte el 27 de junio del 2001, la empresa lanzó otro disco más; “Carambóla”; con música netamente cubana, para el deleite de los bailadores y de un sinnúmero de fanaticos y amigos del arquitecto del jazz latino. El pasado mes de junio se comemoraron los diez años de su fallecimiento, en la casa de su esposa y compañera Lupe, aquí en Nueva York. Como siempre, le doy gracias por haberme invitado y por su gentileza. Espero que este humilde reportaje sea no solo de su agrado, sino de ustedes tambien, y que me perdonen si se me ha quedado algun detalle sin mencionar.

TRAYECTORIA MUSICAL: DESDE EL BEBOP A LA FUSIÓN JAZZISTICA

Dicen que recordar es vivir, y que hacer música es un privilegio. Creo que el que lo dijo no miente. Sin embargo, debido al comercialísmo y a las demandas del mercado disquero, las composiciones musicales a veces son sometidas a reglas estrictas de armonía, aunque la libertad del compositor, en ocasiones, se esconde por estas restricciones. La excepción seria el género de jazz, que desde sus inicios en los prostíbulos de New Orleans ya le habia brindado al musico (tanto como al compositor), cierta libertad de expresión. De hecho, liberó no solo a los integrantes sino a los participantes de una restricción que intentaba instituir normas por las que todos debian de regirse. Como un reto a la perpetuación de actitudes de matiz victoriano, el jazz impactó dentro de la sociedad anglosajona; su orígen africano dejó una huella profunda. Esto quedó más claro que el agua durante aquella locura de los locos años veinte (the roaring twenties) y lo veo muy lógico, pues el jazz de aquella epoca era música de festejo, de baile, tal como lo fué la música nuestra. El jazz americano, en sus inicios, era como una rumba sin tambores, fuera del escrutínio de las autoridades racistas.

Este fenomeno se volvio a manifestar durante la epoca de rebeldía de los años cincuenta. El pueblo norteamericano había soltado sus inhibiciones y la libertad de expresión venía a toda velocidad, sin frenos. Chico O’Farrill lo comprendió mejor que ningún otro compositor o arreglista cubano, inclusive Dámaso Pérez Prado, quien sólo buscaba popularizar el baile del mambo. Sin quitarle su mérito, Prado se vinculó a la formula mágica y se hizo millonario, mientras O’Farrill se involucró en el desarollo de un género que perduró más alla de los años y que finalmente se escapó, volando por fuera de los muros del salon de baile, abriendo horizontes para el futuro, extendiendo aquel concepto musical más allá de los límites geográficos de nuestro continente.

Precisamente hoy, dentro de esa libertad (aunque ya muy lejos de aquella época) se encuentra el fenómeno de la fusión. Lamentablemente, el elemento fusionístico, por lo menos dentro de la corriente popular (mainstream), estuvo constantemente en guerra con lo que muchos le llamaron la “tradición” (y aún lo esta). Es aqui donde el arreglista se destaca y se vuelve un mandrake cualquiera. Sin lugar a dudas, Chico fué (y aún lo perciben asi) un personaje muy solicitado y privilegiado que vivía en dos mundos diferentes a la vez. Su mente creativa recibía influencias de varias razas, culturas y etnias, y aunque no se plantó en ninguno de los dos campos, vagó por ambos mundos como un espíritu libre. De tal manera, la síncopa y las sonoridades de la tradición cubana y el concepto armónico del jazz moderno se iban fundiendo en las ideas del maestro O’Farrill.

La verdad hay que decirla; el jazz afro-cubano fué su especialidad. Los grandes maestros e interpretes de la nueva ola musical de la urbe nuevayorquina lo buscaban para que Chico les diera luz a sus creaciones. En esencia, lo que los nuevos pinos (en la jerga cubana, los nuevos pinos significa la nueva cosecha) querían era colaborar con pleno derecho en el desarrollo de aquella metamorfosis y así definir el camino que deberían de tomar para llevar esa fusión a la popularidad. No era nada fácil, cuando miramos el panorama musical del pais en aquellos años. El público en general no comprendió la nueva fusión, y el jazz latino estuvo en decadencia por varios años. Con el tiempo se logró la transformación que muchos escépticos creian imposible, y afortunadamente estamos viviendo en la actualidad un renacimiento musical del híbrido jazz-latino. A la vanguardia de esa transformación estuvo Chico O’Farrill, pero ya nadie se acuerda de eso. Dicen que nadie es profeta en su tierra, y la triste realidad es que la Cuba que Arturo O’Farrill conoció en todo su esplendor no fué la misma Cuba que logró borrar su nombre del pentagrama histórico. Vaya, que caimán cruel!

Recuerden, no es fácil lograr en tan corto tiempo crear obras musicales o fundir géneros o elementos musicales a la perfección. Esa meta requiere cierta dedicación y el conocimiento de varias formas musicales, además de un estudio profundo de disciplinas como la armonía, el contrapunto y la orquestación. En lo que concierne al jazz afrocubano y en general a cualquier música basada en la improvisación que se cataloga como una composición musical instantánea, ahí esta el anteproyecto y el sello del maestro O’Farrill.

La acción de componer, o sea, de hacer una página de la música y reunir todos estos elementos dentro de una obra musical es un don muy especial que le pertenece al arreglista. En este mundo de computadoras y de pro-tools, cualquiera hace una grabación y la vende, pero no cualquiera puede crear música para concierto e integrarla con rumba de callejón. A los futuros privilegiados que se dediquen a la tarea de ligar varios elementos y hacerlos funcionar en un complejo musical de optima belleza se les requiere mucho más que el mero talento, se les requiere una mente genial. Todo intérprete, musico o compositor que se dedique a esta faceta de la música, o sea a la fusión, no solo cultiva y aporta a su desarollo, sino que inventa nuevas modalidades. Eso es el jazz latino. Hay quienes opinan (erroneamente) que no es nada más que una serie de solistas soplando para el deleite de ellos mismos. La cosa va más alla de eso, pues el jazz latino es el arte de armonizar e improvisar sobre los rítmos más complejos que existen. Es la fusión de Africa y de Europa.

EPÍLOGO

Mirandolo bien, el jazz latino ha sido el legado más bonito que nos dejó el maestro ARTURO “CHICO” O’FARRILL. Hoy, gracias a la diplomacia de su hijo Arturito, Cuba ha colocado de nuevo al arquitecto del jazz latino en sus archivos. Si tomamos en cuenta que el maestro O’Farrill ha sido uno de los más destacados compositores del siglo pasado, y echando las ideologías políticas a un lado, me parece muy lógico este reconocimiento.

Latinjazznet.com profiles a dedicated griot and master percussionist
By Chico Alvarez Peraza

Mr. ANGEL RODRIGUEZ is a Brooklyn resident whom I met many years ago when I began performing with the LATIN JAZZ COALITION, a creative music ensemble led by trombonist Demetrious Kastaris. We used to do a lot of those city park gigs together and Demetrious would always feature Angel on an array of percussion instruments; most worthy of mention was his artistry on the shekeré. That’s when I learned that he was also a dedicated teacher and a devotee of traditional Afro-Cuban cult music.

Until recently, Angel was director of Mind-Builders Creative Arts Center, in the borough of the Bronx, in their music department, where he worked closely with the executive director, facilitating and coordinating the music departments, instructions, recitals, program activities, equipment, materials, and community service mini-performances. Angel figured importantly in the recruitment, hiring, and supervision of all new staff, as well as work development at the work place for an ongoing assessment, and quarterly evaluations of music instructors.

An accomplished performing artist and a committed master drummer whose main goal is to preserve the traditional Afro-Cuban rhythms and to see more and more young people become involved in the proper learning of African hand percussion, he has actively sought out, recruited, registered and auditioned hundreds of students for merit/talent scholarships.

In 1990 Angel traveled as a percussion instructor from New York to California, on through Florida, Texas, Connecticut and Washington DC, giving formal and informal instruction in world percussion, with specialization in Afro-Caribbean styles. In 1997 he toured for five weeks in Poland as a percussionist and actor.

On the local New York salsa scene he regularly performed with such luminaries as Paquito Guzman, Lalo Rodríguez, Hector Tricoche, Junior Gonzalez and Marvin Santiago. In 1990 and 1991 he appeared on “Buenos Dias Mediodia” an entertainment service; namely, a Spanish-language television program associated with Univision.

But Angel Rodríguez the musician was always attracted to literature and writing, as well as academia. In 2002 Angel authored “Musicians in the South Bronx,” published in the New York Post’s 200th Anniversary Edition. There were, for example, multiple articles that he authored from 2000 through 2006 for “Hunt’s Point Alive” (in the Bronx); he was mentioned by Nina Siegel in her New York Times article “In the Footsteps of The Mambo Kings”; as well as by Steven Sapp/La Colora “Universes” – referencing “The Point C.D.C. (The Point Community Development Corporation – more on that organization in a moment).

Angel’s work experience has roots that extend beyond the high school, university and intermediate school level in New York. Obviously, he is a product of the streets. While still very young he performed for patients at various hospitals and institutions. He appeared at Harlem’s famed Apollo Theatre in 1987 through 1989, and in 1993 he appeared on Univision’s Channel 41 in New Jersey. From 1996 to 2004 he worked as a teacher, councelor and producer for Arts Connections, Inc., here in New York City.

When I first met Angel he was hosting the “Mambo to Hip Hop Tour”, a musical heritage tour of the South Bronx helping to preserve latin, jazz and hip hop history. Right around that time he was also busy creating, coordinating, producing and hosting the “Living Legend Series”, a musical tribute to the many unsung heroes of music, dance and poetry. He did this while he was still the music program director and coordinator at The Point Community Development Corporation. I personally witnessed the joy he brought to those musicians and other artists who had been overlooked by the mainstream for years, and I could relate to their appreciation for having been recognized “while they were still able to appreciate it”. From 1995 to 2002 Angel was more than just an administrator; he booked, produced and managed every facet of the series. A man with tremendous energy and a positive attitude toward getting things done right.

By 2003 he had gone on to become an independent contractor in New York and Los Angeles, working as a consultant, educator, organizer, performer and producer; helping to conceptualize and produce projects related to community, youth, gangs, and issues of inner city living. He counselled educators to empower children so that they could steer away from drugs, stay out of gangs and in school; he also assisted students and aspiring musicians with career development.

Angel’s additional responsibilities with the Point CDC included teaching percussion workshops to youth ages 14 to 21, coordinating performances, creating intergenerational support values, and assisting with the re-envisioning project at Hunt’s Point in the South Bronx – helping others get directly involved with the redevelopment of their own community. One might say that he was a pillar of the community, in a strictly non-political sense of the word.

Beginning in 2000, he performed for three consecutive years with the aforementioned Latin Jazz Coalition; as well as with Tito Puente, raising money for children with Leukemia, HIV/AIDS, etc. In 2003 he worked with Hip Hop at the New Victory Theatre as percussionist, actor and dancer. And then again in 2004 with Hip Hop at Lincoln Center, as a percussionist, actor and dancer (for Full Circle Productions, New York).In 2005 he was featured with the Welfare Poets at the Venezuela 16th Annual Youth Festival, as well as with the V89 Summer Soulstice Celebration in 2005, where he was featured as a guest performer, at WVFS Tallahassee/621 Gallery in Florida.

In 2007 Angel joined renowned scholars such as Dr. Jack Chen, David Montgomery and Dr. Juan Flores as a panelist with the New York University Panel of American Historians. Several discussions were held with grass roots organizations through out New York City and the country. The premise was to conserve these organizations that service communities through Arts and Community Organizing and what impact it has on a community without any resources.

Soon, he began to receive more recognition, and in 2007 and 2008 he became the coordinator for the Fine Art Center at the University of Massachusetts‘ New World Theatre Youth program Project 2050, an organization whose goal was to bring together local and international artists, scholars, youth participants, theatre production teams and New World Theatre staff in an exciting ten day summer intensive that culminates into a wonderful performance, manifesting community engagement and social activism with various summer intensives, workshops, projects, programming, youth meetings, parent meetings, and community partners meetings throughout the year. Youth participants are also hired as office associates where they learn structure, systems, strategic planning, decision-making processes that ultimately give them positive outcomes for future references.

Angel also served as the director of the Music Department at the Mind-Builders Creative Arts Center, in the Bronx from 2008 to 2009. He continued to perform, turning in some fine performances in 2007 with Etienne Charles and Culture Shock at MOMA; Harlem Week Trinidad and Jazz Riverside Theatre in 2009.

Since the beginning of 2010 up until to the present time Angel has been working on two musical projects; LA TIMBA DE AYER, which encompasses traditional Afro-Cuban genres such as guaguancó, makúta and yambú, among others; and THE ABRAZOS ORCHESTRA, a multi-genre ensemble that he describes as having mas salsa que pesca’o (more sauce than fish).

Mr. Rodríguez was recently made a grandfather and has been hanging out with his first grandson Angel Ruben Rodríguez III, who is now three years of age and is already playing congas and surfing the internet. Angel is scheduled to begin work at a men’s shelter for young veterans of war who have found themselves to be homeless and in need of transition back into society. Using theatre and music as his forum, Angel has succeeded in creating an impetus environment wherein our society will see positive results in such areas as high self-esteem, respect for one’s self and moral values. This is the work that Angel loves the most, to help humanity in any way that he can. Some might argue that it is a rough road that he has chosen to travel on, and others might even wonder how the hell he does it. The word that immediately comes to my mind is dedication.

Music is the pill that he takes daily to deal with work, love, friendships, and life itself for that matter.

Angel has recently begun coordinating the LIVING LEGENDS TRIBUTES through The Women Health and Education Co. (WHEDCO) and The Bronx Music Heritage Center, in association with Bill Aguado, Bobby Sancho, Alvan Colon of Pregones Theater and Wally Edgecomb of Hostos Community College. He is also working on curating  a show at Symphony Space with the great Mr. Arturo O’Farrill called “LITTLE BROWN PEOPLE”, toward the end of the year. This project will include performing artists in all related genres, plus a special tribute to The NeoRican Poets Cafe. It has been planned to be a two day festival, where Mr. Rodríguez will also be performing on percussion and vocals as well. It is scheduled to take place from May 11th-12th, 2012 at Symphony Space in Manhattan.

Latinjazznet.com takes a great deal of pride in highlighting ANGEL RODRIGUEZ, and we proudly salute this energetic artist for his many contributions to the Afro-Caribbean Experience, American Jazz and the arts in general.

10 years ago, Chico Alvarez Peraza wrote this article, filling up a void in the online world. There was almost nothing written about Emiliano on the World Wide Web. As a tribute to his memory, and as a celebration of his life and his musical legacy, we now present an updated version of that article written in July of 2001. Read on and enjoy!

NUEVA VISION
EMILIANO SALVADOR

By Chico Alvarez Peraza

Talk to anyone about Cuban piano players and invariably the name EMILIANO SALVADOR will pop up. Most will agree that Emiliano was in a class by himself. His personality and individualism as a soloist were strong enough to assure immediate recognition, yet he was never obtrusive to the point of using gimmicks. He was a brilliant pianist, composer and arranger, and a seminal figure in the resurgence of Latin jazz, a style that had long ago been given up for dead. He was also a team player who considered himself an integral part of the whole, as evidenced by his initial release for EGREM, “Nueva Vision”. For this historic 1979 recording session, Emiliano united 17 of the island’s top musicians, including vocalists Bobby Carcassés and Pablito Milanés, guitarist Ahmed Barroso and horn players Paquito D’Rivera (alto and soprano sax), Arturo Sandoval and Jorge Varona (trumpets), who were all members of the Irakere band. And for that very special “ethnic” flavor or “sabor cubano” he also included in the line-up Manuel “Guajiro” Mirabal, Alberto Lara and Andrés Castro on trumpets. Andrés, by the way, was one of the founding members of the famed Orquesta de Los Hermanos Castro. Trombonist Lázaro González was also on hand, as well as bassist Jorge Reyes and percussionists Frank Bejerano, Panchito Bejerano, Amadito Valdés, Roberto García and Rolando Valdés. Even more impressive than the personnel on this album was the material. Emiliano wrote all of the tunes except “Son De La Loma” and “Convergencia”, two “oldies” from the venerable Cuban Book of Son. His unique approach to arranging revitalized these standards, transforming them into fresh versions. No arranger had ever given these classics such a unique treatment before, nor has anyone done so since then.

Some of the musicians which I’ve interviewed, and who where present during these historic sessions have commented that Emiliano transformed the whole project into a labor of love and that he actually did have a “Nueva Visión”. To him, the title was not merely a commercial term, nor was it in any way an abstract idea but a “new vision” as to where jazz, and particularly Cuban jazz was headed. Remember that this was 1979, a time when the Fania records company was at its height and “disco” music was all the rage. Emiliano Salvador, like others on the island of Cuba, and even some ambitious rebels here in New York, were all sharing that same “vision.”

The seeds for the musical revolution had been sown as early as 1974, first with Chucho Valdés and Irakere in Cuba and then in New York with Cortijo Y Su Máquina del Tiempo. (Also worthy of mention is one Mr. Jorge Millet, who labored along these same lines on the neighboring island of Puerto Rico). Yet, it would be a whole decade and a half before this concept would begin to flourish. Meanwhile, “salsa erotica” (aka “salsa romantica”) and merengue were just beginning to dominate the airwaves in New York, Puerto Rico and Miami, and innovative ideas such as those that Emiliano had recorded were just not “happening” commercially. The so-called “salsa” music that was being played and recorded locally had grown stale and insipid, and the only real “alternative” to the stagnant “commercial” sound that was saturating the market was coming from the SAR/Guajiro label, a company out of New York which was owned by three Cuban entrepreneurs, one of them being Roberto Torres, a noteworthy sonero from Güines. With the help of veteran engineer Jon Fausty, Torres turned out many fine recordings by the cream of New York-based Cuban musicians. The SAR catalog catered mainly to die-hard followers of the “típico” sound, a style that was reminiscent of the pre-Castro era. Although they achieved moderate success stateside, their biggest revenues came from West Africa and South America. Musically, SAR did not compete with Fania, but the fledgling empire may have perceived them as a potential threat, and so the record wars began. SAR began to acquire many artists that had fallen out of favor with Fania, and they inevitably created their own all-star group as well. Coincidentally, during the time that the SAR All-Stars were beginning to carve a niche for themselves the popularity of the Fania All-Stars began to wane. It was a power struggle, for sure. But that was just on the local scene, or was it?

Meanwhile, back in Cuba, the state-owned label Areito was busy putting together its own all-star group, Las Estrellas De Areito. Although Areito did not see SAR as a threat (musically speaking that is), they did acknowledge the fact that SAR’s success with cover versions of the old Cuban tunes was somehow overshadowing them. So they quickly began to play “catch up”. They gathered the cream of the crop, pulled out the old charts and the competition was on. Whatever your preference may have been, one thing was for sure; the old Cuban “sound” was now becoming more and more popular worldwide. Areito saw SAR’s popularity as a window of opportunity. Without realizing it, the SAR label had opened the doors for many of Cuba’s veteran performers, many of which had been languishing in obscurity, forgotten outside of Cuba. That was the music scene midway through the nineteen-eighties. While veteran Cuban musicians in both the U.S.A. and Cuba were trying to revive the “old sound”, a whole new generation was busy reinventing it. We all have vivid recollections as to when the “new” recordings by Los Van Van, Son 14 and the rest of the “new crop” began to trickle in, and we all remember holding our breath, hoping for a miracle.

Although stylistically Emiliano Salvador and Rubén González (the Areito All Stars pianist) were far apart, their roots were the same. Those of us who had heard these musicians, along with countless others, knew that the time was near when Cuban music would once again explode. Most of us had our first exposure to these musicians via the Típica ’73 album “Intercambio Cultural” and later through the bootlegged recordings that kept coming into the states, as well as through the legally acquired sessions on Barbaro Records. We all knew in our hearts that the home-grown Cuban music was unstoppable, and that it was just a matter of time before we would witness first-hand their awesome power. We all believed that there was still hope for a meaningful cultural interchange. And then along came cowboy Ronald Reagan, and threw a monkey wrench in the machinery. It was shortly afterwards that the bottom fell out. Frustrated, the creative minds went underground, ushering in the “dark age” of Latin music. But let’s get back to Emiliano.

He was born on August 19, 1951, in the picturesque town of Puerto Padre, in the former province of Oriente. As a youth he played piano, acordeon and drums with his father and mentor, Emiliano Salvador Sr., who directed a “jazzband” (the name given in Cuba to the big band orchestras patterned after those of Basie, Ellington and Dorsey). They were known as Los Perversos (the perverse ones), and along with the big band of Chepín Choven they attained much popularity throughout the eastern region of the island. In the mid-sixties Emiliano received a scholarship to study with the Escuela Nacional De Arte (National School of Art) in La Habana, where he excelled as a percussionist and a trap drummer as well as a pianist. He studied instrumentation, orchestration and composition with Fred Smith and Leo Brouwer, and furthered his piano studies with María Antonieta Henríquez.

It’s my guess that Emiliano’s quest for individuality probably began the very first time that he sat down at a piano. No doubt that during those formative years he must have come under the strong influence of musicians whom he admired, for various reasons. Each one must have contributed some element to Emiliano’s development. Icons not only of Cuban popular music but also jazz players who eventually helped to shape his style and define his musical direction. At some point these influences coalesced, so that by the time that Emiliano recorded the aforementioned album, his personality both as a soloist and composer were fully formed. As individual as he may have seemed on the surface, Emiliano’s approach was nevertheless, pluralistic. He harbored two distinct personalities, which at times differed greatly and at times differed only slightly. This “dualism”, if you will, had been nurtured by those early influences and fermented during the course of time and experience. Technically, the abilities that were exemplified on either side of his musical experience were kept in perfect balance, and one side never overshadowed the other in meaning. He may have been a visionary, but he was also an incurable romantic, enamored with the simple beauties of life. The vivacious curves of a woman, the colors of the Cuban sky, or the opulence of the land were his inspiration. Take for example “A Puerto Padre Me Voy”. Upon hearing these sounds and listening to Pablito’s interpretations, some of us began to question the established categories and labels. “Salsa” was no longer a valid term for us. La Cubanía had come of age.

About thirty years ago -before there was ever a “Nueva Visión”- for Emiliano and his contemporaries there existed the symbiotic Grupo de Experimentación Sonora del ICAIC, spearheaded by Leo Brouwer, Federico Smith and Juan Elósegui, among others. The type of experimentation that was taking place within this group may have been ambiguous at first, but it was nevertheless very enriching in terms of elevating Cuban music. Noel Nicola, who was studying ethnology with the Academia de Ciencias (under Argeliers León), Sergio Vitier of the Orquesta de Música Moderna and Eduardo Ramos of Sonorama 6, as well as Martín Rojas, one of the founders of the Nueva Trova and musicians Carlos del Puerto, Changuito Quintana and Rembert Egües were some of the protagonists that early on had begun to re-shape the way that Cubans played music. Such was also the case with Emiliano, who changed the way that pianists in Cuba played. While most Latin pianists in the states clearly hung on to the rootsy style of Peruchín and Lili Martínez (there were some exceptions), Emiliano transformed the pianistic tradition in Cuba. Out of this school came Gonzálo Rubalcaba, Ernán López-Nussa and a few others, all very important. Others, like Chucho Valdés had obviously preceded Emiliano, and of course before Chucho there was the very innovative “Peruchín” Justiz. No doubt other players inspired him as well, such as Dámaso Pérez Prado, Frank Emilio Flynn and Bebo Valdés. After he thoroughly studied, absorbed and digested the various styles of these masters, Emiliano did what was expected of any great Cuban musician, he broke out with his “own thing”, creating a whole new school of piano along the way.

The collective work of the Grupo de Experimentación Sonora del ICAIC paved the way for new forms of composing, arranging and communicating ideas. Internal conflicts soon became evident, and some of the founding members moved on to other projects. By 1978 it was no longer a working unit. While the group became known primarily for their film scores, they also served as a workshop, a catalyst for the talents of the individual players. Emiliano was one of those who benefited greatly from his association with ICAIC. Subsequently, he became Pablo Milanés’ musical director and arranger, and together they worked at “El Gato Tuerto”, a favorite nightspot in La Habana of the avant garde “feeling” movement, which was a jazz-tinged style of song more akin to the bolero than anything else. He soon found himself in much demand, the accompanist of choice to the island’s top vocalists, recording and traveling extensively during those years. It was a very rigorous schedule, which may have eventually taken its toll on Emiliano. Quietly and without much fanfare, he went back to the place of his birth to “chill out” and work on his “new vision”.

A second LP was issued in 1980, titled “Emiliano Salvador 2″ which featured “Changuito” Quintana, as well as other notables. His newly formed group was by now the favorite at the legendary concerts titled Los Festivales de Jazz Latino Plaza, in La Habana. Two more albums were released, “Emiliano y Su Grupo” (1986) and “Una Mañana de Domingo” (1987), which was later re-released in Europe under the title “Con Fé”.

Throughout the next decade Emiliano and his group traveled about, visiting Central and Eastern Europe, the Iberian Peninsula, Latin America and Canada, as well as Scandinavia and the Mediterranean. By the time that the nineties had rolled around, Emiliano had achieved the recognition that he so richly deserved. As they say in the business, he had finally arrived. He was now at the center of it all, a human catalyst for the prodigious “new sound”. Emiliano Salvador now found himself in the heart of jazzlandia, but his heart was still back in Oriente, in montunoland.

Upon listening to Emiliano’s montunos for the first time it became quite obvious to me that he had deep country roots and that he had clearly absorbed some of the natural beauties of rural life, but aside from that, he was also a restless innovator, never fully satisfied with doing the same thing the same way. He was constantly revising the standard repertoire and improvising on the chord changes, both basic ingredients in the jazz idiom. He could be as moody and as audacious as any North American jazzmen could. One moment he would be as ferocious as a wild beast and the next moment as graceful as a swan, if he so desired. Of course the support that he received from within his musical unit should not be overlooked. All these factors merged and the result was not merely fingers tinkling on a keyboard, but a strong sense of unity, a musical force that has not been duplicated in Cuba since his passing.

The scope of Jazz has widened greatly since Emiliano’s last recording, “Ayer Y Hoy” (1992) and there’s no doubt in my mind that had he lived he would have continued to grow musically, improving tenfold and drawing inspiration from many sources, blending and adding certain elements that were not present before, while never losing sight of the source, la cubanía. The experience gained with the ICAIC experimental group, coupled with the many years of listening to great North American jazz players, such as Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk and McCoy Tyner had taught him this. He walked a fine line between the worlds of Cuban music and Jazz, and the end result was spectacular. Reaching one’s zenith as an artist is a slow process that can be as stormy as making the transition from adolescent to adult. Emiliano’s musical maturity was on the brink of crystallization, and it was stalled by his untimely death. During the last few years of his life, his popularity had begun to ascend to phenomenal heights. But he also had some very troubling and personal problems. By the time that he recorded his last album, constant bouts with alcoholism had been chipping away at his lifeline. How ironic that he would select Arsenio’s beautiful melody “La Vida Es Un Sueño” with its prophetic lyrics “la realidad es nacer y morir… porque llenarnos de tanta ansiedad… todo no es más que un eterno sufrir… la vida es sueño, y todo se va”. On October 22, 1992, Emiliano had lunch, and shortly afterwards decided to take a nap. During that sleep, he suffered a heart attack and died.

Emiliano Salvador was a true Cuban original, an innovator and a visionary who shared the stage with some of the world’s greatest players. Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers, Dizzy Gillespie, Branford Marsalis, Jack De Johnette, Freddie Hubbard, Larry Coryell, Bobby McFerrin, Carla Bley, Manhattan Transfer, Jimmy Rowles, Eddie Daniels, Steve Swallow, Jimmy Smith, Bobby Watson & Saxophone Quartet, Sun Ra & His Arkestra, Chico Freeman, Kenny Kirkland, Woody Shaw, Joe Henderson, Ismael Miranda, Milton Nascimento, Nana Vasconcelos, Dave Valentín, Louie Ramírez, Airto Moreira, Chico Buarque, and MPB 4. He will truly be missed, even by those of us who never got to know him personally. I never met him, but he touched me with his music. And that is enough. How about you? Did he touch you with his gift? Was he an inspiration for you too?

Chico Alvarez Peraza
New York City – July, 2001

DISCOGRAPHY

Panama’s Favorite Mambero Remembers The Golden Era of Dance Music In New York City

Feature written by: Chico Alvarez Peraza

ROSELAND: Where Cuban Rhythms once went toe to toe with Ballroom Jazz

I first set foot inside the ROSELAND BALLROOM dance hall in 1978, lured by a long forgotten tribute to Cuban Music legend Miguelito Valdés. No one seems to remember this event, but to me it was an unforgettable night, and I could not get over how huge the place was, especially the dance floor. I knew little of its long history in regards to New York style Latin American music. It was, after all, the traditional gathering place for so many senior citizens whose sole purpose was to relive the good old days (at least it was that way until 1977). Directly adjacent to Roseland was Local 802 of the Musicians Union, and since I was always looking for work back then through the union, I would often see the old timers waiting on line, dressed to kill, ready to enter into their own private dance heaven. Since I came out of the rock and roll era, it seemed totally the opposite of what my own generation would have considered a night out. Nonetheless, I was curious, and it may have been because the place reminded me so much of all those film noir flicks that I had grown up watching on television or in the movies.

Initially, Roseland conjured up images of the Cotton Club and Connie’s Inn up in Harlem – which were popular venues for white audiences – or even of "Rick’s Café Américain" in the film "Casablanca", the upscale nightclub and gambling den that attracted such a mixed clientéle: Vichy French, Italian, and Nazi officials; political exiles desperately seeking to reach America. Such was the power of Hollywood to implant certain images in our subconscious. Once inside Dance City (that was another name they had for it), I realized that the old place had nothing to do with the nightclubs that had been depicted in so many of those Hollywood films. Roseland was, after all, an elegant ballroom right smack in the middle of midtown Manhattan, and not some juke joint (before 1953 and even for some years thereafter, most bars and nightclubs used a jukebox or live bands). I recalled that only a decade before, I too had stood in such lines, outside venues like the Brooklyn Paramount, Academy of Music and the Brooklyn Fox, and even Harlem’s legendary Apollo Theatre – but not to dance in them – those theaters were the domain of the doowop kings (and queens), showcases for the great vocal R&B groups that thrilled my generation with their gospel tinged harmonies. I’m referring to the great rock ‘n’ roll soirées presented by Allan Freed and Murray The K. But even that phenomenon had its precedent.

SWING JAZZ: A Chronology of The American Dance Floor

It is fabled that the first "nightclub" in the United States opened in 1912 in New Orleans (why would we think otherwise?). Aptly called "The Cave", because it was located in the basement of the Roosevelt Hotel. Prior to that, from about 1900 to 1920, working class Americans would gather in honky tonks or juke joints and dance to the riffs of a lone piano player, or, they would dance to the sounds of small territory bands as their music vibrated from jukeboxes. Territory bands were dance bands that crisscrossed specific regions of the United States, playing one-nighters, 6 or 7 nights a week at venues like the VFW Hall, Elks Club, Lions Club and hotel ballrooms. These bands typically had 8 to 12 musicians. During Prohibition the nightclubs went underground as illegal bars, known as speakeasies. The emerging new style of jazz actually dated back to that epoch, when the various black communities, dancing to the contemporary sound of their time, discovered the charleston and the lindy hop. The charleston was a dance named for the city of Charleston, South Carolina and its rhythm was popularized in mainstream dance music by a 1923 tune called "The Charleston", written by the Afro-American composer and pianist James P. Johnson. As far as the lindy is concerned, legend has it that a local dance enthusiast named "Shorty" was watching some of the dancing couples at a local club when a newspaper reporter asked him what kind of dance they were doing. The story goes on to say that there was a newspaper sitting on the bench next to Shorty with an article about Lindbergh’s historic flight to Paris. Since the title of the article read, "Lindy Hops The Atlantic," Shorty simply replied: "Lindy Hop". Although no one has ever corroborated this tale, the name stuck, and that’s how the dance got its name.

But as fate would have it, on March 26, 1926, an event took place in New York City that would ultimately change the history of jazz. The Savoy Ballroom, located between 140th and 141st Streets on Lenox Avenue opened its doors, and that changed everything. The music played at the Savoy on opening night was largely swing jazz, and because of its infectious rhythm, the venue enjoyed immediate success. It boasted a block-long dance floor and a raised double bandstand. It was owned by Moe Gale, a Jewish businessman and managed by an Afro-American by the name of Charles Buchanan.

The operative word at the Savoy may have been "swing", but the first word that comes to my mind is "big". The ambience was further stimulated by the presence of fantastic dancers. All of the great black jazz bands played there at one time or another. Ultimately, it attracted some of the best dancers from the greater New York area, both black and white. When Repeal kicked in during February of 1933, the nightclub scene was once again revived. New York’s Stork Club, El Morocco and the Copacabana were all nightclubs that featured live big bands, dedicated exclusively to playing for a dancing crowd. But the Savoy was by far the most popular of these clubs. To its credit, the ballroom participated in the 1939 World’s Fair, presenting "The Evolution of Negro Dance", and it was immortalized in song by the classic 1934 tune "Stompin’ At The Savoy" (performed by just about everyone and their grandmother). The head bouncer at the ballroom was Herbert White, who formed a lindy hop dance troupe called "Whitey’s Lindy Hoppers". The "Hoppers" were showcased in such Hollywood films as "A Day at the Races", "Hellzapoppin", "Sugar Hill Masquerade" and "Killer Diller". This group formed the creme de la creme of the Savoy. They were the top dancers during the swing era. With Whitey’s entrepreneurial skills, these Harlem youngsters were catapulted into world recognition through both live performance and film. Their swing dance innovations had permanent impact on the social dance styles of the United States, Europe, Australia, and even Latin America and parts of Africa. Early mambo dancers in Mexico City, (pre-Palladium era) have stated that both the lindy and the jitterbug influenced much of their choreography. Certain moves which they added to the basic steps taken from the Cuban son and danzón enhanced those dance forms.

Savoy, the home of sweet romance,
Savoy, it wins you with a glance,
Savoy, gives happy feet a chance to dance.

And, almost as if on cue, a variant of the lindy hop was introduced by bandleader Cab Calloway, who tagged it the jitterbug (this was actually the title of a catchy six beat tune which Cab had recorded in 1934). It was never meant to be the moniker for a dance form, it just happened that way. History certainly does have a way of repeating itself, doesn’t it? When mainstream America (read – white folks) discovered these dances, it got the snowball rolling. Subsequently every ethnic community in the United States embraced the popular black dances, as well as tap and jazz. Clarinetist Benny Goodman led the big parade, and soon the native Chicagoan became the leader of the so-called swing era. Why, there was even something called country swing. Can you imagine?

TRANSCULTURATION & THE RIP-OFF: The New Orleans, Hollywood, Paris and New York Connection

Around the same time as Calloway’s tune was hitting the nightclubs of Harlem, a Jewish dancer by the name of Dean Collins was learning to dance like a black man. Collins grew up in Newark, New Jersey and by the age of 13 he was already dancing at the Savoy. In 1935, he was named "Dancer of the Year" by The New Yorker. He arrived in Hollywood in 1938 and between 1941 and 1960 had danced in, or helped choreograph over 100 movies which provided at least a 30 second clip of some of California’s best white dancers performing lindy hop, jitterbug, lindy and swing. Throughout the 1940′s these terms were used interchangeably by the news media to describe the same style of dancing taking place on the streets, in the night clubs, in contests, and in the movies. In 1938 Donald Grant, president of the Dance Teachers’ Business Association, stated that swing music was "a degenerate form of jazz, whose devotees were the unfortunate victims of economic instability". Shaw ’nuff.

During the Second World War, swing jazz, and particularly the dance known as the jitterbug were banned in occupied France by the Nazis, due to their decadent American influences. This music literally went underground, hidden in basement dance clubs called discothèques where young French men and women danced to hot jazz played by a DJ on a single turntable whenever a jukebox was not available. So-called "latin" music was also banned, but to a lesser extent. For some reason, it did not classify as degenerate art, a term the Nazis had coined to rid Germany of any African based music. It became a catch-all phrase that included music with any link to jews, communists, jazz, and anything else thought to be dangerous to the master race.

Meanwhile, back in the USA, dance instructors were getting hip to the fact that the lively and boisterous jitterbug could no longer be ignored. Its fun-filled romp could be refined to suit a crowded dance floor. The two main dance schools at the time were the New York Society of Teachers and the Arthur Murray Studios, and they did not formally begin documenting or teaching the African-based dances until the early 1940′s. The "established" dance community was more interested in teaching the old European-based dances, such as the quickstep and the waltz, with an occasional fox-trot and peabody thrown in. Later, they incorporated such Latin American and Spanish dances as the tango, pasodoble, samba, merengue, mambo and cha cha chá, many of which were also African-based, only they didn’t see it that way. Arthur Murray and his associates looked at what was being danced in the urban centers and directed his teachers to teach what was "popular" in their respective cities. As a result of this profiling, the Arthur Murray Studios taught different styles of swing in each city, according to the demographics. Lauré Haile, a swing dancer and competitor, documented what she saw being danced by the white communities in America (for a more in depth look at the proliferation of these styles, I recommend the following website: http://www.kclindyhop.org/history_b.htm

"Part 2 – Decline and Remission: 1945 -1983" is an informative essay posted by the Kansas City Lindy Hop Society. The aforementioned Dean Collins, along with Lenny Smith and Lou Southern led the action in the night clubs and competitions throughout southern California. Haile began teaching for Arthur Murray in 1945 and gave the new style the name of "Western Swing". Collins taught Arthur Murray’s teachers in Hollywood and San Francisco in the late 1940′s and early 1950′s.

In 1953 Paris, at the "Whisky À Go Go" nightclub (founded in 1947), a Belgian Polish-Jew by the name of Régine Zylberberg – better known as "Régine, Queen of the Night" – laid down a dance-floor, suspended coloured lights and replaced the juke-box with two turntables which she operated herself so there would be no breaks between the music. This is what set into place the standard elements of the modern discotheque-style nightclub.

Immediately following the Second World War, a nationwide economic boom was created. New York emerged as the leading city of the world, with Wall Street leading America’s ascendancy. Anglo soldiers and sailors returning from Europe and the Pacific continued to dance in and around their military bases, doing the jitterbug to country and western music in small town bars, well into the 50′s. Meanwhile, the legendary Savoy Ballroom finally closed its doors in 1958, and shortly after the building in which it was housed was demolished. During the 60′s New Yorkers suffered race riots, gang wars and a certain amount of population decline. The demographics of an entire neighborhood would suddenly change. The transition away from an industrial base toward a service economy picked up speed. Americans who traveled stayed at modern motel chains like Holiday Inn and TraveLodge, which provided air-conditioning, swimming pools, restaurants, color TV, direct-dial phones and, above all, consistency.

The large shipbuilding and garment industries declined sharply, ports converted to container ships, costing many traditional jobs among longshoremen and many large corporations moved their headquarters to the suburbs, or to distant cities. There was still enormous growth in services; especially finance, education, medicine, tourism, communications and law. New York remained the largest city, and the largest metropolitan area in the United States, and continued as its largest financial, commercial, information, and cultural center. Despite all the hardships, the city’s vibrant music scene was still very much at the heart of it all, and people of all nationalities still went out dancing.

In the early 1960′s, Annabel’s, a members-only discothèque nightclub opened in Berkeley Square, London. In 1962, the Peppermint Lounge became the popular night spot here in New York City for guys like me. This was the spot where go-go dancing originated. Go-Go Dancers were dancers who were employed to entertain crowds during the early 1960′s at such venues as the Peppermint Lounge. Female dancers began to get up on tables and dance the twist. Joey Dee and The Starlighters were undeniably the stars of a movie titled "Hey Let’s twist", which put that club on the map. Simultaneously, and as if by design, the dance scene in most urban centers was also beginning to change, but the folks at Roseland were not buying into it – at least not yet.

AMERICA’S HIT PARADE: Land of a Thousand Dances

By 1960, seventy million children from the post-war baby boom had become teenagers and young adults. The new generation was no longer content with just being mirror images of their parents, they wanted their own image. Across the country changes took place that affected education, values, lifestyles, laws, and entertainment. Many of the revolutionary concepts in music which began in the sixties are continuing to this day. But it was also a time for fads, and new dance fads appeared almost every week. The majority of them were commercialized versions of new steps created by Afro-American dancers who frequented the clubs and discothèques in cities like New York, Philadelphia and Detroit. Dancemanias swept the country (and the world for that matter) during this fertile period. The new dances had names like the Madison, Swim, Mashed Potatoes, Twist, Frug Watusi, Shake, Hitchhike, Pony, Dog and Chicken. The one thing that they all had in common was that they were not a couple dance, and each partner could do their own thing, separately. It seemed that "touch dancing" was on the verge of disappearing. For a brief time during the beginning of the decade a Cuban rhythm known as Pachanga (actually a variant of the son montuno) became popular among the youth. Percussionist Ray Barretto recorded a tune called "El Watusi" in 1962. It was a fluke, but it soared to the top of the charts (hitting the Billboard playlists in April of ’63), catching the ear of many non-hispanics. Other "latin" tinged music forms crossed over and made it into the charts as well, and before long young Hispanic-Americans began to catch the "bug" for latin music as well.

Meanwhile, the "older" generation was still dancing up a storm, enamored with mambo, bolero and tango. In fact, any type of couple dancing that would bring them a bit of intimacy was embraced (so to speak), and for a while it looked as if the generation gap was closing. By 1965 I was totally hooked on Cuban dance music, aka "latin" music. But it would be another ten years before I had my taste of a bona fide ballroom. My generation preferred rough and tumble bars and taverns to nightclubs, and the mainstream "latin" youth was attracted to large large marathon dances at such venues as the Manhattan Center and the Hunts Point Palace. The now legendary Palladium Ballroom would close its doors in 1966, and I was only privileged to have gone there during the last two years of its existence. I remember that I didn’t dance that much in the Palladium (except when I was trying to pick up a girl) because my main focus was on the bandstand and the musicians who played their hot Cuban music. Nightclubs, or rather discothèques as they were already being tagged by then, did not grab my attention until the mid 1970′s.

As the seventies rolled around, street activists and minority groups like the Black Panthers and Young Lords organized rent strikes and garbage offensives, demanding city services for poor areas. "Power to the People" was the phrase most often heard in the streets, and by the middle of the decade the city had gained a reputation as a crime-ridden asphalt jungle, a relic of history. In 1975, the city government avoided bankruptcy only through a federal loan and debt restructuring by the Municipal Assistance Corporation and they were also forced to accept increased financial scrutiny from the state capital. In 1977, the city was struck by twin catastrophes; the Great Blackout and Son of Sam serial killings.

And Roseland? The old ballroom continued to attract a much older, mature crowd, mostly non-hispanic, whose only joy was to step out with the "latin" dances. Many were regulars, who had been going there since the early forties, when their hearts were young and their libidos were lively. And they each had a competitive spirit to them too. From 1930 up until 1984 The Harvest Moon Ball Dance Championships were held every year at Madison Square Garden in New York City. The ball was supposedly for "amateurs" only. It was usually held on a Tuesday or Wednesday in August or September and was sponsored by the Daily News in New York.

But wait, it seems that I am getting ahead of myself. I do believe that we were talking about the early history of dance, correct? So, hold that thought for a moment, while I rewind the tape. Let’s take it back, say about fifty years or so.

1927: Dance Fever Hits New York City

The first unofficial dance contest was held at the Central Park Mall in 1927, but to the surprise of the organizers over 75,000 people showed up to watch the contest, all contests in the future were to be postponed in the name of public safety until Madison Square Garden could be obtained. They tried again in 1934 and this time the contest was officially shut down by City Hall. The first official start date was in 1935 at Madison Square Garden in New York. In 1938, the Harvest Moon Ball included a lindy hop and jitterbug competition for the first time. It was captured on film and presented in the Paramount, Pathe, and Universal movie newsreels between 1938 and 1951.

Starting in August, preliminaries would be run in many different clubs and ballrooms throughout the city. Roseland was the main venue. Preliminaries had a total of three judges, and the finals had five. There were six divisions that you could enter, some years would offer different dance divisions such as conga, lindy hop, rhumba, jitterbug, jitterbug-jive, jive, foxtrot, rock and roll, tango, collegiate shag, servicemen’s division, Viennese waltz and eventually the mambo, cha cha chá and even the hustle. At the end of the contest the judges would pick an "All Around Champion" and award him/her additional prizes.

Famed columnist Ed Sullivan was the emcee for most of the early contests. The popularity of the event grew (there would be other such balls in Chicago and Los Angeles). This event was to become the most famous dance contest in the world and would last for many years. The official song of the contest was "Shine On, Harvest Moon." The music was supplied by first class musicians such as Artie Shaw, Nan Rodrigo, Machito, Benny Goodman and of course the house band, led by Puerto Rican trumpeter Ramón Argüeso, with its vocalist Raúl Azpiazu and the stellar pianist from Panama, Terry Pearce. The event would outlast any other of its type, until 1980. From 1980 on it was sponsored by individuals who were past winners. The last Harvest Moon Ball took place in 1984. I actually had the pleasure of singing with the Argüeso band, albeit under the direction of Pierce, whom I recall to be a very humble and modest person. Years went by and I recently caught up with him at the Allegria Hotel in Long Beach, NY, where at the age of 77, he still cuts loose on white baby grand in the hotel lounge, ignored by some while astounding others.

DÉJÀ VU: Recollections of a Panamanian Music Master

Pianist Terry Pierce, who was a regular at Roseland, fondly recalled his years with Argüeso.

TERRY: I played at Roseland from 1974 until 1988, first with the Argüeso Orchestra and then with my own band. We worked on a daily basis, as well as playing for special events such as The Harvest Moon Ball. Due to our longevity there, we landed a cameo appearance in the movie "Roseland". When Argüeso died in 1996, I took over the direction of the band. It was trimmed down somewhat, to eight pieces, and that’s when the ballroom began billing us as the Terry Pierce Orchestra. We stayed there until 2001. We would play all the popular latin dances of the day, plus our old swing repertoire as well.

By way of introduction, I will simply say that Pearce was born on August 10th, 1933 in the city of Colón, Republic of Panama. His mother, Savina, encouraged him to study music early on, so that by the time Terry was twelve years old, he was already playing with various local conjuntos that specialized in popular Cuban music. During our recent get-together, I inquired as to his early influences in popular dance forms.

CHICO: Terry baby, lay it on me man, I want to know all about those early jams with the homies back in Panama. Were these groups patterned after the sextetos in Cuba?

TERRY: Very much so. Chico, we didn’t even have a bass player, we used a marímbula at first and we also worked with a guitarist. On percussion we usually had a bongó, then we added tumbadoras and trumpets. We played it bien típico, as they say here in New York, mostly at private parties and during the yearly carnavales, which always took place in February. At one point I remember playing alonside "el viejo" Edgehill, who was an extraordinary bassist, just like his son Guillermo is today. Later, I was recruited to play with the number one band in Colón, a seventeen piece mega band which was led by alto saxophonist Armando Boza. I was only seventeen years old at the time. A very young Mauricio Smith was also in that band, as was trumpeter Víctor "Vitín" Paz, who was already a seasoned jazzman. Both names would become legendary in New York latin jazz circles, through their association with Machito and Tito Rodríguez.

CHICO: Do you remember what year that was?

TERRY: That was in 1951. I was still attending Abel Bravo High School at the time, but I would travel with Armando’s band throughout the seven provinces of Panama, particularly in the western part of the country, in the province of Chiriquí­ and in the city of Las Tablas, which is in the province of Los Santos, plus in the various islands that were part of the republic, the most famous being Bocas Del Toro, which was originally a successful fishing community that was later recognized as a major asset to the archipelago of islands, mainly as a tourist spot. We played all over the country, mostly in hotels, for tourists and locals alike. It was a heck of an experience for me.

I remember that in 1955 we traveled to Ecuador to perform at the French-owned Bagatelle Hotel in Quito. We played there for six months, mostly Cuban music but also Panamanian cumbias. Beny Moré was a very popular recording artist at the time, and we used to play a lot of his music. I accompanied him twice, on both occassions during Carnaval. In Colón, Armando’s band backed him up, and another time it was with trumpeter Juan Santamaría in Panama City. I listened a lot to his piano player "Peruchín" Justiz, whose style I loved.

CHICO: I know from reading John Radanovich’s book that Beny went to Panama with Pérez Prado for the first time during carnival time in 1949. He also performed there in 1955 and in 1958 with twelve musicians from his band, although his main pianist "Cabrerita" was not on those two trips. I think he was replaced by either Felipe Llanes or Peruchín. This was 1955, when he hit Max Pérez in Venezuela with an iron rod and cracked his skull.

TERRY: Yes, but I vaguely remember Cabrerita accompanying Beny on one of those trips. Peruchín was already living in Panama at the time. In my opinion he was one of the greatest pianists in the history of Cuban music, and was instrumental in shifting the role of the piano into a more rhythmic role. They say he practically invented the guajeo. Peruchín was also a great arranger, much hipper than Cabrerita, and when he returned to Cuba he wrote some beautiful charts for the famed Orquesta Riverside, as well as being their regular pianist. As an arranger he was equalled only by Bebo Valdés, Chico O’farrill, René Hernández and Obdulio Morales. He would later join Beny’s big band, contributing some arrangements as well. While in Cuba he also found time to record with Chico O’Farrill, Julio Gutierrez and Cachao in some of their legendary descarga sessions, while doing a few gigs with his own quintet. He can also be heard on a few albums by Eusebio Antobal, recorded around the same time. He passed away on December 24, 1977. All of the musicians in Armandos’ band were keenly aware of everything coming out of Cuba. In fact, our specialty was always Cuban music.

CHICO: Did you also play traditional Panamanian music as well?

TERRY: Yes, especially in Los Santos, which is famous for its carnivals, the Festival Nacional de la Pollera (National Festival of the Pollera), and the Festival of the Patron Santa Librada, plus the Festival Nacional de la Mejorana in Guararé. Herrera is also important in Panamanian folklore because they are believed to be the birth place of the Pollera, the traditional Panamanian dress.

CHICO: Yes, I myself have been quite impressed by this type of dress, especially the Pollera de gala Santeña, with its beautiful design. I believe it is the most used in Panama. Your country has some really beautiful traditions, not unlike the Spanish-speaking Caribbean. I suppose the proximity to that region gives Panama an edge over most Central and South American countries. Also, its bond to the United States is undeniable, particularly within the field of music. The US-Panama cultural interchange is quite obvious, and your country does have a long history in jazz. By the 1940′s the port of Colón boasted at least ten local jazz orchestras. Legends of jazz in Panama have included pianist and composer Víctor Boa, bassist Clarence Martin, singer Barbara Wilson, Drummer Billy Cobham, flautist Mauricio Smith, saxophonist Carlos Garnett and french horn player John "Rubberlegs" McKindo. It is a musical legacy that has recently been reinvigorated by pianist Danilo Perez, who organized the first Panamanian Jazz Festival in January 2003.

TERRY: You are quite right, jazz has always been heard in Panama, and we owe that to the countless black laborers who helped build the canal zone. They came from the states and from the British West Indies by the tens of thousands, in the effort to improve the isthmus transportation system, but many came to work on the banana plantations as well. By 1910, the Panama Canal Company had employed more than 50,000 workers, three-quarters of whom were black Caribbeans. We formed the nucleus of a community separated from the larger society by race, language, religion, and culture. Many of us who migrated to the US would ultimately find ourselves in a sort of duality, what with surnames names like Smith and Terry (laughter).

CHICO: Which brings us to how Terry Pierce got to play "latin" dance music in the land of skyscrapers. Just how did you first make it to the states?

TERRY: In 1960 I left Armando’s big band and started to work the cruise ship circuit, which was very lucrative at the time. American tourists on board these liners danced to their heart’s content, and we supplied them with the beat. By we, I mean the Evangelina Quartet, that’s what we were known as. We did various tours throughout the West Indies, until 1962, when I finally got my visa and told them I was flying north. Actually, I took a steamboat out of Miami and then I hopped a train up north.

CHICO: How did it feel when you set foot on American soil?

TERRY: It felt great! I arrived at Penn Station in New York on January 20th, 1962. I will never forget that date.

CHICO: With whom did you debut here in New York?

TERRY: The first guy to give me a break was trumpeter Bobby Woodland. He helped me to get my musician’s card, so that I could work the union halls and hotel circuit. I worked every Friday with him at the summer resorts in upstate NY. The Raleigh, the Pines and the Emerson immediately come to mind, but there were others. Because everybody had to have a "latin" name, he was billed as Bobby Madera. His music was strictly for dancing, and since I was no stranger to Afro-Cuban rhythms I fell right in with the crowd.

CHICO: Terry, are you saying that you sort of "got comfortable" with that groove?

TERRY: No, not really, because I wanted to play everything. I got my opportunity to play some swing jazz in ’62 when trumpeter Doc Cheatham hired me to play at Jack Silverman’s International Cabaret, downstairs on Broadway and 52nd St., in downtown Manhattan. I worked on and off with Cheatham and Woodland from ’62 until ’69. Birdland was another place where I found steady work, with drummer Willie Bobo. I would play with Cheatham at Silverman’s from Tuesday until Sunday, and then with Willie on Monday nights. I was gigging seven nights a week back then. Cheatham was always taking me with him over to the Palladium, where he was a regular. All the guys in Machito’s band respected and admired him.

CHICO: Is there anyone else that we should know about?

TERRY: Well, I have to say that it was a real pleasure to have substituted on more than one occasion for the great René Hernández at the Palladium and the St. George Hotel, with the Machito Orchestra, when the maestro was sick. In ’69 I made a special trip down to Miami, to perform at the Eden Roc Hotel with singer Chubby Checker, who was flying high with his "Limbo Rock". Mauricio Smith was the musical director and he got me that gig. With Chubby we also did the President Hotel in Atlantic City and also RDA, a private club in Philadelphia. This was during a time when new dances were being made up every week, and Chubby was on top of his game. All in all, the sixties were really good to me.

CHICO: Dance music certainly has kept you busy my man. But it wasn’t always just about dance floor, right?

TERRY: No, of course not. I had my fling with serious music too. After the gigs with Chubby, Mauricio and I got together again and played for a couple of years at the Ali Baba East in Manhattan and the Carlton Terrace in Queens. We played mostly jazz, with a hint of "latin" now and then. I played the hammond organ back then, and singer Nell Carter used to come by the Ali Baba after her Broadway gig and "jam" with us. Man, she loved that band. We made that groove work for us until around 1974. But the dance circuit was where the steady work was. I returned to the Catskills briefly with Billy Ford and the Thunderbirds and then worked with Mauricio at The Rainbow Room. The great Mexican bassist Víctor Venegas was on that gig.

CHICO: How about the charanga bands, did you play with any of them?

TERRY: Well, Frank Mercado was a well known singer at that time and he hooked me up with José Fajardo’s charanga band on a few gigs. Another charanguero was Lou Perez, with whom I worked on occasion at the Hotel Neville. The charanga style was very big at the time. There was plenty of work around then and people were always willing to go out dancing. But the hardest working bandleader by far had to be Argüeso. While Ramón was alive, I was always assured of steady work at Roseland.

VAYA MEANS GO!: The Latins Take Manhattan

In 1952, Roseland was still a great place to go for classic American dance music, as was the old Arcadia Dance Hall, but for the hip young crowd there was nothing that could compete with the Palladium Ballroom, where dancing on 2 and in clave was paramount. It was the place, where the wild and hot Cuban rhythms ruled the dance floor. It was at this location that Pérez Prado’s crazy "Mambo No. 5" became the rage, earning el mambo the title of king of all dances. The once re-named Alma Dance Studio was now the official home of the mambo. Sure, there were other clubs throughout the city, such as the Caborojeño, Broadway Casino, El Cubanacan, Park Palace, Park Plaza, Gloria Palace and Havana-Madrid in Manhattan, and the Tropicana, Tropicola, Hunts Point Palace, La Campana, and Tropicoro in the Bronx, but nothing compared to the popularity of the Palladium. A mere stone’s throw from Roseland and Birdland, it was at the center of the urban mecca. At the height of its popularity, the club attracted an array of Hollywood and Broadway stars and personalities. Every Wednesday night there would be free dance lessons by instructors such as Killer Joe Piro and Carmen Marie Padilla. The Palladium would offer mass dance lessons for the huge crowds, proclaiming itself the "temple of mambo" and Hollywood inevitably capitalized on the craze. Piro can be seen dancing the mambo to the music of Tito Rodríguez in the 1950 Universal short subject, "Mambo Madness." Much has been said and written about this music and about this epoch, and particularly about the venue (some of it erroneously), so I am not going to go into a whole lot of detail about it. Suffice to say that the late sixties and early seventies were a time of radical change, and that dance music would soon become a casualty of war. The proverbial shit would hit the fan on May 1st, 1966, when the Palladium would shut its doors forever.

Soon, there would be new kid on the block, a contender, a new dance and style that in ’66 was still in its infancy. It was mambo’s own first cousin – "salsa" – soon to be crowned the queen of all rhythms. I asked Terry about this crazy period in time, not only in relation to his own career, but his impression in general of the post-mambo dance scene in New York.

CHICO: Terry, what do you remember about the seventies, outside of the Roseland environment?

TERRY: Well, I know that there were still a few dance clubs competing around back then, such as the Ipanema, Corso and Casablanca, but the whole atmosphere had already started to change by 1975. Each club had its own crowd. Discothèques replaced the old ballrooms and disco dancing became the new dance craze. Studio 54, which opened in ’77, was a very popular discothèque. It was originally a Broadway theater, then a radio station and finally a television station. It was right behind Roseland, and eventually it took a lot of business away from us. The revolting idea that live musicians were not longer needed was totally unheard of until the disco era. During the 80′s deejays were cheap, and pre-recorded music was easy enough to put through a sound system, thus making it sound like a real band was in the room. This really hurt musicians, not just latin musicians, but musicians in general. When I started with Argüeso at Roseland, we worked six nights a week. Then it was five, then four, then three and by the time it was all over, we had been reduced to just playing on Sundays. Maybe it was the clientele, I just don’t know.

CHICO: You may be right about that Terry. In the beginning, Roseland had a "whites only" policy and it was billed as the "home of refined dancing". Even during its peak years it was somewhat segregated, unlike the Palladium, which had a healthy mix of cultures and races. The thing that really made Roseland famous was the big bands that played there, such as Sam Lanin and his Ipana Troubadours, Vincent López, Harry James, Louis Armstrong, Tommy Dorsey and Glenn Miller, and its star-studded ceiling and innovative dance contests. But segregation and racism cannot flourish where there is love. Music was the element that brought people together, and eventually black dances such as the jitterbug were heard at Roseland. The appearance by the Count Basie Orchestra was a breakthrough in the all-white atmosphere of the club. It just had to change.

The original owner was Louis Brecker, and when he sold the building in 1981, the new owners began to scheduled "disco nights", giving the boot to the "latin" crowd and ushering in a period when Roseland was considered a dangerous place to be and a neighborhood menace. Sundays were maintained for the older mature crowd and subsequently it became a place where senior citizens could go and re-live their heydey. Young "latinos" stopped going altogether. Disco music had killed the "latin" scene, perhaps unwillingly. The Sunday crowd was aristocratic, somewhat arrogant. By the time I started playing with your band there, it had turned into a nursing home. I felt like I was in a time warp. My only consolation was that I was playing alongside such stellar players as yourself, Frankie Colón, Gene Jefferson, Edy González and Richard Vitale.

TERRY: Those were good times for me, despite the deminished crowd. I know that they will never, ever come back.

CHICO: In 1974 Brecker was quoted in the New York Times as saying: "Cheek-to-cheek dancing, that’s what this place is all about." But that too would soon change, when a fellow by the name of Phil Peters became the first latin music promoter to rent the ballroom for his own personal events, catering to the younger crowd. Among his promotions was the Women’s Liberation Dance, which was quite succesfull. Peters had an "exclusive" contract with Brecker, that stated he would be the "only" latin promoter to throw dances there, and that eventually led to that great bash I spoke of before, the one dedicated to Miguelito Valdés. That was the one time that I actually saw a rainbow of people at Roseland, black, brown and beige, all hanging with the anglos. The Africans and the Asians would join in later, much later.

TRY THE IMPOSSIBLE: New Age Fusion and Confusion

Despite the turmoil that was taking place,1977 was a great year for dance music, and for music of all types. My generation bore witness to the the birth and rise of funk, disco, art rock, hard rock, progressive rock, glam rock, punk rock, jazz rock fusion, latin rock, chamber jazz, reggae, heavy metal and hip hop. Nueva cancion, cumbia and merengue were taking hold in Mexico, Spain and Latin America. But in New York City, salsa was still supreme. Merengue was running a close second place.

’77 was also the year that a film by the same name was released. "Roseland" was directed by James Ivory and produced by Ismael Merchant. The film never really spoke to me, as it dealt with the waltz, the hustle and the peabody. It was an amalgam of three short stories where the protagonists were all trying to find the right dance partner, and I personally did not relate to any of it. Perhaps, if they had also shown me a bit of the Cuban mambo, then maybe I, along with ten thousand other young hispanics, would have been attracted. The episodic storyline is unified by an unending flow of vintage hit songs. The most effective vignette involves cleaning lady Skala, whose minimum-wage job supports her weekly ballroom fests. A similar technique had been used four years earlier by director Leon Gast in "Our Latin Thing", a low budget musical documentary that dealt with the urban (and some would argue ghetto) lifestyle of New York’s "latinos" during the 70′s. The main dance scenes were filmed at Roseland’s nemesis, the Cheetah, on August 26, 1971 and throughout New York City’s hispanic neighborhoods. In July of 1972, the first few images flickered on the screen at the movie’s premiere in New York’s Line 2 cinema. Gast, who had been born in Jersey City, and was not a stranger to urban street life, brilliantly articulated the movie’s mood and sucked in its young audience. From a Spanish Harlem rooftop, an hispanic looking boy looked down on the street below as an Afro-Cuban rumba rhythm played in the background. Down at the street level, the young boy kicked an empty can around, while an electric piano began to introduce a son montuno riff, bringing the scene to life. That montuno was Ray Barretto’s "Cocinando", as Cuban a tune as you can get, yet it was being tagged as something new. He had actually recorded this catchy number many years earlier, as part of a Cuban descarga album. Under the careful direction of Gast, the camera crew then followed the young boy across empty lots, through wire meshes and into unlit basements, over rubbish-filled stoops and into a burnt-out block where the neighborhood kids were jamming on their tumbadoras. It was a fantastic percussive groove that would eventually wipe out any and all memory of ballroom dancing.

It is interesting to note that long after the decline of "salsa", during the last two decades of the twentieth century, dancers over 60 years of age were still moving their feet to the rhythms of mambo, cha cha chá, lindy hop, jitterbug, swing jazz and Carolina shagg.

And Roseland? It still stands there, for what purpose no one knows.

EPILOGUE

By 1980 the hard core mambo/salsa dancers had lost many of their best venues, which gave rise to smaller clubs with less space, making it prohibitive for their owners to hire more than one band. It was the beginning of the end. The other factor was the ever changing face of "latin" music itself. The marielitos had brought with them a new fresh sound from the island, a sound that as just begging to let be heard. Undoubtedly, the seeds of "timba" were in that exodus. In 1984 a teenager was shot to death on the dance floor in Roseland. In 1990, after a tourist by the name of Brian Watkins was killed on the subway platform, four of the eight suspects were found partying at the club. As a result, "disco nights" were discontinued and there were concerns over it being torn down for redevelopment. In 1996, a new owner, Laurence Ginsburg, filed plans to tear down the venue and replace it with a 42-story, 459-unit apartment building. A spokesman for Ginsburg said the filing was to "beat a deadline for new, more stringent earthquake codes, which went into effect earlier" in 1996. It wasn’t of course, and the interior space has been subsequently renovated, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t eventually come down. All in the name of progress, I guess. During its fifty some odd years at the 52nd St. location, Roseland has hosted everything from a Hillary Clinton birthday party to musical performances from rock artists like Madonna, Paul McCartney and the Rolling Stones, but the most memorable evening for Latin New Yorkers is the night that Miguelito Valdés, the man from the barrio of Belén, was honored by his peers and by his adoring fans. I was there, and it is one night I will always remember fondly. Who would have known that on that night, "latin" music as we knew it, was about to die.

CODA

Finally, I asked Terry to give me his opinion on "salsa" and this is what he replied: Chico, what can I say? I simply love it and I enjoy playing it, more than anything else, except maybe latin jazz! But to be perfectly honest, it is the same stuff I’ve been playing since my youth back in Panama. I mean, there have been certain innovations throughout the years, but basically, it is the same swinging son montuno and mambo that I have always played. The arrangements and the messages may have changed somewhat, reflecting the different times, but the foundation and the structure have remained unchanged since the 50′s.

CHICO: And what about rap and reggaetón?

TERRY: You know Chico, I don’t like to put anyone down, but I personally cannot get into it. To me, it’s a degeneration of what we once knew as music. I suppose every generation feels the need to go its own way, you know, do their own thing as it were, but this stuff is just totally off-color. It doesn’t even qualify as music. Sorry to be so blunt, but I can’t hear anything musical in it. Why, these so-called artists don’t even use real musicians for the recordings! Invariably, the end result is concocted electronically in the studio, without any kind of chart, usually by one or perhaps two persons, neither of whom has even studied the bare rudiments of music. I mean, how are they gonna reproduce these sounds in a live setting? The answer is that they can’t.

Sadly, it sounds like they are scrapping the bottom of the barrel. Maybe it’s time to throw away the blueprint, and start from scratch again. You know, create music, and not just sounds.

Feature written by: Chico Alvarez Peraza

Luis Damian Güell was born on September 28th, 1953 in the provincial city of Cienfuegos, in Cuba, where he attended the Marist Primary School between 1958 and 1960. The Marist Brothers are a Catholic religious order of brothers and affiliated lay people. The order was founded in France, at La Valla-en-Gier near Lyon in 1817 by Saint Marcellin Champagnat, a young French priest of the Society of Mary (Marist Fathers).

After leaving Cuba with his family, young Luis continued his studies at the Marist Primary School in Madrid, Castile, Spain between 1965 and 1968. Eventually his family settled in Hudson County, in northern New Jersey, where he attended Memorial High school in the town of West New York from 1968 to 1972. He was a mere stone’s throw away from the capital of the music business, New York, and his eye was on the apple.

Recently, Luis brought me up to date on his formative years in the recording industry.

"After graduating high school, I enrolled in the Manhattan School of Music in nearby New York City, where I studied composition, electronic music and recording arts and science with the renowned Fred Plaut, then Senior Engineer for the Masterworks Dept. at The Columbia Records 30th Street Studio in New York. This was the same studio where seminal figures such as Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, Billie Holiday, Tony Bennett, Miles Davis, Mongo Santamaría, Muhammad Ali, and Charles Mingus had recorded their best work".

For anyone who is not familiar with the analog recording industry in its heyday, the 30th Street Studio was located at 207 East 30th Street, between 2nd and 3rd Avenues in Manhattan. It was originally an Armenian Greek Orthodox church. Abandoned after the war, the church was transformed in 1949 into one of the world’s greatest recording studios, where some of the most dynamic and enduring music was created. Bob Dylan’s "Highway 61 Revisited"; Leonard Bernstein’s "West Side Story,"; Miles Davis’s "Kind Of Blue" and Glenn Gould’s interpretations of Bach’s "Goldberg Variations," were all recorded there.

Under Plaut’s supervision, Luis Güell interned as his assistant at the 30th Street Studio from 1972 to 1974. The studio provided a distinctive ambience, featuring a kaleidoscope of sublime sonic qualities unparalleled in the recording industry. Young Luis soon found himself in the company of masters. His first session as an intern was with Leonard Bernstein playing the piano and conducting the Columbia Symphony Orchestra. It turns out that the aforementioned recording was the classic Gershwin tune "Rhapsody in Blue". Luis was only 19 years old at the time.

He fondly recalls: "I nearly died when I had to ask Bernstein to please play the piano so I could mic it. At that time 30th Street Studios only recorded classical and jazz with some Broadway shows cast albums sprinkled in between. I do not remember any pop, folk or country being recorded there, those sessions were usually recorded at the 52nd Street Studios. Needless to say, I was in heaven".

From ‘74 to ’77 Luis worked closely with C/O Banner Talent in New York, serving as liaison to Latin American booking agencies and clients, creating both musical and vocal arrangements, supervising road and sound crews, and serving as bassist and musical director for the touring group which backed The Shangri-Las (Leader Of The Pack, Walking in The Sand, Give Him A Great Big Kiss, etc.).

In March of 1978 he designed and became the co-owner of A Step Above Studios, which was located at 281 5th Avenue in Manhattan. He worked there until ’85 as studio manager, engineer and producer, supervising staff, handling bookings, promotion, production and recording of music and commercial spots (jingles) for radio and television. He served as the account executive for all the Spanish and French speaking Latin American and European clients.

"It was a time of great creativity and fusion for the Afro-Cuban sound. As I remember it, that’s when I recorded Orlando ‘Puntilla’ Rios’ album ‘From La Habana to New York’, as well as an unreleased album titled ‘Cuban Commandos’ that featured among others, Puntilla, Olufemí, and the newly arrived Paquito D’Rivera. Many disco era and very early rap projects were recorded there as well. But as fate would have it, I felt the need to move on, so in early 1985 I began an association with Sight & Sound Management Ltd., located at 156 W. 57th Street. They later moved to 200 5th Avenue. It was run by Bob Schwaid, who managed such artists as Miriam Makeba, Van Morrison (he produced ‘Astral Weeks’ for him), Al Green, Evelyn ‘Champane’ King, the SOS Band and many others. Bob would later become a partner and president at World Beat Records. He died in 2002 and is greatly missed by all of us who worked with him. My association with Bob really opened me up to new ideas, as well as giving me a unique insight into the business side of the recording industry."

For the next two years Luis labored arduously at Sight & Sound as staff producer and personal manager for various artists in music, television and cinema. By 1986 he had already produced Mick Wilson for RCA Records (London) and several singles for Man Eating Plants. During this period he continued to work with Latin American and European clients as well, freelancing from ’72 to ’86 as a bassist, mostly in Manhattan, with the Dan Early Trio, John Adamo, and groups such as Turn Down Broadway, Adobo and Palma.

In 1987 he joined the staff at Ultrasonic Recording in West New York, New Jersey as chief engineer and studio manager. "The Penthouse", as it was known, soon became the recording mecca for many recording artists from the Hudson County area. Luis would stay there until 1996, doing music and sound recording, basic maintenance and trouble shooting of equipment, while also supervising staff and freelance engineers. While at Ultrasonic, he received both Gold and Platinum Record awards from WEA Caribe for his engineering work on the Frankie Negrón debut CD “Con Amor Se Gana”. He worked out of this studio for a good part of the decade.

By 1992 Luis was supervising all areas of production and engineering of “The Meme Solís Show" for NPR’s Radio Martí, preparing material for broadcast into Cuba. He then opened up his own studio, Digital Boulevard Audio in West New York, New Jersey, where he took on the task of handling all phases of production, from recording to manufacturing, including: liner notes, artwork, graphics, printing, coordinating promotion, advertising and distribution departments for World Beat Records, a Jazz and World Music record company that unfortunately went out of business in 2001.

He remembers it as a time of growth: "Digital Boulevard Audio was actually created in ’92 as an editing and mastering facility for Ultrasonic . At that time it was located at "The Harbor Towers", also on Boulevard East before moving to its current location in Fairview, N.J. in ’99. We started producing Meme’s show in the early 90′s at The Penthouse and then moved it to Digital Boulevard’s studio after Ultrasonic closed. The industry was growing and changing, and I was growing and changing right along with it. And there certainly was a lot of teamwork involved back then. I was part of the team that designed and built Ultrasonic’s Penthouse Studio and I’m really proud of that".

Luis Güell’s devotion to his craft and to Digital Boulevard has given him the opportunity to work with many formidable artists, such as Carlos Santana, Rashied Ali, Claudio Roditi, Sonny Fortune, Jocelyn, Juan Angel Gonzalez, Sergio Brandau, José Luis Quintana "Changüito", David Oquendo, Carlos Enríquez, Ogduardo "Roman" Díaz, Pedrito Martínez, Ivan Bodley, Genya Ravan, Sergio George, Papo Luca, Farnkie Negrón and Pedro Capó.

Some of his big-time clients have been Sony-BMG and Arista Records, as well as many other well known labels. Looking at his most recent work, it pleases me to say that he has been recognized for the following: The 3rd Latin Grammy Awards – Nominated Work “Best Traditional Tropical Album” for the Nelson Gonzalez release “Pa’ los Treseros” (recorded and mixed); the 4th Latin Grammy Awards – Nominated Work “Best Folk Album” for “Raíces Habaneras” self titled (recorded, mixed and mastered); the 47th Grammy Awards – Winner of “Best Latin Jazz Album” for “Bebop Timba” by Raphael Cruz (produced, recorded, mixed and mastered); the 52nd Grammy Awards – Nomination “Best Latin Jazz Album” for “Things I Wanted To Do” by Chembo Corniel (mastered).

Currently he is putting the finishing touches on an album for noted Cuban songwriter Cheín Garcia, who in the past has written music for Enrique Iglesias, Carlos Santana, Lara Fabian and Frankie Ruiz. There is also a live album for Puerto Rican pop singer Brendaly that is nearing completion. Both Chein’s and Brendaly’s Albums are due to be released shortly.
Luis’ expertise includes the art of mastering, which is what he is best noted for these days.

Basically, mastering is the shaping, sculpting, equalizing, compressing and fine tuning of sound through both analog and digital audio processing. In Luis’ capable hands each individual track in a production is given depth, punch, clarity and volume. It is more than just a science, it involves a certain craft, and of course a keen ear for the music. Most technicians involved in audio engineering and mastering are musicians, or at least musically inclined. It is an art that is widely misunderstood and sometimes even mistaken for mixing. It’s the last step which comes just before the manufacturing of a recording. It’s a crucial step for many. For Luis, it’s the pièce de résistance. He is currently mastering "Casino Rueda" for latin singer Luisito Rosario, as well as Willy Torres’ NYC Salsa Project. It is the second album that he has mastered for this upcoming artist.

Recently, I asked Luis Güell if there were any other new and interesting projects in the works.

"I’m currently working on editing, mixing and mastering of a formidable live concert by ‘Grupo Folklorico y Experimental de Nueva York’. It was produced by René López, who was also responsible for the quintessential groundbreaking New York Afro-Latino folkloric project, known by the same name, back in the early seventies. The music for this new version will be part of the soundtrack for an upcoming documentary. Also, I have recently recorded ‘Don Pancho Terry’ for Chembo Corniel’s next album. As far as Digital Boulevard is concerned, we have just concluded major acoustic and equipment upgrades this past April, including Lipinski L707 monitors and a Rupert Neve designed ‘Masterpiece Analog Mastering Unit’ with ‘Lavry’ converters. I’m really excited about this, as I now have at my disposal the type of state of the art technology that is needed in order to continue helping out independent artists like Raphael Cruz, Miguel García and Ochún and David Oquendo".

With all these achievements under his belt, we at Latinjazznet.com would like to wish Mr. Luis Damian Güell the best of luck in all of his future endeavors and we sincerely hope that you, our readers, have enjoyed our reportage on "the man behind the sound".

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

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: 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)

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

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