¡Cubanismo!
Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside St., 778-5625
Dance lessons 6 pm, concert 8 pm, Sunday, April 4
$17.50
The year was 1996, and with "Macarena" the rage across the
globe, flocks of people flooded into the Music Millennium
where I worked and requested "that Latin dance song." My friend
and I enthusiastically marched to the Latin music section,
but instead of the tedious, cloying hit we handed customers
the then-unheralded debut from ¡Cubanismo!. Don't bother
with that cheesy Los Del Mar disco, we said. Here is the real
Latin dance music: syncopated polyrhythms, scalding-hot horn
arrangements and enough energy to power a ballroom's chandeliers
for years.
Those who took our advice often returned days later and
bought every album they could find from Cuban acts like
Los Van Van, Irakere, NG La Banda--or perhaps Sierra Maestra,
the Cuban traditionalist band that once counted among its
ranks a certain young trumpeter named Jesús Alemañy.
Today, Alemañy leads ¡Cubanismo!, the group
many see as responsible for bringing traditional Cuban dance
music to its current peak of popularity. "The idea was to
rescue, a bit, something that was almost forgotten," the
Havana-born Alemañy says from a hotel in San Francisco,
his strong English highlighted by an even stronger accent.
"[That first instrumental record] was for people who don't
understand the Spanish language, to send them a message
about Latin music, about Cuban music."
The message was this: Son, the Cuban musical form
birthed at the end of the 19th century, is as viable and
exciting today as it was 50 or 100 years ago. Faced off
against Latin music's biggest weapons--salsa, Selena and
"Macarena"--son can not only stand its ground but
annex territory in the hearts of new fans.
After several American tours and three acclaimed Rykodisc
albums (¡Cubanismo!, Malembe and the
new Reencarnación), the battle is still being
waged, and Alemañy is winning converts. He's also
adding more elements to his arsenal, including other Cuban
styles such as pilón, guaracha and
guajira. Vocalists are becoming more involved as
well, moving the music away from the loose and jazzy descarga
jam sessions of the first album toward a more danceable
mode.
"We've been expanding our possibilities," explains Alemañy.
"We still play descarga as well as the more danceable
style. The audiences, when they come to the shows, they're
all expecting to dance.... We started with the very traditional
stuff. Now we're moving into different styles and rhythms,
trying to make it understandable for people who understand
music, as well as people that don't. We're trying to create
a language that's understandable by everybody."
Ironically, it's not the language barrier that's most difficult
for ¡Cubanismo! to overcome--it's the political one.
Unless you've been watching I Love Lucy reruns for
the last 40 years, you know Cuba and the United States aren't
exactly on cordial terms. Getting visas for Cuban musicians
requires numerous letters of recommendation and affidavits
of support, which, combined with the usual economic struggles
of a touring band, make ¡Cubanismo!'s American jaunts
a labor of love as much as a career-enhancing move.
While he admits the political hurdles are a pain in the
culo, Alemañy still finds the effort important
for his own art and for Cuban culture in general. "Every
time back [to the States] more people come to the concerts,
more people are interested in the music," he says. "It's
getting better and better. We're struggling to keep this
music and cultural exchange between the two governments
open."
Of course, if getting people to like the music were the
only thing standing between our two cultures, the Cuban
embargo would probably be dropped in a week. Son
has always been infectious with its multitiered percussion
based on the clave--a rhythm pattern central to son
and its offspring, like the mambo, cha-cha-cha and even
salsa. The addition of brass in the late 1920s made it swing.
¡Cubanismo! would undoubtedly have packed dance halls
with American tourists during Havana's mid-century prime.
Too bad America's fear of Castro and communism has kept
some of the world's hottest music under a cloak of political
paranoia since the revolution of 1959.
That may be changing, though. American businesses are still
forbidden to trade with Cuba, but American and Cuban musicians
are trading places to play in each other's countries. And
with Alemañy leading his ace squad across the nation
in what's thought to be the largest tour by a Cuban band
ever, the cultural détente is heating up--along with
dance floors--to the point where societal differences melt
away.
For Alemañy and ¡Cubanismo!, success is judged
one crowd at a time. "The audience has been the most important
element in all of this," concludes Alemañy. "All
the support from the audience and the media, particularly
here in the States, has been something that we recognize,
and we are very pleased and very happy."
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Willamette Week | originally
published March 31,
1999
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