THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
Cuban music isn’t normally my ‘go to’ genre (like ‘80s glam or a stadium-filling rock band) except that after actually visiting Cuba, my late husband became enamored with the music which he claimed was playing on every street corner, while he watched the brightly colored American old convertibles and drank mojitos. The most famous of these bands was the Buena Vista Social Club, so upon returning home, he immediately bought a CD of their greatest hits. He put it in his beloved old Morgan and toured the south of France with me in the passenger seat, playing the Cuban music, on repeat, all summer. This is because he couldn’t figure how to take the CD out! I swore, after a few summers of this, I would never listen to Cuban music again. He kept quoting the lyrics: ‘she’s so hot – I have to call the fire department’ (presumably referring to me) which loosely translates from the words of their song ‘Candela’.
Cuban music is considered one of the richest and most influential genres in the world and since the advent of recording technology in the 19th century it has been hugely popular and influential around the world. So, after a friend invited me to see one of the founding members of the Buena Vista Social Club, Eliades Ochoa, at the Barbican Theatre in London, my curiosity got the better of me. I had been forced to listen to the music for years, so why not listen to it live?
Eliades Ochoa is a Grammy-winning star and one of Cuba’s most renowned artists. He is in London promoting his latest album, Guajiro, and I was hopeful he’d perform Buena Vista classics like ‘Chan Chan’ and ‘Candela’. With smoke rising from the stage of the Barbican Theatre, and maracas galore, a man in his eighth decade, clad in all black including black cowboy hat, emerges to thunderous applause. His rugged appearance along with his signature hat and cowboy boots have earned him the nickname of ‘Cuba’s Johnny Cash.’ He’s won 4 Latin Grammys and has appeared on over 40 albums, including nine in his own name.
Now, 26 years after the world shattering Buena Vista Social Club, Eliades is back with a new collection of songs, mostly his own compositions, to remind us all why we were so excited about Cuban music in the first place.
Also excited were The Casa Nuestra Band, a Latin music combo from Liverpool, England, who seemed genuinely thrilled to be on the London stage, opening for Ochoa.
Eliades took the vocal lead on every song, his experience and maturity is reflected in his voice nowadays but the energy, passion and commitment he puts into every song belies his 76 years. But it’s the guitar playing, with the instrument held high on his chest at collarbone level, that truly takes one’s breath away. Eliades has been playing the acoustic instrument for over 70 years and he is truly a master of it, in both its 6 string and 8 string variants. He also plays the electric guitar and ‘tres’. The Cuban ‘tres’ guitar resembles a guitar but instead of having the normal six strings, it has 3 pairs of strings, each tuned to the same note.
In contrast to their leader, Eliaides’ band (consisting of trumpet, percussion, piano, saxophone and double bass) were dressed in traditional Cuban guayabera white shirts, with a pale mauve blazer, white pants and straw hats. A perfect combination with the lights changing from red and blue, to red and yellow and back again.
Eliades began the evening with songs from Guajiro (Cuban Spanish for ‘peasant’) and he described it as one of the most personal and intimate albums he has produced: “The album tells a lot about me and my history,” he explained, “it’s really the story of my life, and each song has a lot of meaning.”
The crowd were on their feet with ‘El Cuarto de Tula’, a Buena Vista favorite, then switched to songs from his solo albums, including ‘El Carreturo,’ a country lament, and the Haitian-influenced ‘A La Luna Yo Me Voy’ among them. A sax solo started a familiar song though I couldn’t put my finger on it. The bouncy Cuban beat was at the tip of my tongue, until I finally recognized it as ‘Quizas.’ The maraca player held the microphone up to the audience for the famous refrain, prompting the crowd to chant “Quizas, quizas, quizas” – “maybe” in Spanish – and even I could sing along, making me feel part of the scene although all in a language I didn’t understand.
My seat mates couldn’t stop bopping. The piano player seemed possessed while the maracas were a constant presence. The trumpeter was on fire and held the audience rapt. Saxophone added to the Cuban beat was mesmerizing. This must resemble the streets of Havana.
When Eliades spoke to the adoring fans, I didn’t understand a word (I wasn’t alone), but there were many smiles and chuckles. I’ve never enjoyed a concert so much without understanding a word or recognizing most of the songs. With each song, my feet longed to dance. I did jealously spot a couple dancing - darn, wish my husband was around, but I didn’t have the ‘cojones’ to stand up alone. Plus my son would pretend not to know me!
Towards the end of the show, there were shouts of ‘’Jose” from Eliades, who needed his guitar re-strung. A ponytailed man ran down the aisle, also pulling some plugs onstage and rearranging the amps. Then as he plugged the guitar and amps back in, a Cuban festival erupted.
‘Candela’ I recognized, with its reference to a woman being so ‘hot’ the fire engines arrived. I sang along the best I could, recalling my wind blown hair driving along the coast of the Mediterranean in my husband’s Morgan. Seemingly everyone knew the Buena Vista classic ‘Chan Chan’ and the entire Barbican was on its feet. Eliades left the stage in a blaze of smoke and strobe lights.
The dancing continued after he left. The Barbican had transformed into a Cuban dance hall!