Desensitized

In August, I decided to take a break from posting, partly due to our decision to move back to the states. Ever since, I’ve thought about discussing a reality that I’m reluctant to share, mainly because Colombians work hard to change the narrow perception portrayed through the media. Early in my accounting career, I shared with a client my Medellin vacation plans, only to have her respond with, “What’s in Colombia besides drugs?” So I have first-hand knowledge of what I may be fueling with this blog entry.

Although we’re not all drug lords or ruthless leftist rebels, I can’t deny the violence that rocks the city that gave me birth and where I spent the past year. I've been fortunate to live the beauty of Colombia and could write a number of stories about how much I've loved living there. See Vengo del Monte.  Unfortunately, I also must write about the dark side. Filtering only the good stories just wouldn't be right. It's not reality.

So here goes:

My wife’s 11 year old cousin had been staying with us over the weekends because she was struggling with school. She lives in a rough neighborhood so we figured having her around us might help, at least temporarily, her situation. I pick her up around 7pm at a downtown bus stop that her and her mother had agreed we meet. We live on the west side of Medellin and she lives on the east so this spot is half way between.

I get on the same bus that I've taken at least 100 times since being in Medellin. Elevator music here is usually a salsa station, which is an enjoyable aspect of living in Medellin. So there was no surprise that the first song I heard when stepping on the bus was Las Mafia by Orquesta Narvaez, although I didn’t expect the irony of it.

La Mafia by Orquesta Narvaez off the album Reincarnation

The first ten minutes or so are just as normal as any of the previous 100 trips until we get a few blocks from a bridge that takes us over the Medellin River and out of the downtown area. A man dressed in a white button down short sleeve shirt and jeans comes on the bus looking very anxious and announces to the bus driver, "Close the doors. Don't let that man in the back off the bus." Now I had heard stories of gang members coming on buses and robbing passengers so my heart rate instantly shot up. Before picking up my wife's cousin, I had withdrawn some money from my bank account, around $800. This doesn't seem like a whole lot but given that most people only make $250 or less a month, it's quite a lot of money to be carrying around in your pocket. It's approximately 1.5 million pesos, which sounds like a fortune. Plus, I had American debit cards in my wallet so who knows what robbers would have done had they discovered a gold mine, an American with a ton of cash in his pocket and more importantly, access to more cash. So all the stories I heard of the dangers of a South American big city came rushing through my mind.

I sighed a bit when the man sits on the passenger seat and tells the bus driver that he's not here to rob him or anyone on the bus. That “phew moment” lasted... well... just a moment... as he grabs what appears to be a gun under his shirt/jeans while he warns the driver about letting the other man in the back off the bus.

Ladies and gentlemen, you are witnessing a kidnapping!

He again assures the bus driver (still holding what appears to be a gun) that he's not here to rob anyone but that the bus driver will be taking him and the other man to the water falls or cliffs (not sure on the translation). He further explains that there are people waiting for him to deliver the other man.

I turn to my left and see the 11 year old girl follow the gunman down the aisle with her eyes towards the poor man that will most likely meet his death tonight. While I almost pissed my pants, she's ready to pull out some popcorn and watch tonight's entertainment. I yank her shirt and angrily tell her to look forward. Just as this happens, the bus crosses the river and pulls over. A woman that appears in her early twenties maybe even late teens stands up virtually in tears and pleads to the man to let us off the bus. The man follows with "any passenger that wants to get off can do so but by no means can the man in the back get off." I now start hearing the other man plead his case (I don't dare turn around). So we don't stick around for that popcorn, we bolt out of that bus.

After discussing this experience with a few locals, I was reassured that the kidnapping of random foreigners was highly unlikely. As a friend explained, the man being kidnapped must have been involved in gang activity and was sure to be paying his debt. “Unless you’re the son of the CEO of Phillip Morris, you’re more likely to get mugged than kidnapped for ransom” he proclaims. He lived in an area of the city that my mother-in-law found undesirable to say the least so I’m sure he knew what he was talking about. I guess it was only fitting that the bus driver was playing Orquesta Narvaez that day, specifically La Mafia. It’s no wonder this album is one of the more popular salsa clasica albums in Medellin. It’s unbelievable that I’ve been able to find 8 vinyl copies of this album during my record shopping adventures. Perhaps that was a small sign of the sociological problems facing the city.

So aside from the obvious traumatic experience, here's what bothered me:

Who on earth would be stupid enough to hijack a bus to kidnap one person? You're not robbing anyone and you're letting everyone, who can now describe you, off the bus. I'm not a criminal but I'm sure there are more discrete ways to kidnap someone. Although we, as Americans, may think of this as a farfetched Hollywood scene, there are similar issues in the states, just not as blatant. There is something about privilege and violence in the US that sometimes buffers us. It doesn't mean that things don't happen. The violence that occurred on that bus was blatant and in our face - which one, I know this is a sick question, is preferable?

I have mulled over this for months. I keep thinking of how this 11 year old girl wasn't fazed one bit. As soon as we got off the bus, she was cracking jokes as though what had just occurred was part of her daily routine. Her attitude on the bus confirms this. While emotions paralyzed me, she had just as quickly put the event behind her. She's been desensitized to violence. No one, especially an 11 year old, should ever HAVE to be desensitized to violence. I was later explained that she has witnessed far worse than what we experienced that night.

I’m still grappling with what it means to be desensitized but my gut reaction was to criticize the locals for their willingness to accept violence. Only a hand full of the passengers left the bus that night. I was shocked to see the number of passengers that stayed behind. They must have known the danger they had just accepted, right?

My wife and I love living in a city. We're city people for sure and whether Boston or Medellin, there's a certain pre-disposition to violence that comes along with living in any large city. While I criticized the locals, I neglected my wife witnessing a shooting in Boston a few years back. Good friends of mine lived in Blackburg, VA during the Virginia Tech shootings and if I was scared while watching the story unfold on the news, I could only imagine the fear and confusion they lived that day. In fact, what prompted me to post this story was getting a text message from my old college roommate that his wife found their home trashed this past Wednesday. They had been robbed.

So why was I so quick to judge the locals for being desensitized? I have friends that are teachers. They see horrible fights at school and what’s even more stomach turning is the way the kids flock to the fights like a show. When we realize that this IS the ordinary for way TOO many young people, not just those living in Medellin, we can begin to understand how that casual attitude is sometimes a way of protecting oneself from showing and feeling fear - a fear that could very well be debilitating.  We can begin to understand why La Mafia could be an anthem for so many youths for over 35 years later.

Does this attitude that protects people really mean that they are desensitized? Do people who experience such violence and corruption really believe that is ok, or just tout the party line because that is what is safe? I wonder what organizations may exist in Colombia, like in other parts of the world that may indeed be working and putting themselves in danger to make change, to get people to speak up. In the states, kids are dead serious when they say "snitches get stitches". What organizations, communities and people exist that are working to combat that?

I know several Colombians living in the states that talk about how they left the because of the violence or have family members that have been kidnapped by the FARC. They are often in shock that no one seems to know about this in the states. Then when we look at organizations and UN declarations that are SUPPOSED to protect and educate they are equally enraged that nothing is done.

Where is the line between running from danger and facing it? What does it mean now that my wife and I are parents? It's one thing to work for Amnesty International to help people so that they feel safe about speaking out against such violence when you’re single, but what about now that we have our loved ones and children to think about? Do we take those risks to show our children we are making this world better for them while acknowledging that what we are doing is indeed quite dangerous? Or do we try to help and make change from afar? I don't have answers for any of this, but now that I’m a few months detached from this experience and living back in the states, it brings these issues up for me.

Peace
DJ Walt

Mucho Guaguancó

Mucho Guaguanco by Orquesta Salsa Latina

After walking around the gloomy hot room greeting as many family members as I could recognize, I sat with my wife to my left and paternal grandmother’s youngest sister to my right. Everyone around me seemed quiet and vacant. Instinctively, the blankness forced a search for any small talk that would alleviate the uneasiness I was feeling. I was sitting next to an aunt I had previously only met once. All I could think of was her famous crispy golden empanadas that I savored on my first trip to Colombia close to nine years prior. Cute wrinkles sprung to life around her slight gentle grin as she explained, “Mijo, es que estas manos ya no me dan para cocinar como antes.” The quick arthritis conversation helped me subconsciously settle into the journalist persona that has guided living in Medellin. As though paying attention to the little details that go into being Colombian will somehow make up for all the years I lived as an American. I tried to soak in as much of my first Colombian funeral as my awkwardness with the situation would allow. This after all was my first opportunity to share in pain with my paternal family.

I was probably focusing too hard on the light blue cement walls that made the room feel old and damp as I found myself back in a sea of silence. As I turned away from my aunt, I watched intensely at my grandmother’s empty stare to see if I could somehow share in her pain. Losing a son, even one knocking on his sixtieth year, must hurt deep. I decided now was a good time to walk over to Mamita. As I placed my hands on her shoulders, kissing her grey filled head I softly whispered in her ear, “lo siento Mamita.” Grandma replied as though she long came to terms with the life that once flowed from the coffin a few yards away, “menos mal ya esta descansando porque vivia una vida muy desordenada.” My sister and I always joke over our grandmother’s dry demeanor. So I wasn’t surprised by her response.

People mostly sat with their arms crossed in deep thought only speaking when it came time to recite the prayer the short curly haired middle aged woman pried out of them. Who was this woman and why was she directing my uncle’s farewell with a chant everyone had perfectly memorized? Some of my uncles and cousins sat outside feeling the hot unforgiving Antoqueño sun conversing about nothing in specific, while a one legged roughly bearded drunk seized the moment to ask for some spare change. This bum provided the only entertainment for the day as he suddenly remembered the long history he shared with my uncle. His begging turned into a persuasive act as he rambled incomprehensible best wishes. Chest thumping and kisses were directed at a heavenly figure. He played the role to perfection, convincing me he was a dear lifelong friend of my uncle until a policeman politely escorted him out of the funeral home. Perhaps my uncle had slipped him a few bucks from another world to add some spark to his uneventful farewell.

Mucho Guaguancó by Johnny Ventura

With the exception of a cousin I’ve never met in Florida, all of my father’s family lives in Colombia. I didn’t know much of anything about them until my early twenties. The continental time and distance made it difficult to form a connection with this side of my family. So as I sat there amongst basically strangers, I mostly felt curiosity. Although moments such as these build relationships, the lack of closeness with my father’s family seeped through my dark grey polo shirt to grab hold of my attention. I felt sad for my family for their loss but found it difficult to feel something more for my uncle.

I saw him five or six times in my life but never had the opportunity to dig deeper into who he was other than the troubled life his physical appearance displayed. I always saw him dressed in a pristinely ironed button down shirt neatly tucked into form fitting blue jeans that stopped just short of his brown penny loafers. However, his profoundly depressed eyes, overly wrinkled forehead, and rough sandy skin spoke a different story. He suffered from severe alcoholism, which made him sort of an outcast in the family. I was told he was an artist, a painter to be precise, living a rather lonely existence. Although I did see brief joyous moments from him at family parties that perhaps only those that really have nothing to live for can transmit.

The curiosity I felt was more towards how my family dealt with death since my personality seems to resemble more of my father’s family. My parents' families are polar opposites with my father on the reserved introspective side, leaving me feeling a bit different amongst my mother’s spontaneous, extroverted side. The death of my maternal grandfather in 2002 was a very public display of pain, filled with tear shedding and emotional outbursts. My mother and aunts periodically threw themselves on his coffin pleading for my grandfather not to leave them.

The vision of my paternal family didn’t fail. Very little emotion seemed to exist at the wake or funeral. I asked my father to tell me a good story of my 59 year old uncle’s childhood. He quickly brushed the question off as though he hadn’t heard me. His response was a clear request for privacy. It seemed as though he had long expected his brother’s fate and spent the funeral reflecting on the future awaiting his own alcoholic heart. I shared with a cousin the encounters I had with my grandmother and father and my perception of the dryness of our family. He explained that they displayed their emotion hours before on the night of his actual death.

The last memory I have of this uncle was his whacky high powered uncoordinated dance at the family Christmas party. Before stepping on the dance floor for what evenutally turned out to be his last performance, he announced a soft “watch this” with a wink at the start of a salsa. He seemed full of life during that dance even if the alcohol and three daily packs of cigarettes where reaching the end of his feeble heart. As my friend Saul would say, “la salsa la cargamos en las venas”, while tapping on his forearms as though preparing for a guaguancó syringe. My uncle had certainly been injected with a bit of life as soon as he heard a salsa at that family gathering. The image of his footwork made me question if a private mourning is what he would have wanted as the final story to his troubled life. Would he have preferred Mucho Guaguanco?

Mucho Guaguancó by Rafael Labasta

The death of a family member, no matter how close the relationship, always seems to conjure up the thought of your own mortality. We’re all on borrowed time with birth impling death.  The clock begins to tick the moment you leave the birthing center. Conversely, I enjoy the idea of death implying birth, especially during this period of my life where I’m reinventing myself. If such a joyous occasion as birth goes hand in hand with death, why do we westerners treat the latter with such sorrow? When I die all that’s left of me is the memories imbedded in the lives I’ve touched. I don’t believe I’ll descend to heaven but if I do, I’d like to believe my friends and family would rejoice in what follows of my existence. If the Christian vision isn’t fulfilled then the least my friends and family could do is celebrate not morn my life. The thought of having a party to celebrate my death seems so much more appealing than one of privacy or emotional outbursts. When I’m gone, would my family honor my wish to say good bye at the sound of the horns and percussion that have been such an important part of my life?

Peace
DJ Walt

Lyrics to Orquesta Salsa Latina’s version of Mucho Guaguancó:

El día en que yo me muera
Quiero que me pongan flores

El día en que yo me muera
Quiero que me pongan flores

Yo quiero que me despidan con un toque de tambores
Yo quiero que me despidan con un toque de tambores

Que suene el compas
Del guaguancó
Y el quinto también
Y el tumbao

Pero que venga bongo
Con su tambo
Y suene con fe
Mucho Mucho Guaguancó

Cuando vaya lo mejor
Con uno pa’ otro lado iré
Dale mucho Guaguancó
Y también aguanile

Chorus:
Aguanile, Aguanile Mai Mai
Aguanile, Aguanile Mai Mai

Hay…. el día en que yo me muera
Quiero que lo sepa usted
No se pierdan el velorio
Pa’ que gocen del bembe

Chorus

Hay… yo soy hijo de Chango
Y tu hija de Yemaya
Ven pa’ que goce la rumba
Que la fiesta va’ empeza’

Chorus

Hay… negrita ven a gozar
Mira que la vida es corta
Vamos a vacilar que la vida corta es

Chorus

Yo… yo soy hijo de Chango
Y tu hija de Yemaya
Ven pa’ que goce la rumba
Que la fiesta va’ empeza’…. aja!

No La Pare

No La Pare by Mon Carrillo y Su Sexteto

For almost two years, I worked from home for the Boston office while we figured out if a business undertaking would finally take off and thus whether we’d call Baltimore our permanent home. For those unhappy with the rigidness of an office setting, working from home can be more challenging than people often imagine. Since your only connection with the working world is through a virtual reality of phone and chat conversations, you’re in a continuous struggle with focus and motivation. Although this struggle is present in an office setting, working from home takes you under the radar, which can prove troublesome for busy bees unaccustomed to this lonely life style.

Salsa clasica helped me adjust to the solitude of Virtual Walt. I set up my new flexible work arrangement in the little dungeon we often referred to as our basement where I blasted salsa all day while building fancy excel spreadsheets. With just me and a Dell laptop battling the often 60 to 70 hour work weeks, salsa clasica was my constant companion. I no longer had the coffee break escapes with the fellas at the office to help alleviate the monotony. Instead, my breaks were dozing off, legs raised, feet crossed on a faded black love seat I treated like my exclusive salsa hammock, listening to the countless playlists living in my iTunes.

During one of these mid-day salsa getaways I first heard No La Pare by Mon Carrillo y Su Sexteto. DJ El Cumbanchero placed it in the middle of his set for the Nick Aguirre’s Salsa Dura Show and oh boy did it knock my socks off, pulled me right up off that couch. No La Pare instantly turned the more half than finished basement into my personal dance studio. Often when I’d have a breakthrough “aha” moment, a solution to a problem I had been working on all day, out of excitement I’d spontaneously dance on the cheap rust brown carpet to whatever salsa clasica song filtered the dusty air. I was lucky to be free from the office norms as the only heat present was from a moody space heater that often forced me to dance out of necessity.

This home confinement is likely where I developed the compulsiveness towards songs such as No La Pare. I listened to this song so often that I’m convinced I drove DJ Travieso crazy with constant “this song is so dope” instant messages. Before I knew it, iTunes had registered me listening to the song 93 times, which prompted the idea for the “93 and Counting” mix composed of songs that couldn’t escape the repeat button. I’m sure that would have driven anyone in an office setting bonkers. However, the musical backdrop aided my focus, liberating me from the burden of a deadline.

These busy season hours and the shack of a home office I had built regularly took me down the cabin fever path. Whether it was the long hours or the corporate games I found myself taking part in, I did my fair share of complaining throughout my accounting career. However, whenever I would grumble over work, particularly when doing so from home, I would remedy my dissatisfaction with some kickass salsa. It always seemed to get me through the work day. I was floating above dense waters with my musical companion, living the moment without a care as to whether tax accounting was really my calling. I left the past and future aside to feel salsa guide me through the task at hand. The solitude of my cave transformed salsa from a main distraction to a conduit for motivation, curing my work related frustration, even if for only brief periods. As I reflect on busy seasons in Baltimore, I was in the zone with songs like No La Pare. Time flew by as though I were having fun.

Peace
DJ Walt

Yo No Consigo

Yo No Consigo Tu Amor by Chuito & The Latin Uniques

During the first year of living in Baltimore, I gave salsa dancing a break to focus on my marriage while we both adjusted to life in the twilight zone we called Charm City. As a result, I don’t have many memorable dances from that first year with the exception of Yo No Consigo Tu Amor by Chuito & The Latin Uniques. The 2008 DC Salsa Congress was the first and only time I’ve heard this song at a salsa event.   Yo No Consigo is part of a list of songs I just can’t get enough of.  Every time I listen to it, seven minutes seems way too short and leaves me wanting more.  However, putting my salsa craziness aside, I always thought of this song as being too long for a set but was thankful that the DJ that night thought otherwise.
 
As soon as I heard the luring introductory piano by Auther Puerto, I knew I had to find a dance partner. My salsa skills were a bit rusty since this was my first night out from salsa hibernation and the song’s speed made me a bit nervous to ask. Luckily Michele was standing next to me and as we turned to each other she took the initiative to ask for a dance.

There were no other dances that night that I enjoyed more than this one with the mystery salsera from Pittsburg. It wasn’t so much that I was able to execute intricate turn patterns or wow the dance floor with a precise body movement to a song that by now I had subconsciously memorized. It was experiencing Michele’s delightful essence that made this dance memorable. In fact, I remember not caring when losing my timing on numerous occasions while watching Michele’s smile as she enjoyed the often humorous way Auther Puerto plays the piano on Yo No Consigo. Her vibe lifted mine and helped rid me of my nervousness, chipping away at my rust bound feet.

Without notice, the catchy chorus effortlessly guided us across the dance floor. I couldn’t help but sing along as I was well aware of the exact moments when Norberto (Benbe) Carrasquillo would impress us with his improvisational efforts on the mic. The singer’s interaction with the musicians served only to increase our connection as my attempts to impersonate Benbe seemed to fuel her funky footwork. “Eso pa’ que te comas un caykeh” sneaking out of the piano’s intensity is my favorite line from the song. 

After our dance, we each cordially thanked each other and went on our separate ways. I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the night as I was reminded of the gift these artists left us over 40 years ago. It was the spark that was previously missing.  Great nights are often fueled by an unexpected great dance. Salsa congresses have a funny way of working out that way.

At the end of the event when soaked from a long night of salsa dancing sweat, we bumped into each other as Michele was leaving the hotel and briefly exchanged facebook info. It wasn’t long before my predictable inclination to spread the salsa love kicked in that I was emailing her my favorite cha-cha-chas, guajiras, and sons as a thank you for that dance.

Social Dancing to Yo No Consigo Tu Amor:  I love the way the female in green gets down to this song.

Revolt - La Libertad Logica

Revolt – La Libertad Logico by Eddie Palmieri with Ismael Quintana on vocals

I probably never gave Revolt – La Libertad Logico a good listen because it’s off Vamonos Pa’l Monte where the famous Eddie Palmieri song by the same title overshadows the rest of the album. I only noticed the song after searching for Frankie Martinez routines on youtube. Even then I focused more on Abakua’s routine then the song’s message. It was only by chance as I finished my regular Sunday run where I simply let my mp3 player randomly guide my ears for two hours that I hear:


Económicamente
Económicamente esclavo de ti
No No No No Me trates así
Esclavo de ti, Esclavo de ti, Esclavo de ti… Caballero
Pero que va’
Tú no me engañas a mí

This message almost stopped me dead in my tracks. About an hour into my run I had entertained the idea of looking for a job in Medellin. I’m certainly enjoying the benefits of watching my daughter develop in Daddy Day Care but the thought of my family’s financial future has me considering changing the plan of staying home for a year to care for my daughter. I was asked a question regarding my five year plan, which led me to think about what I will do for a living once our savings start to run low. It’s the first question that must be answered when flirting with the idea of job hunting.

My follow up question revolved around the amount of money any prospective employment would generate. Perhaps Ismael Quintana literally meant we’re economically enslaved by others but I believe that follow up question results in us enslaving ourselves. I often enjoyed what I did for a living in my past life but felt enslaved to the profession by my husbandly duties to build a nest egg for the future. The enslavement was often produced by the potential of earning a six figure salary that was always in conflict with not doing what I loved. Until moving to Medellin I chose the salary and as a consequence felt a constant uneasiness with life. The following passage from J. Krishnamurti's Think on These Things, which highlights that continuous unpleasant feeling, has haunted me over the past month:

“To find out what you love to do demands a great deal of intelligence; because if you are afraid of not being able to earn a livelihood, or of not fitting into this rotten society, then you will never find out. But, if you are not frightened, if you refuse to be pushed into the groove of tradition by your parents, by your teachers, by the superficial demands of society, then there is a possibility of discovering what it is you really love to do. So, to discover, there must be no fear of not surviving.” J. Krishnamurti

If you haven’t figured it out, salsa is what I love. It’s the only true passion I’ve discovered. Unfortunately, I have yet to live that love. Many salseros have figured out how to live their passion yet some of us are so afraid of not surviving that we never experience what that passion has to offer. Quintana leads Nicky Marrero, and thus us, into a timables solo on minute 1:55 with “Mete mano Nicky” as if to instruct Marrero to live his passion as he so wonderfully does for the next minute. Perhaps if I would have not worried so much on what the future had in store and followed, as Marrero did, where that passion would take me, I may have already had the answer to that five year plan. As Natalie Goldberg puts in her most famous work, Writing Down the Bones, “Trust in what you love, continue to do it, and it will take you where you need to go.” Her advice is part of the reason why I decided to start this blog; to see where the love for this music would lead me.

However, the truth is that the blog isn’t putting food on the table and unless I decide to start growing my own vegetables, paying for that food will eventually come to the forefront. Not being afraid of earning a livelihood is easier said without a child’s future hanging on the balance of every decision. Or is it? Is that very conclusion what’s been keeping me from pursing a dream? Is that really what Palmieri’s “Revolt” is all about? But there’s no better time than now for that pursuit as now is really all that exists. Revolt against my own mind’s misperception of the now is the only libertad logica.

Maybe that’s what Quintana meant by “no me engañes a mi” as it’s us we’re fooling by focusing on external enslavement. We can view Palmieri’s revolt as being against the establishment’s pursuit to economically bind us to the system but where would that lead us? Our own relationship to the establishment’s influence is all we have control over and therefore all we must focus on. You can’t change the system unless you change yourself. The dependency to the system only exists in your head. Just as I never noticed the song Revolt - La Libertad Logico in the eight years I’ve owned the album, I’m just now noticing that the economic enslavement, how it’s affected and dominated my life, has been of my own doing.

Peace
DJ Walt

Abakua Dance Company performing La Libertad Logico

Tengo un Ritmo Bueno Pa' Bailar

Rumbon Melon by Joey Pastrana with Ismael Miranda on vocals

The chorus of Rumbon Melon says it all: “Tengo un Ritmo Bueno Pa’ Bailar.” When playing this gem in a set, it’s what I’m trying to communicate to the dancer: I got a goody in store for ya’. In my book, Rumbon Melon is damn right near as close to a perfect song as you can find and naturally represents my style. I prefer medium speed songs with soneros that, much like Ismael Miranda, master improvisation. The beauty of this song is that there are no timbales or trumpet solos that you can point to for its dopeness yet the random band member comments and Miranda’s work give it the air of a descarga. It’s the combination of Miranda’s youthful voice, the female chorus that only Pastrana seemed to consistently pull off, and the strong campanas following drops in the music that keeps me excited about salsa clasica. My favorite line from this classic is “con migo baila hasta el cojo”, a reminder that this genre was created to get your body, your soul moving.

The changes and breaks in the music give the feel of a somewhat shorter song than the 6 minutes it’s approaching, making Rumbon Melon the exception to the cardinal salsa law of not playing songs that are too long at a salsa event. (See The Mambo Scene discussion on the matter.)  DJ Rob Suave understood this when playing Rumbon Melon at Manny’s Providence Salsa Ball in Rhode Island’s historic Biltmore Hotel this past fall. I had the pleasure of having this dance with Andrea of Salsa y Control. This song always takes me back to that awesome dance and the good friendship I developed with Andrea on my brief return to Boston last year. Towards the end of the night a group of dancers were hooked to singing the catchy chorus, wondering “what song was that?” Jennifer Earls from MetaMovements’ smile while singing “Tengo un Ritmo Bueno Pa’ Bailar” as she walked through the hotel doors at the end of the night was proof of how this song helped make this event a dancing success.

Ataca Jorgie & La Alemana dancing at Salsa Caliente Social to Rumbon Melon

I later played this jam at MetaMovements’ Monthly Salsa Social in December and immediately received a dance floor thumbs up from Carlos “Niche” Acevedo. Watching his relationship to the song through his creativity and witnessing the enjoyment Rumbon Melon transmitted produced a rare moment of clarity, “this is why I DJ!” That split second of Niche’s quick gesture is exactly why I fell in love with salsa clasica. Niche didn’t have to say a word. His glance let me know he was feeling the exact same emotion DJ Travieso and I undergo when we proclaim “Thank You Chango for kick ass salsa!”

Peace
DJ Walt

Rumbon Melon was recorded on the album Let's Ball and released on Cotique Records.  One of the more exciting LP collecting memories was when I found this album hidden at the back end of a record stack at Disco Archivo.  The picture on the back cover with Ismael Miranda looking quite young is the best part of this LP. 

The Beloved Mr. Sony

Plastico by Willie Colon with Ruben Blades on vocals

We had recently moved out of the roach infested second floor apartment situated at the exact midpoint between 60th and 61st street in West New York, NJ. We had finally escaped the 1930’s style brick housing project that sat at our doorstep, a neighborly reminder of our economic status. Our new fourth story humble abode was a mere two and a half blocks away but gave the sensation of crossing an ocean, the newly installed video intercom and trash compactor proof of our journey. It was a small two bedroom apartment for a family of six but never felt quite as crowded as sharing our existence with the thousands of creepy-crawlers that stubbornly blocked our passage on nightly bathroom runs.

It must have been the newly found freedom to roll around on a clean carpeted floor that allowed me to become aware of the presence of music as something other than background noise. We had a black Sony stereo system whose flashy equalizer lights gave the feeling of staring at a slice of Times Square, bars rising and falling as the bass changed throughout a tune. Prior to our newly renovated palace, those lights were the cause of a reoccurring nightmare, a profoundly dark room with only the Sony lights seemingly present. As those lights rose so followed my anxiety, with Mr. Sony using his super natural powers to regulate my darkest fears.

Somehow the new 59th street lifestyle managed to transform Mr. Sony. The music transmitted through that stereo now seemed to ooze out of the beige carpet fibers, sucking me in with its musical tentacles. I would lay stomach flat to the ground, hands tucked neatly under my chin, eyes staring amazed at how the music emitted from the speakers made those lights dance.

I first became aware of Plastico by Willie Colon during one of these dazed interactions with my recently beloved stereo. Mom would frequently play the same Fania compilation where Plastico lived and breathed while she cleaned dishes or cooked her famous chicharrones, crispy delights to feed an artery’s craving. So I’m sure mom had previously given Plastico sufficient rotation but there must have been a missing ingredient that prevented me from noticing this classic. It was one of the first songs I can remember Mr. Sony using to seize my attention. It was the first time the door to the consciousness of music had been opened with Ruben Blades eagerly stepping through to prepare me for the lessons salsa clasica has to offer. I was hooked, mesmerized by Ruben’s story telling ability. He seemed to converse rather than sing. Nothing would rip me away from Mr. Sony’s clutches, not even the noise from the trash compactor that mom seemed to unsuccessfully play with for hours on end.

The beige carpet surrounded by newly minted black leather couches and pristine white walls was my own universe. With music as my refuge, it wasn’t just salsa that engulfed me into a new world but only salsa spoke to me on a different level. Given our new rise in living conditions, Ruben preached his words of wisdom that even as a ten year old I could somehow find a link and connect with. I still hadn’t understood who these salsa figures were, what time period they were from or even that I was being handed the salsa clasica torch. I hadn’t even yet fully understood the connection. I only knew the comfort I felt while laying on that carpet and the awe of Mr. Sony’s trance. It was only natural that a few years later that stereo was the sound system for my first DJ gigs.

Peace
DJ Walt

Live Performance of Plastico by Ruben Blades

Mambo Gallego

Mambo Gallego by Tito Puente

I’ve only ever been madly in love once. Dancing with someone connects you to them on another plane, in an unparalleled way. I’ve never been able to duplicate the feeling. So you can imagine what it’s like to dance with a person every single day for two whole years. Ali was my dance partner in a student organization that we were a part of in college. We bonded faster than I could blink. He was a talented drummer, and I was an ex-ballerina. I taught him how to dance, and he taught me how to appreciate music.


By the end of the spring semester, about four months after we had met, I was head over heels. We were attached at the hip; we spent every free minute within ten feet of one another. We joked, studied, talked, danced and ate together. People began to refer to us as one unit. Believe me, I’m not the kind of girl who likes getting too close, but Ali was different. He helped me be a better person. We were happy, and life was good.

The salsa bug bit us about halfway through our relationship, and we became obsessed. We started taking private lessons and traveling all over Texas to attend congresses, socials and performances. Ali was really into latin jazz, and the more he heard, the more I learned. One day, we watched a Masacote performance and for one of the first times, I could predict the breaks in the song and was actually enjoying the capricious, playful dynamics that mutated its vibe and tempo.

It instantly became ours. Everytime we heard Mambo Gallego, by Tito Puente, it was as if someone had turned on a light inside of me. Ali used it as his ringtone, and when we heard it in a club or at a social, we would run around the floor in a frenzy to find each other quickly enough to dance before the song ended. I can’t remember many stages in my life when I’ve been happier than I was with Ali. Although things didn’t work out for us, every time I hear Mambo Gallego it reminds me of the good times and I can’t help but smile.

Karen

Masacote Dance Company performing to Mambo Gallego

Las Malas Lenguas

Las Malas Lenguas by Orquesta Dee Jay

As a huge fan of trombone based bands such as Orquesta Dee Jay, I always get a kick out of Rafael de Jesus’s work on the album ‘Pa Alante con la Orquesta Dee Jay.’ In my quest to learn more about Rafael, I came across an interview on Jazz Con Clave where the sonero admits not knowing much Spanish while he rocked songs such as Las Malas Lenguas, Campesino, and Te Triago. My favorite part of Las Malas Lenguas is how Rafeal emerges from the piano solo and trombone section on minute 3:24 to finish off the song with a commanding soneo. I would have never imagined a performance like that coming from someone who didn’t master the language. The interview presents an insight into the life of this singer which has shed light on how language has helped shape who I am, especially now that I live in a Spanish speaking country.

Similar to Rafael de Jesus, I grew up in a Spanish household. Like most Latinos, our home was a place where we mostly listened to Spanish, only speaking the language around Mamita Amada who can barely ramble the days of the week in English. So in my early years, I developed a good ear for the sound, which triggered the Paisa accent once I began speaking more Spanish, allowing me to more easily fool folks just like Rafael did. Luckily when I met my wife, she didn’t speak a lick of English, so out of necessity I was forced to finally learn to speak Spanish. Even so, my childhood Espanglish slips out from time to time. I’m often a bit self-conscious about my language difficulties as I tend to focus far too much energy in Medellin on blending in.

A comment made by a friend made me think if I should have placed the effort to write this blog in Spanish instead of English. I am of course writing about music interpreted in Spanish. As a hyphenated Colombian (or American depending on the context), I can’t deny that English is the more natural form of processing information for me. In Spanish, I’m always stuck within the confines of my Espanglish upbringing, wondering whether I had just made up the word I was attempting to communicate.

One of the reasons why I identify with salsa clasica is the artists’ use of Espanglish or in my wife’s words, poor Spanish. We once took on the task of writing the lyrics to an entire album for a friend as a Christmas gift and my wife, as a Spanish teacher, couldn’t help inserting the correct grammar, concerned that our friend would learn improper Spanish. Looking back I wish we had written the lyrics to that album just as they were.

Colombians, particularly those from the interior, have the reputation of having as near close to perfect Spanish as there could be in the Americas. Probably more of a self proclamation but I do notice quite a few people speaking what my wife characterizes as Español teorico. It’s often quite a task for me to figure out what Paisas are saying. This may be where my self-consciousness originates.

That pride for properness compelled my mother to criticize Puerto Rican Spanish, often directing her jokes at my brother who would butcher the language far worse than any of our Puerto Rican friends. As a kid her jokes seemed rather funny and I often repeated them to the delight of my fellow Colombian friends. It’s only as an adult living in a Spanish speaking country that I realize how my language limitations put me closer to the Puerto Rican experience. My childhood naivety and my mother’s ignorance prevented us from not understand the politics behind the Puerto Rican plight and thus ours, as Latinos growing up in an American ghetto. On various occasions throughout the island’s history, attempts were made to change the official language from Spanish to English or Spanish and English. Combine this with a Puerto Rican’s ability to freely travel between the island and the U.S. mainland and you witness the development of a hybrid language.

Campesino by Orquesta Dee Jay

Language has always been a source of difficulty with my Espanglish background binding me between two forms of communication. It’s been one of my greatest advantages while simultaneously presenting a disadvantage. I can communicate with a larger number of people with my bilingual skills yet I don’t have a dominion over either language. This inquietud brought me to think of Rafael de Jesus. Just as he often had to ‘fake the funk’ on his understanding of the language, I too fill in the blanks with English words when I can´t complete a thought in Spanish.

The more I learn to better communicate in this language the more I can appreciate the ingenuity it takes to speak Espanglish, the more respect I have for soneros such as Rafael de Jesus who thrived in the lingual duality I live. Salsa clasica, along with my Colombian experience, has helped me accept my language skills not as a deficiency but rather a skillful art grown out of living in two distinct worlds.

I began this acceptance when realizing that language is merely a set of words, symbols and images. If you and I can understand that Gueso means bone does it really matter that it should be Hueso? Yesterday I made the common mistake three times within a half a minute of replacing the Spanish H with a G sound, even though I felt my wife’s corrective stare, as though my brain couldn’t accept the H being silent. I’ve learned to say disculpe instead of con permiso as they are used in different excuse me contexts. However, before learning their proper use, people would excuse me either way.

Te Traigo by Orquesta Dee Jay

Salsaclasica.com’s biography of Orquesta Dee Jay describes how:

“Orquesta Dee Jay was a unique band who did not put any of their music on paper. Their music was original and arrangements were created from jam sessions they had before rehearsals in the basement of De Jesus Bridal shop. ‘If it sounds good and it’s swingin’, the heck with it, let’s record it’ said George De Jesus.”

Espanglish is very much the same. If it sounds good then say it. There´s a sense of liberation in stepping outside the boundaries of strict Castellano and viewing speech merely as a form of communication, an imperfection heavily dependent upon a listener’s acceptance of what the sound represents. It’s the people that give words their authority not La Real Academia Española.

When I first started drafting blog entries, I tried to be as inclusive as possible by translating Spanish phrases where I thought suitable. A friend pointed out the inappropriateness of this technique, putting me on to how Junot Diaz in ‘The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao’ “weaves together Spanish, English, science fiction, and street language and doesn’t make any apologies. If you get it you get it, if not go find out. If you don’t then it’s just a reminder that all of our perspectives and all of our knowledge is always partial. We can never know the whole.”

Language should be open and spontaneous yet common enough so that one can be understood. As cognitive beings we often attach ourselves to words and their meanings more obstructively than most people realize. It’s normal for language to cause deep roots that define us but it should not be a source of limitation.  I hope to continue taking Spanish classes, partially because I enjoy the sound of Spanish but more importantly so I can improve my decoding ability for what my fellow Paisas are saying. I’m slowly accepting Espanglish as much a part of my identity as the light green house on Watson Street where I lived the important moments of my teenage years. Those classes should not be used to ease any discomfort at not knowing the official way of communicating as my ‘malas lenguas’ says much more about the richness of my experience, along with that of the Puerto Rican soneros, than what I can learn in any Spanish class.

Peace
DJ Walt

We're fortunate enough that Jerry Hernandez, the trombonist from Orquesta Dee Jay, has revived the band.  Here's La Nueva Orquesta Dee Jay performing Las Malas Lenguas.  If this band is ever in your neck of the woods, they are well worth the price of admission.

Live Performance of Las Malas Lenguas by La Nueva Orquesta Dee Jay

El Periódico

El Periodico de Ayer by Hector Lavoe

My first consciousness of salsa was watching my step-father sitting on the linoleum floor of the living room in the apartment we lived in Fillmore listening to Oscar de Leon. I was twelve years old. I remembered Oscar de Leon’s songs sounding too adult, too slow, and too narrative for me at the time. There was the Puerto Rican salsa that he played on weekends at home and then there was the Colombian salsa the aunts and uncles danced to at family parties: high heels, sweat, couples dancing in Marucha's carpeted living room or Mona’s second floor apartment while the little ones played Mario Brothers in the bedrooms, Vitamina dancing with the tias, and Mamita sitting in the kitchen table eating.

The irony of life is that it is through my son that I have begun to see salsa through very different lens, through a writer’s lens, to appreciate the narrative richness in the songs, little windows into stories of life. For me now, it is the storytelling element of salsa, most specifically the classic salsa, that as a writer I really appreciate. Little gems. It is now that I understand why perhaps my step-father enjoyed listening to salsa. Fast forward twenty years, and my son has the ear, the sensitivity for salsa. He loves Ismael Rivera and Hector Lavoe and can detect their voices in the supermarket or the colectivo. His childhood memories will be inundated with the sounds of classic salsa for sure. How did this happen?

El Payaso Porcelana

It was chance, coincidence, a lucky merging. I’m listening to Hector Lavoe’s Periodico de Ayer while I’m sweeping one afternoon and the narrative of this song conjured up in my mind the article I had read in El Colombiano of a man who works as a street clown in the streets of Medellin. It was as if I had seen the sparkle of a diamond on the kitchen floor, kneeing down and discovering the truth, disguised and hidden in the dust. That afternoon I sat at my computer to write the story of a son who discovers the whereabouts of his father, who he hasn’t seen since the age of seven, through an article in El Colombiano. Periodico de Ayer and the story of this man were the impetuses for my story.

Edith

Live Performance of Periodico de Ayer 

Yo Soy Palo Malambo

Within the first week of starting this project, I received the following message from Salsero Fever regarding the blog:

“dude you think you are discovering salsa, others dj are way ahead of you.......”

At first, the comment caught me off guard as I still wasn’t quite sure what direction the blog was going to take. Nonetheless, his criticism gave rise to just the type of discussion I had in mind:

I was interested in the choice of words, specifically that of discovery. The comment assumes that you cannot discover that which already exists. Discovery in the traditional sense is an illusion. So Salsero Fever, you were correct: you can never really discover anything because truth always has and always will exist. Therefore, through salsa, you can only become aware of a part of yourself, of who you are, and how that truth helps to shape you. So when I say discovery, I mean the process of self-awareness.

Let’s take a trip back in time to September 2001 when I purchased my very first two albums: Reincarnation by Orquesta Narvaez and Orquesta Dicupe (self titled). Reincarnation was released in 1975 and Dicupe in 1972. So over 26 years elapsed between the time the first listener put the needle to the record and the moment I pressed play on my cousin’s cd player, more years than I had been alive. So how could I possibly have “discovered” those two albums? More importantly, if I did discover them, what did I discover?

I’ve been in Medellin a little over three months. So the word discovery was an appropriate term for the commentator to use. What am I here to discover with Salsa Session? Is it really about music, about how many or the quality of albums in my collection? Is it about the number or importance in the gigs I’ve DJed? Is it about the precision in my song selection?

You see the number of different questions this comment “discovered”?

The comment also assumes I lack in originality. After only two posts, the commentator knew enough about what I had in mind to conclude I was reinventing the wheel. This brought me back to the early nineties when the common phrase being heard at school was “Yo, stop bitin’ kid!” Those were my hip hop days, when Gangstarr got some heavy rotation.  My brother suggested the commentator misinterpreted what I meant by Salsa Session. When my brother thought of DJs and sessions, he thought of the battling sessions of hip hop. Whatever DJ came up with the most out of world, pioneering scratching technique took home the prize. That DJ was “ahead” of the game.

I’m sure the salsa DJs that are ahead of the game are aware of how many salsa covers where done during the 60’s and 70’s. Most of the music during this golden era of salsa were remakes of songs dating back as early as the 20’s. So if you follow the commentator’s logic, the music he proclaims to love actually lacked originality. I happen to disagree. Just as the hip hop artists did in the 70s and 80s, most notably the DJs, salsa artists took something old and put their spin on it to create something completely new and fresh. There was no shame in bitin’. In fact, it was part of the game.

Wait just a second! Maybe he’s right? Maybe I’ve decided on a song for a routine that others have performed before. Maybe, I’m just a salsa band doing a cover or a performer repeating a move during a routine. Let’s take a look at these three versions of Malambo to see if you can listen to where I’m going with this:

Joey Pastrana

Jimmy Sabater

Jimmy Urbana y Su Orquesta Revolucion 70

Although Jimmy Sabater was better known for his timbales work with the Joe Cuba Sextet, he performed on vocals for his Malambo version on the album Solo. José "Chombo" Rodríguez sang on Hot Pastrana and Salvador Tirado sang on the Revolucion 70 version, which was released in 1975 on Sabor Moderno. Don’t you get the same exact feel when you listen to the singers on each track? Well, don’t you? They’re the same song, right? Pastrana uses a different style of music altogether to start and finish the song whereas Revolucion 70 kicks it into high gear from the start and never looks back. Sabater’s version is the more popular version of Malambo amongst modern day dancers but his is not the first. Pastrana released his in 1968 and Sabater released his in 1969. According to the commentator’s logic, Pastrana was ahead of the game and Sabater is just “whack” for all his bitin’ but the popularity of Sabater’s version would suggest otherwise.

Now let’s watch these three routines of Jimmy Sabater’s Malambo:

Ataca Jorgie & La Alemana directors of Island Touch Dance Academy

Peter Fige and Dorota Polkowska

Lupita and Riemino from Tucson, Arizona

I’m sure each of these groups at least suspected someone else had performed this song. Its high energy, the breaks and changes in the music, and Sabater’s voice make this version ideal for a routine. And due to the popularity of the song, it was bound to be performed by more than one group. So why did each band and each dancer decide to perform this song? We all have our opinion as to who performed better but if we focus on that, we’re missing the point. If we pay attention to what each artist “discovered” in the song, then we’ll be the ones that nailed it. Discovery to me is a personal path, a process which is different for everyone. Each of you reading this blog will, for better or worse, take something different from the very same words I’m typing because each of you has a different experiential lens to view them by.

Each band’s lens creeps up on us in my favorite line in the song, “Yo Soy Palo Malambo.” Each artist decided to introduce the line in a different part of the song. Sabater takes a powerful initial stance in his proclamation. Pastrana takes a subtler approach with his first spoken word by using a chorus to sing “Me gustan los timbales pa’ gozar bembe”, followed by a drop in the music and then with equal force to Sabater’s intro declares “Yo naci en Puerto Rico.” Pastrana doesn’t sneak in “Yo Soy Palo Malambo” until the 50th second. Whereas Revolucion 70 decided to start with Salvador trash talkin’, “Anda… y vuelvo con todos los trastes de nuevo… rumbero… oiste eso!”, proceeding with Pastrana’s approach to introduce Malambo. To me, this change in the process of introducing the song’s title makes a huge impact on the song we’re listening to because it shows that each artist had a different agenda. Each band interpreted the song differently, which means each artist had something different to share.

In Israel Sánchez-Coll’s interview of Joey Pastrana for Herencia Latina, when asked what inspired him to compose Malambo, Pastrana explains that the “piece was composed for the timabales… and made for [his] ancestors, for [his] roots.” Therefore, each artist invites us to saborear from the palo monte, which is an essential aspect of the afro-caribbean culture. Even so, Sabater’s version presents more folkloric elements with a more extensive use of Bantu throughout the song. In my opinion, the afro-centrism of Malambo, especially Sabater’s version, is what makes this song so powerful.

A fundamental facet of salsa clasica is improvisation, more visible in these three versions by the soneo section of the songs. Through the liberty afforded in freestyle, soneros can often create a slight change in how a listener can interpret the meaning of a song. For example, Sabater towards the end of the song puts us on to the fact that “la rumba esta mal de un pie” (coincidentally, for South Americans Malambo is a bark used in medicine). I believe viewing salsa as a competition of which artist can rock which version the best is what’s currently ailing salsa.

Instead, what we should be doing is searching for what each artist has “discovered” in their process as that is what they hope to transmit with their performance. Each dance group decided to perform Malambo because the song moved them to discover something different within themselves and each group felt the need to share this. I, nor the artists mentioned above, did not discover Malambo but a slice of ourselves through Malambo. Since we fabricate this world we live in through sensations, we will always view and feel Malambo differently than you, whether as a slight variation or a large leap.

In that same breath, I venture to say that uniqueness in the human experience is also an illusion. The longevity of humanity presents the high probability that what we feel has been previously felt. We’re all walking someone else’s path. Music and dance are no different. Aren’t we all doing some variation of a basic step when we dance salsa? As we social dance, don’t we repeat some of our moves throughout a song, moves that others have already executed? In fact, some very famous dancers decide to repeat certain dance moves throughout their routines (just watch any Frankie Martinez video). You may be inclined to think this is “whack” but don’t musicians repeat bars and phrases during a song? Music is only a representation of the circularity of life. Shouldn’t a routine follow the same path of music? Shouldn’t we as “salseros” recycle the ideas the music presents to see if we can extract our own meaning, our own interpretation and apply them to our context?

I’ll leave you with one last routine of Malambo, which was recently performed by a friend at the Jimmy Anton Salsa Social in NYC.  Not only is Vera an amazing dancer but a super cool person.

Juan Chavez and Vera Rowe

Peace
DJ Walt

El Colectivo

The interesting part of this experience we call Medellin is that I’m essentially starting from zero. I’ve had to relearn the simple and ordinary aspects of life. Today’s seemingly mundane experience brings to life El Colectivo and the salsa clasica stories that reflect the daily life of the audience they’re meant to capture. Bear with me as I walk you through my story:

El Colectivo Amaraillo by Toño Reyes

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been on a mission to find a salsa dance company. I’ve started my search by looking through el directorio as very few dance academies have up and running websites. So if you can imagine me having trouble figuring out the Colombian yellow pages, which has a very different system from the states, you can bet your bottom peso that I often find myself lost locating places, especially in Laureles and El Poblado where my search takes me today. The street system is not as bad as Queens, NY but what seems like a relatively simple grid easily turns into a complex web of tranversales, diagonales, circulares, glorietas, calles, and carreras with streets numbered 33a and 33aa. The street I was on in El Poblado went all the way up to F. Throw in a Sur here and there and you’re bound to get confused.

The first address I had to figure out was Carrera 81 #33aa-08, which is the equivalent of 81st Avenue with 33aa Street. Now either I was given the wrong address or I copied it down incorrectly as it doesn’t exist. The phantom address was confirmed by the annoying hour I walked around asking security guards and bodega attendants for some assistance. Double that aggravation with the hour I spent later in the day looking for and not finding the address in El Poblado.

Equally frustrating was getting to these places. I had mentioned to a friend that Medellin’s public transportation system is top notch. What I had referred to was the Metro. Cabs are not that bad. They’re relatively inexpensive compared to US rates, especially if you live in Dallas, but if you’re on a limited budget like yours truly, cab rides can get expensive real quick. Since I’m a broke non-employed salsero (unemployed would assume I’m actively searching for a job), I was forced on a public transportation adventure.

The Metro is relatively new as it was inaugurated in 1995. Since it’s illegal to eat or drink on the Metro, it’s always super clean. Combine all that with how relatively frequently it runs and you have my preferred form of travel. The only problem is that the Metro is limited in its reach. Medellin sits in El Valle de Aburrá surrounded by the Andes Mountains. The Metro only runs north and south of the valley with a second line that travels from the center of the city towards the west. There are two additional Metro Cable lines (an aerial tramway) that travel up the side of the mountains.

So if the address you’re looking for doesn’t fall within walking distance of a Metro Station, you’re forced to use the bus system, which unlike the states is privately owned. The bus system seems to be composed of large colorful left over machinery from the 50’s and 60’s, which I’m convinced is the major source of pollution in Medellin. I often feel like I stepped in a time machine when I ride a Medellin bus. Along with these ancient relics are the smaller colectivos, which are nothing short of a small airport shuttle.

It’s not just the emissions these buses emit, it’s the roller coaster ride they put you through that make you feel like you’re in a time capsule. The seats even remind me of the old coasters at Rocky Point Park in Rhode Island. Since bus drivers seem to be on a tight schedule (every so often they stop to get a time card stamped), they barely wait for you to step one foot on the bus before they zoom off to the next destination. The chorus of Los Demonios del Salado’s version, “El colectivo de las siete, el colectivo se va”, explains the hop on, hop off acrobatics you have to pull off as the driver barely affords you a millisecond at either end of your journey.

Once inside the bus, if you’re lucky to get a seat, you better hold on tight because you’re bound to feel like you’re on a trampoline. Since drivers here rarely give a rats ass about speed limits or traffic lights, the Medellin streets are littered with speed bumps, often a few yards separate the next one. It’s as if the urban planners are sitting back with a grin of “ha, ha… gotcha!” If your poor chap status has left you standing, you’re in for quite a ride as drivers stop on a dime after going what feels like 200 miles an hour. There are two bars on either side of the bus and one running down the middle for you to swing on like a zoo monkey as drivers refuse to slow down on curves.

Although most Paisas are cordial and take pride in their impeccable manners (you have to say good day before uttering any phrase to a stranger), those table manners Mamá taught us don’t hold water when a seat frees up. Paisas are no better on the Metro. On my way back from El Poblado, an old lady was nearly trampled for acting too slow to move out of the way of outgoing passengers and a young lady was left taking the next stop after incoming commuters bull-rushed the closing doors, leaving her boyfriend standing on the platform dumbfounded by what had just occurred. It’s Darwin’s survival of the fittest at its worst. Pure chaos ensues on these buses, especially during rush hour.

That chaos is what the composer of El Colectivo had in mind when he decided to describe today’s bus journey to perfection. Listen to minute 0:10 to 0:20 of El Colectivo de las Siete:

Para atrás que hay asiento
Oiga no empuje, no empuje
El asiento es para tres
Y cuidado con el bolsillo

El Colectivo de las Siete by Los Demonios del Salado

Both versions don’t use a singer to belt out some fine tunes. Instead, they opt for a passenger ranting throughout the song. On minute 0:43 the frustrated commuter continues with: “Cuidado con la roja… metale el chuzo… aguanta que allí viene la moto y nos pueden recetar” followed by a police siren that tails off into a timbales solo, which I’m certain is included to emphasize the mayhem we’ve experienced the last 0:50 seconds of our bus ride. Although these bus rides can very well lead to ulcers, I appreciate the journey as its part of what makes my Medellin experiment so diverse from my previous assignment.

These descargas certainly give you a taste of what it’s like to live through a bus ride in Medellin, especially the whirlwind the sax takes you on minute 1:35 to 2:12 of El Colectivo Amarillo. They display how salsa clasica composers weren’t limited by heartbreak or bling bling to sell records. An experience as routine as finding Carrera 81 #33aa-08 can inspire a kick ass song. It’s paying attention to the details of my Medellin life that brought me to appreciate this song. Salsa classica is filled with story telling that you can quickly throw on your headphones and crack a smile at the song’s willingness to hop on a frustrating bus ride with you to an address you’ll never find.


Peace
DJ Walt

La Conquistadora Album Review

La Conquistadora by Marty Galagarzar y La Conquistadora is one of my favorite albums. Not just because Roy Carmona kills it on lead vocals but because it’s one of the first albums where the music made such an impression on me that it propelled me towards a life of searching for that next dope song. My itch for collecting started in 2001 on my first trip to Medellin but by the time I discovered La Conquistadora in 2003, I had a better understanding of the music and more importantly, I had money to spend (didn’t purchase many albums from 2001 to 2003 as I was a broke college student).

So in comes La Conquistadora and wow was I blown away! Back in those days when in NYC, we would always make a pit stop at Casa Latina Music Shop, which is the greatest candy store ever for salsa collectors. If you find yourself in NYC, check them out on 151 East 116th Street in Manhattan (212-427-6062). When visiting Casa Latina, I would always leave with at least 10 cds. Typically, I would call DJ Sonerito (Andres Giraldo from Salsa y Control Dance Co.) for any recommendations as soon as I stepped in the door. By that time, he and his brother Johnny had been collecting for quite some time and in my eyes were the authority on salsa clasica (not to mention the source of my envy for the countless amount of cds mounted on their wall and now for all the LPs they’ve recently purchased). It was on one of those trips that Andres suggested La Conquistadora. This passion for collecting and Andres unknowingly becoming my collecting mentor is part of what brought our friendship together.

I think the only other album I can remember purchasing that day was Revolucion en NY by Orquesta Revolucion 70 because I must have played La Conquistadora non-stop the entire four hour ride from NYC to Providence.  This album cemented the idea of wanting to collect every album produced during the ‘60s and ‘70s and was the final touch on my addiction to salsa clasica. A few years later I introduced La Conquistadora to DJ Travieso (Travis DeTour) from Boston. It was one of those “yo check this out” moments we would always have on our way to or from dance practice. I later put DJ Zeus (Jesus Obregon) from Baltimore on to this gem, who had almost the exact same reaction as DJ Travieso and I did upon hearing this album for the first time. Both of them quickly surpassed me as collecting addicts, in part due to the affect this album produced. Because of all the great memories this album brings, it holds a special place in my collection.

1.  Yo Quisiera                    


2.  Mami Me Gusto      


3.  No Pienses Asis              


4.  Corazon                         


5.  Candela                         


6.  Para Todos Mis Amigos


7.  Amar y Vivir                   


8.  Pobre Jose                     


9.  Teruño                           


Review

This album has amazing dance tracks.  Yo Quisiera, Candela, and Corazon are well worth the purchase for those salseros only looking for some good tracks to dance to and not looking to go crazy collecting. As a dancer, what moves me about this album is the hard hitting trombones, Roy Carmona’s cool unique nasal voice, the use of the symbols, and of course the bongo solos. Marty Galagazar played the bongos so you’ll find some nice bongo treats throughout the album.

La Conquistadora starts off strong with a powerful salsa tune, Yo Quisiera. Here’s a video of Andres Giraldo at the 2008 Dallas Salsa Congress playing with the music on this track. Check out min 2:28 to 2:31, 2:35 to 2:38, and 4:16 to 4:20 of the video. It's hard to do that with some of the newer salsa which has a flatter sound (very little breaks and changes to the music) and barely any percussion to play with. There’s no doubt after watching this video that this song was meant to rock a dancer floor.



Although Candela starts off a little slow, don’t be fooled. It’s a smoking dance track. I played Candela at an event in Baltimore where dancers weren’t familiar with salsa clasica and didn’t get a great reaction. I learned my lesson to only play this track at salsa events where seasoned salseros won’t be scared off by the slow start. Check out the trombone solo guided by the symbols on minute 3:30 to 4:08. It gives me chills every time I listen to it. That will definitely inspire some creativity on the dance floor.

Corazon is my favorite track on this album. It also starts off slow but if you’re patient enough, Corazon will repay you on the dance floor. DJ Turco played this track once at Mambos in Boston and had the entire dance floor packed. Check out the pay off Andres Giraldo got from Corazon on minute 3:15 to 3:35 of this old video at the original Boston Havana Club (around 2004) back when it was at the BCCA. He returns the favor with some creative footwork to this trombone and break section:




The only other salsa track, Teruño, finishes off the album, which is a nice chill song to listen to but not great for the dance floor. I'm not a huge fan of Teruño but only because it just doesn't compare to the three other salsas metioned above.

La Conquistadora also has equally nice tracks to just sit back and lounge to. These songs are good but may take some getting use too if your ear is not accustomed to listen to this type of music, especially the boleros. Salsa clasica has taught me many lessons. One is to appreciate boleros and another is that some boleros just flat out suck. So as you can imagine, La Conquistador has one bolero that got put on my favorites list and another that I barely touch. No Pienses Asi is the only song on this album that I don’t like. Amar y Vivir on the other hand I’ve enjoyed on many occasions. Like most boleros, this one starts off slow but kicks it up a slight notch at minute 1:50 and finishes off with a smooth trombone solo starting at minute 3:05.

Even though Oscar Hernandez’s piano solo from minute 2:20 to 3:20 is the highlight of Para Todos Mis Amigos, I really enjoy listening to the lyrics of this guajira, which ponders who will be by your side in your final days. I keep telling some of my friends that they need to learn Spanish just so they can enjoy songs like this one. Mami Me Gusto and Pobre Jose are the two son montunos of the ablum.  Mami Me Gusto has a really catchy chorus and a rythm guided by campanas and bongos that always get me doing some funky shoulder move.  Check out minute 2:13 to 2:35.  You'll know what I'm talking about. This song also has cool lyrics.  My wife always gets a kick out this cat calling tune: "Tu tienes muchas cosas que vacilan, porque tu andas con mucha dulzura mama." Once again, Oscar does his thing on Pobre Jose with a silky performance on minute 2:18 to 2:58, which is followed by some bongo action that closed the deal for me on this song.

Info on the Band

La Conquistadora was originally released on vinyl in 1972 on Vaya Records with Fania re-issuing the album on cd in 1999. Marty Galagarza formed La Conquistadora along with the trombone player, Carlos Berrios, who left the band to record with Tempo 70. Marty went on to release two more albums with La Conquistadora: Pinocho in 1974 and Conciencia in 1980. Prior to forming La Conquistadora, he co-lead La Conspiracion with Ernesto Agosto. Marty only appeared on one album with La Conspiracion (self titled) released in 1971 also on Vaya. Lucky for us that they had a fallen out as we were blessed with two kick ass bands.

This album was produced by Larry Harlow. For those that are just beginning their collection, you should look for albums produced by Harlow. He produced a bunch of awesome bands like Rafi Val y La Diferente, Orquesta Dicupe, and Chino Rodriguez y La Consagracion during the early '70s. In my opinion, the bands he was producing in the early ‘70s came out with better music than he was creating for his own band. Oscar Hernandez (leader of Spanish Harlem Orchestra) played the piano as a teenager on this album. It’s hard to believe that a 17 year old could have such mastery of those teclas. With his work on this album, you could tell Oscar was in for a long accomplished career. 

Roy Carmona also sang on Pinocho but was later replaced by Cheo Colon and Israel Perez on Conciencia. I don’t know of any other bands that Carmona sang with except for his work on 100% Bailable by Chino y Su Conjunto Melao. Although he’s not mentioned as a singer on the album’s credits, there’s no denying he sang the tracks Jazmin and Bongo off that album. The back cover of the album has Roy Amante as one of three singers. Perhaps, Carmona had a name change. He’s one of those soneros with a unique voice that is easy to recognize. I’ll have to someday write a review of Bongo as the lyrics are beautifully written to describe the life of a musician and Carmona sings this salsa tune to perfection.

Hope you enjoy this album as much as I have!

Peace
DJ Walt