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