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
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