`Forbidden' label helps make Cuban music hot commodity

By Fernando Gonzalez
Herald Arts & Culture Writer 

Hard-line policymakers in the United States may have a hit on their hands.

Cuban music is hot.

Undoubtedly, this is not what they had in mind. But a decades-old embargo and tightening measures like the Helms-Burton Act have made Cuban music an exotic, forbidden fruit.

This country has had a long love affair with Cuban music. It was only a matter of time before the high quality of much of the music made on the island today and the laws of supply and demand would catch fire -- especially when kindled by a mix of curiosity, fashion and the low-risk thrill of transgression.

The unintended outcome has been more interest, attention and money flowing into Havana than Fidel Castro himself would have ever dared hope for.

It was predictable.

In capitalist societies, scarcity of a product raises its price, and as any student of American culture will tell you, few gestures backfire more quickly than telling people they cannot do or have something. That's an irresistible challenge.

Ironically, while the demand for Cuban music and musicians has given some of its masters the recognition and wider audience they deserve, it has also turned the merely proficient into stars and the mediocre into solid prospects.

In South Florida, where not long ago the lack of interest in traditional Cuban music and its masters was such that you could hire the great bass player Israel ``Cachao'' Lopez to play at your house for your kid's bar mitzvah, we can only look on with a mix of anger, sadness . . . and amusement.

Hot ticket

The hottest music ticket in New York so far this year was the Carnegie Hall debut earlier this month of a group of improbable international Cuban stars visiting from the island, including singer, guitarist and songwriter Francisco Repilado, known as Compay Segundo, 90; pianist Ruben Gonzalez, 79, and singer Ibrahim Ferrer, 71.

They are the heart and soul of Buena Vista Social Club, a gem of an album of traditional Cuban music recorded by American guitarist and musicologist Ry Cooder last year in Havana. The release won a Grammy and has already sold more than 250,000 copies in the United States alone, a stunning number for a recording of traditional Cuban music -- even one anchored by Cooder. A top executive at the label said they had expected to sell only 100,000 copies; in the Latin market in the United States, 50,000 copies sold is a gold record.

It is impossible to begrudge these veterans their success. They certainly have paid their dues, the music has an earthy elegance and their performances are full of charm and history.

None were stars

But it's also fair to note the irony that none of them -- even in their salad days -- were stars in Cuba.

Take Compay Segundo, for instance. Despite a long career as harmony singer and player of the armonico, a guitar-like instrument of his own creation, he was all but unknown in contemporary Cuba until his rediscovery by Cooder. Gonzalez, a knowledgeable and graceful player, is generally not considered a major figure within the illustrious Cuban popular piano tradition that includes superb musicians like Pedro ``Peruchin'' Justiz, Lili Martinez and Bebo Valdes all the way up to the late Emiliano Salvador, Gonzalo Rubalcaba and Jesus ``Chucho'' Valdes.

But the Cuban music craze rages on just the same.

In June, Time magazine dedicated three pages to Cuban music in a story titled, in Spanish, Viva La Musica Cubana. Chucho Valdes, prominently featured in the story, was one of the centerpieces of the Jazz at Lincoln Center program in January, along with several compatriots. He also made a splash when he returned to New York last month to present his new album Bele Bele en La Habana (released on an American label licensed from a Canadian company) at the fabled Village Vanguard.

An absurd situation

But if there's an item that underscores the absurdity of the situation, it is the marketing of the recently released series Forbidden Cuba on the New York-based RMM label.

The collection is just one of many responding to -- and fueling -- the interest in Cuban music. The Miami Beach- and Barcelona-based Universal/Magic Music is readying the release of La Isla de la Musica, an 11-volume survey of the contemporary Cuban scene. Max Music, also distributed by Universal, has released a three-disc series, Toda Cuba Baila; last year New York label Blue Jackel released a four-CD box called I Am Time; New York- and Paris-based Milan has a four-CD series sampling several styles -- and these are just a few worth mentioning.

The eight-CD Forbidden Cuba set highlights pianists in the 1960s, dance music of the '70s, Afro-Cuban jazz in the '80s and both religious and dance music in the '90s. It is yet another glimpse of the rich Cuban music scene. Ah, but the text on the back of each disc announces breathlessly that ``the Forbidden Cuba Series makes available musical documents that have been recently declassified by the United States Government through the Freedom of Information Act.'' Huh?

Merceditas Valdes, the late, great singer of Afro-Cuban religious music, singing Obatala Baba Fururu, a declassified document? Orquesta 440's Danzon Para Tres Trompetas stashed away under lock and key? What kind of subversive document was pianist Felo Bergaza's Chiquitico?

If indeed a bunch of bureaucrats have been holding captive these records in some U.S. government vault, I wonder about their political judgment -- but boy, they must have had some terrific parties.

Cashing in

Of course, it is all a farce.

It's not news that the record industry is a cynical, opportunistic business -- and the absurdities in the U.S.-Cuba relations have offered many opportunities to cash in.

Still, such coarse, silly exploitation of musty Cold War political attitudes is an indication that something is seriously amiss, and a reminder that, as long as the posturing on both sides of the divide continue, politicians and businessmen, on both sides, will keep cashing in.

Meanwhile, here on the island of Miami-Dade, we read about the sold-out concerts in New York and Boston and San Francisco -- so close, yet so far away -- and we're just happy, and thankful, when we get special dispensation to see a visiting Cuban artist.

For those interested, there is a great but small Latin country south of us, almost an island, really, with marvelous, African-rooted music and some truly great musicians.

Not-Forbidden Uruguay, anyone?