03/22/08: Legendary Cuban musician "Cachao" dies at 89
http://www.miamiherald.com/459/story/466437.html
Posted on Sat, Mar. 22, 2008
Legendary Cuban musician 'Cachao' dies at 89
By ENRIQUE FERNANDEZ
Known to the world by his nickname, Cachao, bassist, composer
and bandleader Israel López died Saturday morning at Coral Gables Hospital
of complications resulting from kidney failure. He was 89.
Cachao was, in his last years, the most important living figure
in Cuban music, on or off the island. And according to Cuban-music
historian Ned Sublette he was ''arguably the most important bassist in
twentieth-century popular music,'' innovating not only Cuban music but also
influencing the now familiar bass lines of American R&B, ``which have
become such a part of the environment that we don't even think where they came
from.''
Cachao and his brother Orestes are most widely known for their
late-1930s invention of the mambo, a hot coda to the popular but stately
danzón that allowed the dancers to break loose at the end of a piece.
Typically modest, Cachao always admitted that it was bandleader Dámaso Pérez
Prado who made the beat world famous in the '50s.
A possibly more important move took place in 1957, when Cachao
gathered a group of musicians in the early hours of the morning, pumped
from playing gigs at Havana's popular nightclubs, to jam in front of the mikes of
a recording studio. The resulting descargas, known to music aficionados
worldwide as Cuban jam sessions, revolutionized Afro-Cuban popular music.
Under Cachao's direction, these masters improvised freely in the manner of
jazz, but their vocabulary was Cuba's popular music. This was the model that
wold make live performances of Afro-Cuban based genres, from salsa to
Latin jazz, so incredibly hot.
This majestic influence came from a man of sweet demeanor and
unassailable sense of humor. Fronting his band at a fancy dance in Coral
Gables when he was already in his late 80s, he seemed so frail he had to
lean his whole body on the contrabass to keep from falling. But a look at
his beatific smile proved that he was in heaven already, embracing his
instrument like a lover, like a strong friend.
Still, he no longer owned a bass.
''That's outrageous,'' said jazz legend Charlie Haden when he
heard this. ``I'll give him one of mine.''
But a contrabass took up too much room in his small Coral
Gables apartment. Besides, what need did he have to rehearse? Cachao carried his
bass, his music, inside him.
A marvel of the 20th century, Cachao was born into a family of
musicians, many of them bassists -- around 40 and counting in his extended
family.
As an 8-year-old bongo player, he joined a children's septet
that included a future famous singer and bandleader, Roberto Faz. A year
later, already on bass, he provided music for silent movies in his
neighborhood theater, in the company of a pianist who would become a true
superstar, the great cabaret performer Ignacio Villa, known as Bola de
Nieve.
His parents made sure he was classically trained, first at home
and then at a conservatory. In his early teens he was already playing
contrabass with the Orquesta Filarmónica de La Habana, under the baton of
guest conductors like Herbert von Karajan, Igor Stravinsky and Heitor
Villa-Lobos.
After a rich musical career in his home country, he joined his
fellow exiles in 1962, eventually landing in Las Vegas because, as he
admitted, ``I was a compulsive gambler.''
Though cured later in life, he nearly gambled away every penny
until his wife whisked him away from the town.
For a while, he had two distinct musical personae. In the New
York salsa scene he was revered as a music god, with homage concerts
dedicated to him, and records of his music produced by Cuban-music collector
René López. In Miami, he was an ordinary working musician who would play
quinceañeras and weddings, or back dance bands in the notorious Latin
nightclubs of the Miami Vice era.
It took a celebrity, Miami's own Andy García, to integrate his
musical personality into one: that of a legendary master. In the '90s,
García produced the recordings known as Master Sessions and big concerts
honoring his legacy. Since then, Cachao became again a household word
among
Cubans and his reputation continued to grow.
But he remained a working musician, though now at a much higher
level of appreciation. Cachao continued to perform and record with all the
energy of a much younger artist. Though visibly moved at the funeral of
his fellow legend, trombonist Generoso Jiménez, in September 2007, he
headlined a rollicking concert in Miami a week later.
On March 9 of this year, days before being hospitalized, the
multiple Grammy winner was in the Dominican Republic receiving a lifetime
achievement award. Cachao was planning an European tour in August with
violinist Federico Britos, with whom he frequently collaborated.
The day before his death, Cachao told his friend Britos, ''When am I supposed to record with you again? I have to get out of bed.'' And he
was in pre-production for a CD of new compositions.
''It was not only a great musician who died,'' said producer
Emilio Estefan, ``but a great señor -- a gentleman. Even in his deathbed
he
would make sure his visitors felt at ease. He belonged to the people.''
Cachao, whose wife of 58 years, Ester Buenaventura López, died
in 2004, is survived by their daughter María Elena López and grandson
Hector
Luis Vega, as well as nephew Daniel Palacio, who cared for the musician.
Funeral arrangements will be announced this Saturday.
Los Van Van’s Juan Formell Still Has the Last Word
An interview with Juan Fomell, director of “Los Van Van,” one of Cuba´s most
popular bands, which will celebrate its 40th anniversary in 2009
By: Yelanys Hernández and Dora Pérez
Email: cult@jrebelde.cip.cu
2008-01-25 | 18:41:21 EST
He is a sonero who tries every day to change the spectrum of what has been
eternally established, a constant innovator of music who doesn´t tire of
admiring the Beatles and Marilyn Monroe.
Juan Formell is an intelligent communicator who answers the thorniest
questions without hesitation. Born in Havana on August 2, 1942, he grew up
surrounded by the arts thanks to his father, a musician by trade who played
flute and piano and was a bandleader.
To many, Formell´s work began with La Orquesta Revé, where he started to
experiment with instruments typically not included in the charanga format.
However, as early as 1965, his compositions were appearing on albums such as
one by Elena Burke where Formell was also in charge of the musical
arrangements.
But without a doubt, Los Van Van is his greatest project, an orchestra that
first appeared in 1969 with a melodic structure that differentiated it from
other similar bands. Close to 40 years and 30 albums later, Formell and his
band continue enjoying immense popularity in Cuba, where fans are eagerly
awaiting the release of Arrasando, the group´s latest disc, the first
singles of which are already being played on the radio.
—In the 1960s, lost a lot of its popularity, why did this happen?
—Several phenomena coincided. One was the appearance of the Beatles, a very
important musical event worldwide, which split up at the end of the 1960s.
In Cuba, the erroneous decision was made to ban the Beatles from radio
broadcast. A very odd decision that people still don´t understand, and which
resulted in people having to listen to the Beatles underground.
As a result of their break-up, the public became more interested in them. It
was also the golden era of several Spanish bands such as Los Brincos, Los
Mustang, which were very popular here.
Benny Moré passed away in 1963. Orquestra Aragón´s popularity began to wane.
Peyo El Afrocán´s explosion onto the scene was an incredible phenomenon, but
what it wasn´t ballroom music. All these events led to the people losing
interest in Cuban music, especially dance music.
This was something that reality motivated me and drove me to introduce
changes but without ever abandoning the structure of Cuban son. I took a lot
from La Orquesta Revé, which used a charanga format, and included different
timbres and more international sounds.”
—Why did foreign musicians initially fail to recognize the changes you were
making to widen the concepts of Cuban?
—Cuban popular music is one of the things most damaged by the [US] blockade.
The blockade has made people unaware of the existence of Cuban pop music.
Miraculously, we won a Grammy. But the records are hidden away and not
properly marketed; for artists living in Cuba it´s very difficult to insert
themselves in the marketplace.
In 38 years, the band has gained international prestige. It´s the best dance
band in the history of Cuban music. This is recognized, sometimes publicly,
sometimes not. You sit down and talk to Oscar de León or Gilberto Santa Rosa
and they say incredible compliments to you personally. But when interviewed,
they hardly speak about the issue and many say that they don´t know you.
It´s complicated because there is lots of politics behind it.
Anyways, Los Van Van has made a great contribution, and if it´s not
recognized now, it will be in the future. This doesn´t only happen to us.
There are many artistic phenomena that have been vetoed and blocked and
haven´t been able to enter into the market.”
—What did it mean to Van Van to perform in Miami?
—Before going there, we had already made several more important tours around
the United States. We´ve worked in the Hollywood Bowl, an amphitheatre where
the Beatles and the Rolling Stones have played, and also in Carnegie Hall.
That to me was more important because we inserted ourselves into a very
difficult world, the world of show business.
In Miami there are a great number of Cubans whose reality is completely
different to that of Cubans who live in Italy and Spain and behave
differently.
People in the United States are more tangled up in politics; they´re under
lots of pressure because it´s bad to talk about Cuba. But Los Van Van
doesn´t play political music, and it is ridiculous to say that because we
live on the island we are bad.
I´m interested in Miami as a market because so many Cubans live there.
Nevertheless, there are other places I´d like to conquer, such as the Asian
continent —Japan, China and Vietnam, where people don´t even speak our
language. Those types of things are much more appealing to me than fighting
with the people in Miami.
How does Los Van Van maintain its popularity?
—In the 1970s and 1980s, Los Van Van sang about the daily reality of Cuban´s
at the time. Why is it that today most of the songs are love songs? Are you
no longer interested in reflecting the Cuban reality?
—We sing about everything, not only love. What happens is that there are
stages where the composer nourishes himself on phrases heard on the street,
and you use them to write. There was a time when people used to say ´Eso que
anda´ or ´Que se sepa,´ and you tell a story based on these phrases. That´s
a way to make a chronicle.
Another way is to base a story on a theatrical play, as happened with ´La
Habana no aguanta más,´ based on the play ´La Barbacoa,´ by Abraham
Rodríguez. Or once I was asked to write a song for the movie ´Los pájaros
tirándole a la escopeta´ and I wrote ´Y qué tú crees.´
Times are different and people change. Another formula for song writing
surfaced which I began to fear. There are people who began to use really
ugly words, including some reggeaton songs from Puerto Rico. I said to
myself, ´We better not follow that trend, we shouldn´t be measured by the
same standards.´ But we continue doing social chronicles, we haven´t totally
abandoned it.”
—In the 1990s, several popular bands were accused of using vulgar lyrics.
Nobody mentioned Los Van Van. How does Formell manage to express Cuban
traditions in his songs without resorting to vulgarity?
—For me, vulgarity is to call things by their name, exactly as they are,
without using the refinement and the beauty of the double entendre that we
Cubans use when talking. In popular music, there are techniques that give
flavour and enjoyment to the song, you have to use specific phrase, which do
not have to be vulgar.
You can look at examples of artists who came before us, such as Chapotín,
Matamoros, and others. ´Cuidadito, Compay Gallo,´ by Ñico Saquito, is a very
ingenious and cunning, a beautiful story. But it´s not vulgar.
I learned from those authors. They talk about a certain issue in such a way
that the public can come to whatever conclusion they want. Look at ´La mujer
de Antonio camina así...´. For instance, how would Antonio´s wife walk for a
photographer? We all have an Antonio´s wife because everyone has a model of
the perfect female that they like.
In the 1980s, there was a song by Los Van Van that went, ´Si yo subo la
loma, voy detrás de ese mulo...´ (If I go up that hill, I´m going behind
this mule). There was a story before the chorus that explained that to go up
a hill, people had to go behind the mule driver. If you want to interpret it
differently, suit yourself. That´s the basis of the double entendre, and
it´s not vulgar. That´s why Los Van Van have never been accused of using
vulgarity.
—How is it possible to remain on top in a country full of dance fanatics
like ours?
—For us the dancer is the most important. The dancer decides the game. If
the public doesn´t dance, we have to look at what went wrong, because what
we´re doing isn´t working.
This is music for the masses, not at all for an elite audience. It´s to be
enjoyed by everybody. I´ve seen bands playing concerts where the audience is
motionless, with the singer saying, ´Hands in the air, let´s have some fun,´
and nothing happens. It´s horrible.
That´s why, when people say ´No´ to reggeaton, I say, ´If people dance to
it, and sing it, there must be a reason.´ The masses are never wrong. There
might be excessive radio play or other things in play, but if it´s popular,
it´s because it has a value. Later on, life will say whether it transcends
or not.
Necessary changes
—Is Los Van Van a school for the different generations of Cuban musicians?
—I think so, because José Luis Cortés and César (Pupi) Pedroso passed
through here. There are also examples from our last stage. I decided to make
some changes, not because I´m sick but because I´m hurt by time –I´m
diabetic and it takes me a lot of effort to do some things, and anticipating
the day when I´m no longer alive. I had to make so many changes, and I was
the first thing I changed.
I brought in a new bass player because I needed a new guy to play the
instrument in a really ´macho´ way; my hands were becoming weak. After that,
a number of young musicians joined the band, including piano player Boris
Luna, my son Samuel; and Cucurucho on piano, among others. They write and
arrange, always under my judgement and point of view.
—Is Juan Formell no longer directing the orchestra?
—I´m still directing it. A popular music orchestra is not directed with a
baton in your hand, like a classical orchestra. Pop music orchestras are
usually directed by someone who´s part of the group.
For me the director is the person who composes, makes the arrangements and
establishes the band´s sonority from the very first song. Why? Because the
first time I scored a hit, La caldera, many people said to me: ´Great, we
did it.´ But four months later people started saying to me ´Hey, don´t you
have another song like that one?´ And I thought, ´Not like that one, no;´
but a new one would work just like the other one that was popular. So people
would then come back saying, ´We did it again.´
Can you imagine this going on for 38 years, even when the lead singer, at
the height of popularity, comes and asks you to leave, or you have to take
him out of the orchestra? And you have to look for another singer, someone
who may not be able to sing the same songs. This forces you to compose
another four songs that are instant hits.
Now, young people in the group who compose support the Van Van sound. Of
course, with fresher and more revolutionary ideas, but they follow our base
sound. That´s how the orchestra keeps its popularity. It is a trademark that
we keep up.
My son Samuel learned this, which means there is a relief hitter with many
years of experience and advised by me. But, I´m still working, approving
things, writing music and composing. When it comes to recording or
organizing a concert, I decide what´s right or wrong. I have the last word.
—Was Van Van´s sound affected with the departure of Pedrito Calvo and Cesar
(Pupi) Pedroso?
—I don´t think so. Although they were important musicians, the orchestra
moved on. They represented a stage in the history of Van Van. In the case of
Pupi, who is a writer and a composer, I think his departure hurt me more
than that of Pedrito´s. Pedrito, although he was an attractive image, could
be replaced more easily. A composer, however, is more difficult to replace.
What´s valuable is the song; and Pupi is a hit-maker. His hits with Van Van,
such as Tranquilo, Mota and Seis semanas are still remembered. I was
saddened by his departure. Nevertheless, the orchestra carries on and
nothing is going to happen.
A woman in Van Van?
—Did you include a female singer to follow a trend or in search of a new
sound?
— Neither of the two. I started to review the practical results of the
orchestra. We do two international tours a year: one in the winter and
another in the summer, with more than 20 dates each. We have to travel more
than 10 or 12 hours a day by bus, and sometimes held over in an airport up
to six hours because the flight is delayed.
Playing a concert every day for more than two and a half hours is really
tough, especially for the singer who has to sing both the solos and the
choruses. The chorus wears you down more than the solo because they can last
up to ten minutes. However, women have a different range; what is more
comfortable for a woman can be high-pitched for a man.
The choruses of Van Van are distributed among the different voices: the
highest-pitched voice is Mayito´s —the most important singer. He was getting
really hurt with the choruses, but Yeni is very comfortable with them. That
was the first reason.
The second was Team Cuba. When Jose Luis Cortes discovered her and put her
in his line-up, I said to myself, ´This young girl really sings.´ I knew
what she could sing. When she first entered the orchestra, her presence was
questioned by many people, and I would say, ´Take it easy, let people take a
good listen to her first.´
There have not been many female son singers in the history of Cuban music.
Generally, they perform boleros and ballads, with some exceptions such as
Omara Portuondo, Elena Burke and others.
But there have not been as many female soneras with the same inspiration and
ability as male soneros, because of the words used. It is easy for men to
say, ´Mulatona, you´re so sexy.´ For a woman, it´s more difficult to say
that, she has to find another way to improvise. And I think Yeni does it
well.
The other thing was replacing Pedrito Calvo, who, during his last period
with the orchestra, more than a voice was an icon, and replacing that was
not going to be easy. If I would have put in Lele alone, he would have been
immediately compared to Pedrito and people would have completely thrashed
him. Yeni was the one who took the beating instead.
I did it on purpose. I knew they would just focus on the woman and leave him
alone. That was the strategy I used and it worked. Little by little, Yeni
convinced the people and nobody ever criticized Lele. Although he does not
have the same vocal abilities as Pedrito, he has grace and charisma.
Son is in danger
—How would you evaluate the current state of Cuban popular music?
—We aren´t really seeing the changing of the guard when it comes to Cuban
popular music, something that would guarantee its future. It´s not
discernible in any area. Some immigrate; others spend most of their time
performing outside Cuba and lose their link with the public.
There are many problems. One of them is that the musicians don´t receive
salaries. In other words, the orchestra may be without work for X reasons
and we´re not earning anything.
The law of supply and demand also comes into play. I ask for a certain
amount of money and if you are willing to pay me, perfect. But if not,
either I don´t work or I have to accept your conditions. I´ve heard of
musicians who only get paid lunch. We´re in a very serious situation.
So, what some people are doing is going to Cancún, Veracruz or Merida to
perform for a little while. This is bad for Cuban music because people are
looking for long contracts abroad, not just for a few weeks. There have been
people who have been abroad for almost two years. They come, change their
passports, and leave. One sees groups that have a good start and then
disappear from the music scene. It´s not because they left the country, it´s
because they work abroad to survive.
If they´re here, sometimes they can spend up to three months without
performing. We have worked towards defending orchestras with talent to
include them in the larger concerts with the first tier orchestras, which
are indeed the ones that guarantee the turnout.
Record producers, musicians, and singers are gathering together to form a
commission of the Union of Cuban Artists and Writers (UNEAC) to draft a
document with all these concerns.
We´ve explained that the musicians from second tier orchestras should have a
salary, to guarantee they remain in the bands and create new things. If we
keep up as we´re going, we´ll have a crisis similar to the one in the 1960s.
People will want to listen just to foreign music and not ours.
—What has happened to the places where the popular Cuban bands frequently
played?
—They´re practically all gone, although people demand them. The concert
belongs to both the people who go to dance and the orchestra. This close
contact is essential.
Now, there are the Capri and Macumba, which are always crowded. La Tropical
is now used just for rock music. I say, ´This [La Tropical] is the Benny
Moré Hall, of popular music, so let´s use it for that.´ There are other
places more suitable for people to listen to rock and rap. They have warped
what La Tropical means.
There are also EGREM´s Casa de la Música. But the problem is that it´s
pretty hard for people to come up with the $25 (CUC) to get in. You know
what that amount of money represents to a Cuban. There are other places
where small groups can play but they´re being used to present comedians and
recorded music because it is cheaper.
It´s a dangerous situation, because before they know it, we will have lost
many places. Young people do not have a place to go to dance. They go to the
theater one day, but they also want other options. Many will go to the
Malecón to drink rum, and that´s not healthy. They should have affordable
places for the public.
Family, life and dreams
—Have you made incursions into other artistic expressions?
—No, though I like painting and writing. Once I was talking to Miguel
Barnet, and he was telling me, ´I can write a book, but I can´t write
three-minute stories. You do that in a song.´ It´s true, but I would have
liked to have written a book. Maybe I still have time now that I´m not
playing with the orchestra every day.
—Are you married?
—Yes, with the mother of my youngest daughter, who´s a lot younger than me.
We´ve been married for nearly 20 years, the longest marriage I´ve been in.
I see myself as a stable person. I´m not saying I´m a role model or anything
like that, I´ve done horrible things, but you can´t hold regrets. Life takes
you down different paths. If you manage to correct your wrongs on time, you
will make it.
—How has work affected Formell as a husband and a father?
—I´m a complicated father. A musician sometimes has to leave their family
unattended and make them their second priority. That´s not good. I´ve had
many problems, especially with my kids, with misbehaving and
misunderstandings.
One day, we worked it all out, although the final balance is negative
because when the child needed me to be there, I wasn´t. Or I was, but doing
something else. It takes its toll when you get older and realizes the
mistakes you´ve made.
Luckily, in the end, all my children adore me and have forgiven my mistakes.
The oldest, Juan Carlos, is 43. He plays the guitar and lives in New York.
He´s been nominated twice for a Grammy. Samuel is 40 years old. The third
one is Elizabeth, she´s 39 and works with me.
Then there´s Vanesa, who´s 30 and also sings. The youngest one is Paloma,
who studies piano and is 18. I have three grandchildren. In short, I don´t
think I´ve been a bad father, generally speaking, but it hasn´t been easy; I
think this happens to almost all artists.