20 years of a party: Habana Abierta at La Tropical

To Ileana Alonso, in memoriam

It has been 20 years since Habana Abierta performed for the first time before the public of the capital, on the night of January 12, 2003. The Salón Rosado de La Tropical, a usual bastion of the timba movement and only rarely open to other music, was packed with an audience (no one knows for sure how many attended) eager for their songs, especially those from their second album 24 horas (BMG, 1999), which became a resounding success at the underground national.  

Vanito Caballero, José Luis Medina, Alejandro Gutiérrez, Boris Larramendi, Kelvis Ochoa and Pepe del Valle made up the lineup responsible for the album, when Andy Villalón and Luis Barbería opted to leave the group after the initial CD, Habana Abierta. Emphasizing the collaborations, more than the individual composition, and even though later its protagonists took some of the merit away from it, 24 horas marked a before and after for the Cuban fin-de-siècle song and, by far, was one of the most influential works in a large part of the new century.   

The explosive fusion of rock, funk, hip hop, national genres (from guaracha to bolero) and global rhythms, caught most people off base. Even those of us who had been following them since the days of 13 y 8, and through their later group experiences in Havana at night in the early 90s (Lucha Almada, Cuatro Gatos, Debajo, Goma Loca), came across a creative maturity that gave shape to some of their best fruits. They broke away from the "troubadour" as a scheme, to open up to a growing number of references that embraced North American grunge, Argentine rock, flamenco palos, Brazilian rhythmic music, the most unprejudiced singer-songwriter songs and (why not?) the thrust of the timba criolla.

Some of us stubborn people had dedicated ourselves to its promotion on the radio and in the written press, but the album, which, like the previous one, had no formal internal circulation in Cuba, passed from hand to hand, on analog cassettes or digital copies. It was played in diverse environments, and many made it their own in the most direct way: they learned it by heart. The proof was that night. 

In fact, everything had started a few days before, without forgetting the months of previous coordination, meetings, requests for permits, races, uncertainties and last minute confirmations. Already on home soil since the end of December 2002, Kelvis, Medina, Vanito and Athanai joined the Interactivo group to make their debut at the Cojímar beach, inaugurating January. A week later Vanito took over the Covarrubias hall, again with Robertico Carcassés' band, for the first of successive individual concerts that functioned as a sort of warm-up. He was followed by Medina and Alejandro in the intimacy of the salita de Bellas Artes; Kelvis, the next day, at Casa de las Américas, and Boris (with his band Los Frikis), also at the Covarrubias, closed the series on the eve of the big event at La Tropical. 

Habana Abierta at 23rd and L. Photo: Elsita Lafuente.

The night of January 12, more than a concert, it was a party. Untidy, combining rehearsals and improvisation, it had everything. Emotion and communication in abundance, together with off-key performances and mistakes tinged with laughter; a lot of chaos and a lot of euphoria. Too much joy contained in the heart, it was a bittersweet fun that, for a little more than two hours, allowed us to leave aside the sparrow, apathy and nostalgia. 

On stage, Vanito, Boris, Medina, Ale, Kelvis and Athanai (who made up for Pepe del Valle's absence) alternated with an eclectic gathering of friends (David Torrens, Rochy, Gunilla, Gerardo Alfonso, Juan Carlos Piñol, Diego Cano). Even Santiago Feliú could be seen in the back, while the changing Interactivo team (once again) provided the instrumentation, sometimes on the fly.

The repertoire favored material from 24 horas (nine of their 13 pieces) along with songs by each of them separately. A torrid mixture of premieres and others already known that could be traced back to the Rockason which was featured on Lucha Almada's only album. Seventh sky (Athanai), You ask me (Kelvis), I am not to blame (Boris), Chocolate with churros (Alexander), Love machine (Medina) and Havana in full color (Vanito) turned the audience upside down. Voices hoarse from the emotions of the reunion, and the shared saturation of early mornings, alcohol, cigarettes, anecdotes, this, that and the other. The perfect farewell with the classic Chirrín chirrán by Los Van Van was the apotheosis, although nobody wanted the show to end.  

A parenthesis: I remember that, while I was playing Divine scriptAt the moment when I don't know how many thousands of throats shouted the now famous phrase "Habana Abierta te lo trae..." and the word (which begins with "pin" and ends with "ga"), two policemen who were at the back of the hall, chatting nonchalantly, stood up, alert, looking everywhere and foreseeing that a disaster would occur. When they saw that nothing was happening, and the revelry continued, perhaps they thought they had misheard and resumed their interrupted chatter. 

That night Habana Abierta gave us back a piece of everyone's country, which they had carried with them when they moved to Madrid, and which they now brought back from the other side of the Atlantic. A territory where María Teresa Vera, Nirvana, Bola de Nieve, Joaquín Sabina, Pearl Jam, Spinetta, Silvio and Pablo, Led Zeppelin, Tracy Chapman, Caetano, The Beatles and Los Reyes 73 exchanged ideas and sat down together to compose. Apart from the logical cultural debt, their sound had little to do with that of previous generations, nor with that of the one that followed, chronologically speaking. However, their unmistakable influence spread throughout the island. 

Habana Abierta concert at La Tropical, in 2003. Photo: Elsita Lafuente.

It is often said that they made trova dance, which is not exactly so. There was a segment of the MNT that had already ventured into that field, as attested by the work of Manguaré, Moncada and Mayohuacán, among others. In any case, the contribution of Habana Abierta was rather conceptual, the consolidation of a style without ties, like an embrace between NG La Banda and Pedro Luis Ferrer. 

A playful rush for the body, and texts that, between metaphor, stark irony and street language, laid bare affinities, questionings, yearnings, doubts and grumblings. Within the seemingly continuous invitation to the pachanga, nested a deep portrait of generational skirmishes in a country in precarious balance between dissent and commitment, dreams too long hidden and hopes screwed to an increasingly elusive future.   

However, not everyone surrendered to its spell. Just as there were timberos taking note of what they thought was a formula for success, there were also watchful eyes and ears to make sure the lyrics and attitudes did not get out of control. On the other hand, there were the extreme ones who were careful to ignore what was happening with their music. Metalheads for whom there was not enough rock, and troubadours for whom there was not enough trova. 

Pichi Perugorría and Arturo Soto captured the effervescence of those days in a documentary that included that final concert. Audiovisual history that should be reviewed from time to time, and reflect on what has been gained and lost on the long road to today.     

Since then, 20 convulsive, stimulating and heartbreaking years have passed. Perhaps it is a long time, in spite of Gardel's recurrent statement. But if you walk along 41st Avenue, approach the long wall outside the Salón Rosado, and sharpen your ear, you can still hear the echoes of the hullabaloo. To a large extent, a little piece of all of us, the survivors, stayed forever inside.