Cuban metal: the scene that is leaving us

The cancellation of the metal concert that should have taken place on Saturday, January 21 at the Maxim Rock and the repeated inactivity of the hall in recent months are worrying signs of the collapse of that space as a flagship of the genre in Cuba and of a crisis in the scene that is not limited to the capital.

Founded in 2007, Agencia Cubana de Rock represented an oasis for the geeks of the time, which, after the abrupt closing of the Patio de Maria (2003), seemed to have found its place in the old cinema of Bruzon and Ayestaran. But 15 years after that event, the limited scope to Havana, the lack of autonomy, little or no economic profitability, technological and supply problems, an outdated catalog, insufficient promotion and bureaucracy have contributed to a loss of appeal and legitimacy, accentuating the increasingly palpable gap between audiences and official cultural institutions.

It is interesting, however, the fact that in the worst moments of the economic crisis and the migratory flow, Cuban rock and metal production is experiencing a renaissance in quantitative terms. Also, that this awakening occurs in the face of the indifference of companies and related entities, in some cases, and a more or less explicit rejection, in others; perhaps as a sign that this music was not born to be tied to institutional corsets or to abide by rules alien to its essence. 

Photo: Junior Hernández Castro.

The new crop of bands -among which we could mention Orphan Autopsy, Engorgement, Hrafsnmerki, Purulent Fluid, Lugus and Black Bullet- and some other veterans, have found greater shelter in independent or self-managed spaces, with less capacity (Jazz Café in Miramar or Bar Doble A, for example); and, although some of them continue to perform at Maxim Rock, the signals from that venue are not at all positive. One of the reasons, perhaps, why this is happening is due to the reduced number of professional bands in the Agency and the very mechanism established by the Ministry of Culture (Mincult) for a band to reach that status. Right now, with the end of Switch and TrendKill's career, the departure of Tendencia*, Treatment Choice and Kamankola, the reforms in Saloma and Combat Noise, and the concentration of Congregation and From the Abyss in their respective peñas, almost nobody can (or wants to) play.

As professional bands are the only ones authorized to headline a bill and charge for it, and as the offer is reduced to a handful of groups -not always with an attractive proposal or aesthetics- common sense indicates that they should not perform so regularly, as it would generate a repetitive spiral, which would accentuate the (already depleted) influx of interested public. 

The opposite, however, seems to happen with electronic music, rap or events that merge modern metal with otaku culture, the latter, led by Darkness Fall: they are profitable to the institution and followed by many young people, although they generate rejection among the most orthodox geeks, for whom such acts distort the essence of the space.

Something similar happened during 2022 at the Submarino Amarillo cultural center, when several attendees demanded the cancellation of non-rock activities. Further back in time, specifically in 2013, the musicians of the Agency itself maintained a confrontation with the then director, Blanca Recodé, for the use of the space for other musical genres to the detriment of metal bands. In both episodes, the defense of artists and public prevailed, but in the long run, if it is about venues that must bill and do not always do so with their target audience, I do not think it is illegitimate for them to seek other ways, since lights, sound, supplies and other expenses are not paid for themselves. And, although it hurts to admit it, it is these events that often keep the nights dedicated to metal more or less alive.

A possible way out for the Agency, in the interest of improving its public image and gaining diversity, could be the incorporation of some amateur groups into the catalog; but between time-in-service requirements, meager budgets, authorizations from Mincult, auditions that can take time, papers that come and go, instability of band members and delays in payment, the situation is complicated and interest diminishes.

Meanwhile, the decrease of the public seems to be a trend in the capital, while a good part of the provinces live between increasingly scarce spaces and events that are canceled due to budget cuts or lack of interest. Not only those who have emigrated from Cuba or have stopped consuming that music are absent, but also those who remain on the sidelines due to apathy, prejudice, lack of knowledge, economic and transportation problems, or because, in terms of aesthetics and quality, what is produced here is not always attractive or comparable to international references.

Photo: Junior Hernández Castro.

A few days ago, a musician friend of mine sadly told me that the Cuban scene "is not dying, it is leaving". Another, a bookseller who does live in Cuba, commented that while some are leaving, many are still here, and the gaps left by some groups will be filled by others. Both have a point.

This will not be the first time that Cuban metal suffers the ravages of the economic crisis or migration (in fact, it has faced them almost permanently). But this time, perhaps as never before, pessimism predominates. If the onslaught of the 90s demonstrated the strength of the genre and the unconditional support of a militant public, the current scenario shows a new wave of bands trying to survive in a country with shortages and a world where rock and metal have lost ground.

At the same time, I have the impression that more and more young people are embracing the genre as a cultural product, but they do not assimilate the ideology or the way of life in the same way as the geeks of two decades ago. For them, those who lived through the awakening of metal in Cuba, being a metalhead was more a matter of attitude than talent: do what you could with what you had, even if it sounded crude. But that stance, logical in a context of precariousness and at a time when sounding "dirty" and "dirty" was more than a matter of attitude.undergroundThe "band" was almost synonymous, it doesn't seem to appeal at all to the new generations. The world has changed, bands have changed with it and the interests of 30 years ago do not necessarily coincide with those of today.

Cuban rock in general and metal, in particular, have demonstrated their resilience for decades, and I believe that even in the downturn, there will always be someone willing to create a band and many others willing to support it. I wish, however, that resisting the extreme would cease to be the rule and we could create a future of aspiration, not despair. Because even when the majority of the genre's creators do not even aspire to make a living from their creations, the love for art or the will to do is not always enough, when scarcity, bitter drinks and closed minds abound.

Whoever wants to play, may play; whoever wants to get paid, may do so; whoever wants to make a label, may do so; whoever wants to become a member, may do so as well. That if there are companies, they contribute. That if there are agencies, they should have autonomy. That we do not have to wait for everything and that prejudices do not stop changes. Hopefully, in the near future, the obstacles will be fewer and the doors will be more; that the public will support, the bands will improve and we will open ourselves to the world; that the work will be joint and there will be opportunities. Let's see if the scene that today is leaving, stays with us, or at least, leaves less...


* Although Tendencia officially belonged to the Miguelito Cuní Company of Pinar del Río, it performed regularly at Maxim Rock.