Leave that trova

There is a lot of talk about Cuban trova, with a label that since Sindo (or before) has been establishing itself, transmuting into a thousand musical hybrids. Endless names have enriched it: some were consecrated, others are known, others passed away, and others do not even exist, consumed by oblivion. But of those there is too much written, too much has been told. I come to talk about those who, still incipient, were called Generation Z by a naive or very optimistic columnist; specifically from Fito del Rio, Carlos Fariñas, Richard Fando, Frank Mitchel and Tobías Alfonso. There will be no presumption here to talk about them as musicians, but about the artists they are or can become. 

These young people have spent some years (some more, others less) solidifying their styles and the fidelity of an audience. They have been able to fill spaces with trovadictos who sing their songs and follow them on any adventure. From the seriousness of the scenarios, passing through the informality of a park and the coldness of social networks, little by little they slipped into the ethos of a generational context that, no matter how much time passes, will not stop enjoying his works.

I have witnessed the evolution of the majority in the last two years or so. I have followed them closely, I have watched them expectantly for what I imagine will be a new variant of the song in Cuba. They lack a lot, but they are a guild that, although born and raised in the hostility of national closures, have made their way, sneaking into their adjacent ones, creating a space of clearing and awareness, sometimes naive, excessively romantic and immature, but , usually magical and wonderful, colored by all the momentum they possess. 

The poet friend Manuel Peláez in text published in The syringe commented on the practice of Ikigai and its four "Essential Questions." These questions create a link between them, managing to focus the view on a specific axis that leads us to the essence of the search, achieved in the contextualization and sense of being at a given moment. This is vital for a creator. The lack of that sense of the notions of their time is the greatest illness that I find in this group of singer-songwriters. Hopefully the experience will help them cure it.

Fito and Tobías, based on experience and work —without underestimating the quality they boast— they have managed to concentrate the “massiveness”. His music is catchy, rhythmic, daring. The melodies are indelible in anyone who listens to them more than once, the harmonies are well padded and the poetry runs with a colloquial seriousness that reaches each listener, in addition to their noble status. They are without a doubt, in terms of popularity, the most successful. 

You have to see how the hundreds of people who follow phyto at their concerts they chant “you have an island inside”. That boy gets excited, enjoys himself, grows up, becomes histrionic and even egotistical, but it's quite a show; I enjoy it very much. Fito has the desire to set standards, to transcend, and that, perhaps, is his biggest mistake. I have felt it too focused on the oneiric of a transcendental and supreme I, dissolving the very essence of his work from the factual and political. Fito is an example of how to find the way, the persistence, the tenacity, the desire, the talent that prevails. That skinny man has managed to sneak into many moons and already has a tremendous responsibility —sometimes I fear that he will lose his imago trying to fulfill it—. It scares me how abusively hoarding he tries to be sometimes. He has already earned his position, perhaps not to the scale he aspires to, but he has it. It owes more to the permanence and the public than to the work itself, and this may be the pinnacle of its faults, as well as its success. Fito is an excellent artist, not a troubadour, not a poet, not a musician, he is a whole. Dismembered it does not arrive, it is concise in each element, that is why it is complete, as a firm and serene whole. One day I caught him in some verses, then in my mother's enjoyment, then in my father's smile, to later have him indelible in the memory of the tears I shed listening to him sing. 

For his part, Tobías hits the guild with every chorus that comes out of his crafty creativity. It crowds less than Fito, but his audience is very loyal and they enjoy it; Tobias is very young, without a doubt he will go far. It has everything a showman accurate: talent, need for attention, overflow and confidence. He is a composer of contemporary daily life, you cannot expect poetic wonder from Tobías, but factual wonder. He is an artist of his time and knows how to reason with it. He jumps, he shouts, he boasts, all that on stage while he sings butterflies, fresh or chat; he knows that they are sticky songs, he conceived them for that, wit and music are plenty. He will have his boom in a sphere that I do not imagine and that he does not know. The years will locate it. 

On the other hand, Fando and Fariñas, who initially came together in a not very productive way, are carving out an aesthetic that is still undercooked, but that smells good. It was very gratifying to meet them on independent paths. Together they were unable to concretize the notions of a speech and changed from a song to an aberrant duet; I had a hard time understanding it. 

Fariñas plays at reinventions and that has him in an interesting colloid state, but he doesn't let him define —beyond his friends and the typical picket line— a seal. Carlos does not have a song that is sung in an overwhelming way by the public, or that triggers exorbitant emotions. This does not underestimate his compositional quality, which has gone in crescendo in recent months, although he continues to run with interpretation burdens, his worst stain. The out of tune and the lack of filling with his musicians and with himself play tricks on him. In it is found the dichotomy of a trajectory without comparisons and a comparison without trajectory. It has some very functional instrumentations but it fails to specify. He dissolves in the very flow of his ideas and then gives birth to one looking at the fine eye next door. He makes creations of tremendous exuberance spring from his genius, only to lose them later due to carelessness or lack of polish. I have faith in Carlitos, especially in his Andean aesthetics, I know that, by working, he will get the marvel that he can become, and thus he will achieve Vertigo its fullness. 

Half crouched in praise and self-complacency, Richard has managed to find himself many times, although he later gets lost, but the mere fact of having found a definition in himself is worthy of a thousand applause. He is guilty of excesses in his work, on the verge of being cryptic, but generally he arrives. I haven't been able to fix the convoluted names of their songs, but there they are, like "shipwrecks that cross the sky", moving. I almost cried the last time I heard him, it was pure feeling, he swallowed his tears not to burst, I saw him sobbing while he sang… it was beautiful, he deserves it. Richard doesn't need a better voice, but he does need to find his own, tame it, know how to accommodate it. (Fito, for example, doesn't sing well, nor does he have a pretty voice, he even goes out of tune a lot, but he knows how to deal with what he has in his throat, and he knew how to turn those precariousness into a hallmark). Fando needs a similar formula, to put aside the excess of chords and the search for virtuosity on the guitar, to focus on finding his voice; after finding it, it will know what harmony should accompany it in the pulses. He is the one who has made the best poetry sprout, but he is lost in nothingness, he does not induce closeness or analysis, he rows and rows uphill in a river without current, it is his turn to redefine. It is also the most melancholic and at the same time the most mocking and dynamic. A precious stone of the song is known, but it needs good sandpaper to be able to shine; for now I continue to enjoy wonders like your theme Moss. 

A Frank Mitchell I have seen it few times. It has the bearing of a song. He appears haughty at first glance, but becomes diaphanous upon interaction. He wears a flowing mane and a lanky fringe as a body. It sounds rocker, interesting, deep. It reminds me of the Argentines. He has the air of an established artist…perhaps he feels that way. His music is the most stylistically successful. He has known how to lubricate the gap between the sponge effect and originality, I don't know if with oils or saliva, but he achieves a well recognizable style. He is pleasant, he enjoys himself, he speaks little. It has a game of hidden pretensions in its paucity of words, perhaps it treasures the mystery. In these immediate times the mystery it is a jewel and he has noticed it. He likes his voice, he likes his musical arrogance, he likes his look "to the watercress", they like their aesthetic nonsense. It's a rock star Frankmi, one who is aware of what he gives, and knows that this is enough. It has an immense musical aura, deep ideas, in braid. It sounds in a thousand ways, many times it is difficult to digest them. I remember him taking eighth notes on the sixth of the guitar, trying to tune, while he talked about the song he was going to play; that was in the courtyard of MATCOM at the University of Havana. He looked sure of what he would do, I didn't see him nervous. Then I found him with his nose turned up too high one day at G; he showed off his most brilliant compositions, it touched me, I loved it; I shut it up Frank Mitchel is very talented, he is a product of his influences and, by transitivity, an exact product for a consumer audience that is not factual, but more romantic; but a tremendous quality product. 

These guys are razor sharp, with a steel blade that doesn't chip and drops of generational blood. They have so much to say that they get crowded, they get crowded. They show their faces a lot in times of face masks, but they are managing to redefine an aesthetic in the song that for decades seemed immovable. They left behind the melancholy of the guitar and are accompanied by a band that works from body to face. However, they need noise, they need to impose, these are times of shouting and hubbub: they cannot sound any lower... They have to sound like the 21st century. 

Names like Kevin Espinoza, Maria Ochoa, Lester Domínguez, Daniel Rodríguez The boyLuis Masferrer the louis, Roberto Reincino, Lucía Poyeaux, among others, are also the architects of all this development.

lester from the drums has given rhythm and drive to most of these singer-songwriters. It has too many colors, nuances of all kinds, as well as superb energy and a waste of light. Kevin is another who, by plucking the steel strings of the electric guitar, has achieved a style, a hallmark, that becomes familiar to anyone who has heard him more than once. Kevin's timbre has beauty, ease, it's hypnotic. El Niño, El Luiso, Reincino and Lucy are a clan of accompaniment, the perfect rearguard and counteroffensive in their respective groups. Maria, the owner of the voices, has worked with most of the incipient musical groups. She has the voice, the creativity and the subtlety, the ideal sensitivity to adapt to the styles and always do an impeccable job in the vocal harmonic mattress of the choirs. 

Illusive one who thought of the contemporary song as a replica of the one he used to harmonize in the past. This generation that undresses us today knows that it owns a different reality, more daring and in tune with what surrounds it, and stains it in its songs. They have achieved "leave the trova that” that permeated us for decades, to know autonomous, authentic. They still have a long way to go, but even failure is enjoyed. While I will continue to observe, listen and give my opinion.