Adriana Orejuela and the gifts of the search

Although I was born in Bogotá, I feel more Cali than Bogota, because my family, both maternal and paternal, is from Cali. My cultural customs respond, without a doubt, to the Cali tradition. And although Cali does not belong to the Caribbean, its warm climate and the presence of a black population from nearby cities on the Pacific coast give it a cheerful, carefree and noisy character, which contrasts with the cold of Bogotá and the way of being “inside” of the people of the capital. Precisely the fact that my family is from Cali has a lot to do with my early approach to music. Through the ports of Barranquilla and Buenaventura, not only Cuban music began to enter, but also American music. Buenaventura is two hours from Cali, so my great-aunts danced porros, sones, guarachas, danzones and congas. Those great-aunts taught my aunts and, by the time I was born, at home there was an appreciable collection of Cuban music, salsa and jazz. Actually, my mother's family has traditionally liked dancing and gatherings with friends, as well as leaning towards art and culture, all of which in the 60s couldn't help but go hand in hand with a left stance. My father, for his part, collected jazz and classical music. 

Colombia is an absolutely radial country. Like brushing your teeth once you wake up, most Colombians turn on the radio to tune in to the morning news, because despite the perverse bias with which they handle information, it cannot be denied that they are impeccable in workmanship, amenity and dynamism. It is a very modern and attractive radio. And an interesting phenomenon in Colombia is the existence of an excellent university radio. Precisely César Pagano invited me to his program Conversation in bolero time, at 91.9, from the Javeriana University. In addition, in Bogotá and other cities in the country there are several university stations with non-commercial music in their programming, which is wonderful, because they manage to surprise the listener with unknown and very interesting musical proposals. 

I began to study Philosophy and Letters, but I made the crass mistake of abandoning the degree almost when it was over. I combined my studies with being a salsa DJ and I really liked it, but I realized that I needed something more. One day, on an institutional channel, I saw a Cuban program in which María Teresa Linares participated, who was identified as a musicologist, a specialty that could be studied in Cuba, and at that moment my desire to come arose, but at that moment it was about something unattainable. Years later, in 1988, I traveled to Havana for the first time and knew immediately that I wanted to live here. On the second day of my stay, “concurrent chance” made me arrive at Uneac, and there I met Helio Orovio, with whom I had a long conversation that amazed me. Everything was new, everything was lovely! That day at the Hurón Azul there were also José Antonio Méndez, Pello El Afrokán and Evelio Landa, composer of the Fania identification theme, for which he did not receive a single cent. Then I was fully aware of how the salsa records, full of Cuban compositions that appeared with a brief DR, hid the authorship of flesh and blood composers, who lived on the Island, from where I left with a restlessness that little by little I would acquire a definite shape. Already in 1989 I decided to return to Cuba to investigate what happened with popular dance music after 1959. 

The girl Adriana Orejuela. Photo: Taken from social networks.

I was not very clear about how to do it and the idea of studying Musicology was dismissed when I learned that it was necessary to study elementary and intermediate level music beforehand. In other words, at the age of 24 I was expecting a decade and a half of studies, which was unfeasible, both because of my late age to do so, and because of the time. So, I joined the advisory program of the Center for Research and Development of Cuban Music (Cidmuc), and there I presented the research project to the musicologist Olavo Alén. I will never forget that I had planned to start interviewing musicians left and right. I had been listening to music for a long time and I thought I knew them all. But Olavo told me, very politely, that the first step was to read what had been written about it and use a broad-based bibliography to then carry out interviews. 

the idea of doing The son did not leave Cuba arose from several events: first, it was decisive to listen to what was happening musically in Cuba in the 1980s, thanks to Gary Domínguez, owner of La Taberna Latina, from Cali, who when no one traveled to Havana decided to come and take back boxes full of records and wonder. He held auditions at his place and one day he scheduled an unknown group called Irakere. There I heard for the first time Misa Negra and the Adage, and I was puzzled. César Pagano would do the same in Bogotá, at the famous bar El Goce Pagano, where a whole generation discovered Los Van Van, Son 14, Afrocuba and even El Guayabero. The truth is that we had not the slightest idea of what was happening inside Cuba, musically speaking, and that new sound was very interesting, very refreshing, very good. Just at that time, salsa was losing strength and the phenomenon of the salsa ballad began, and with it that of the cute singer on stage, who came to occupy the foreground, when before the important thing was the orchestra. Piano, bass or percussion solos also disappeared... in short, the neighborhood's salsa brava sweetened and, luckily for many salseros, the new Cuban music arrived to continue enjoying. 

Secondly, I discovered that the available bibliography referred only to Cuban music before 1959, opening a great mystery about what happened afterwards; then, I already said it, coming to Havana was key not only because of the musicians I met, but also because I fell in love with the city. 

To approach the investigation, I began a process of reading a bibliography unknown to me, and I found the core work of Fernando Ortiz, which was essential to understand various aspects concerning not only music, but Cuban society. The wit, by Manuel Moreno Fraginals, was another of the books that I will never be grateful enough to have read because, without referring directly to music, it explained to me the economic interests that caused the close relationship between the southern United States and the sugar producers of the Isla, and the church-mill clash at the end of the 18th century, which ended the religious indoctrination of blacks on the big plantations and allowed them some flexibility in beating their drums. Both events necessarily affected the music. On the other hand, reading Leonardo Acosta's essays on music was a revelation due to the wealth of information, the pleasantness of his writing, the originality of his concepts, as well as the seriousness and rigor with which he approached the issues. Of course, I studied Argeliers León, Danilo Orozco and other musicologists, after which I set out to interview, then yes, the musicians. 

Adriana Orejuela with Memo Bejarano and Leonardo Acosta. Photo: Taken from social networks.

I was not very aware of it, but as the investigation progressed I became aware of my tendency to be obsessive about details. That is to say, I wanted to know exactly what happened in music year after year and month after month, and those details, unfortunately, the testimony of the musicians could not offer me. Why were they important to me? I think because I was not born in Cuba, nor was I a musicologist, which posed a great challenge for me. It was clear to him that the legitimacy of the investigation meant presenting hardly irrefutable data and the demonstration of the postulate of the book's title, in itself, required the search for as much information as possible. So, I directed my steps to the National Library and began the delicious task of delving into the daily press and the weekly magazines that told me, day by day, what was happening; while turning the pages of Revolution, The world, Today, the crucible or Bohemia, the approximate atmosphere of the time was drawing little by little in my head, without having lived it. Of course it was impossible to just refer to the cultural page, dealing with a time as interesting as the beginning of the Revolution, so I ended up reading editorials, laws and columns that gave an account of that period. 

I must say that I copied all the information by hand in numerous notebooks that I keep, since the resource of making photocopies was unattainable for my squalid pocket. Many times, when faced with true treasures such as the series of articles written by Luis Yáñez on filin, in Revolution, I had no other choice but to transcribe them completely verbatim. Every time he started the investigation of a specific year, he put together a file where he put the source in one column and the months of the year in another. So I can say, without false modesty, that for the collection of information for each of the years that includes The son did not leave Cuba I consulted several newspapers and weekly magazines month by month and day by day, which generated a considerable volume of data, in addition to some 60 interviews with musicians and specialists.

 Nor could I fail to mention how much my assiduous visits to the Pogolotti neighborhood in Marianao contributed to the understanding of the phenomenon of popular Cuban dance music, where the touches of saint and stick were frequent, not to mention the Abakuá plant of Barondó and the Cabildo Arará, then led by Ofelia Bonilla. I remember that the blackouts of the Special Period were enlivened with cajon rumba, and there was no day when the music was not the subject of bitter debate among the neighbors, who took the matter seriously and, moreover, knew very well what they were talking about. . It was not be for lowerly. It was nothing less than the dancers from the Salón Rosado de La Tropical, better known as “the thermometer of popularity”. An orchestra that did not make the crowds dance at La Tropical could say goodbye to success and, as I am a party animal, I also became almost part of the decoration of that dance hall during the early 90s, the golden age of timba, when in a single day Los Van Van and La Revé played, for example.

How long did it take me to write it? Well, I want to tell you that many did not believe that the book would materialize, because more than 10 years passed, and I would be lying if I say that I was working all that time. The truth is that "living Havana" took me a long time, because I was young, restless, infatuated and bohemian. In addition, I was trying to survive and although apparently all this conspired against writing, I am sure that without those experiences the book would be different. In truth, when I already felt that I had all the necessary information, it took me eight months to write it. 

That was my method and I feel satisfied because it is a job that had not been done before in that way. Academics have criticized the book's lack of dialogue with the most current theories in Cultural Studies, but I really wanted to write the "basic" document, which I would have liked to find when I arrived in Havana on Cuban popular music after 1959 For this reason, the subtitle makes it very clear that it is about “keys to a story”. I did not want to make a book written "in difficult" for a few specialists, but a transparent volume for all readers. As for my purpose in writing it, it was none other than to unravel what happened and precisely to try to shed light on a period about which so little has been written and so much speculated. I wanted to know what had sounded in Cuba during those first years of the Revolution, a moment that several writings defined as a continuation or extension of the previous stage, as if a phenomenon as shocking as a social revolution had not changed anything, when it turns out that it changed everything . On the 13th day of January 1, 1959, the assembled intellectuals already outlined a different cultural policy. Works by Roldán and Caturla were premiered, popular music entered the theater scene and we could continue with a very long etcetera. 

It's hard to tell you what I think the book contributed to the knowledge of Cuban musical history. I think that should be said by those who have read it. And to be honest, my inexperience in the investigative practice led me to think that I could take the study until the emergence of timba, but I soon realized that with the chosen method I would never finish, and I shortened the period . However, I have enough material to continue it. 

I confess with all honesty that, if there is something that gives me great pleasure, it is digging into history and diving into it. It makes me indescribably happy. This feature is positive when it comes to delivering a result, but there is a huge risk of not putting an end to the search. The point is that as you delve into a topic it becomes increasingly clear how much is unknown. It is like an abyss. There will always be a universe to investigate and that sensation produces a certain vertigo and anguish. In any case, without rigor there is no credibility, nor findings, which is the fundamental substance of research. “I know I won't know it, but the eventual gifts of the search await me, / Not the wisely unattainable fruit. / The same will be felt by those who investigate the stars or the series of numbers”, Borges wrote in a beautiful poem dedicated to Iceland, which speaks about his limited scope in the study of Icelandic, an infinite undertaking that he was sure he would never be able to grasp. The "possible gifts of the search" are the exquisite reward of the researchers, before the certainty of the abyss. 

Adriana Orejuela with René Espí and Sigfredo Ariel. Photo: Taken from social networks.

***

As far as Cuba is concerned, I have a theory regarding the collecting of records, magazines and objects related to music. Although there have been great collectors here, it is undeniable that the most important are outside the Island, perhaps because here music is a living fact and in constant movement. Collecting music is, in a way, an act of nostalgia. But when you go through the streets of Santiago de Cuba and in the Plaza Dolores you come across Almenares playing light that does not shine or you spend Tuesday afternoon at the Palacio de la Rumba, in Trillo Park, and see the Septeto Habanero in top form, it's different. Music is an everyday occurrence. Nor can we lose sight of the cost of the records and the priorities of the majority of Cubans. I met Neno, a formidable collector of 78 rpm records who kept real gems. Rafael, in Neptune, sells wonders and the buyers are mostly foreigners. However, recently in the courtyard of the Egrem, Jorge Rodríguez has summoned a very interesting group of young collectors, who meet once a month and hold auditions. 

In Cuba I know Renecito Espí, son of Roberto Espí, the director of the famous Casino Complex. He is a great collector. I also met Manuel Villar. Sigfredo Ariel owns music jewels, although not in the original medium (new technologies have brought with them another type of collecting). Outside of Cuba, for me, Cristóbal Díaz Ayala is in the first place, not only because of his enormous collection, but also because his work on Cuban music, and especially that related to discography, is essential. There is Gladys Palmera, of course, and countless collectors, such as Isidoro Corkidi, in Cali.

In Colombia there has been a very robust phenomenon of collectors for decades. In the popular neighborhoods of Cali; In the most unexpected neighborhood store in Santa Helena or Junín, it is possible to sit down and listen to Cuban and Puerto Rican music from the 40s and 50s, and even before those decades. 

My dear friend Gary Domínguez has dedicated himself to uniting this movement and organizes every year, within the framework of the Cali Fair, the Meeting of Music Lovers and Collectors, which is, without a doubt, the best thing about that party; and collectors from all over the country go. I believe that Colombia plays an important role in preserving the memory of recorded Cuban music, but as I said before, it also seems to me that Cuba is fundamentally responsible for keeping that heritage alive, because the roots are found here. 

The policy of subsidizing groups that carry heritage expressions such as the oriental organ, the French tomb, changüí and nengón groups, etc., is very important, since it is almost certain that otherwise they would disappear. Despite all that musicians lament over the many shortcomings of this policy, fundamentally related to bureaucracy and available resources, in any case, it is key to the conservation of some expressions. In many Granma towns, such as Pilón, Guisa, Niquero, Campechuela or Cauto Embarcadero, organ groups are subsidized, some of them made up of children, who learn from their elders. The son, danzón, rumba or bolero festivals also contribute. Therefore, I think that Cuba is the main guarantor of maintaining the tradition. She is the main sufferer. 

As for the knowledge by young people of Cuban popular music, without trying to downplay the magnitude of the problem, it is necessary to note that it is not a new phenomenon. in his book The music in Cuba, Alejo Carpentier recalled how the growing popularity of the son in Havana, around 1920, turned out to be a blessing, since the youth of the time were captivated by the fox and other foreign genres. In 1956, an article about Boloña gave an account of the oblivion in which the legendary sonero found himself. It is not difficult to imagine that in the 1950s, at the height of the mambo and cha cha chá, surely few young people would like to dance with a septet, such as El Nacional or El Habanero. 

You will remember that Juan Formell, in the 1960s, was upset because young people did not want to hear anything that sounded Cuban and he set out to solve the dilemma. Now, in the case of such a transcendental expression, not only for Cuban culture, but also for Latin America and the Caribbean, without a doubt there are no truly effective multiplatform communication strategies that hit the nail on the head so that Cubans, here and there, feel identified and proud with their colossal musical tradition. Rebel Memories, a program led for years by the late Manuel Villar and now directed by Gaspar Marrero on Radio Rebelde, is the best possible way to start a Sunday, but very few of us listen to it. I think the style of the librettist who writes the show and the nice-voiced female announcer who reads the script is a bit old fashioned and impersonal. The one who writes is the one who knows and can transmit the emotion, regardless of whether he has a beautiful voice. In short, I believe that the era of social networks imposes a transformation in the message and in the way of transmitting it.

It cannot be overlooked that decades passed before news was heard in Colombia about the existence of Los Van Van or Son 14, to name just two groups, and that happened in a country historically a born receiver of said sonority. Moreover, the island's musical production, except for a few phenomena such as the Buena Vista Social Club, has been tendentiously ignored by the cultural industry, which sets the tone at the hemispheric level. It was the pressure of the neighborhood music lovers, and nothing else, that made it possible for one or two pieces by Los Van Van to sneak into commercial radio in Cali. There was a nice phenomenon in reverse. That is, from bottom to top. But that has never happened in Bogotá or Medellín. They have stolen from us the possibility of accessing that magnificent sound flow produced by Cuba for decades!

 For example, I lived in Venezuela for nine years — between 2006 and 2015— and on commercial radio I never heard a piece about contemporary Cuba. Without a doubt, there is a fence around Cuban music in the great music distribution circuits and that cannot be positive. 

The impact on musical creation can be seen in various ways. On the one hand, once the difficulties involved in accessing a studio were overcome, Cuban musicians have been able to record their proposals without paying attention to the type of parameters imposed by music producers, who work for commercial record companies, always so "concerned" about not complicate the life of the listener with complex or highly elaborate sonorities. Everything must be very Light, don't give the poor listener for fattening the mind and spirit, that's not what it's about, but quite the opposite. This has made possible the recording of a few masterpieces that would hardly have seen the light of day in another context. 

Adriana Orejuela. Photo: René Espí.

***

You ask me about the rise of reggaeton in Cuba and the answer worries me. Already in 2006, before leaving for Venezuela, the subject had been the subject of a meeting of artists and intellectuals at Uneac. According to what they tell me, someone said that it was a CIA invention to put an end to Cuban music (sic) and Formell claimed that he had gotten away with worse things. The point is that the tide does not go out and everything indicates that it is not a passing fad. It seems to me that the phenomenon deserves a very serious and multidisciplinary analysis. Even, to detect which springs it touches in young people and in those who are not so young. What do we really know about this generation? I am almost certain that we do not know everything. How much have your consumption habits changed? What are the effects of access to information channels —to trasmano or whatever— of an avalanche of content that was not available to other generations, that only had public TV and some movie on Betamax or VHS? What guidance do they receive at home or from their teachers, often young, exposed like them to the same avalanche of content? Why do adolescents consent to dance to music that denigrates them? I don't have the answer and I would like to understand why in a country that has reached high levels of elaboration in popular dance music, we are currently witnessing poverty and a truly astonishing lack of creative ingenuity. There is no risk, there is no daring, there is no search. I am referring to the strictly musical aspect, which can be measured almost with scientific rigor according to harmony, melody, etc. 

On the other hand, I perceive that there is concern in the world of culture and in that sense television programs of great popular acceptance, such as Playing in Cuba, They try to attract the attention of young people to the music of the country and they succeed, because the format of reality it is correct and has to do with current language, but it is not enough to contain the phenomenon. And I think it's not just about its rise in Cuba and Florida. Reggaeton is widely consumed in Colombia, Venezuela, the Dominican Republic, Panama and other countries that I have had the opportunity to visit. It is necessary, I reiterate, a far-reaching analysis. I want to refer to the documentary Before the Music Dies, in which Eric Clapton says such scary things as if Stevie Wonder or Ray Charles had emerged in this era, they wouldn't have had the slightest chance to make music because of their physical appearance. I recommend this documentary that scares and at the same time discovers how the musical offer that is broadcast in the commercial media has been impoverished, in a premeditated way. What I am trying to say is that it is not a problem exclusive to Cuba, and even less now in this global era and planetary interconnection, where the cultural industry has so much weight and scope. Cuba is in the world. 

About music, which despite everything remains valid in the repertoire of young people, I feel that little is said about the enormous roots of the rumba, at least in Havana. I love to see how the places where rumba is played are filled with young musicians and very good guaguancó and columbia dancers. Jazz continues to be the music of musicians and music lovers, and in that sense, that search continues on the part of recent school graduates, eager to demonstrate their skills. For their part, there are legions of new troubadours, but many are unaware that the guitar is an instrument with enormous interpretive possibilities. 

***

Finally, and without falling into the idea that all past times were better, I'll tell you that recently I had the courage to finally throw my cassettes, some of which had been with me since I was a teenager, in the trash. With amazement and gratitude I discovered in those museum pieces the fashionable music that we had at hand in the 80s and 90s. I am referring to the one that was heard on the radio and bought at the corner record store: Serrat, Mercedes Sosa Earth Wind and Fire, Commodors, Rubén Blades y los Seis del Solar, Aretha Franklin, Elis Regina, Toquinho, Michael Jackson, Barry Manilow, Willie Colón, Héctor Lavoe, Celia Cruz, Barry White, Donna Summer, Johny Pacheco, Diana Ross, the Mulenze Orchestra, Free Ensemble, Quincy Jones, Caetano Veloso, Maria Betania, Fania All Stars, Billy Joel, Oscar de León, Sonora Ponceña, Gran Combo de Puerto Rico, Charlie García, Supertramp, Juan Luis Guerra, Fleetwood Mac, Experimental Ensemble New York, Pink Floyd, Boy George, Fito Páez, Willie Rosario, Bobby Valentín, Sergio Méndez, María Creuza, Susana Rinaldi, Alcione, Horacio Guarany, Eddie Palmiery, Cool and the Gang, Les Luthiers, George Benson, Stevie Wonder and etc… Everything like in a pharmacy! It is obvious that the fashion offer was quite varied and of high quality. So I kept thinking how lucky I was.

It is difficult to answer which Cuban music I prefer to listen to because everything depends on the moment. On Sunday mornings I love the boleros sung by Roberto Faz, Benny Moré or Elena Burke. When I have a good accomplice, I use the New Ritmo danzones of the Orquesta de Arcaño, many of which I would place at the highest peak of Cuban music, both for their melodic beauty, harmonic complexity, perfection in interpretation and delicacy. , as for its endless tastiness. Jesús López's piano and Ulpiano Díaz's timpani deserve to be listened to a thousand and one nights. Arsenio Rodríguez and the Conjunto Chappottín are also among my favourites, because that strong and compact sound makes me shudder. I never get tired of listening to the Trio Matamoros. Siro's second is something that moves me deeply and mystical claim It is one of the pieces that I like the most in the whole universe. The work of Silvio and Pablo will also accompany me forever. 

Adriana Orejuela with Juan Formell and Gary Domínguez. Photo: Taken from social networks.

I cannot fail to mention Pérez Prado when he played at the Casino de la Playa and Cascarita sang The last night, in an unbeatable version, in addition to what a jerk and other jewelry. But if something gives me infinite joy, it is the music of Los Van Van. I am an inveterate vavanna, to the point that when Formell died I received several messages from my close friends sympathizing with my grief. Even my mother called me in Caracas, sorry. She knew everything. The truth is that when I feel sad, I have two remedies: I read Don Quijote of La Mancha, which makes me die of tenderness and laughter, or I put on a Los Van Van album. 

I believe, or want to believe, that the enormous samples of creativity offered by Cubans throughout their rich musical history should at some point produce a push forward. Where? I do not know. I only know that it must be forward. I think of the hundreds of young people who are currently studying music in schools and who have an excellent level of training, and I think of them with hope.

*The original version of this interview appeared under the title “Adriana Orejuela, an author who lives Cuban music” in the book All for the love of Cuban music, Amazon Publishing, 2020.