Daymé Arocena: "Life is too short to always be in the same place"

It's awkward to interview someone through screen. If, in addition, the camera of your laptop points directly at a sun entrance, there is a very heavy backlight that prevents you from seeing the face, the gestures, the expressions, the laughs. Even so, my conversation with the Afro-Cuban singer, songwriter, producer, video-maker and activist Daymé Arocena lasts almost two hours. His sincerity, eloquence and personal grace make me forget about that piece of Puerto Rican sun that, crossing the ether, gets into my eyes. 

I always liked Canada, since the first time I was in 2013; I went several times afterwards. It has a very nice development in many social aspects, in general it is very ahead. I like that its main cities are totally cosmopolitan, in them you can see the world; you go to parties and it is rare that there is any nationality that is repeated, there are people of a lot of nationalities sharing in the same space and most of them are natives of there, children of generations of immigrants; and they all blend seamlessly. They are respectful, very polite people, in general. Many times I thought that if I emigrated, that would be a good destination, a country with all the conditions to live, raise a family, have children... I have visited many countries and I felt that Canada was the right country to establish a base now. Life is too short to always be in the same place. 

But, of course, emigrating is not easy or in the best of circumstances. It is a very responsible and adult decision because it entails a series of psychological processes, of reintegration into a foreign culture. You have to adapt not only to another culture but also to a series of routines and behaviors that are completely new to Cubans, such as handling credit cards. On the other hand, I was not aware of how much I needed the sun, the smile of the people. In Toronto the neighbors don't get along with you, they don't make friends easily; and not for nothing, but it is not their culture. In this case I am not alone, I am with Pablo, my husband, but whoever is left alone lives a traumatic process; he is never the same person again. There is a stage in which you do not feel the place you left or the place where you are. It's like being in a space random… No, emigrating is not a walk, it is not traveling for tourism or going on tour. It's hard. 

When I made the decision to settle in Canada, my album had only been out for a short time. Sonocardiograma (Brownswood Recordings, 2019), which is a very important album for me for several reasons, one of them being the important role that the musicians of my band assumed in it. It is an album that I love very much but that I feel like a child who was born sick… We had barely begun to defend it, when everything was paralyzed by the pandemic. It has been very difficult to pause that musical relationship I had with them, that desire to sing and make music together on stages around the world, but sometimes life decides for one. 

Away from home, alone in Toronto with my husband, new ways of communicating with people began to appear, beyond singing: hosting a radio program for Worldwide FM in the United Kingdom, making audiovisuals with Pablo... and there The idea of ALAFIAfilms arose, an audiovisual platform that celebrates our African roots through video art as a means of expression. In fact, I have just participated in the International Summit of Afro-descendants and I did it not as a singer but as a member of the crew from Alafia Films. Creativity takes multiple paths and just as I will never stop singing, I will not give up exploring as many as I can. 

On the other hand, because of my own approach to music and although I really like connecting with the public and making them happy, I don't see this profession as a speed race. As I was recently chatting with some friends, you may do the hit of the summer, people danced it… and forgot it. But if you go to the numbers, the music that matters the most is old music. People turn back. If you want, you make music for today, but if you want, you can make music that the same group of people continue to listen to for years and years, and pass it on to their children, and their children to their grandchildren; there are going to be people consuming that music for years and years… That's why you have to know if you want to make music for the summer or music that lasts. That marathon concept is beautiful, it will give you room to be and will save you a space in the hearts of people who want to dance... I love dancing. But youth is just a piece of life, people settle down and energy goes down and then they are no longer for the same dance. Maybe one day when you feel like dancing for a while and listening to something that makes you enjoy, you put on salsa or timba to dance or to clean the house, but you don't play that kind of music every day; note that it is not a question of good or bad music. Not every day you feel like putting on music to party, but maybe every day driving, or working, you feel like listening to a more leisurely or calmer music that you like too. you make yourself a playlist where it's more common to have Concha Buika, or Silvia Pérez Cruz than something from Fania, for example, which is great, but you're not for that every day.

In addition, we are in the era of self-production, of Do It Yourself and I don't see myself with a meteoric career full of the anguish that fame produces... I want to flow with the things that life offers me, relaxed, even if I don't stop working. Look, one of the beautiful things that happened to me is Berklee College. The connection with Berklee came through Paquito D'Rivera, with whom I met in a meeting on-line which organized the Lincoln Center. There we were debating many topics about music, culture and society and Paquito was struck by my projection, because he says that in his time the singer was a singer and that's it; that there was usually someone even to choose the repertoire for him, that is, his job was literally to sing. Then he would say to me, “hey, the generations are really changing, it's true that the girls are not only singers anymore, but also composers, arrangers and they give their opinions about everything” and I would say “you would be very surprised to see how many girls of my generation and a little younger, they compose, write, arrange, produce and are not dependent on anyone. They may have collaborators, a group of people who support them, but it's not like they depend on anyone to make their music. And he told me “you have to connect with Oscar Stagnaro”. He is the one who runs the Latin music program at Berklee, he was Paquito's bass player for many years and they are good friends. And when Paquito talks to Oscar about me, he tells him “you don't know how many guys show up here singing Daymé's music”. 

I had no idea, I had seen a couple of videos of people showing up at Berklee singing my songs, but I didn't know it was a recurring thing. And what happens is that for the program Signature Artist artists are chosen who, like Paquito himself, have a certain influence on the students of the school. Within the bulk, which are North Americans, they always try to have a group of Latin Americans, because Berklee has a strong pool of Latino students and the Latino community in the United States is the largest and most important; so they try that, every year, at least two or three of the Signature Artist be Latino. Then Oscar says "that decision is not only mine, I have to reconcile with the heads of the university and from there it is determined who will be this year, but I am going to make the proposal''. The normal thing is that they are older people, with a trajectory of many years; for example, Cubans have been Chucho, Paquito, Cachao, Arturo, Gloria Estefan... and others from Latin America big names like Alejandro Sanz or Juan Luis Guerra. When they proposed to me I thought it was a bit difficult, because I'm not there yet. And suddenly one day I got the mail with the official document saying "Berklee College of Music would like to...". I opened my eyes wide… and started to cry. 

Photo: Courtesy of Daymé Arocena.

It's just that, you know… as a teenager, when you start to get into the world of jazz, the dream is to study one day at Berklee, which, in terms of contemporary music and jazz, is the avant-garde. And I remember that they told me “studying at Berklee for a Cuban is almost impossible”; I remember that when Dayramir González started there, it was broadcast on national TV everywhere, it was like waaoooo. I dreamed of one day studying at that school, what I never thought was to be on the other side (that of the teachers) and less so before I was 30 years old; That never crossed my mind. I remember that I spent some time without telling anyone, I thought "this may fall apart and it may be something that is still being talked about, that it may not be real." And then, arriving at the school and seeing the reception of the students, with such beautiful energy and a tremendous desire to take on the world… it feels very special. I thought I was just another student, and I think that was the most beautiful connection we made at Berklee; I remember that I took my backpack to school to rehearsals and then I went out with the boys to the street and in some way I was experiencing something that was being a student/teacher, where I was not assimilating well what it was Signature Artist, who are usually very serious older people.

Then, the work dynamic is that the boys submit to a selection at the end of the program, which consists of them playing and studying your music as part of what they are teaching academically in the semester, both in harmony classes and of singing, of instrumental execution…And a selection process is carried out. I remember the singers were studying For love: Sing! and his tests were with that song. I wondered why they had done that, because the test is a cappella and that is a song that seems easy, but harmonically it is very difficult and if you don't have a piano to support you, it's candlelight. Later the boys told me that they had not had the results they expected because they took the exam with that song and I remember that I received an email from the teachers saying: “We have realized that For love: Sing! It's harder than building a magic cube in the dark."

Well, that's how they choose who are going to form the end-of-semester orchestra, and that's where the Signature Artist he goes to school and spends 10 days rehearsing with them and they play with you and that's what they carry in their hearts; they graduate with the credentials of having shared the stage with some of their musical idols. They try to choose two bass players, instead of one, so that one plays some songs and another, others. The orchestra is made up of 40 students between strings, brass, percussion, choirs; several piano people are chosen. It filled me with happiness that, of the three pianists, two were Cuban (there are currently 10 Cubans in the school). One of them is Camila Cortina, who was my teacher of Theory and Musical Analysis at the Amadeo Roldán Conservatory and has received the JoJazz award for composition, and for me she was always the super Camila. Suddenly it was very nice to see her there directing one of the songs. 

And then the concert is the big day, the end of the semester, they are super excited. It is divided into two parts; the first is a musical account of the country of which he is the Signature Artist, and there they played music from the one played by La Sonora Matancera with Celia Cruz, to younger music, even The Sandunguita by Isaac Delgado. The second part was with my music. The crazy thing is that my concert was canceled the day before, the end of the semester was in November and the concert was scheduled for the beginning of December. The day before it was cancelled, in the audio test, due to a resurgence of COVID-19. I have never seen so many people cry at the same time; those guys were wrong. They made me cry. I knew that the concert was going to be done because that is the end of the program and that it was going to be rescheduled, but they prepared for it for many months, and they were so excited that, when it was postponed, the reaction was incredible. That's when I realized how eager these boys are to graduate, many are on scholarship plans and they are people who have to make a lot of effort to keep giving them the aid. I really liked that there is a group of Cuban boys showing their faces there and playing very hard. They are terrified of Cubans because they play a lot and come with a very high musical level. When the concert was finally done in February, I was so nervous that it was probably the worst day I sang in my life. To top it off, it coincided with my birthday, they did it in such a way that it coincided with my birthday, they brought me a piece of cake to the stage, and freakié… then my voice trembled and I couldn't concentrate. They even gave me an award from the House of Commons of the State of Massachusetts and, in the middle of that, with that nerve, I had to sing... —when it comes out—I don't even want to see it... 

The other day I heard that human beings forget the true essence of music, which is the connection with the spirit, with the intangible, with the invisible, with what has no explanation; like music in its essence, in its early days, was to explain the inexplicable and to rise in a way that you can't just talk. I think I came into the world with that mission and I have never fought against it, I feel that music comes to me in that deeply spiritual way, to the point of dreaming the songs. And the only thing I try is to be consistent and honest with that and not make anything up, because in the end I feel that everything is clear. I'm not saying that suddenly whoever moves like that or has a artistry determined is wrong, far from it, but I have met people in life, artists who I think live that philosophy too. I remember the first time I saw Silvia Pérez Cruz, I saw her singing sitting in a chair with her guitar and I said, "there is an honesty, so simple that it is crushing'', and many people will not even know how to explain it, but it's her, she doesn't need more. Somehow I try to be consistent with that. 

I think the concerts that have made me vibrate the most have been the ones I've done in Cuba. Cuba is a place where if you stop to sing you have to stop to sing well, to play well, people have a very high musical sensitivity and also have a knife in their hands to fearlessly judge the musicians, both colleagues and the general public, to the point where you become super critical and self-critical as well. Every time I went to play in Cuba, to do a concert, it was when I got the most nervous, but well, I think people always connected and people felt that elevation. Also in Cuba we are devoid of a music industry and, suddenly, if an artist has international visibility or a name that is sounding, sometimes one is predisposed and thinks that what people are going to expect or what they want to see is like a fanfare… and that scared me a lot, it scared me to stand on stage in Cuba and people would say: Oh, but if it's a little prietecita there, normal. You know? It's like when people have an expectation, they think they're going to find a diva and suddenly they don't know how to deal with a person who, whether naked or dressed, is going to offer the same thing, in the same way. That gave me a little fear, but in the end everything always turned out beautifully. 

I don't remember terrible concerts, but I do remember feeling a deep panic in Jazz in the Park, in Colombia, because it is a brilliant event, but I couldn't breathe because of the height of Bogotá. So I trembled with fear and said “this is going to be a disaster”. It's a concert that was going to be put on live national television; They have some giant screens that are projecting for that gigantic audience that is in front of you... And I couldn't even dance, I couldn't move... But the Colombian public is so beautiful and so embracing and it sends you such a strong energy, that I can't I don't even know how I finished the concert. And it is that when I am already on stage, I ask for the blessing and accompaniment of my ancestors; It's what I always do to myself, it's a way to calm down and get into it... as if I'm not going alone, I have an army of people with me who are accompanying me. 

That, by the way, they must be the ones who started asking me for a record to dance to, starting with the confinement due to COVID-19. Suddenly I have realized that I want to dance and I want people to dance with me, that I need to disconnect, enjoy and let go of all this. During all those months of confinement I hardly listened to jazz, I wanted to listen to Beyonce, to listen to super pop music, relaxing, I would dance alone sometimes, sometimes with Pablo, but he doesn't like to dance very much. And it inspired me, I would go to the park that was in front of the house and put Isaac Delgado, Osain del Monte on the horn and I would start dancing, alone. I needed to drain that energy and I thought that my next album has to have all of that, a pop color and an afrobeat color, a reggae color. 

Dayme Arocena. Photo: Paul Dewin.

That is what the ancestors are asking of me. There is also the distance from my musicians, which has been difficult... and I say my musicians not because they are mine, but because they are the people with whom I lived for a long time, I had spent more time with them than with my husband and my parents in recent years. . So I'm far away from them and I was wondering, who can help me produce something like what I'm thinking? An album that is this sun that I want, that has this Caribbean, Latin scent and that has a wide musical range… I was at that crossroads and Yoyi Lagarza, with whom I had been working remotely on the conceptualization of the songs, with him The rest of the boys, was the one who told me: “I think the person is Eduardo Cabra”, because he has that spectrum, that musical opening. 

But I felt that Visitante was an unattainable being, I felt that I was going to write to a person who was never going to answer me, I thought I was going to throw a seed on the asphalt and nothing would come of it. And we decided to write to Sebastián Otero, who is a mutual friend who is collaborating in the studio with Eduardo and is very close to him at the moment. We decide to send her a little message and Sebastián tells me “But girl, of course, write to him, if he loves your music, he knows you perfectly well” and I “Oh, I don't know… let's do something, you tell him that I want to write to him, let's see what ball, because I feel very sorry, very ashamed ". I felt intimidated by Eduardo's musical career and because he gives that feeling of being uncommunicative, self-absorbed. And I remember that in the first conversation that we finally had, we talked for two hours, but like that… in a rush and we understood each other perfectly. And I said to myself: “this is the producer of the album, I know, he is one of the people with whom we can hang out”. He did not impose an imposition at all. Considering that I am super bossy with my music, that I conceptualize it a lot, that I open my heart to everyone collaborating but I am clear about what I want, as we have progressed it has been very fluid, always based on collaboration, always based on understanding. I came to Puerto Rico to do a first experiment, to see how we got along in the studio, to see how things turned out, and I think I couldn't have made a better choice. 

I have never seen a person work so well, I had never worked with someone who has that level of musical production, who has that level of knowledge, not only of music, but of technology, of making what sounds like it doesn't sound. And you're like "wowThis person is going to teach me a lot.” And it's not that I'm like a little girl who doesn't speak or think, on the contrary. He constantly asks me to say where things are and where I feel comfortable, but at the same time I like to step back a bit and let him flow, because I am learning a lot from his way of producing. Now I already have a space with Pablo in Puerto Rico, but I spent a lot of time at his house and went to the studio every day, even if he wasn't working on something of mine, to see other people produce, to see how he interacts with them. And learn from that, because in Cuba there is no music production school. 

In June I will launch a single, a divine samba called Dance and Voar, that I worked on it with another star producer, Alexander Kassin, from Brazil. The music producer is the person who perfectly understands the industry and if that music industry does not exist, that field remains half empty. I have already seen Eduardo Cabra produce Puerto Rican jíbaro music, Dominican music, urban music, reggaeton, and I have sat down to check it out, to see how its metamorphosis is, and to see him say “this moves around here, this around here, I am going to give this this color” and so on… For me that month or so that I was at his house was life changing, and now in April we start to record the full album, full time, and as a mother… I am like this, as if sharpening my fangs with happiness, knowing that I am going to continue with that very personal little school… him doing his work and me studying, taking the tricks and learning everything.