Fabré in La Maya and Miami

At 244 South West and US 1 there is a "free market"It's like a candonga, a fair where you can find anything from a screw to a washing machine, clothes, food or vinyl records. There I met a man who ate chickens, sold and listened to Fabré. He told me he had been listening to Fabré all his life, and we talked about the sonero for a few minutes. I had just arrived from Cuba, he had a powerful speech, but with Fabré in the background, of course I told him the story:

If Cándido Fabré makes party in the Cuban east, half of the Island seems to put itself in function of the sanluisero. Men repeat his refrains as common phrases, children, women, anyone who breathes in the east, tends to join the song of this sonero.

He doesn't have a great voice, he doesn't play any instrument, nor is he an Oscar de León type dancer, nor does he appear in international magazines, but millions of human beings repeat themes such as the taxi belt, At the time they call me I go or Fabré arrived.

Just a few weeks ago I was able to see him in La Maya; the town was rallying around Cándido's words: "At 10 p.m. I'm at La Pista," he told me in a short video for the social networks, and it was raining the feedbacks.

Just before the concert we sat down at the El Cafetal restaurant, the same one whose shadows, according to historians, covered the body of a Benny Moré who in the 50's was on his way to Guantánamo and, as if by chance, passed by to eat some sweets, buy his medicines or listen to Braudilio Vinent's brother who imitated him.

There, Candido and I talked for 34 minutes. He was dressed in a suit and kept track of every detail of his band: how the food was, how everyone was feeling, who was ordering what.

The days of the salsa festival, to which Cándido was not invited, had passed. He told me that he had nothing against the festival, but he felt that his absence was unfair, that it was not appropriate to talk about non-compliance with the schedule: "Those guys were not born when I was already going to festivals in Europe, I always complied", he said.

And, certainly, Candido Fabré ends many of his parties in the morning, a whole night of sounds, as in the times of the bungas. The musicians work hard behind their improvisations, which fulfill another oriental tradition: that of the minstrel, the singer who talks about local or national problems, something that comes from the griots, and that Sindo also practiced.

I ask Cándido about the versions. I really like one that Los Jóvenes Clásicos del Son made for him. He is one of the most covered singers in Cuba, but there are two names that seem controversial to me. Cándido has called himself an immovable revolutionary; however, among the versions that he prefers are La Guaguaby Celia Cruz, and Guayabitas del Pinar. "Willy called me at home," he told me, "and Celia is a blessing, a gift, a pride not only of Cuban music, but also of Latin American and universal music. When they say 'salsa', that's Celia, because she does have salsa".

Then we talked about his new songs. He no longer writes, he records on the phone. He has three recording projects in his hands, including one of the so-called prodigious decade, a song made for the dance group Sangre Nueva and many concerts. In these times in which the groups almost do not work, Candido Fabré continues to reign on the stages.

Eastern music suffers, without a doubt, the blow of the market. Perhaps it is the least benefited of the island; far from the big producers, from some festivals and hit by the lack of budget. Candido Fabre has been able to make his way; so much so that when I left Songo La Maya I saw a square full to listen to him. When I arrived in Miami, only a few hours later, I found a vendor in the middle of a fair listening to his music. Life seems to repeat one of its refrains: "Fabré has arrived and will not leave", in spite of all odds.