Interviews
In Conversation with Master Timbalero, Ralph Irizarry
“Latin jazz is one of the few distinct art forms the USA has given the world. Ralph Irizarry and Timbalaye’s new CD give us abundant glimpses of the past, present and future of this genre. It’s a celebration of the group’s 20th anniversary and it offers the listeners more of the unique and fresh interpretations that Timbalaye’s fans have long embraced and have come to expect.” — Oscar Hernández
“For all you Timbalaye fans who waited patiently for another jam, here’s the Timbalaye 20th Anniversary CD. It’s a complete labor of love by everybody involved so I hope you enjoy it as much as we enjoyed recording it.” — Ralph Irizarry
Marcela Joya: Ralph, I was and am pleased to learn Timbalaye is back with its 20th Anniversary album. Before we talk about the group’s return, let’s go back to the beginning of your career. I’m curious to learn how and why you chose the timbales as your primary instrument.
Ralph Irizarry: This is not one of those stories about a famous musician who said, I started when I was three or four years old, like a lot of guys who had parents who were in the music business. Nobody in my family was in the music industry, but my father used to lend money to people, so I remember when I was about eight years old, my father lent money to a guy who was a drug-addict, 25 dollars or something like that, but the guy didn’t have the money to pay him back, so he offered him a set of timbales in exchange for the money. My father thought it was better to get something than nothing, so he accepted them (Laughs).
Somehow, he knew that me and my brothers were always banging on things, like the cover of the radiator, so he gave us the timbales. They had real skins, probably calf skins! They were beautiful, but for us, they were a toy. So we made a pair of sticks from clothes hangers and played the timbales. We destroyed the skins on the first day!! (Laughs)
Seven years later, I was living in Queens, and a neighbor came around with a Mexican conga drum, you know, those cheap Mexican drums that come with two colors and are horrible and said: “Are you Spanish, man? You know how to play congas ’cause I got those and I´m looking for someone to jam.”
I remembered that when I was about thirteen years old I would go to the park and see these guys playing conga and timbales, and my blood would start boiling and I would get nervous and excited. I told the guy there was a set of timbales I used to play with when I was a little boy. I asked my mother for the timbales, and we found them exactly in the same condition we left them years ago. So I bought plastic skins (the ones they use today) and joined my neighbor. I remember I hit the timbale one time, and it was like love at first sight, I felt something I have never felt before. All my skin felt it. I shook. Two days later I went to Manny’s music store on 48th street and bought brand new timbales, sticks, everything… and I haven’t stopped since… that was 45 years ago.
You didn’t begin your career in New York, right? I understand you moved to Puerto Rico for a few years, and you performed with bands like La Terrífica.
I had some gigs in New York before going to La Isla, nothing significant. In 1971, my parents moved back to Puerto Rico. I had never been there before, so I was excited. I got to play with great people like La Terrífica, La Orquesta Mundo, with Enrique Guzmán, but I encountered a problem in Puerto Rico because I am a Nuyorican. In the early 70’s, there was an enormous prejudice towards people who came from New York, maybe because New Yorkers who went to La Isla, thought they were better than Puerto Ricans. So I came back because I couldn’t take it anymore.
You’ve said that you grew as an artist while playing with Ray Barretto. Also, you participated in the amazing album, Ricanstruction (1979) How did that happen?
I was playing at the Corso Ballroom (a famous venue in Manhattan, once located on 86 Street and 3rd Avenue) when the manager came up to me and said, “Ray Barretto is putting together a new orchestra, and he’s looking for musicians. I told him to come and see you play.” It was a Sunday night, and there was a blizzard, something like fifteen inches of snow on the ground and it was fricking cold! So, I didn’t think Ray would show up.
During the first set, I was so nervous I couldn’t play. From the bandstand you could see the entrance, so knowing Barretto may see me ruined my night. All I could do was look at the door to see if Barretto was coming. I was a mess but, fortunately, the place was empty. You had to be crazy to come out on a night like that. So, after the second set I said to myself: “Good, he’s not going to come.”
So, for the third set I relaxed and played because I stopped focusing on the door. I took a solo on the last tune (I was playing with La Charanga Novedades), and I wasn’t nervous because I wasn’t waiting for Barretto, but after I had finished the solo, I looked at the door, and I saw this big man, shaking the snow off his coat and cleaning his glasses and my heart skipped a beat! Ray Barretto was standing there, and he arrived just in time to listen to my solo.
I almost died. No exaggeration. He came to me and said: “Nice solo kid, it was a nice solo. Come, let’s talk.” Then he told me he was putting together a band and asked me if I would like to join. Oh my God, I couldn’t believe it. Of course, I said yes and he said he would call me. It was the winter of 1976.
Before you ever met Ray you were a serious fan, yes?
Qué qué? I was more than that. Before I started playing timbales, Orestes Vilató was my favorite timbalero, and I used to follow Ray Barretto’s band around like a little puppy dog. I wasn’t even a musician or anything, but I have a record that he signed for me when I was a fan. So for me to go from being a fan to being in Ray’s band was a dream come true.
How did the dream evolve? How was it working with Barretto?
Everything was great. He was a shy guy. He didn’t talk a lot, but he was a wise man. I learned a lot with Ray. He made me a better bandleader; he made me a better musician. Playing and rehearsing with him was like going to school. And I love the fact that he always gave young musicians a chance. He always surrounded himself with young talent.
You left Barretto’s band to be a founding member of Seis del Solar. How did that happen? How did Barretto take the news?
It was hard. I had to leave Ray to go with Blades, in 1983. We were all going to Boston, and Oscar Hernández was also about to leave the band to go with Blades. So in our way to Boston, Oscar let him know, and Ray was like “Damn, I hate to see you going, but I understand, you got to do what you get to do, man”. And then, in our way back to New York, it’s me. Ray used to sit on the front part of the bus, so I went there slowly, like a little kid, and said: “Ray I get a talk to you. I’m leaving the band.” There was silence and the he said: what do you mean you are leaving the band?, And I was like: “Yeah, I am going with Rubén Blades.” Oh my, God, all hell broke loose… “What the fuck, why does Rubén Blades have to take my musicians? What the hell!” He freaked out, he started yelling, he got crazy (Laughs).
Ray wasn’t doing that well at that time, right?
Right. I knew the salsa world was the singer’s world and Ray used to tell us that the reason he didn’t get the opportunities that Cheo Feliciano, Rubén Blades, Ismael Miranda and many other singers were getting was because he wasn’t a singer. Singers were and had always been the ones that catch people’s attention and set the market. So I knew Rubén Blades had split with Willie Colón, and they were touring the world. They were one of the hottest items in Latin music. I knew that Rubén’s band was going be big and that I was going to be on another level. Also, Blades was putting together a sextet, and it was going to be easier to travel. Rubén was a fan of the Joe Cuba Sextet. He knew what he was doing. Ray Barreto was traveling with twelve people. Blades was going to travel with six, so there were going be more opportunities to travel and work.
Tell me how your relationship with Blades started.
Oh, I have a funny story about it. In 1983, Rubén was starting a band, and I was recommended to him by percussionist Eddie Montalvo. So Rubén didn’t want to start a band the conventional way. He wanted to have a series of meetings first; he wanted to talk to the musicians and ask the players how we would build it together. He cared about the musician’s opinions. So we had a meeting where he asked if we wanted to wear uniforms, and how much money we planned to make. He didn’t want a manager.
So the first meeting was in his apartment, on 81st Street and Columbus Circle, near Central Park. He scheduled the meeting around midday. So when we got there, he wasn’t home but the doorman let us in. Everybody went into the living room but me. I started to get a little bit jittery and curious, so I went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator where I found a six-pack of Cokes. I thought they were for the musicians, so I helped myself to a Coke. Then, there was a huge bag of potato chips on the table, so I took it. Then I saw a small door in the kitchen, which led to Ruben’s bedroom. So I went into his bedroom with my Coke and chips, and there was a remote control on the bed. Nothing was happening, and I was feeling stressed, so I thought it was OK to turn on the TV. Just as I was getting comfortable Rubén came through the door and saw me on his bed with the remote control in my hands. So he looked at me with wide eyes, hit his head and closed the door. Then he went into the living room, and I heard him say, “Who’s the guy sitting on my bed, drinking my coke and eating my potato chips, man?” And Eddie Montalvo says: “That’s your new timbalero, Rubén.” That’s the way I met Rubén Blades. (Laughs). I think that’s why he and I have such a special relationship to this day. We worked together for about fourteen or fifteen years. We went to our last tour two years ago, with Todos Vuelven, which won a Grammy. I was the only timbalero that Seis del Solar ever had.
Which was the most extraordinary record you did with Seis del Solar, and why?
Well, Buscando America started it for us. The topics of the songs were nothing like “Hey Ven a Bailar Mi Negra”. No. They were about social statements, so we didn’t have to go after dancers; we were not interested in making music para el bailador (for the dancers). Then, we were making a difference. Everybody cares about El bailador, but Rubén Blades was looking for the biggest audience, with songs like “Buscando America” or “Los desaparecidos”.
We were looking to perform around the world. We played in Argentina, where no salsa band had performed for 20 years, after the Tito Rodríguez Orchestra. So Rubén was opening those doors again.
In your opinion, where, in Latin America, did Seis del Solar have the biggest impact?
All over, I think. One of the most important concerts we did was in Santiago de Chile. We played for the International Amnesty, and there were 80 thousand people in the audience, at the Coliseum. It was an incredible experience, but it was also very scary.
When I was walking down the corridors where Pinochet used to torture people, I could hear screams coming out of the walls as if there were still people suffering. It was crazy!! Later on, some person comes to me and says: “Man, did you hear the screams down there?” I told him that I hadn’t said anything because I thought I was going crazy. It was a special night. People were crying, and I cried too when twenty mothers of “Los Desaparecidos” came with the pictures of their loved ones onto the stage, and Rubén took them to dance and sang. That was the only time I remember crying while playing the timbales.
You have a feeling for writing social lyrics too, you composed some raps.
(Laughs) Yes, I did. I used to write songs, and I liked it but I m not a writer, though I could be. Sammy Figueroa and I wrote the rap on the 6th Seis Del Solar CD. Rubén Blades encouraged us to make an instrumental album, and we did two. He paid for the first of two albums, they came out pretty nice. That’s where I got the idea for Timbalaye.
Was Seis del Solar appreciated in the Latin Jazz territory?
We did a tour with Seis de Solar, the instrumental group, for six thousand people and feeling freaking good. It was incredible to get applause just for the musicians, with no singer on stage. We were finally getting praise and recognition after so many years of practicing.
Rubén Blades was very fair because he always introduced his musicians two or three times a night. But for many singers you were like a piece of furniture, they didn’t even say your name. When I experienced that sensation with Seis del Solar was when I started to think that what I wanted to do was create a Latin Jazz band.
What was your idea of Latin Jazz at that moment?
As I am a timbal player and not a drummer, I knew that the Latin Jazz I wanted to do was going to be about Latin rhythms organized under the structure of jazz and not the other way around, as many groups were doing at the time.
Tito Puente always told me: “There is one thing I have learned by touring the world, and that is that there is a bunch of people who are really curious about our Latin instruments and our Latin rhythms. All over the world, they love our Latin rhythms”. So I knew I had to do something to transform those Latin Rhythms into a universal thing.
But again, I did not want to play instrumental salsa. I wanted the Latin Jazz group to have a pure jazz format. My idea was doing something like what Mongo Santamaría and Willie Bobo did with Cal Tjader’s group, using timbales and congas, no bongos. But I wanted to have pushing arrangements, something like what Irakere was doing. I wanted sophisticated arrangements with a lot of meat for everybody. And I wanted me everywhere. I didn’t want just many entrances with everybody soloing.
Where does the name, Timbalaye come from?
I like guaguancó records a lot. I remember one day I was listening to Carlos Embale, and he had a tune called A La Timbalaye. So I looked at that word and said to myself “Ha, how interesting, the six first letters spell timbal, the instrument I play, and I like the way it sounds with aye.” So I decided to use it for my band.
Interesting, did you ever figure out what the word means?
(Laughs) Honestly, yes, but later. I learned from some musicians of the Grupo Folclórico Nacional de Cuba that Timbalaye meant “Party World“. “Timba” means party and “Aye” means “the world.”
In Yoruba?
I don’t know (Laughs) but it sounds good, doesn´t it?
Yes, it does. Did you know who you wanted to work with when you started Timbalaye?
Not exactly. I just knew I wanted to work with some creative musicians. It´s funny. I got some arrangements first, and those arrangements were not so easy to play, so I knew I had to get some capable musicians. So to the first guys I got together, here in my basement, I said something like this: “I have no gigs, and we are going to be rehearsing for at least three months.” Some of them got excited, but three of the guys immediately quit (laughs). Finally, I got great musicians for the first group. I got Luisito Quintero, Rubén Rodríguez, Luis Perdomo, Bobby Franceschini. And I kept those guys in the band for about six years. I recorded three records with the same guys.
Tell me a bit more about the concept.
Timbalaye has always had a musical concept. I knew I didn’t want to play only Afro-Cuban rhythms. I knew I didn’t want just to do what Barretto had done. I wanted to fuse different folkloric rhythms with jazz. So I started by experimenting with different Latin American rhythms. I did the chacarera, from Argentina; I’ve done Venezuelan folklore, I’ve done bomba, plena, danzón. Now I’m doing one Villarán, which is folk music from Puerto Rico.
You know those folk structures well.
Let’s say I know enough. Of course, you need to know the musical structures deeply before you dare to mix them with jazz. But I think is easier for Latinos to play jazz than for American jazz musicians to play Latino music (laughs).
Why?
I guess it has something to do with the feeling. There is something about being Caribeño that other people can’t improvise. There is an African connection, a particular thing we have that make easier for us to think of music up on the beats. A lot of people that are not Caribeños have a hard time trying to play things that are built this way, upon the beat. Caribbean music is always on the up beats, where you don’t expect it to be, and people who don’t have that African feeling have a hard time understanding it because they can’t feel it.
American jazz and Africa share a connection.
Oh, sure. But there is something about the swing, about el sabor, you know, that flavor that comes in your blood. I’m not saying jazz musicians can’t play Latin music; I’m just saying it’s harder for them.
Why did you decide to call your record label, Best Kept Secret?
For a long time, I felt that Timbalaye was a little ahead of its time, and a lot of people didn’t understand what we were trying to do. You know, in 1998, 1999, there were a lot of people that were playing the same kind of Latin jazz that Santamaria and Barretto used to play, just imitating them. So I felt like we were a best-kept secret, and nobody wanted to give us a chance (Laughs).
I started my label because I was doing everything myself. I recorded, mixed, distributed, I was my publicist, I got the photographs, the design, absolutely everything. I think I did a good job with my records, with Son Café, Viejos de la Salsa, and Timbalaye. Sometimes, I’m surprised I didn’t get more work on that side but producing a record is a pain in the ass, so it’s OK that nobody asked me (Laughs).
I guess the feeling of not being understood was one of the reasons the band split up.
We were playing progressive stuff. After going to Cuba and Puerto Rico, we did some European tours, and then things went slowly. Besides that, I was starting to perform with Blades again. So instead of keeping those great musicians I had, to play for 50 bucks every two months, I disbanded the band and let my people do what they had to do.
Twelve years have passed since, Timbalaye is back.
Yes, Timbalaye is playing again. We got fresh new arrangements and compositions from young talent. Percussionist Samuel Torres wrote a song for us. Also, I have Adán Pérez, Dennis Hernández, playing in the band. I’m excited because I got a group of young musicians from New York. Again, following the Barretto’s teaching, I give young talent the opportunity to play with the group, and they keep me young and they keep me going. It is now that I understand Barretto used to do this because we kept him young as well. But the thing is, my new musicians are so young that they never got to see Timbalaye live. I mean, the original Timbalaye. I think this record is going to help us, so people are going to get curious about our other records, Timbalaye, It’s Time and Best Kept Secret
Exactly. What sets this new album apart from the others? What makes it special?
It has the same concept, essentially. The same soul. It comes from the same musical concept I talked about before. But it is has a fresher sound and I am an older (more mature) musician in all senses.
Tell me a bit about the tracks. I love the featured track, Gotham Town.
Gotham Town was composed by Samuel Torres. I heard a track of him I loved so I asked him to write something similar for Timbalaye. I’ve always loved Gotham, the series, so maybe he loves it too (laughs). Witch Doctor is the only tune that wasn’t written originally for Timbalaye. It was composed by a guy who died very young and who we all knew. He was the Dominican Martin Arroyo. He was the one that started Los Soneros del Barrio, with Frankie Vásquez. He was the mastermind of that group. So he composed Witch Doctor, and I liked it. We did and arrangement and played to give him an homage.
When and where are we going to be able to hear this 20th Anniversary album?
The official CD release was on October the 5th. And the release party will be held at Subrosa, on October 26th. I am extremely excited about that.
I’m excited to see you playing with Timbalaye again too. Tell me, have you been to Subrosa? Do you think the concept of featuring strictly Latin music is a good idea?
Yeah, I’ve been there. But let’s see how long it last. Latin Jazz is not an easy thing to keep in the market.
How do you see the current Latin Jazz scene?
Confusing, hard. Also, it is difficult for me to judge new bands from the recordings, as they typically sound different on stage. I can say I like Miguel Zenón, Manuel Valera, David Sánchez, Samuel Torres… There is young talent out there. But the problem that I have with a lot of groups is that, when they are going to the recording studio, they try to use the best equipment, and they use the best musicians in the planet, but then, they don’t have a group sound. You know what I’m saying?
Yes, I get you.
So they don’t sound like a working group, as a unit. They don’t have a voice. And that’s what I try to accomplish with Timbalaye. I think one of the hardest things for a musician to do is to create a sound, so that when people listen to your music they immediately recognize that is you. That’s what all musicians want to accomplish. And I think Timbalaye has accomplished that. And that is because, for Timbalaye, the band that you see on stage is the band that recorded the record. When you record only with great musicians that are mostly bandleaders themselves, then, it is almost impossible to have the group performing.
True. It is hard enough for musicians to gather and practice and harder for players with big names to keep a band together. I am glad last year I got to see many of the musicians you have worked with, at the Fundraiser they organized for you at B. B King’s. It was touching to see them all together (more than 11 bands) playing for you. How do you feel about it? And how is your health?
Well, it was fantastic. I’m cancer free right now. I had a cancer operation in November of 2013, and things are better. I’m still recovering, but now I can work. I am very grateful to all the people who came out to support me because I couldn’t work and couldn’t play, so I couldn’t take care of my family. I was worried, so my friends organized that fundraiser for me. First, I had eight bands that wanted to perform, and then many more bands played for me. Rubén Blades was there, Spanish Harlem was there, Eddie Montalvo was there. A lot of love, you know, I felt loved and blessed.
You have said that your friends have played a significant role in the development of your career and life. I think that’s special because many musicians are more on the lonely side than social.
Oh, yeah, I’m not that kind of solitary musician, thank God. I am a family type of person, and I have lots of good friends. I got out of drugs because of my good friends and I’ve been clean for almost 30 years.
How did you take that step?
Look, it comes to the point where you have to admit that you are no longer using drugs socially. So you get to accept that there is an addiction, and you have to decide for yourself because there are only a few things you can do when you are addicted to drugs: either you die or go to jail. Once you hit your bottom or think of suicide, then you have to make the decision. In my case, I was lucky I had friends who had faced this problem, and they took me to a few meetings, so I was able to identify with other addicts. And thank God I have not relapsed since January 1986.
Ralph, is there a record that transcends your life and continues to impact the music you create now?
If I am to name a record that made me fall in love with music, and especially with Cuban Music, it has to be Cachao’s Descargas in Miniature. That record was responsible for me falling in love with Afro-Cuban music. So, here is a guy, 15 years old, not a musician, who gets a chance to hear a man named Cachao, and then, 20 years later, that same guy is filming a video called Como Su Ritmo No Hay Dos, in Miami, with Gloria Estefan and Andy García. I played timbales on that video. Still think about that and can’t believe it. Just to say that my life has been nothing but a bunch of dreams come true moments.
Share with me another one of those moments.
Cachao, again. Look, I ended up playing for Paquito de Rivera’s 50th Anniversary, at The Carnegie Hall. I was playing with a quartet and that quartet was made up by Cachao, Bebo Valdés, Cándido Camero and me. Incredible, right?
I would have loved to have seen that.
I couldn’t believe I was there and I knew it was going to be almost impossible for them to be together again. The guy who was supposed to be there and who would perfectly fit with those three giants was Tito Puente, but he was gone. And Orestes Vilató was busy in California. So I got to play with those three maestros, and that was a real blessing.
You said you are a family type of person. What do you like to do with your family? What do you do when you are home?
I’ve been married for 38 years to a woman from Costa Rica and I have three children, with her and thank God she is not a musician (Laughs). So when I come home from gigs all I hear is, “We have no milk, we need eggs, don’t forget to take out the garbage.” In my house, they don’t care about what I’m doing out there. For them, I am not the timbalero, I’m the husband, the grandfather, so with them I forget all about music and life becomes simpler.
Life is simpler when not thinking about music? Not for me, eh.
Somehow, yeah (laughs). Making music is exhausting. Listening to it too.
Do you go out and listen to live music?
I will be lying to you if I say that I go around and see a lot of bands. Honestly, I barely go out, unless I’m performing. I go out now and then to support some musicians, but I don’t do it that much.
How often do you play your music at home?
This is what happens with my records: I listen to them every day for the first two or three weeks after they are released, but then I put them away and never listen to them again. By the time I finish a record, I already hate the record (laughs).
Which artists are you recently listening to?
I listen mostly to jazz. Everything in jazz. But honestly the only chance I get to listen to music is while I am driving, in my car. That’s the only opportunity I get to be alone, and I only listen to WBGO.
Do you listen to music with your family?
No way! They won’t listen to WBGO (Laughs).
What does your family like you to do with them?
They love when I cook, and I love cooking. Last night I made a peach cobbler, and the night before I made Bacalao a la Vizcaina. Today I will make an apple pie. Cooking is the thing I like the most besides playing the timbales.
Are you reading any books?
Reading? No! But I love Crossword Puzzles. I am obsessed with them. At the age of 61 you have to keep your mind busy and working, so those things stimulate my brain.
Have the three glorious weeks of listening to your latest Timbalaye record passed? Do you hate it already?
(Laughs) Not really.
Good! It’s going to be great to see you playing with Timbalaye again.
YouTube Video – Ralph Irizarry & Timbalaye: Piesotes
Tracks: Gotham Town, Ocean Parkway, Back in Da Hood, Witch Doctor, Timbuleria, Monte Adentro, La 104, P’al Solar.
Personnel: Aidan Pérez: Piano, Alex Apollo Ayala, Israel Cedeo: Bass, Hommy Ramos: Trombone, Anibal Rojas: Tenor Sax, Dennis Hernandez: Trumpet, Roberto Quintero: Congas, Chequere, Guiro, Sebastian Nickoll: Congas, Bongo, Ralph Irizarry: Timbal Kit.
Invited Guests: Rubén Rodriguez: Bass, Bobby Franceschini: Tenor Sax, Jonathan Powell: Trumpet, Eric Chacon: Flute, Christian Nieves: Cuatro, José Eduardo Santana: Guicharo, Willie Ruiz: Güiro, Maracas, Gonzalo Grau, Ernesto Briceno, Roberto Castillo: Palmas.
20th Anniversary is released by Truth Revolution Records and BKS Records.
Introduction: The Rhythmic Map of José Guzmán
For guitarist and composer José Guzmán, the distance between the academic rigours of a Doctoral degree and the street-level pulse of a Puerto Rican bomba circle is non-existent. Born and raised in Ponce, Guzmán has spent his career translating the “hard 90-degree pivot” from rock-and-roll to jazz into a sophisticated, percussion-driven language. His latest project with The Afro-Caribbean Jazz Collective, Cortadito, serves as a vibrant proof of concept for his “drum-first” philosophy—an approach that demands the composer master the hand drums before ever picking up the pen.
In Cortadito, Guzmán departs from the traditional jazz quintet by daringly removing the drumset entirely. By centring the barril and congas, he creates a sonic space that smells of the Caribbean sea and feels like the cobblestones of Old San Juan. It is an intimate, unfiltered snapshot of heritage that balances the intensity of son montuno and songo with the tender, lived-in emotions of the bolero.
In this candid conversation, Guzmán opens up about the “flying without a net” energy of the Collective, his responsibility to the legacy of masters like Rafael Cortijo and William Cepeda and why he believes that to truly play Latin Jazz, you must first learn to speak through the skin of the drum.
“The title Cortadito is a snapshot of my heritage and upbringing… I was flooded with memories of the mountain view from my home in Ponce, the cobblestones in Old San Juan…”
On Cortadito (2025 JGB Music)
Cortadito has clearly resonated with critics and audiences alike—what was the central artistic vision behind this album, and how does it build on or depart from Fiesta at Caroga?
Fiesta at Caroga was a great way to find my artistic voice, while Cortadito has refined my vision. After Fiesta at Caroga, I felt that I needed to connect the audience with my Puerto Rican roots. I composed tunes that put the Puerto Rican folkloric rhythms of bomba front and center (“Holande Pa Uste” and “Witches Dance”) while expanding on our repertoire with son montunos, cha cha, boleros, and songo.
The title Cortadito evokes something intimate yet culturally specific. What does the title represent for you musically and personally?
It’s a snapshot of my heritage and upbringing. As I wrote the music for the album, I was flooded with memories of the mountain view from my home in Ponce, the cobblestones in Old San Juan, and the smell of the Caribbean sea. The imagery of the empty coffee mug in the album cover, the intensity of the music, and the gentleness of boleros are staples on the island.
Can you walk us through your compositional process for this album? Did the pieces emerge from rhythmic concepts, harmonic ideas, or lived experiences?
A mixture of all of the above. I purchased several percussion instruments (congas, Puerto Rican barril, etc) and dove headfirst into learning the lineage of the drum and playing all the patterns that I write music for. If I can’t play it, I won’t write it. It was common to hear teachers at the Puerto Rico Conservatory say, “to play Latin jazz, you gotta play the hand drums,” and that is common to hear in interviews of the masters as well. Some ideas came to me as I practiced my basic patterns and became useful with the help of practice tools such as Agustin Espina’s Latin Percussion Grooves or the mobile app PercussionTutor.
As for the lived experiences portion, it’s very personal storytelling. The idea for Roberto Cantoral’s “El Reloj” came to me as I took care of my father before he passed away, and I always dedicate the song to my audience because we all share that feeling of losing a loved one. Others, such as “A Sunny Kind of Day” and “Orchard Downs,” are based on my day-to-day life experiences in Puerto Rico and the state of Illinois.
How did you approach balancing Afro-Caribbean rhythmic traditions with modern jazz language on this recording?
While I was writing, I felt a strong responsibility to write melodies that swing with the clave, the drum patterns, and, at times, the dancer. The harmonic canvas tends to reveal itself afterwards. My writing process varies; at times I’ll have a melody come to mind, record a voice memo (or more), and then I’ll find the rhythm that fits. Other times, I’ll play the drums and let the pattern lead me to a new melody.
Were there particular tracks on Cortadito that presented unique challenges or breakthroughs during recording?
Recording is always tedious because, unlike playing live music and the “flying without a net” feeling that comes with it, you can easily get stuck in your head, striving to create a good product. I am lucky enough to say that I surrounded myself with very positive friends who were also enthusiastic in the process. “El Volcán” and “Holandé Pa Usté” were challenging but fun to record.
“I am building on the foundation laid out by Rafael Cortijo’s Time Machine and William Cepeda… pushing the boundaries of what was Latin jazz at the moment of publication.”
On Musical Identity & Heritage
Your music reflects a deep connection to Puerto Rican rhythms. How do you translate traditional forms into a contemporary jazz context without losing their essence?
As a fan of salsa music and traditional folklore, I wanted to keep the dance aspect of the Afro-Caribbean rhythmic traditions and adorn it with melodies that percolate from the hand drums. Even the decision of not having a drumset in the recording was made in an effort for the percussion section to shine and pop out. In live shows, I’ll have drummers set up a timbale/drumset similar to what Samuel Formell (Los Van Van drummer and leader) uses, but I still prefer the timbales with a kick drum for the studio.
During the barril solo on “Witches Dance”, I actually had someone come into the studio and dance a traditional bomba improvisation for the drummer to play to. Having that solo kept the spirit of the dancer, which was really important for me.
Growing up in Ponce, Puerto Rico, what early musical influences shaped your identity as a guitarist and composer?
My influences are a wide spectrum of genres. I grew up listening to Fania Records, Puerto Rican folklore artists, and the boleros of El Trio Los Panchos, but in my teenage years, I learned guitar by playing classic rock and mid 90’s trending rock bands. By then, I found myself playing in several rock bands with my neighbors, writing music and playing shows. It wasn’t until I was 18 years old when I discovered Al Di Meola, Paco de Lucia, and John McLaughlin’s Saturday Night in San Francisco that I pivoted to jazz, and that pivot was a hard 90 degrees into the genre.
How do you see your work contributing to the broader narrative of Afro-Caribbean jazz today?
I am building on the foundation laid out by Rafael Cortijo’s Time Machine (1973) and William Cepeda’s Puerto Rican jazz discography (1992 onwards), to name a few. Both artists focused on bringing the rhythms of bomba and plena into the jazz realm, pushing the boundaries of what was Latin jazz at the moment of publication.
“The beautiful (and intimidating) part about the Collective is the rotating cast of musicians… in 2025 alone, we collaborated with over 40 musicians across 8 states.”
On Bandleading & The Afro-Caribbean Jazz Collective
As the leader of The Afro-Caribbean Jazz Collective, what qualities do you prioritize when assembling and directing your ensemble?
If we think of it as a pyramid, sight reading is at the top, followed by improvisational skills (especially over clave), and well-rounded musicianship. This is because we don’t get a chance to rehearse as much as I’d like to, so it’s crucial to get the melody and form with as little or no rehearsal time. Currently, I have a core group that travels with me, and I’ll pick up musicians who live in the area we are visiting. I gravitate towards players who play or have played in salsa bands, and the results are always fun!
Your group has developed a strong identity over several albums—how has the band evolved since its inception?
The beautiful (and intimidating) part about the Collective is the rotating cast of musicians who are well-versed in Latin jazz while also exposing strong musicians to playing clave music. This serves as a place for players to grow, as well as my own growth by receiving feedback from Victor Garcia, Roy McGrath, Tito Carillo, Zach Rich, and Matt Shevitz. This is also due to the size of the group and the hectic schedule of musicians with families and other priorities. In 2025 alone, the Collective collaborated with over 40 musicians while playing across 8 states.
What does collaboration look like within the Collective? Do your band members contribute to arrangements or compositional ideas?
It’s always evolving. When I started the ensemble, I would have people bring in arrangements. The last track in Cortadito (“El Volcán”) was written and arranged by tenor sax player Brian Stark. Brian is a strong composer and arranger for a big band, and I fell in love with the tune. Trombonist Ben Carrasquillo is the arranger of our EP version of Nat King Cole’s “Love for Sale”. Several musicians have asked me about writing for the ensemble, and I always welcome it, but I won’t pressure folks to write. Ever since the release of Fiesta at Caroga, I usually consult ideas with members, bring the arrangements to a show, and members will contribute with ideas to enhance the melodic weight or sections.
On Education & Artistic Development
You’ve pursued extensive academic training—from the Puerto Rico Conservatory to a DMA in Jazz Guitar Performance. How has your formal education shaped your artistic voice?
It was very important in my development since my early years as a guitarist were a combination of playing my favorite songs at home and jamming songs with my neighbor, no music theory or formal lessons. The Conservatory is where I developed the foundation for playing jazz and my first exposure to listening to classical music (chamber and orchestral) on a daily basis. Southern Illinois University in Carbondale exposed me to writing atonal music, taught me to analyze it, and provided me with my first opportunity to write for a big band every couple of months. At the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, I got to write a lot of songs and arrangements for a robust instrumentation guided by a faculty whose legacy is found in albums by Arturo Sandoval, Woody Herman, and many more. The latter also taught me the value of research in academic settings, and I am interested in adding the Afro-Puerto Rican voice to that conversation as well.
As someone deeply rooted in both performance and composition, how do you balance intellectual rigour with emotional expression in your music?
Writing music is similar to writing stories; there’s a narrative that makes an audience feel. For me, there has to be a connection between ideas and not just juxtaposing melodic ideas to create sections. If I can sing the melody while playing clave or drums, then I move forward. My favorite tool when composing is the eraser, especially when overcomplicating melodic statements or when I get a bad case of writer’s block.
On Career & Looking Ahead
You’ve worked across genres—from jazz to chamber music to rock—and collaborated with diverse artists. How have these experiences influenced your approach as a bandleader?
It exposes me to different approaches of ensemble performing, ways of conducting an ensemble, addressing the audience, learning about the music industry from peers, and exchanging arranging techniques that would’ve been “learned” from a book. These projects also influenced my thought process when composing, creating a setlist, and deciding what to do (or not) in the bandstand, and it allows me to get comfortable being on stage.
Looking ahead, what new directions or projects are you most excited to explore with The Afro-Caribbean Jazz Collective?
The success of Cortadito has given me the confidence to continue to write a lot of music. I’m excited to go back into the studio in the summer to record new music that is exclusively focused on bomba rhythms alongside Chicago-based bomba ensemble Colectivo Sayba. I’m also writing new tunes for a separate recording session in a similar vibe to Cortadito.
Brazilian pianist, composer and producer Ricardo Bacelar opens up about Maracanós, his ambitious new collaboration with legendary percussionist Airto Moreira and special guest Flora Purim.
In this exclusive interview, Bacelar reflects on how the album emerged organically during the filming of a documentary at Jasmin Music’s studio in Fortaleza (the capital of Ceará, a state located in northeastern Brazil), where creativity flowed through improvisation, friendship and artistic trust. He discusses building what he calls “a film without images,” blending Brazilian rhythms, orchestral textures, electronics and spontaneous musical interaction.
Bacelar also speaks about Airto’s enduring legacy, Flora’s spiritual vocal presence, the symbolism behind the album title, and why protecting artistic freedom in an algorithm-driven music industry remains essential.
“Art needs risk, surprise, contradiction, silence and emotional density,” Bacelar says.
Read our full conversation on Maracanós, one of the most adventurous Brazilian jazz releases of the year.
“Airto approaches music with the spirit of a child discovering sound for the first time.”
Maracanós brings you together with the legendary Airto Moreira, one of the most influential Brazilian musicians in jazz history. How did this collaboration first come about, and what made this the right moment for you both to create an album together?
This collaboration emerged very naturally through our friendship and through the documentary project we were developing around Airto and Flora at Jasmin Studio. During the filming sessions, we spent many hours together inside the studio environment, talking about music, listening to sounds, and experimenting with rhythms and textures. At a certain point, the creative process itself became stronger than the original plan. We realized there was an album being born there organically.
I believe the timing was special because we were all completely open artistically. Airto carries an extraordinary musical freedom, and I was interested in creating a sonic universe where Brazilian music, improvisation, cinematic atmospheres, and contemporary production could coexist without limitations. Maracanós became the result of that encounter.
You’ve described the project as being born organically during the filming of the documentary. Can you take us back to those sessions at Jasmin Studio in Fortaleza and describe the atmosphere that led to the creation of Maracanós?
The atmosphere was extremely creative and immersive. Airto and Flora stayed with us in Fortaleza for an extended period, and the studio became almost like a living organism. Music happened all day long. Sometimes ideas would emerge during rehearsals, sometimes during conversations, and many times while the cameras were rolling.
Jasmin Studio is inside my home, so there is a very human and intimate dimension to the recordings. We were surrounded by Brazilian light, food, conversations, nature, silence, and deep musical exchange. That emotional proximity created trust, and trust creates freedom. I think you can hear that spirit throughout the album.
The album appears to embrace freedom, spontaneity and experimentation, qualities that have defined Airto’s career for decades. How did you balance structured composition with improvisational freedom during the recording process?
For me, composition and improvisation are not opposites. They complement each other. Some pieces began with harmonic structures or rhythmic ideas I brought to the sessions, but once the musicians entered the emotional space of the music, we allowed the compositions to breathe.
Airto has an incredible instinct. He transforms rhythm into narrative. So I tried to create an environment where spontaneity could happen without losing the identity of the pieces. We recorded many moments in a very open way, preserving imperfections, interactions and
emotional reactions. That human unpredictability became part of the language of the album.
Your production approach combines acoustic instruments, synthesizers, percussion and strings in a very cinematic way. What was your sonic vision for Maracanós, and how did you build that immersive soundscape?
I wanted the album to feel almost like a film without images. A sonic landscape where Brazilian rhythms could coexist with orchestral textures, electronic atmospheres, improvisation and silence.
The production was built very carefully inside Jasmin Studio, which is designed for immersive audio and deep acoustic detail. We used analog and digital elements together, combining percussion layers, piano, synthesizers, strings and spatial textures, almost like painting with sound.
I’m very interested in emotional depth and timbre. Sometimes a texture can say more than a melody. The immersive aspect of the production became fundamental in creating this sensation of movement, memory and atmosphere.
“Flora transforms emotion into sound very naturally… Airto approaches music with the spirit of a child discovering sound for the first time… They have an almost telepathic connection.”
Flora Purim makes a special appearance on “Voo da Tarde.” What did she bring to that track creatively, and what was it like having both Flora and Airto together in the studio?
Flora brings something very unique. She transforms emotion into sound very naturally. Her voice carries spirituality, freedom and an unmistakable musical identity. On “Voo da Tarde,” she added a dreamlike dimension that elevated the piece emotionally.
Having Flora and Airto together in the studio was deeply inspiring. They have lived and created music together for more than six decades, and there is an almost telepathic connection between them. Sometimes they communicated musically with just a glance. Witnessing that inside the studio was very moving.
Airto is receiving the prestigious National Endowment for the Arts honour this year. Did working so closely with him give you new insights into why his influence on jazz and Brazilian music remains so profound?
Absolutely. What impressed me most was not only his musical genius but his permanent curiosity. Airto approaches music with the spirit of a child discovering sound for the first time. He is always searching, always experimenting.
His influence goes far beyond percussion. He expanded the vocabulary of rhythm inside jazz and brought Brazilian musical identity into a truly global conversation without losing authenticity. Working closely with him made me understand even more deeply how innovation and freedom are connected in his artistic philosophy.
The title Maracanós is intriguing. What is the story behind the album’s title, and what does it symbolize artistically or culturally?
The title was created by Airto Moreira himself, and I love the poetic and symbolic dimension it carries. Maracanós combines the words “maraca”, “Maracanã”, and the pronoun “nós”, which means “we” in Portuguese. The title, therefore, brings together rhythm, Brazilian identity, collectivity and movement at the same time.
There is something deeply Brazilian in the sound of the word, but also something open and universal. It evokes percussion, nature, birds, popular energy, community and encounter. I think this perfectly reflects the spirit of the album, a musical encounter built collectively through friendship, freedom, improvisation and cultural exchange.
“Maracanós represents friendship, freedom, improvisation and cultural exchange.”
The Kalimera String Quartet appears on two tracks with arrangements by Liduíno Pitombeira. Why was it important to incorporate strings into this project, and how did they expand the album’s musical vocabulary?
The strings introduced another emotional layer to the album. I wanted certain moments to have greater harmonic depth and cinematic expansion, almost like opening a new emotional horizon inside the music.
Liduíno Pitombeira created arrangements with enormous sensitivity. He understands both classical language and Brazilian musical phrasing, which allowed the quartet to interact organically with percussion, improvisation and the rhythmic complexity of the album.
Your label, Jasmin Music, has become an important platform for Brazilian artists across multiple generations. How does Maracanós reflect your broader vision as a producer and label founder?
Maracanós reflects very clearly what I believe Jasmin Music represents: artistic freedom, sonic excellence, cultural identity and creative risk.
I’m interested in building projects that preserve musical depth and emotional truth. We live in a time where music is often reduced to speed and algorithms. Jasmin was created to protect artistic identity and long-form musical experiences. This album embodies that philosophy completely.
Airto mentioned using his voice throughout the sessions in spontaneous ways when he wasn’t playing percussion. Were there moments during the recording process that surprised you creatively?
Many moments surprised me. Airto uses his voice almost as an extension of rhythm and emotion. Sometimes he would suddenly begin vocalizing textures or rhythmic ideas while listening to playback, and those moments became part of the atmosphere of the recordings.
There was a constant sense of discovery in the studio. Some of the most beautiful moments happened unexpectedly.
The album moves away from commercial formulas and embraces artistic risk. In today’s music industry, where algorithms often shape listening habits, how important is it for you to protect creative freedom?
For me, creative freedom is essential. Music cannot exist only to satisfy algorithms or consumption patterns. Art needs risk, surprise, contradiction, silence and emotional density.
I believe audiences still deeply desire authenticity. Perhaps the industry sometimes underestimates listeners. My commitment is to create music that has identity and emotional permanence, even if it follows a more difficult commercial path.
“Music still has the power to create emotional bridges between cultures, generations and human experiences.”
The upcoming documentary directed by Jom Tob Azulay adds another dimension to this project. What can audiences expect from the film that they may not hear on the album itself?
The film reveals the human and emotional dimension behind the music. Audiences will witness the creative process in real time: conversations, rehearsals, improvisations, memories, tensions, humor, affection and the intimacy of artistic creation.
It is not only a documentary about music. It is also about friendship, artistic legacy, exile, Brazil, spirituality and the passage of time.
You’ve collaborated with artists such as Gilberto Gil, Roberto Menescal, Toninho Horta and many others. Where does Maracanós fit within your artistic evolution?
I see Maracanós as one of the most mature and free projects of my career. It synthesizes many things I’ve explored throughout the years: Brazilian harmony, cinematic language, sophisticated production, improvisation and emotional storytelling.
At the same time, it opened new creative doors. Working closely with Airto and Flora expanded my perception of spontaneity and musical freedom.
The album cover artwork by Fernando França reflects a symbolic connection between Brazil and Africa. How important was visual storytelling in shaping the identity of this release?
Visual identity is extremely important to me. I see albums as complete artistic objects, not only collections of songs.
Fernando França created images that connect mythology, ancestry, Brazil, Africa and spirituality in a very powerful way. The artwork reflects the same emotional and symbolic layers that exist in the music itself.
Finally, what do you hope listeners around the world take away from Maracanós, especially those discovering your music, or perhaps even Airto and Flora’s legacy, for the first time?
I hope listeners feel an emotional connection and freedom. I hope the album invites people into a deeper listening experience, where music becomes atmosphere, memory and emotion.
For younger audiences discovering Airto and Flora, I hope Maracanós reveals the timelessness of their artistic vision. For those discovering my work through this project, I hope they perceive the commitment to authenticity, sonic beauty and Brazilian musical identity.
I believe music still has the power to create emotional bridges between cultures, generations and human experiences. That is ultimately what Maracanós represents for me.
Amsterdam-based Cuban-born vocalist Estrella Acosta continues to expand her artistic horizons with Caminos – A Latin American Landscape, a vibrant and far-reaching recording with her ensemble Esquina 25. A Latin Grammy nominee, Acosta has long been celebrated for her deep connection to Cuban and Brazilian traditions. With Caminos, she goes further—tracing a musical map that spans the breadth of Latin America.
From Mexico to Argentina, and from Afro-Caribbean grooves to Brazilian lyricism, the album embraces what Acosta describes as “music without borders,” brought to life through a collective of international musicians based in the Netherlands.
With Caminos, Estrella Acosta and her band Esquina 25 offer more than a collection of songs—they present a living, breathing dialogue across cultures, traditions, and musical languages. It is a project that doesn’t simply travel across Latin America—it connects it.
In Caminos, Estrella Acosta paints a musical landscape of Latin American traditions. She takes you on the road to experience songs from her motherland as well as Mexico, Venezuela, Brazil, Peru and Uruguay, all the way to Argentina. You will hear in this album formats ranging from intimate duos to bigger sounds with her band Esquina 25 and special guests, bringing the listener a variety of rhythms and creative arrangements. Music to listen to and dance to!
In this conversation, Acosta reflects on artistic identity, collaboration, and the evolving language of Latin jazz.
Caminos – A Latin American Landscape
Now available on HearNow
“Caminos – A Latin American Landscape is about movement—not just geographically, but emotionally and culturally.”
Caminos feels deeply personal. Was there a specific moment or realization that set this project in motion for you?
Over the years, I’ve had the opportunity to discover and sing many songs from Latin America while living in the USA, Europe and also during my travels through Central and South America. Being a voting member of the Latin Recording Academy, every year during voting season, I have the chance to listen to a great variety of music by its members. This has expanded my horizons and revived my interest in exploring the folklore and music from this part of the American continent.
As a musician and anthropologist, I always like to go back to the past, dig into the roots and check out the music of people around the planet. In the past, I explored the music of Cuba and Brazil, and now I want to get closer to other countries of the Americas. Luckily, I could form a band, Esquina 25, consisting of excellent international musicians who understand its character and spirit – they speak the language of these various traditions.
For this album, the first song that caught my attention was ‘Que Nadie Sepa mi Sufrir’, also known as ‘Amor de mis Amores’, which was written in 1927 as a Peruvian waltz by an Argentinian composer, Angel Cabral, with lyrics by Enrique Dizeo. The song was first popularized by Argentinians Hugo del Carril and Alberto Castillo, and then recorded by many more singers. In 1957, with French lyrics by Michel Rivgauche, Edith Piaf made it a big hit in Europe. Of course, what fascinated me about this song was its beautiful melody and lyrics, and the challenge was to make this song, which had been recorded by so many artists, our own. I asked one of my favorite arrangers, Venezuelan trumpetist Michael Simon, to create something different. He wanted some spoken words in it, so this allowed me to feature my mom reciting a few lines of poetry. This song got my project in motion.
Living in Amsterdam as a Cuban artist, do you ever feel a sense of distance from your roots—or has that distance actually deepened your connection to them?
The distance from my motherland has deepened my connection to my roots. I left Cuba when I was 11 years old. Thanks to my parents, I was able to retain my identity and culture while growing up in Texas. They always played Cuban music at home, and my dad taught me how to dance. They still have a great collection of LP’s by Celia Cruz, Beny Moré, Trio Matamoros, Bola de Nieve, Fajardo y sus Estrellas, etc. My mother took care of passing on the poetry of Cuba and Latin America by reciting the many poems she had memorized since her youth. Later in life, I studied poetry and literature at the University of Mexico City and then graduated from the University of Texas at Austin, where, of all things, I started singing Brazilian music.
Coming to live in the Netherlands opened new doors to the music of Cuba. It was here that I first had a chance to listen to many Cuban bands performing live, such as Cachao, Los Papines, Sierra Maestra, NG La Banda, Los Van Van, Chucho Valdés and Irakere, and later Afro-Cuban All Stars, Buena Vista Social Club, and many more artists.
So it was also in the Netherlands that I returned to Cuban music, thanks to a group of Cuban musicians I met there around the year 2000. We formed a band playing Cuban country music, which toured and recorded the album Alma Guajira. So yes, living in Amsterdam brought me closer to my musical roots.
This album travels across so many countries and traditions. Were there any musical cultures in this project that challenged you or pushed you outside your comfort zone?
Yes, I had the adventurous idea to sing a Venezuelan merengue, ‘De Tanto Quererte’, also known as ‘Merenson’. This song is in a fast 5/8 rhythm, a groove very different from what I was used to. I did songs in 5/4 and 7/4 before, but this one was of a different nature. It is part of the folklore that comes easily to those who grow up with it… I had listened to Venezuelans singing this style, and they make it sound so easy – for me, it was a challenge. Double bassist Samuel Ruiz from Venezuela helped me figure it out and saved me on this one; it was great to have an expert on board. Luckily, ‘Merenson’ also goes back and forth between merengue and son, so I could always step into familiar grounds. At the end of the arrangement, we added a coro-pregon section that gave it a Cuban touch.
With Esquina 25, there’s a real sense of chemistry and trust. How did you build that musical family?
Esquina 25 came together in 2004 as part of a project fusing Cuban music with Latin jazz. Marc Bischoff and I started the band, with me as bandleader and him as musical director. We have had various members join throughout the years. The current line-up has been steady since 2013. Everyone in the group enjoys the music we are creating and has a lot of freedom to express themselves. It is this sense of freedom and trust that keeps us together – there is mutual love and respect.
“We’re not trying to recreate traditions—we’re in dialogue with them.”
Your collaboration with Marc Bischoff seems central to the album. What kinds of conversations—musical or otherwise—shaped your work together?
Marc and I talk about what music interests us, and also about what musical subjects we can bring to our audience. The album Mujeres de Luna, with songs by Cuban female composers performed by the band and a string quartet, was a very exciting idea for me as a singer and also for Marc, who was looking forward to arranging for strings. He later said that I was the only Cuban doing country music in this part of the world, so I should focus on that genre. This led to the album Tierra, with songs composed by Cuban country singers and some of my own compositions. For the new album, Caminos, he did the arrangement of my song ‘Nevando en Camagüey’. He also recorded most of the album at his studio and mixed it. It is a great privilege for me to work with him.
‘Nevando en Camagüey’ is such an evocative title. What does that image mean to you emotionally?
‘It’s snowing in Camagüey’ is indeed quite a title since we know that it never does…
I visited the wonderful city of Camagüey on my first trip back to Cuba. My lyrics are inspired by the memory of this trip, conversations with family and friends, and stories based on the history and folklore of this beautiful region. Famous are the ‘tinajones’, huge earthenware jars, which the inhabitants have used for hundreds of years to collect rainwater. The legend says that those who drink the water from the tinajones will fall in love with someone from Camagüey and never leave the city again.
But I was also inspired by my aunt Mirita in Havana, who would always use “Está nevando en Camagüey” as a code when she dared to share by telephone any news about our family members living in the USA.
When you interpret songs by composers like Marta Valdés or Armando Manzanero, what do you look for first—the story, the harmony, or something more intangible?
I look for the intangible – how the song hits my guts, my soul, my imagination. I also look at how the music and lyrics transcend musical genres. For example, Marta Valdés was a fan of jazz music, and you can hear it in her bolero on the album, ‘No Hagas Caso’, and in many of her compositions.
There’s a beautiful balance in your music between structure and freedom. Do you ever feel tension between those two forces?
I feel that structure and freedom complement each other. One cannot be musically free without some structure and cannot work with structure without venturing into free spaces. Our Dutch/American saxophonist, Efraïm Trujillo, plays on most of the album’s tracks and is a very sensitive soloist who knows how to balance structure and freedom in his improvisations.
The guest artists bring very distinct voices to the album. Were there moments in the studio that surprised you or changed the direction of a piece?
Recording the duo pieces with the great guitarist from Austin, David Pulkingham, was a nice surprise. We had never played together before. I gave him two songs, ‘Voy Apagar la Luz’ by Armando Manzanero and ‘Milonga Paraguaya’ by Jorge Drexler from Uruguay. We came together a few days later and recorded in an intimate setting, at close distance, and it turned out to be a very organic experience and gave the music a special feel.
The making of the Uruguayan candombe, ‘Ahí va la Comparsa’, was also a very spontaneous experience: A Cuban, a Brazilian, a German and a Venezuelan were all guided here by our Uruguayan drummer/percussionist Enrique Firpi – an essential core member of the band. It was a thrill to sing together with my close friend from Uruguay, Beatriz Aguiar. Recording these songs that had just come out of the arranger’s pot gave a fresh twist to the music.
The contributions of our guest artists on various tunes all gave the album extra spice. We were fortunate to have Elizabeth Fadel on accordion and Paulinho Paes on guitar, both from Brazil, as well as Jorge Glem (cuatro), Gerardo Rosales (percussion) and Michael Simon (trumpet) from Venezuela participating in this project. They were all essential in painting our Latin American landscape.
“Music without borders is not a concept—it’s a lived experience.”
You describe this as “music without borders.” Has your own idea of identity—musical or personal—changed while making this album?
Both my musical and personal identity have changed, so I see myself more as a world citizen. However, they say you can get the girl out of the country, but you can never get the country out of the girl.
Yes, I feel like discovering more music from the Americas, but I also would like to focus on boleros, a style that I have always loved. And talking about a genre of music that transcends borders, boleros have been created not only by Cuban, Puerto Rican and Mexican composers, but also by people from many other nations, including Brazil, which has contributed boleros with the beautiful sound of its Portuguese language.
What did this project teach you about yourself as an artist?
This project taught me many lessons, but most of all, never to give up learning new things and exploring my musical potential.
When you listen back to Caminos now, do you hear it as a destination—or as the beginning of something new?
Listening to Caminos now, I feel that I am standing at the beginning of a new road, a new path; it is the start of something new.
Thank you, Estrella, for sharing your thoughts with our readers.
Thank you for the opportunity.
TRACKLIST
1. De Tanto Quererte (featuring Jorge Glem & Gerardo Rosales) [Merenson]
2. Dunas (featuring Paulinho Paes & Marc Bischoff)
3. Nevando en Camagüey (featuring Efraïm Trujillo & Gerardo Rosales)
4. No Hagas Caso (featuring Marc Bischoff, Samuel Ruiz & Efraïm Trujillo)
5. Que Nadie Sepa Mi Sufrir (featuring Elizabeth Fadel & Efraïm Trujillo)
6. Voy a Apagar la Luz (featuring David Pulkingham)
7. Ahi Va la Comparsa (featuring Beatriz Aguiar & Enrique Firpi)
8. Milonga Paraguaya (featuring David Pulkingham)
-
25 Most Read Posts13 years agoJuan García-Herreros “Snow Owl” – Normas
-
25 Most Read Posts14 years agoEdy Martínez, the Music Architect Behind the Piano
-
25 Most Read Posts16 years agoRaphael Cruz Reaffirms His Commitment To Latin Jazz!
-
25 Most Read Posts11 years agoRubén Blades con Roberto Delgado & Orquesta: Son de Panamá