By Michael E. Miller
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Cubanismo is hardly the only topnotch Cuban outfit to be crisscrossing the United States right now. It's joined by, among others, timba kings Los Van Van, jazz pianist Chucho Valdés's crack quartet, and folksy guaguancó revivalists Los Papines. The only real common denominator among these diverse artists is the glaring absence of a Miami appearance. Blame it on Elian and booking agents (as well as Cuban government officials) feeling mighty skittish in the wake of South Florida's amply televised Cuban-exile conniption fits. In contrast the rest of the nation is only deepening its sense of Cubanophilia; unless Wausau and Uncasville are harboring formerly unknown exile communities, the love for all things authentically Cuba based seems to be penetrating deeper and deeper into the heartland. Even fans of the X-Files are no longer safe: On an episode two weeks ago, as Mulder and Scully scurried offscreen, a host of zombies rose from the grave and began furiously cha-cha-cha-ing around their tombstones. The zombies' gently wafting soundtrack? Buena Vista Social Club's "Pueblo Nuevo."
Of course truth always is stranger than fiction (even Fox-TV fiction), as borne out by Salesforce.com, yet another Bay Area Internet site that announced its entry into the world of e-commerce via a swanky launch party. The band booked to play this high-profile shindig? Los Van Van. "We've got a revolutionary new way to sell software," earnestly explained a Salesforce.com staffer, "so we wanted a revolutionary band to play our party." Los Van Van canceled at the last minute (the decidedly nonparadigm-shifting B-52's filled in) to jet off to a private party in Los Angeles. This wasn't just any Hollywood bash, however; it was an impromptu celebration of Los Van Van's Grammy win for Best Latin Album -- further mud in your eye for el exilio's cultural commissars, still fuming after losing out on playing host to the Latin Grammy Awards because of their "no Cubans" stand.
Don't cry too many tears for Los Van Van missing out on that no-doubt highly sizable Salesforce.com paycheck. With their heightened post-Grammy prestige and reams of glowing reviews for their live show (as any of the 3000 attendees at their October Miami Arena gig can attest to), the band now is reportedly commanding upward of $80,000 per performance. It's a bit unclear just how Los Van Van was planning to pocket that Salesforce.com loot, in light of U.S. restrictions on commercial concert fees, but this much is clear: This is one Cuban collective that's going to have little trouble adapting to post-Fidel economic theory. (Personal memo to the Van Van boys: Next time inquire about stock options.)
If there's one bright spot on Miami's nightlife horizon given this post-Elian chill in cultural exchange with Cuba, it's in the form of Debbie Ohanian, one of only a handful of local individuals still committed to staging concerts with those heathen islanders. Somewhat chastened by recent events, Ohanian sighed to Kulchur: "So many people are hard-line now who were moderate before, it's set us back years. It's divided the city to such a level, I don't know what they're going to do to repair it." Still, she remains undaunted: Buena Vista Social Club lutist Barbarito Torres is set to kick off his U.S. summer tour with a show at Ohanian's Starfish club on Friday, June 9.
Miamians pining for an in-the-flesh live taste of Chucho Valdés can at least settle for the next best thing: his new album Live at the Village Vanguard. Drawn from an April 1999 two-night stand at that famed New York City nightclub, the album easily demonstrates why Valdés isn't just a monster of "Latin jazz," but of jazz period. For anyone still disappointed at his somewhat lackluster set the last time he hit town (perhaps owing to the lack of a proper full-size grand piano), Live at the Village Vanguard stands as a welcome corrective. Although you don't get the delightful visuals of Valdés's massive six-foot-plus frame topped off by a black Kangol (looking vaguely like Pulp Fiction's Samuel L. Jackson, had he chosen to attend a music conservatory instead of becoming a hit man), that visceral energy still comes across loud and clear. Violently dominating the keys, his fingers flying back and forth in an exhilarating rush, there are intense passages here where Valdés seems ready to physically push the black-and-white ivories through to the floor. Then suddenly his rhythm section will step back, as if dropping through a trap door, and fall into a beautifully meditative spell. "When you play in front of a live audience, you feel that higher level of energy," Valdés explained to Kulchur from his Seattle hotel room while on tour. "It makes you play even more intensely -- not just me, but the whole band."