By Jacob Katel
By Laurie Charles
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Abel Folgar
By Kat Bein
By Jacob Katel
Ferrer was selected for the original Buena Vista Social Club when Cooder and musical coordinator Juan de Marcos González needed a bolero singer with the smooth, old-fashioned style of the 1950s. Later, on his first solo disc, Ferrer took full advantage of his mastery of slow to medium-paced, highly romantic songs. But Buenos Hermanos immediately jolts us in a different direction. On the opening cut, "Boquiñeñe," Ferrer struggles a bit to hold his own against the song's busy rhythms and aggressive instrumentation. Hermanos uses the same pair of drummers, Jim Keltner and Joachim Cooder, who appear on Cooder's recent collaboration with Cuban guitarist Manuel Galbán, Mambo Sinuendo. While the rockified approach isn't as obvious as it was on Galbán's disc, the intensified percussion and churning electric organ on the title cut nearly overwhelm Ferrer's nuances.
"La Música Cubana" yields happier results as the piano, bass, and congas leave lots of space for Ferrer to fill in with his jazzy phrasing, deft turns, and high-register excursions. A skittering piano solo by Chucho Valdés creates just the right balance of playfulness and tension, preparing the way for Ferrer's climactic re-entry after the instrumental break. But its shift from quietude to a sudden swelling of sound is telegraphed by the increasingly loud banging drums, rather clumsily making the transition in the process. Other cuts similarly use accompanists to redundantly state a mood, as if Cooder didn't trust his gifted singer to convey the emotion on his own. And these additions often play up the old-fashioned aspects of classic Cuban music rather than emphasizing its timelessness.
The classic bolero "Perfume de Gardenias" begins promisingly with Ferrer's beautiful voice, but just as he really begins to purr, a syrupy chorus of oohs and ahhs tells us how we're supposed to feel with all the subtlety of heartbeats in a horror flick. Ferrer's effortless sensuality here is undermined by an erotic "Look of Love"-style sax solo that's way over the top. And cute piano filigrees cheapen the loveliness of the Trio Matamoros song, "Como Arrullo de Palma" ("Like the Palm's Lullaby").
Several songs on Buenos Hermanos are just plain superb, however. The classic Mexican song "Naufragio" ("Shipwreck") is cast as a duet with accordionist Flaco Jiménez that not only hits just the right tone of rootsiness and pop sophistication, but also suggests a brilliant marriage between Cuban and Tejano styles that deserves further exploration. Manuel Galbán ushers in "Mil Congojas" ("A Thousand Agonies") with shimmering surf guitar that makes the violins that enter later feel superfluous. Fortunately they don't get in the way of an affecting song, which shows that Ferrer's voice, like bluegrass singer Ralph Stanley, may be in the best shape of his life late in his career.
The choicest cuts on Buenos Hermanos are strong enough that its weaknesses can be transcended with a little creative CD-player programming. Start off with "Naufragio," follow up with "Mil Congojas," skip to the mambo "Hay Que Entrarle a Palos a Ése" ("This Guy Should Be Pounded") -- which showcases a loose and white-hot Ferrer -- then let the other tracks fall where they may. In the notes accompanying an advance copy of the album, Cooder says that these sessions with Ferrer yielded over 50 songs. Despite a few shortcomings, Buenos Hermanos is exceptional enough to make anyone hunger for the rest.
Another project tied to the Buena Vista Social Club phenom doesn't fare nearly as well as Ferrer's disc -- and perhaps because Cooder and company weren't involved. Buena Vista: The Next Generation (Universal Latino) is both a little better and a little worse than you might expect from a CD that features relatives of the original Social Club. Disc opener "Los Herederos Intro" ("Intro to the Heirs") is wondrous as trombonists Generoso Jimenez and Juan Pablo Torres tie the melody into woozy knots. Eliades Ochoa's sister, María, could build a vocal career on her own without the family connection, and proves the case in the fiery duet with Maria Elena Lazo, "Asi Son Con El Son" ("That's How They Are with the Son"). But some of the other singers are shaky at best, so that the most you can say about "De Todo Un Poco" ("A Little of Everything") is that the lackluster instrumentation makes Manuel Licea sound a little stronger by comparison. And Ruben Castro Gonzalez plays a few too many of his father's patented runs across the piano keys to show much of an identity of his own. The disc title gives all these performers so much to live up to -- or live down, if you don't buy into the concept -- that they might have been better off choosing a neutral name. Maybe something like the Afro-Cuban Up-Starts.