Right about now, local politicians are getting a little restless in their seats. Like Martin they're tired of being the butt of jokes. They too see this year's Latin Grammys, held in Miami at the American Airlines Arena for the first time, as an opportunity to project a new image. More than what happens onstage, though, what matters to them is that the show goes on, that Miami proves itself as a city to be taken seriously. This year the pols had it easy. Thanks to the Bush administration's visa policies, there are no Cuban artists at the venue. No massive protests outside. No need to actually follow through on claims of "tolerance" or respect for the First Amendment. Party time!
Miami Mayor Manny Diaz slips upstairs to the suite where members of the local business community -- looking ahead to the county's bid to host the permanent headquarters of the proposed Free Trade Area of the Americas -- are wooing representatives from Costa Rica, Jamaica, Canada, and the Bahamas. At a long conference table, county Mayor Alex Penelas picks over a platter of sandwiches. County Commissioner Barbara Carey-Shuler dazzles diplomats in a form-fitting black lace dress. Every so often, in between networking and self-congratulation, the politicos take a peek at the show. If anyone hears Lopez's jokes about how being Latino means having bad credit and getting pulled over by racist cops, they don't get it.
Doing a lap around the arena's swanky suites, Joe Garcia, director of the Cuban American National Foundation, takes an informal survey of reactions to the installation CANF commissioned by local artist George Sanchez, set on the Freedom Tower across Biscayne Boulevard from the arena. In Garcia's mind the installation is the perfect way to make a political statement without reinforcing the image of crazy Cuban exiles beamed to middle America during the Elian Gonzalez affair. Glowing in the night sky above the Latin Grammys venue, numbers flash representing human-rights violations in Cuba and throughout Latin America. "Did you like it?" Garcia asks around.
A lovely Bahamian diplo in a strapless evening gown is distracted from the chitchat by the frenetic flamenco-pop of best new artist David Bisbal. "What's his name?" she asks, enthralled. With Ricky Martin girding his loins, it's up to the pint-sized Spanish moppet to put on this year's eye-popping wow-those-Latins-can-dance number.
In a suite on the opposite side of the arena, the president of the Latin Academy of the Recording Arts and Sciences, Gabriel Abaroa, wonders how well Bisbal's energy comes across on television. For the LARAS prez the challenge of pulling off the broadcast in controversy-ridden Miami pales in comparison with the mission of attracting new and frankly uninterested U.S. audiences to Latin music. Abaroa is a practical man. He's not trying to overturn Anglo stereotypes about Latinos; he just wants to open ears to the great variety of Latin sounds. "We want to introduce people to the diversity of Latin music. We could put on the most beautiful, pure show that would bring heaven to earth," he says, "but that won't do any good if we don't get ratings."
The ratings for this year's telecast did improve over last year, but they're still at the bottom of the network pile. Why not try something else? Why not bring heaven to earth, as the academy did on the night before the Latin Grammy Awards, on Tuesday, September 2, at Loews Miami Beach Hotel; there was a tribute to Gilberto Gil, founder of the tropicalia movement, whose music is so powerful that he was once jailed then exiled by Brazil's military regime and is now the minister of culture there under president Lula. From one night to the next, there could be no more dramatic a display of how different Latin music sounds when performed for an imaginary Anglo ear and when played the way Latin music lovers want to hear it.
Backed by Gil's phenomenal band, a parade of admiring stars reinterpreted songs written or recorded by the great singer to astonishing effect. From Mexican Natalia Lafourcade's sultry barefoot rendition of "Realce" to Peruvian idol Gian Marco's manic charanga on "Expresso 2222" to Brazilian diva Daniela Mercury's knockout delivery of "Todas Meninas Baianas" (so sensual she sent the bad boys of Panamanian trio Rabanes into a catcalling frenzy), the tribute outdid the awards show not just in musical quality but in don't-touch-that-dial sexiness. When it seemed the Loews show could not possibly get better, Gil himself took the stage for three numbers that put the whole elegant ballroom on its feet.
The highlight of the evening, however, came after the music stopped, when Harry Belafonte took the podium to present Gil with the LARAS Person of the Year statuette. In a rousing speech the elder statesman of Caribbean crossover warned LARAS against pitching to the bottom line. "Our differences," he intoned, "are at the center of our humanity. Art should reflect life not as it is, but as it should be."
That's a message Latin Grammy audiences have yet to hear, even though Tribalistas -- the Brazilian trio heir to tropicalismo -- sing it loud and clear at the end of the awards show. By the time the trio takes the stage, the audience is already filing out. In the power suite the politicians are digging into a tray of flan. At home, credits roll, then David Letterman's face invades the screen.
