The song is inspired by the daily routines of Cuba’s working class. The neighbor, the singer, the woman who asks for a lift at the street corner, all are faces of the same thing: different ways of facing up to the need of earning one’s daily bread.
Nelson Valdes is a young folk musician from Cienfuegos. His albums include A la mitad del mundo (“To Half of the World”, recorded live and produced by the Hermanos Saiz Association in 2008) and Besitos de escalera (“Stairwell Kisses”, produced by the label Colibri).
Jose Armando Cabrera Soler, 51 years old, sells coffee at a bus terminal in Pinar del Rio. His business shouldn’t be something “out of this world”, but, in a society like ours, it is.
Alito Abad (Holguin, 1982) is one of Cuba’s youngest contemporary folk musicians today. The lyrics of his songs reflect a penetrating gaze. It is as though the country, the historic drama of Cuban identity and the most pressing issues of our reality today were singing in his pieces.
Some two hundred meters from my house, in Alamar’s Zone 11, there are a group of buildings that, even though recently constructed, are in urgent need of repairs. For bureaucratic reasons, however, the appeals of its tenants have met only with negative replies.
Since 1999, Xochitl Galan and Fito Hernandez’ of Duo Karma have aimed to “fuse different genres as part of a search of ethnic sounds from different cultures.” Their work for children, where they have collaborated regularly with singer-songwriter Rita del Prado, is also noteworthy.
Recently, one of my Facebook friends was complaining on-line about the inconveniences that a US postal service had caused him. The addressee was a person this agency had already made deliveries to and claimed not to be able to find them this last time around.
Yaima is one of the best folk musicans of the wave of young musicians who have been making their way in the genre since the year 2000. Above all else, I would describe her as a woman whose beauty is difficult to contain, like a beam of light we hope to capture in our hands.
Though Orman Cala (Granma, 1980) hasn’t enjoyed the same publicity some of his contemporaries have, his songs are charged with a rebellious spirit and a provocative youthful impetus that leave those fortunate enough to listen to them wanting more.
Four years ago, I published a diary entry titled Holguin: My Father’s Land. In it, I reminisced on my last trip to the east-laying province, in the 80s. I recall having broadly described my impressions from then and how it pained me that I hadn’t visited my family for a long time.