He’s a white Californian with an internationalist musical style. Janet Smith speaks to guitarist Ry Cooder about his Cuban recordings
An old man is dressed for the superb Havana afternoon: dazzling white shoes like ice- creams peeking out from his trouser bottoms; shimmering white hat slithered low over his brows. He lifts his hand to take a drag of his cigarette, then lets his arm swing down again to play a rhythm against his thigh.
He’s on his way to the Buena Vista Social Club where old men play music to flirt by, music to make you fall in love with a dark and sexy stranger. The sound of the piano slides over the bellybutton and into the lap where the stroking of the guitar already nestles very comfortably.
This is Ry Cooder territory now (although he says he would hate to be seen as the rich white guy from California who makes moves on Third World music). In The Buena Vista Social Club, his latest and possibly greatest collaboration, he’s strolling past the 1950s Chevs and DeSotos, inhaling the cheap aromatic lure of Partagas cigars and the fragrance of fruit and coffee. He takes us dancing in the street and in the courtyard of a tatty, romantic hotel, leading us on with beautiful music that pounds the thighs till the body relents and heats up.
Cooder, who continues to stun his fans with his internationalist approach, was chosen by World Circuit Records in London to bring Cuban legends out of retirement to record three fabulous albums in two weeks in March 1996. Originally, the plan was for a rendezvous between African and Cuban musicians, but the African musicians failed to turn up and Cooder — acclaimed for his work with Grammy-winner Ali Farka Toure — stepped in to bring the idea to life.
“Mostly what I do now is very satisfying,” he says, “but this [The Buena Vista Social Club] is the best record I have ever been involved in. The musicians somehow capture some essence of life, the character of a person, the inner beauty.”
Already fascinated by the way in which the influential guitar styles of Cuban music had spread around the world since the 1940s and 1950s, he has long found the Euro- African-Caribbean mix not only unique but utterly seductive.
“African hi-life came from that mutuality,” he explains in his slow drawl over the phone from Los Angeles. “West African guitar players play that syle, and for the recording company to want me to help do this wasn’t a tall order — it was a wonderful experience.”
The brief from World Circuit Records was for producers to find the oldest and greatest Cuban musicians they could, players from the golden age. Cooder discovered that the isolation of Cuba, the fact that its national cultural expression had been virtually untouched, has resulted in a very pure sound.
But it was his meeting with 89-year-old guitarist and vocalist Compay Segundo, 70- year-old vocalist Ibrahim Ferrer, bolero singer Omara Portuondo, country guitarist and vocalist Eliades Ochoa and brilliant 1940s veteran painist Ruben Gonzalez that blew him away.
“You know how it is when old people talk. They want to stick strictly to their story. It was the same here, but what was great was that none of them played because of commerce. For the record company, recording them was like prospecting for gold treasure. These are legends who have been overlooked and forgotten, despite their charm, their style.
“We assembled in one room an incredible collection of stylistic expressions. Ruben Gonzalez had never played with Compay Segundo, for instance — and that was exciting. If you don’t come into a project like this as an enthusiast, you can spend a lot of time and end up with something generic, folkloric and boring.
“This record is about music which is still so fluid and really rich. The Cuban musicians were very complementary, not only in their basic understanding of the music but also in their support of the ensemble, because star soloists were never as mportant as the band. The personality gave way to the music which always comes first. The greatest names in Cuban music were never considered as icons or figureheads in commerce — the song was never more important than the maraco players. It’s a very beautiful thing to witness.”
Cooder’s real affection for the men and women he worked with in Havana floats through his conversation like lovers lost in each other in a fading, but elegant old Havana ballroom. He calls Gonzalez the greatest piano soloist he has ever heard. He dubs Portuondo, who was invited to join them in recording when Cooder spotted her in the studio lobby, “the Edith Piaf of Cuba”. He reserves extraordinary praise for Segundo: “The whole album turned on Compay. He was the fulcrum, the pivot. He know all the best songs and how to do them.”
For men like Ferrer and Gonzalez, the arrival of Cooder and World Circuit Records in Havana was a shimmering moment in the disappointment of old age. Once a slick and svelte 1950s star, Ferrer was brought in to record from the streets after years of musical inactivity. Gonzalez was so thrilled to be playing again that he would run into the studio every morning and position himself in front of the piano like a boy, his fingers tickling to razzle the keys into life.
“One thing I knew for certain,” says Cooder. “was that I would go home if I thought I had created a problem. It’s been true of everywhere I’ve been and everyone I’ve played with — if I think my presence is a problem as the white guy from California, I’m gone. What was so gratifying here was that they didn’t know me from Adam and we bonded right away. I like to make myself totally available, like an empty vessel and these are highly- refined, sensitive musicians — real survivors.”
The recordings blossomed into three albums. The Buena Vista Social Club is already touted as a classic, and is utterly adored by Cooder fans. A Toda Cuba le Gusta (All of Cuba Loves It) brought 13 fabulous musicians together as the Afro-Cuban All Stars, and this is a shapely, delicious album, especially for those who don’t know Cooder.
It blends the musical blood of six of Cuba’s most revered golden age soneros — octogenarian Pio Leyva and septuagenarians Raul Planas, Manuel “Puntillita” Licea and Ibrahim Ferrer — with that of rising young stars Antonio “Maceo” Rodriguez and Felix Valoy. First-class contemporary arrangements are laid on the sensual flavour of the Cuban big band sound and the result is an album that pays homage to a musical culture and reinvents it without compromise for the 1990s.
The third album, Introducing Ruben Gonzalez is a genuine find. It’s a poignant moment, too, for the pianist, marking his first solo recording at 77 years old after more than 50 years as a musician. He no longer owns a piano and suffers from arthritis, but neither disadvantage the album, which is luscious with rhythm and energy. Having chosen his own favourite musicians and songs, Gonzalez recorded the album in two days without overdubs, instantly becoming an international treasure.
“I’m 50 years old,” says Cooder, “and I’ve realised now that most musicians in the places I’ve visited around the world are very alike. They’re living on music and when musicians like that get together, there’s a harmonic logic to the whole thing. There’s got to be a good karma to it and abuse and exploitation in the industry just makes us more aware and conscious of what a gift an artist can be”.
Now Ry Cooder is pointing his musical compass at Hanoi in Vietnam, but sometimes he says he looks back fondly at the TexMex band he used to play with in a Texan bar in San Antonio. So much has happened. His celebrated soundtrack work such as that for Paris, Texas (“everybody likes that record”) has eclipsed his less well-known recordings like the entertaining The Slide Area. No regrets.
“I just try to get lucky enough to work with people who can pass on their inner beauty and talent to the rest of the world”.