THE STRANGEST GIG IN CUBA
We entered a cavernous black space, bang on time but hours too early. Bashes and clangs darted around the hall like bats as the crew cleared away the gear from the just finished previous act. Mountains of audio and lighting gear cluttered the enormous stage, dance floor crowded with tables, no room to salsa. Were we really still in Cuba? “Just for looking,” shouted the doorman. “Come back in an hour,” (or two he could have added.) We began to question whether Casa de la Musica was really going to be worth five times the cost of a normal gig.
I held vigil outside the ladies room as Aniko took the opportunity – you never know when will be the next chance in this country. A couple of stragglers from the previous show caught my attention. A woman, barely out of her teens, and tarted up the the max even by Cuban standards was all over some older guy like a rash. I did a double take as she reached up to whisper in his ear while demonstratively rubbing his cock through his jeans. She performed a little pole dance on his leg then trounced suddenly away, stilettos clapping like castanets against the black concrete floor. Half way to the same toilet where Aniko had disappeared, she turned to her bemused suitor and shouted “200……Cu!” She then disappeared into the loo. Ouch, I thought. Eight months wages for the average guy. I guess he must have had some other sort of income because after gazing into space for a minute or two, he made a beeline for the same place. With protection of Aniko in mind, I headed that way myself, only to see him backing shame-faced away with Aniko emerging, shaking her finger at him as she went.
We escaped to a bar next door and proceeded to demolish a hip flask of rum, reminiscing about the previous month of countless fantastic live shows. Firstly, there were the restaurants with their bands of five or six artists crammed into a corner, playing their hearts out hoping for tips or perhaps to sell a CD. Then there were the bars, maybe with sound and light, maybe not – sometimes a stage, but always great music. Many towns have a Casa de la Trova, or house of ballads, custom built for the performance of traditional music. Trinidad, which ceased almost all architectural development in 1860 has one of its picturesque squares entirely taken over by Casa de la Salsa. This place an absolute treat to visit at sunset with a mojito and partner to dance. One remarkable thing was the consistently impressive standard of musicianship right across the country. From footpath bands to national popular music stars, the players are highly skilled and well rehearsed in often very complicated arrangements.
One of my favourite venues was Casa de la Trova in Baracoa, about as far away from Havana as you can get and still be on the island. A rustic hall, just off the main square with a bar a up one end, and a stage at the other, it hosted live shows at 7 and 10pm every night. A couple of rows of benches lined the side walls, leaving the rest of the chamber open for those who wish to dance. Cubans just love music and boy do they they love to salsa! They seem to enjoy dance as an expression of who they are rather than a mere show of skills. The MC of this particular joint was a rugged, ebullient little guy who forgave us the cover charge on all subsequent visits after he enjoyed our own rather modest dancing the first time we came by. Between songs, he would run through the nationalities of the various guests, never forgetting to give a Skippy impression each time he mentioned Australia. Seems as though Aussies are few and far between in those parts. Like most places, they claimed to serve the “best Mojitos in Cuba.” The room was well enough designed for the bands to play acoustic, and by midnight, not only the hall was bouncing, but the entire cobbled street outside right up to the square was packed with visitors and locals alike. The crowd would be chatting, dancing, drinking and smoking those fat cigars, the balmy evening and inky sky provided a perfect backdrop. So too did the local church which was so old that they still held a wooden cross planted on the beach by Christopher Columbus.
At 11pm, we stumbled back through the grand portico of the palatial Casa de la Musica, and were treated to an hour of Cuban MTV via giant, malfunctioning screen. We were just about to split when a surprisingly good display of modern dance appeared live on stage, followed finally by the headline act. I never did catch their name. Most Cuban bands have at least three rhythm players, bass, trumpet and several singers. This band also included electric guitar, keyboard, trombone and a couple of back up vocalists as well. Unfortunately, although the there was more production gear than you can poke a stick at, the mix was atrocious causing the songs to echo through the chamber like a railway tunnel. Despite the fact that the band consisted of hot musicians, it was impossible to make head or tail of the sound. The most entertaining part of the show was one of the lead singers who made it his quest to gyrate his hips in the most amusing possible manner, like a hula girl without the hoops. Elvis Presley eat your heart out! Perhaps the small time gigs really are the best.
Of course no evening out in Cuba is complete without a ride home in a septuagenarian American roadster, and we revelled in the comfort of a Buick which resembled a lounge suite surrounded by rust.
Skippy can salsa?
Thanks for a laugh at morning coffee