Forget Arthur Murray’s bastardization of
the bolero-son. This is the real rumba. Think “The Peanut Vendor,” pre-Stan
Kenton. It is a dance and a rhythm and maybe even a philosophy of life. Arístides Falcón Paradí surveys all manifestations of rumba, tracing its journey from
Africa to Cuba and on to New York in Rumba
Clave Blen Blen Blen (trailer here), which screens during the 2014 African Diaspora International Film Festival in New York.
You had better believe rhythm and
percussion are important to Afro-Cuban music. Those who have not had at least a
beginner’s introduction to Afro-Latin jazz (Trueba’s Calle 54 being a nice place to start) might not realize how
sophisticated the music really is. It can also be wonderfully earthy, even
though it has distant roots in sacred music.
Falcón
Paradí
explores rumba from both perspectives, celebrating the virtuosity of rumba
musicians and its enduring popularity, particularly within the Cuban-American
community. In fact, if there is one defining event for RCBBB, it would arguably be Mariel. Without it, Falcón Paradí
would not have had nearly as many interview participants.
The doc features some big name musicians,
most notably including the revered Candido Camero, considered by many the
preeminent jazz conguero, still going strong in his nineties. With at least
2,000 recording credits, Camero (or just plain Candido, as many know him) is
clearly the dean of RCBBB, but it is
still tough to beat the effortless cool radiated by Jerry González, probably still best known for his work with the Fort
Apache Brass Band. However, the late, great Orlando “Puntilla” Ríos largely serves as the film’s Obi-wan, carrying a disproportionate
share of the on-screen commentary with authority and charm.
From time to time, RCBBB looks backward at rumba history, especially Chano Pozo’s
legendary collaborations with Dizzy Gillespie that more or less constitute
Latin Jazz’s creation story. Yet, despite his background as a CCNY faculty
member, Falcón Paradí
is more interested in putting the music in an everyday listener’s context. We
get a sense of where the music is played and the lack of a rigid hierarchy
demarcating artist from audience. Still, he recognizes interesting material
when it arises. Several times he asks about the role played by the Abakua, the
secret Cuban fraternal mutual aid society in the development of the music,
getting evasive responses like “hmm, maybe for the next documentary.” At least
he asked.