Rock & Roll Nostalgia
September 2019
#129
The Lesson In Key(s) [Tune 1]
The rough-and-smooth rock-jazz was turning in an ending rage of cacophony as drums drowned into a swirling morass of piercing guitars and overdriven bass.
Sandi, over in the next room, listening, always enjoyed the last-note noise. It was a ritual for her brother Roberto and his buddies. It was a miracle that anybody cared outside of the small room they occupied for songs and improvisations.
If the neighbors complained, the usual response was to turn their radios louder. After the Chaos, no one could admit but if you were hip, you knew it was coming, one advantage is that once again you could hear New York salsa on New York so-called “Latin” radio.
Sandi and Roberto’s grandparents reminded that how once you couldn’t hear Spanish Harlem Orchestra in their own city unless you saw them in concert.
Now, anyone can have a radio show, it seems. Even Sandi was asked because, they figured, if her brother had musical talent, so would she. But Roberto’s guitar never interested her much. Neither did his old friend Feli’s drum “kit” that couldn’t even fit in that small room. One wonders if she still has them - she had left years ago.
Two days later, she ventured by a free store, although the “free” part was redundant for at least as long as she’s been alive.
A strange sight caught Sandi’s eye: amid copper pots and a cracked wooden pilón y maceta, there sat a scratched yet sturdy black accordion. She stood staring - almost hearing the bellows slowly erupt in sound to the keys, sounding like a favorite key of Roberto’s.
© Ángel L. Martínez 2019 - 26 d 2020
The Bread is Rising Poetry Collective
La Voz De La Gente: Beny Moré,
Celebrando Cien Años de su Nacimiento
Mira, asere, yo, con mi alma
Escucho y bailo son montuno, mambo, guaracha, y bolero
La alma del pueblo
En mi juventud, yo me recuerdo la timba, el clave, y la maraca
Los momentos de nochebuena con la familia, buena comida
Arroz con calamares, frijoles negros, yuca, ensalada de remolacha,
Tamales, coquito, y natilla
Cuando yo voy por las calles, el himno llama el mundo de bembé
En la gerecia de tu familia, un nieto de un rey de bacongo
Pa’ cantar y levanter la alma
Va seguir viviendo el ritmo de Moré
Música cubana
En la isla como cae el fuego de los días
Cuando tu canta En El Tiempo de la Colonia
La realidad
Y la gente de la diaspora
Todo el mundo llora
Y aquí me saludo mi hermano
Nuestra cultura colectiva
Para morir es para vivir
Oye, Beny Moré, loco por el mambo
El Bárbaro del ritmo
Presente, Beny Moré, pa’ siempre
The Voice Of The People:
Beny Moré, Celebrating One Hundred Years of His Birth
Look, asere, me, with my soul
I listen and dance son montuno, mambo, guaracha, and bolero
The soul of the people
In my youth, I remember the timba, the clave, and the maraca
Christmas Eve moments with the family, good food
Rice with squid, black beans, cassava, beet salad,
Tamales, coquito, and custard
When I go through the streets, the anthem calls the world of bembé
In the family of your family, a grandson of a Bacongo king
To sing and lift your soul
Will continue to live the rhythm of Moré
The music of Cuba
On the island how the fire of days falls
When you sing En El Tiempo de la Colonia
The reality
And the people of the diaspora
All the world cries
And here I greet my brother
Our collective culture
To die is to live
Hey Beny Moré, crazy about the mambo
El Bárbaro del ritmo
Presente, Beny Moré, pa’siempre
© Carlos Raúl Dufflar 8/24/19
The Bread is Rising Poetry Collective