I was feeling kindof skeptical walking to Carlos Varela’s concert at the Gusman downtown on Saturday night. His time had really been the nineties, I was thinking, when he wrote Como los peces and all those songs that crystalized Cuba's discontent. Who would his music still speak to in Miami? He seemed a little too comfortable in his second generation elder troubadour status in Havana . Even if his latest album, No Es El Fin (title track from the 90’s, actually – I have a copy on a 99 demo), was more powerful than the vagaries of Siete and Nubes and the other music he made in the early oughts, I wasn’t sure how relevant Varela could still be.
Still intensely relevant, it turned out, at least to Cubans. Anyone else might not care. But anyone might be moved by the way that an artist’s music can speak so powerfully to and for people’s deepest longings and emotions. Pop music here is so often background, product, a minute or an hour’s entertainment, easy to toss off because it means so little, a disposable soundtrack to a certain time of life, packaged feeling in easy to swallow bites. Yeah, maybe I’ve heard too much of it. Still, it’s startling to hear music really meaning something to people.
photo by Pedro Portal, El Nuevo Herald staff
Right up to just before Varela’s concert started, the theater looked far short of the sellout promoters had announced. But when the lights finally went down a little after 9 pm (we might as well have been in Havana , starting over an hour late – but it sure does pump up the anticipation) the whole place suddenly seemed full. Not only full, but exploding with energy, lighting up the hall as the lights went dark. One of the most moving aspects of the concert, throughout the night, was the way the audience rose up, waved, screamed, sang and sang and sang along, called out to Carlos, an essential part of the show. I don’t know when I’ve ever seen a crowd so live and so involved.
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