Annotations for Places: Colombia

[Change in transitional music]

The roots of Latin jazz go back at least five decades to such artists as Machito, Chano Pozo, and Dizzy Gillespie. Latin jazz has lost many of its originators in recent years, but one of them, 81-year-old Mario Bauzá keeps going strong. From Miami, Emilio San Pedro prepared this profile of the legendary co-founder of the band Machito and his Afro-Cubans.

Mario Bauzá left his native Havana for New York in 1930. When he got to this country, Bauzá became one of those responsible for making Afro-Cuban music popular in the United States and around the world.

Had to happen outside of Cuba before the Cuban people convince themself what they had themself over there. When they got big in United States, Cuba begin to move into that line of music.

[Afro-Cuban jazz music]

Bauzá remembers his days at the Apollo Theater in Harlem where he helped to launch the career of Ella Fitzgerald. He recalls his days with the Cab Calloway Orchestra and the time that he and his friends, Dizzy Gillespie and Cozy Cole, played around with Afro-Cuban rhythm and jazz arrangements and created something new: Afro-Cuban Jazz.

[Afro-Cuban jazz music]

In the early 1940s, Bauzá formed the legendary band Machito and his Afro-Cubans, along with his brother-in-law, Frank Grillo, who was called Machito. Bauzá was the musical director of the band and he composed some of the group's most memorable songs.

[Afro-Cuban jazz music]

The sensation caused by Machito and his Afro-Cubans and by other Latin musicians in the '40s made New York the focal point of a vibrant Latin music scene.

[Afro-Cuban jazz music]

It's the scene of The Mambo Kings, you know, and that's why a lot of people will say Mambo is not Cuban music or is not Mexican music. Mambo is New York music.

Enrique Fernández writes about Latin music for the Village Voice. He's also the editor of the New York-based Más Magazine.

It was here that this kind of music became very hot…that it really galvanized a lot of people…that really attracted a lot of musicians from different genres that wanted to jam with it, and that created those great, you know, those great encounters between Latin music practitioners and the jazz practitioners, particularly Black American jazz practitioners. For that, you need to recognize that New York has been, since then, probably before then, but certainly since then, one of the great centers of Latin music.

Mario Bauzá takes great pride in the current popularity of Latin and Caribbean music, but he says people are wrong to call his music Latin jazz. He says that label doesn't give proper recognition to its musical roots.

Merengue, merengue from Santo Domingo. Cumbia is cumbia from Colombia. Afro-Cuban is Cuban. That's why I got to keep [unintelligible] Afro-Cuban rhythms, and Afro-Cuban rhythm…Danzón es cubano…la Danza es cubano…Bolero es cubano…el Cha-cha-cha es cubano…el Mambo es cubano…el Guaguancó es cubano y la Columbia es cubana. So, I got to call it Afro-Cuban Jazz.

[Afro-Cuban jazz music]

After seven decades in the music business, Mario Bauzá has come out of the shadows of the group Machito and his Afro-Cubans and is being recognized for his accomplishments as one of the creators of Afro-Cuban Jazz. This year, Bauzá plans to tour with his Afro-Cuban jazz orchestra featuring Graciela on vocals. The group also plans to release another album of Afro-Cuban jazz: Explosión 93. For Latino USA, I'm Emilio San Pedro.

[Afro-Cuban jazz music]

When I left Peru in 1983, I thought that by leaving Peru and leaving Latin America, just the idea of getting killed in a mission was going to be gone and I was going to leave that feeling in the international airport in Lima, and actually I left, but the feeling still remains. And every time that a journalist gets killed, like in this situation, the feeling of being in a country like Peru or Colombia comes back to me and it's kind of difficult to say it, but the more they kill journalists, the more we fight back because we know that it has to be said. And even though it involves a great personal risk, this is what we are here for and we keep on doing it.

Latin jazz great Mario Bauzá died July 11 of cancer in his Manhattan home, just blocks from where I live. Mario Bauzá, an integral part of New York's Latin jazz scene, was 82 years old.

I remember this great musician sitting on a milk crate outside a bodega, surrounded by friends, drinking coffee, and enjoying the simple things of life. You would've never known it by seeing him that this small, tender, smiley man had totally revolutionized American music.

In the 1940s, he influenced popular music by innovating a new musical style which mixed popular Afro-Cuban rhythms with American jazz.

Emilio San Pedro prepared this remembrance of Latin jazz legend Mario Bauzá.

[Afro-Cuban jazz]

Mario Bauzá was first exposed to American jazz in 1926, when he visited New York. In 1930, anxious to become a part of that scene, Bauzá left his native Havana for New York, frustrated that in Cuba, Afro-Cuban music was considered merely the music of the streets, not the music of the sophisticated nightclubs, country clubs, and hotels of pre-revolutionary Havana.

Had to happen outside of Cuba before the Cuban people convinced themself what they had, themself over there. They didn't pay no attention to that. When I got big in United States, Cuba begin to move into that line of music.

[Afro-Cuban jazz]

In the 1930s, Bauzá performed with some of New York's best-known jazz musicians, like Chick Webb and Cab Calloway. In fact, in those days, Bauzá was responsible for introducing singer Ella Fitzgerald to Chick Webb, thus helping to launch her career. It was also Bauzá who gave Dizzy Gillespie his first break, with the Cab Calloway Orchestra.

During their time touring and working with Cab Calloway, Mario Bauzá and Dizzy Gillespie, along with the Afro-Cuban percussionist Chano Pozo, played around with Afro-Cuban rhythm and jazz arrangements and created something entirely new: Afro-Cuban jazz.

[Machito--Sopa de pichon]

In the early 1940s, Mario Bauzá formed the legendary band Machito and his Afro-Cubans, along with his brother-in-law, Francisco Perez, who was called Machito. Bauzá was the musical director of the band, and he composed and arranged some of the group's most memorable songs.

[Machito--Sopa de pichon]

The sensation caused by Machito and his Afro-Cubans and by other Latin musicians in the 1940s made New York the focal point of a vibrant Latin music scene.

It's the scene of the Mambo kings you know, and that's why a lot of people will say Mambo is not Cuban music or it's not Mexican music. Mambo is New York music.

Enrique Fernandez writes about Latin music for the Village Voice.

It was here that this kind of music became very hot, that it really galvanized a lot of people, that had really attracted a lot of musicians from different genres that wanted to jam with it, and that created those great encounters between Latin music practitioners and jazz practitioners, particularly Black American jazz practitioners, that brought all this stuff together that later on, generated salsa and it generated Latin jazz and a lot of other things.

[Machito--Si si no no]

Groups like Machito and his Afro-Cubans were responsible for sparking a Latin dance craze in the United States, from New York to Hollywood. Mario Bauzá's sister-in-law, Graciela Pérez, began singing with Bauzá's orchestra in 1943.

Pero jurate que la música de esta…[transition to English dub] The music made by Machito's orchestra created such a revolution that you could say people began to enjoy because dance schools sprang up to teach the mamba and the guaguanco and all that [transition back to original audio]…el guaguanco todo todo.

Graciela and Mario left Machito's band in 1976 to form their own group, Mario Bauzá and his Afro-Cuban jazz Orchestra. Achieving recognition came slowly for the new band as general audiences lost interest in the traditional Afro-Cuban jazz sounds.

But in the late 1980s, Bauzá's music experienced a resurgence in popularity. His orchestra played to packed houses in the United States, Canada, and Europe. And in the last two years, Bauzá still active and passionate about his music, recorded three albums worth of material.

Meringue, meringue from San Domingo. Cumbia's cumbia from Colombia. Afro-Cuban is Cuban. That's why I've got to keep a bunch of these Afro-Cuban rhythms. Danzón Cubano, la danza Cubano, el bolero Cubano, el cha-cha-cha Cubano, el mambo es Cubano, guaguanco Cubano, la Colombia es Cubana.So I've got to call it Afro-Cuban, yeah.

In a 1991 interview, I spoke with Mario Bauzá about his extraordinary musical output.

You've brought out these great musicians, you've helped create or created Afro-Cuban jazz, brought Latin music and Latins to Broadway.

That's it.

And you're 80 years old.

Yes.

Many people at 80 years old are sitting by the pool or in the rocking chair and whatever. You don't look like it.

You know me. It ain't going to be like that.

What else could you do at this point, what more?

I don't know. I ain't through, I ain't through. I just wanted my music to be elevated. That's why I want to record this suite now. I want to see the word, music is music. You tell me what kind of music. I like any kind of music that we're playing. And that's what I tried to do, present my music different way. Some people might don't like this, don't like that, but when they hear that, they have a right to choose for. That's what I want them to do.

[Mario Bauza--Carnegie Hall 100]

Mario Bauzá worked steadily until his death. He recently released a compact disc on the German record label Messidor called My Time is Now.

For "Latino USA," I'm Emilio San Pedro.

[Mario Bauza--Carnegie Hall 100]

While the media debates the pros and cons of immigration and pollsters measure growing anti-immigrant sentiment, it's somewhat harder to measure how immigrants feel about the ongoing debate. So Latino USA went to commentator, John Guardo, who came to this country from Colombia as a young boy to get his views on the controversy.

Yo, you want to know what really burns me up? It's when I hear people talk about minorities and immigrants like we are subhuman. It's those same people who think it's our fault when bad things happen in our neighborhoods. What they don't realize is that our communities are the ones abandoned by the authorities and left to decay. To set the record straight, let me tell you a story. There once was a kid, a smart kid, who came to this country not to freeload or abuse the opportunities America had to offer, but for a more basic reason. To live with his mom. You see, earlier in his life, his parents had separated. Pops was an alcoholic who had made a habit out of beating up mom. Mom was a teenager, who after the separation, moved to the US, leaving the kid behind, sacrificing it all for a shot at a better life. Finally, time allowed for mother and son to reunite in New York City.

This story should have ended with them living happily ever after. Unfortunately, this is the real world and it didn't happen that way. I am that kid. When I put my foot on the plane, I knew it was the start of a new life. I look forward to visiting Disneyland and the Empire State Building. I had a lot of aspirations. Catching a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty just before landing gave me confidence. It reassured me that I was finally free from the family violence I left back home. But had I really escaped violence entirely? For the first few weeks after I came to this country, life was good. Living in postcard New York was how I thought it would be. That all ended when my mom ran out of places to take me and I had to face it all on my own. Armed with only intellect and friendliness, I stepped into society only to face a seemingly indestructible enemy. Prejudice.

Being nice didn't keep me from getting beat up. Being smart didn't mean anything if no one would listen. But being punched for not knowing English, that was the last straw. From then on, respect became more important than anything and the streets became my school. My mother, on the other hand, worked incessantly, pushed to exhaustion by a dream of seeing her son wear a graduation gown. Sometimes, I felt like telling her how many obstacles I was facing as a new immigrant and just because of being myself, but that would've disillusioned her and she didn't deserve that. When I turned 15, I joined a gang. It seemed like the only way out of my situation. It was like a passport to a regular life, free from being pursued by hate I didn't understand. With size came strengths, and all our voices fused into one that was heard and respected. Now, through violence, I had earned the right to be.

Being young at that time though, I was more inclined to the social aspects of gang life. Being with girls, drinking with the guys, and wilding. Walking down that path landed me in jail a couple of times, turning me into a stereotype, just another statistic. I admit that my sense of responsibility decreased by being in a gang. Instead of hanging out, I could have been studying. But that lost time was replaced by a sense of security. The acceptance given to me by my crew filled up the hole created by being rejected during my first months here. Belonging to a gang fulfilled me, but as time passed, I realized this wasn't the way either. Now that I've been here for almost 10 years, I look at other young kids who have just arrived to this country and see myself. It's a shame that a person whose only intention is to come here and do better is welcomed by prejudice, greed, and racism.

This country was built on immigration. Why is it then? And some people claim to have more rights than others. Is it a seniority thing or a freedom thing? You see, I believe if there was some sort of structure or orientation to guide immigrants when they arrive here, those who are new to this country would be able to avoid certain obstacles. Like the ones I had to confront. A good start would be an expansion in the English as a second language program to make it available to everybody, students and adults alike. Not knowing how to speak English is a problem that leads to others like difficulty in finding a job or being a target for discrimination. America is a beautiful country, full of promise and opportunity for everyone. Immigrants included. Too bad, there are those out there who tarnish its beauty with ignorance. I am John Guardo, speaking for the street.

[Background--Music--Hip-hop] Friday night I was hanging with my boys. We were chilling at this guy, Chino's house, drinking forties while he took care of his kid. I hadn't hung out in a while, so I didn't mind babysitting. But the rest of the guys seem restless. When I finally asked what was up, they told me that they were expecting a delivery of skis, also known as cocaine.

John Guardo, who came to New York City from Colombia when he was 12 years old, just turned 21. But for most of his teenage life, he was a member of a crew. Crews are what gangs are called in New York City. Now, while Guardo is trying to leave that life behind, he sees many of his friends staying behind.

It's hard for me to admit how much drugs have become a part of my life, but they have, and in a big way. The lyrics and the music I hear speak of drugs as a way to become popular or even rich. That idea is reinforced by how drugs are glamorized in the movies. Bad guys living large, selling cocaine with women around them and money to burn. As a little kid, I fantasized about someday living like them. Walking home from school, I saw that crime did pay. Just like in the movies, the neighborhood dealers had cars, girls, money and respect. Things I wanted.

Time passed by though, and a pattern became visible. I watched yesterday's big shot dealers become today's victim. Whether they got shot or went to jail, it was always constant. I saw those who came around to buy drugs deteriorate, transforming from regular people to beggars and criminals with each purchase.

And then I realized everybody was a victim, that it wasn't worth it because even if you ain't got nothing to do with drugs, you can still be mugged by a crack head or catch a bullet from a dealer's gun. No one will ever really be safe unless this problem is solved. Until then, the only protection there is is to be educated. People let us sell or do drugs because they don't realize what harm they're inflicting on themselves or others. Not knowing leaves a void for curiosity to fill.

Anyway, that Friday, as my friends got high, I chose to ignore what they were doing, numbing myself to their actions. I felt compelled to talk to them, but was afraid they'd start dissing me. Feeling out of a place, I went home, got to bed, and fell asleep with a bad feeling.

The next day I woke up to a phone call. One of the guys I was with the night before had OD'ed on cocaine and died of a heart attack. He was 21 years old and also my friend. I'm John Guardo, speaking for the street.