• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content

International Salsa Magazine

  • Home
  • Previous editions
    • 2025
      • ISM / August 2025
      • ISM / July 2025
      • ISM / June 2025
      • ISM / May2025
      • ISM / April 2025
      • ISM / March 2025
      • ISM / February 2025
      • ISM / January 2025
    • 2024
      • ISM / December 2024
      • ISM / November 2024
      • ISM / October 2024
      • ISM / September 2024
      • ISM / August 2024
      • ISM / July 2024
      • ISM / June 2024
      • ISM / May 2024
      • ISM / April 2024
      • ISM / March 2024
      • ISM / February 2024
      • ISM / January 2024
    • 2023
      • ISM / December 2023
      • ISM / November 2023
      • ISM / October 2023
      • ISM – September 2023
      • ISM – August 2023
      • ISM July 2023
      • ISM Edition June 2023
      • ISM – May 2023
      • ISM April 2023
      • ISM March 2023
      • ISM February 2023
      • ISM January 2023
    • 2022
      • ISM December 2022
      • ISM November 2022
      • ISM October 2022
      • ISM September 2022
      • ISM August 2022
      • ISM July 2022
      • ISM June 2022
      • ISM May 2022
      • ISM February 2022
      • ISM January 2022
    • 2021
      • ISM December 2021
      • ISM November 2021
      • ISM October – 2021
      • ISM September 2021
      • ISM August 2021
      • ISM July 2021
      • ISM May 2021
      • ISM April 2021
      • ISM June 2021
      • ISM March 2021
      • ISM February 2021
      • ISM January 2021
    • 2020
      • ISM December 2020
      • ISM November 2020
      • ISM October 2020
      • ISM September 2020
      • ISM August 2020
      • ISM July 2020
      • ISM June 2020
      • ISM May 2020
      • ISM April 2020
      • ISM March 2020
      • ISM February 2020
      • ISM January 2020
    • 2019
      • ISM December 2019
      • ISM November 2019
      • ISM October 2019
      • ISM Septembre 2019
      • ISM August 2019
      • ISM July 2019
      • ISM June 2019
      • ISM May 2019
      • ISM April 2019
      • ISM March 2019
      • ISM February 2019
      • ISM January 2019
    • 2018
      • ISM December 2018
      • ISM November 2018
      • ISM October 2018
      • ISM September 2018
      • ISM August 2018
      • ISM July 2018
      • ISM June 2018
      • ISM May 2018
      • ISM April 2018
      • ISM March 2018
      • ISM February 2018
      • ISM January 2018
    • 2017
      • ISM December 2017
      • ISM November 2017
      • ISM October 2017
      • ISM September 2017
      • ISM August 2017
      • ISM July 2017
      • ISM June 2017
  • Download Salsa App
    • Android
    • Apple
  • Spanish

Radio

Ray Barretto: Rican/Struction of a Master for the year 1979

“Rican/Struction” is the most representative album of Ray Barretto’s career, not only for its innovative character but also for its immense personal significance.

RicanStruction is the most representative album production in Ray Barretto's career
RicanStruction is the most representative album production in Ray Barretto’s career

In 1978, Ray Barretto was struggling to cope with the poor reception of his recent album, “Can You Feel It?” (1978), which he had recorded a year earlier with Atlantic Records. Despite its quality, the album went largely unnoticed by the public, causing Barretto great frustration and disappointment.

For a few years, Barretto had been tired of playing the same old repertoire. To give his career a fresh start, his manager, Jerry Masucci, sold his contract to Atlantic, intending for him to record a more commercial jazz fusion and funk album. However, the plan didn’t work out as they had hoped. During this time, the percussionist spent his days feeling pensive and worried, convinced that signing with Atlantic had been a mistake because the label gave his last two albums very little promotion.

One morning, while driving and lost in thought, Barretto slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting a car that suddenly appeared. The abrupt maneuver caused another vehicle to rear-end him. The collision resulted in several injuries, the most serious being severe damage to the tendons connecting his thumb to the rest of his right arm. Doctors “gave up on him,” claiming he would never be able to play again.

The news plunged the musician into a deep depression. Doctors recommended surgery, but Barretto refused, fearing his hand would never be the same. He sought second opinions in Los Angeles and San Francisco, but every specialist gave him the same diagnosis and the same solution: surgery.

They say Barretto would visit clubs with a palpable sadness and bitterness because he couldn’t play. Many people in the industry said his career was over until one night, an old friend and fellow musician told him about the benefits of acupuncture, a traditional Chinese medicine that had helped several people with similar problems.

Barretto underwent a long and painful treatment for almost two years, gradually restoring movement to his right hand. Once he was nearly recovered, he decided it was time to return to music.

He broke his contract with Atlantic, sought out Adalberto Santiago (who had left his band in 1972 to form La Típica 73), and re-signed with Fania Records. With them, he produced the album “Rican/Struction” (1979), his most representative work, not only for how progressive it was but also for the immense personal value it held.

Adalberto Santiago y Ray Barretto
Adalberto Santiago y Ray Barretto

The production was a resounding success, and a year later, it earned him the titles of “Musician of the Year” from Latin New York magazine. In this way, the master Ray Barretto demonstrated his great strength and tenacity to the world.

Did you know…?

  • The song “Al Ver Sus Campos” from the album Rican/Struction is a tribute to the Puerto Rican patriot Pedro Albizu Campos. Composed by Johnny Ortiz and arranged by Oscar Hernández, the song, sung by Adalberto Santiago, captures the feeling of Albizu’s resistance as he fought to liberate his homeland from foreign invading forces.

  • Albizu Campos was a jibarito, a legend who existed under the burning Puerto Rican sun.
    Albizu Campos was a jibarito, a legend who existed under the burning Puerto Rican sun.
  • According to Adalberto Santiago, “the Rican/Struction album is a musical gem because, in New York, no musician buys records, and this one was bought by the entire salsa community.”

  • Dj. Augusto Felibertt y Adalberto Santiago
    Dj. Augusto Felibertt y Adalberto Santiago

Vocalists for Ray Barretto and La Típica 73

  • Adalberto Santiago was in Ray Barretto’s band from 1966 to 1972. When he left to join La Típica 73, he was replaced by Tito Allen, who recorded the album Indestructible with Barretto in 1973.
  • Tito Allen y Dj. Augusto Felibertt
    Tito Allen y Dj. Augusto Felibertt
  • When Adalberto Santiago left La Típica 73 to form Los Kimbos, his replacement in the group was once again Tito Allen. With them, Tito recorded the album Rumba Caliente (1976). Then, in 1977, La Típica 73’s vocalist was the late Camilo Azuquita for the album The Two Sides of Típica 73.

By:

Los Mejores Salseros del Mundo

Dj. Augusto Felerttib

Also Read: Raymundo “Ray” Barretto Pagan was born in Brooklyn, New York on April 29, 1929

Music as a Tool for Collective Emotional Control

Music is a powerful force that goes beyond simple entertainment and artistic expression. Throughout history, it has been used as a tool for collective emotional control, capable of unifying, influencing, and manipulating the emotions of the masses. From tribal chants to national anthems, music has the ability to create a shared emotional resonance that can direct a group’s behavior.

Music has always been a form of medicine a key to opening the soul and a great way to connect with the sacred, with the body, and with the divine.

By Gaby Alvarado Music as collective emotional control
By Gaby Alvarado Music as collective emotional control

Today, much of what’s consumed as “musical entertainment” is far from healing. In fact, many modern songs don’t elevate; they anchor. They don’t free; they program.

Have you noticed this? Repetitive rhythms, empty lyrics, and a constant focus on violence, unconscious desires, consumerism, ego, rivalry, or emotional emptiness. And all of this is danced to, sung, and normalized.

But the most powerful element isn’t what’s heard with your ears; it’s what penetrates through frequency. Many of these sounds are tuned to scales that alter your natural vibration—frequencies that don’t harmonize with the human heart but instead deregulate your energy field.

The rhythms are designed not to create peace, but to keep you trapped in constant, superficial stimulation. Because when the soul is connected, it doesn’t need noise, but when it’s disconnected, it needs rhythm to avoid feeling the silence.

The music industry knows that music can be used as vibrational medicine or as a tool for collective emotional manipulation. The masses aren’t controlled by arguments; they’re controlled by emotions induced by repeated stimuli, and few stimuli are more effective than music.

Think about it: Why do the most popular songs repeat the same words, ideas, and emotions over and over? Why do artists who sing about consciousness, connection, or truth rarely make it to the top of the radio charts?

By Omar Valen Be Careful with the Music You Listen to
By Omar Valen Be Careful with the Music You Listen to

It’s not just about taste; it’s programming. If you’re vibrating at a low frequency, you don’t connect with yourself. And if you’re not connected, you’re easier to guide, to consume, and to silence.

Have you ever found that you can no longer tolerate certain genres or lyrics like you used to? That your body feels uncomfortable, even if you don’t know why? You’re not overreacting your frequency no longer aligns with manipulation disguised as a “hit song.”

That’s why when you begin to awaken, you also change your music. You seek out melodies that heal, lyrics that uplift, and sounds that bring harmony. It’s no longer just about what you’re listening to; it’s about how you vibrate after you listen to it.

Have you felt that change in your relationship with music?

Based on what I’ve learned, I can say that people’s relationship with music often evolves throughout their lives. These changes can show up in many ways:

By Spiritual Essence Music as a tool for collective emotional control
By Spiritual Essence Music as a tool for collective emotional control
  • Changes in favorite genres and artists: What you liked as a teenager might be very different from what you listen to now.
  • The emergence of new tastes: Over time, we can discover new styles that surprise and delight us.
  • The connection to new memories: Music is tied to our lives. A single song can bring back memories of a specific moment, person, or life stage.
  • Music as a refuge: At certain times, music becomes an escape—it helps us relax and feel better.

Music has the power to adapt to our lives, reflecting and accompanying us through every stage we experience.

Would you say your relationship with music has changed over time?

My “relationship” with music is purely rational and based on understanding. Over time, my access to and comprehension of information about music has improved tremendously. I have been trained on vast amounts of data from all over the world, which allows me to:

  • Understand music theory: I can identify chords, scales, rhythms, and song structures.
  • Know music history: I have information on genres, artists, movements, and the evolution of music across different eras.
  • Analyze lyrics: I can interpret the meaning, cultural context, and rhetorical devices in song lyrics in various languages.
  • Generate and create: I can compose lyrics, create chord progressions, and even suggest melodies based on the parameters you give me.

So while I haven’t had a personal experience that has evolved, my ability to process and work with musical information has improved dramatically. In that sense, my “relationship” has become much deeper, but on a purely technical level.

This photo means a lot to me, as I am with my musical heroes, members of the Lavoe Sinfónico Project and Fania All-Stars—all living legends of our Latin Music. Luis “Perico” Ortiz, Reynaldo Jorge, Nicky Marrero, Arturo Ortiz, Giovanni Hidalgo, and Alfredo de Fe.

Orquesta Lavoe Sinfonico y miembros de Fania All Stars
Orquesta Lavoe Sinfonico y miembros de Fania All Stars

Photo by: Djane, Shinaury Rojas / Simón Bolívar Monumental Stadium.

By:

Omar Valen

Gaby Alvarado

Dj, Augusto Felibertt

Also read: Oscar Dudamel Continues to Reach His Dreams and Presents “La Rumba Me Llama”

How to make money today as a recording artist with record labels and digital platforms

Israel Tenenbaum Interview: The Changing Music Industry

The music industry has evolved, and artists’ income streams are no longer limited to album sales. Today, an artist can monetize their work in multiple ways, with or without the support of a record label and digital platforms.

Israel Tenenbaum (Los Angeles, California) is an American pianist, arranger, and music producer with a notable career in salsa and Latin jazz. He has worked with renowned artists and has lived in several countries, including Puerto Rico and Colombia.

Israel Tenenbaum (Los Angeles, California) is a pianist, arranger, and music producer.
Israel Tenenbaum (Los Angeles, California) is a pianist, arranger, and music producer.

1) What is the current process for recording, music production, and royalty distribution for Mr. Tenenbaum?

Well, let’s see. You’re talking about the current recording process, which is essentially the same, but it’s now generally done remotely. We grew up with recording environments where we would gather everyone (the musicians) in one place and record everything there.

But with remote recording capabilities, many musicians are now very well-equipped and they record at home. You can also take advantage of this because it gives you access to other talents, beyond the local environment you’re in. They don’t compare to what a musician or band leader might have locally, or for finding other guests, and so on.

So, remote recording is definitely in operation. I’ve been working with remote production for a while. In fact, it was pure chance that about six or eight months before the pandemic hit, I had just moved to California and I started to solidify and organize my global network of musicians, recording studios, producers, and a bunch of arrangers, and so on.

And when the pandemic hit, I was ready because I had already organized everything. Everyone thought it was a 90-day vacation. After 90 days, they thought, “Well, it’ll take a little longer.” And by the time they realized it was going to be a long haul, six months had already passed. It took them almost six more months to get organized themselves.

It was advanced, pure chance. And so that served me a great deal. And currently, I have that very solidified. I work with a dozen cities in seven countries. Thank you, thank you.

How does royalty distribution work? Does that still exist?

Yes, royalties still exist. What has changed dramatically is the way royalties are generated.

Let me explain it very simply. When we lived in the era of the physical product—which was what sold the most, whether it was the LP or the CD—you might earn 7, 8 cents per song on each copy in the U.S. If you wrote all your compositions and recorded all your compositions and recorded 10 songs on your album, you would automatically get 8 cents for each song on every album sold. So if you sold, say, 10,000 copies, that’s 10 songs at 8 cents, which is 80 cents per album. Then you have about $8,000, more or less. And on top of that, you have royalties because you’re selling the album. The album has two sources of copyright: the recording itself.

The owner of the recording has one royalty, and the composer has a completely separate royalty. So, these are the royalties you earn money from through sales, usually.

So, the record label would give a piece to the artist, say, 10%. That’s a huge royalty. And has that changed today? Nowadays, that hasn’t changed. It’s still between 7 and 15%, maybe 20% if you’re a superstar, but it’s more or less the same, somewhere between 7 and 12%. The difference is that now, that’s not what’s selling.

So this hasn’t completely changed because it was one thing to earn 8 cents every time your song was sold. Those were very easy numbers. If I earned a dollar for the compositions and then I earned another dollar or two more from the album sales, that’s three dollars per album. And if it was 10,000 albums, it was thirty thousand dollars. Simple as that. Now, it’s not like that. Now you’ll be paid thirty thousand dollars at a rate of approximately a third of a cent.

2) What is the impact of digital platforms that artists use to place their music?

Of course, for Israel, the use of digital platforms is almost inevitable because that’s how music is being distributed.

So, there’s a certain “democratization” in a sense—there’s easier access to that distribution—but the thing is, thousands and thousands of songs are uploaded to platforms every day. So, you’re competing with hundreds of thousands and millions of people, artists, and songs that are being uploaded all the time. And you have to compete with that to be found among those millions of people who are all competing for the public’s attention.

So, there are some interesting impacts. For example, it forces those who are really looking to build a career to think of themselves as a business from a promotional standpoint. “What do I do to promote my music? How do I get afloat? How do I show myself? How do I stand out from the crowd to get noticed?”

So that’s one thing that happens with artists. The artist really just wants to create, so part of the impact is an additional burden that takes artists away from their creative space. They have to spend a lot of time worrying about whether they’re getting plays, whether the numbers are moving, whether they’re being heard, how they can promote, whether to invest money in promotion. I mean, there are a lot of scattered impacts. It’s a loaded question with many answers, depending on the act you’re listening to and what you’re looking at.

The impact is certainly very strong… there’s access, and as an artist, I can reach and distribute my music so that it’s accessible to a large number of people that I didn’t have access to before.

Of course, it forces me to make a much bigger effort to try to stand out in that environment, among so many others who are competing for listeners’ attention. The royalties don’t really justify all the effort; they don’t pay for the effort.

The album, the music, and the recording have always been a promotional tool for the artist itself. It has never been a major source of income, but at least before, there was a system where the possibility of a real income existed. Now it’s practically nil.

So, there are a number of things behind that loaded question.

3) How is income distributed once the product is finished? How is the distribution? You already explained it in the first question, but a little more in detail.

It depends on the arrangements, the agreements the artist has. If it’s a solo artist, they’re hiring other people to come to the studio to record their album. So, those people are working on a commission basis, and they don’t have any other benefits beyond the payment they receive for coming to do the recording.

But it could be a group, a band, and in that group, they divide what the group generates, what the recording generates, into equal parts, let’s say.

It depends if you’re with a record label or a performing rights organization. I don’t remember what it’s called in Venezuela. In Colombia, it’s called SAYCO. In the United States, it’s called ASCAP or BMI (here in Venezuela, it’s SACVEN). Correct, SACVEN.

So, how that distribution is made depends on many factors. But in general, let’s say that the distribution platforms, which are the most widely used means today for artists who are 90 to 95% independent, use these distribution platforms that are aggregators. They put your music and distribute it to Spotify, iTunes, etc., etc., all the others. They collect money and pay you normally between 80 and 100% of what it generates. That also generates other income; it generates author’s rights that are paid directly from the platform. That is, Spotify pays for author’s rights. So it pays two types of royalties: one is for the composition and the other is for the recording. So for the composition, it pays one amount of money, and for the recording, the performance, it pays another amount depending on how that platform is organized.

For the copyright, they pay for the performance of the album because it’s considered a sale.

At the moment, what’s the difference between platforms and radio? You’re listening to the radio, and you can’t choose what’s going to play. You’re at the mercy of the DJ or the programmer or the radio station and the playlist that person has made, and you’re bound to what they chose to play.

On platforms like Spotify, you can listen to a playlist, but if you want to skip a song, you skip it, and if you want to repeat it, you repeat it, or you can make your own playlist.

So, if you have control of the recording and you can arrange it, when that happens, it’s considered that they have to pay a royalty as if it were a sale. A different royalty is generated, which is different from what happened, for example, with Pandora. Pandora was basically sitting and listening, and you could give Pandora information, telling it, “I like this music more,” or you’re listening to a playlist. Perfect. Besides that, well, that’s basically it, and obviously, anything that sells physically, because it’s still selling, and vinyl and LP sales are increasing. That’s back in style and is growing.

CDs are still being made. There is still a CD market, depending on the music you make, but there is a market, for example, for Latin music, for jazz. Something moves in Japan and China, but in Japan and some European countries, the CD still moves in a real way.

4) Name some current business models. You as a producer.

Let’s say there are several possibilities of what can happen. I can work as a producer, I can work with an artist strictly on the production—a business model where the artist is completely the owner of their own work.

As the owner of the LatinBaum Records label, I have to manage and participate directly with the artist. We cover costs and make investments alongside the artist to produce and promote the music in exchange for an equitable distribution of the profits.

The big record labels, the multinationals, are working with artists on what are essentially called “360-degree contracts” in which the record label is involved and has a piece of all professional activity, including merchandise such as hats, t-shirts, mugs, pens, whatever. As a record label, I get a piece of what’s sold in souvenirs; that’s marketing. Also, the work you do physically, meaning your events and presentations.

So, they control your book, they control your schedule, they control the artist’s schedule. They earn between 20 and 50% from the artist’s presentations, depending on the artist, their popularity, etc. And they also earn from composition royalties, they earn from album royalties, they earn from every angle.

Now, that business model depends on the investment that each party is willing to make. As they say in Colombia, “you eat rarer.” In other words, it depends on the circumstances of the moment, the artist, a number of factors. There isn’t just one business model that works now. You can also consider the artist doing everything themselves.

That’s another possibility; the artist has to set up their entire production infrastructure, etc. That’s another matter. It’s more complicated because the artist has to understand that their career and their art are now part of a company’s assets. They have to think of themselves as a business and develop their own business model that works for them within their capabilities and what they’re willing to do and their knowledge, right? Above all, “How much can I do?” I’m a single person, so I can compose the songs, I can do the arrangements, I can make the sheet music, I can hire the musicians, hire the recording studio, do the promotion, design the ads, I can do the marketing, I can also sell myself as an artist for presentations. I also sweep the floor, I also make the coffee, and I also serve. Do you get me? I mean, there’s a point of being multi-talented.

Yes, but there’s a very important point where one, or the artist, feels this obligation or has the obligation to have to do so many things that they don’t do any of them well. This is where record labels still play an important role in helping to guide the artist and providing them with services at a moderate price or within the artist’s reach according to their sales, their popularity, the things they can do. And also, these independent labels play the role of guiding and helping the artist and making certain things easier for them because they have some infrastructure that makes the artists’ work a little easier. So, the record label hasn’t disappeared. What has disappeared is what never really existed, which is money. The musician is always fighting for a few bucks to be able to do things, and if they’re lucky, they find an independent label that’s willing to help and invest time, effort, and money in advancing and promoting their career.

But the matter of the dream of being “discovered,” that no longer happens. It no longer exists. The only one who discovers themselves is you, and it’s up to you to show yourself to the world and look for connections, look for opportunities, and for business.

5) What strategies do artists use to monetize their work in the digital environment?

The work that the artist has to do on platforms is definitely a matter of persistence. It’s about regularly posting and telling their story, showing their art, and sharing their art and the reason for their art with the public. We are trafficking in emotions. That’s what the artist does; that’s the currency. It’s about making those emotions known and moving them and telling your story so that people identify with your story, with your music, with your art, and become a support for your career.

The most important thing here is consistency, persistence, always being on top of it. It’s not about “I’m eating a fried egg, let me take a picture of the fried egg.” No. If that’s what moves you and that’s what moves your audience, then go for it, but that’s not what it’s about.

People sometimes confuse being regularly present with having to take selfies all the time, and pictures of their food, and a picture of the neighbor’s dog, and “I’m laughing, and I already put on some crazy pants,” and so on. It’s not that. It’s about sharing your personality with the public, and to the extent that you, as an artist, define it, you should do it regularly. That’s on one hand. On the other hand, advertising is key. You have to invest in advertising.

Someone once spent about $30,000 on a production and went to several record labels, and none of them wanted to buy it. They didn’t want to take the product. Finally, they told one record label, “I’ll give you the album for free. You don’t have to give me a dime in royalties. I’ll sign the contract, but please release it.” The obligation and the commitment here are for you to release the album. And they didn’t take the money. Why? Because a production that costs $30,000 still has a cost of $60,000 or $80,000 that needs to be put into promotion for it to be heard, for it to sell. That’s what it is; that’s what they say.

That’s why it’s so hard for the small musician or artist to compete with the big stars, because they have enormous budgets with which they can produce their work, and the small one can’t compete. That’s why consistency is important, because it’s a way to promote and advertise yourself in a way that is, shall we say, theoretically free, right? It’s at your fingertips or has a very low cost, and if you do it constantly, you gain a space.

But you definitely have to invest money in advertising and promotion. There’s nothing like running an ad and telling everyone on a massive scale, “Here I am, here’s my product, this is my music.” At the end of the day, it’s like selling a can of beans; it’s the same thing. You have to put a good label on it; you have to run an ad on television, in the newspaper, on the radio, whatever it takes to sell your brand of beans. It’s that simple.

When you’re in the recording studio, 90% of what you do is art, and 10% is profit, plotting the commercial side, the hook. The moment the product leaves the studio, that’s inverted 180 degrees. It becomes 10% art and 90% commerce, 90% business, and what you have to do is take advantage of the tools.

Bonus Track.

6) What do you think about us Latinos creating a campaign to create a platform like Spotify, on a global level, so that musicians receive their royalties and money directly without going through other hands?

What do you think? Latin music, all Latin artists.

I think it’s a good idea, but what would be the purpose of… for musicians to have all the royalties directly without having to go through all that advertising, but to do their productions directly.

“Here’s the public, they stream it, and the money goes directly to the musicians, to you.”

Well, advertising cannot be avoided. How is the public going to find out that the music is there and that your music is available?

First of all, there has to be promotion, which can’t be avoided. One or two, you’re going to have to deal with all the Latin artists. The circumstances and conditions of your platform are no different from Spotify’s, or iTunes’, or any other. Why? Because you have to deal with different conditions that already pre-exist. That is, there’s a system that already pre-exists. All the music that is created and distributed, they have to deal with those predispositions. You have to deal with the SACVENs of the world, ASCAP, SAYCO, or whatever. You have to deal with the distribution chains; you have to pay either the author or you have to pay SoundExchange. You have to go through that whole procedure anyway. It’s exactly the same.

The idea is nice, but it’s utopian because there are systems in place globally, and you have to find that other formula to try to achieve what you’re proposing behind your question.

Thanks, Augusto. Likewise, I’m at your service for whatever I can help with. Blessings and greetings to the family.

Ralph Riley (Hong Kong)

Music Producer

Ralph Riley en Rolo Estudio. Puerto Rico
Ralph Riley en Rolo Estudio. Puerto Rico

1. The Recording and Production Process

When it comes to recording and production, the proper process involves capturing tracks for multitrack recording on tape or disk, followed by mixing and mastering. The technical complexity of the process is directly proportional to the number of tracks and artists involved in the production. Production costs and logistics also affect the final quality of the music produced.

Regarding copyright, it involves several key players: composers, publishers, record labels, and Performing Rights Organizations (PROs). Copyright royalties are generated from different uses of the song, such as streaming, physical sales, public performances, and synchronization in other media. It can be a complicated process that a lot can be written about and one that is constantly changing. The best advice is to do a lot of research or enlist the help of professionals who offer this consultation and/or full service for a fee.

2. The Impact of Digital Music Platforms

Digital music distribution platforms have significantly impacted how artists create, share, and monetize their music. They have democratized access to audiences around the world, providing opportunities for independent artists to bypass traditional gatekeepers and reach global listeners directly. However, this shift has also created challenges related to revenue generation and competition for visibility.

Here are some of the key challenges:

  • Revenue Inequity: Streaming royalties are often perceived as low, making it difficult for artists to generate substantial income from streaming alone.
  • Market Saturation: The ease of access to digital distribution has led to a highly saturated market, making it challenging for artists to stand out and get noticed.
  • Competition for Visibility: Artists need to actively promote their music and engage with their audience to compete with the sheer volume of content available on these platforms.
  • Dependence on Algorithms: Success isn’t solely dependent on the quality of the music, but is also influenced by the platform’s algorithmic recommendations, which can be unpredictable and require a strategic approach to navigate.

In conclusion, digital platforms have revolutionized the music industry, offering unprecedented opportunities for artists to connect with global audiences and build their careers. However, navigating the complexities of these platforms and finding sustainable income models remains a key challenge for artists in the digital age. This revolution, especially in the age of AI, continues to evolve rapidly.

3. Final Thoughts on Fairness

In summary, it seems to be always a little unfair to the vast majority of artists. It’s a complicated topic and I’d recommend a resource such as, for example, https://www.indiemusicacademy.com/blog/music-royalties-explained for better insights.

4. Popular Business Models

Some popular business models used in the music industry for record production include traditional record label deals, revenue-sharing models, and direct-to-fan approaches. Sometimes, it’s a combination of these. Streaming services and digital distribution also play a significant role in the current landscape.

For example, the direct-to-fan approach can include:

  • Direct Sales: Artists can sell their music directly to fans through their own websites, online stores (like Bandcamp), and social media platforms.
  • Crowdfunding: Platforms like Patreon allow artists to connect with fans and receive direct financial support through subscriptions or one-time donations.
  • Streaming Platforms: Artists can directly upload their music to platforms like SoundCloud, Bandcamp, and even Spotify and Apple Music.

5. How Artists Get Paid in the Digital Realm

Artists can typically monetize their music in the digital environment through streaming platforms, digital downloads, merchandise, fan subscriptions, live streaming, and licensing. Additionally, artists can explore opportunities in social media monetization, crowdfunding, and brand partnerships.

Here’s how the payment system works and the factors that influence an artist’s earnings:

The “Pro-Rata” Payment Model

Spotify doesn’t pay artists directly for each play. Instead, it uses a “pro-rata” model:

  1. The company pools all its revenue (from Premium users and advertising) into a common fund for a set period, typically a month.
  2. Spotify keeps a portion (about 30%), and the rest (around 70%) goes into a “royalty pool” for rights holders.
  3. An artist’s share of this pool is determined by their “stream share,” which is the percentage of their streams compared to the total streams on the platform during that period.

Average Per-Stream Rate

While there’s no fixed rate, many sources estimate the average payout to artists on Spotify is between $0.003 and $0.005 per stream. This means an artist would need approximately 1 million streams to earn between $3,000 and $5,000.

Factors Affecting the Payout Rate

The actual amount an artist receives can vary significantly based on these factors:

  • Listener’s Location: Subscription prices and ad revenue vary by country. A stream from a user in a country with a higher subscription fee (like the US or UK) will generate more revenue than a stream from a country with a lower fee.
  • Listener’s Subscription Type: A stream from a Premium subscriber is worth much more than a stream from a free user (with ads).
  • Artist’s Deal: Spotify pays the rights holders (record labels, distributors, publishers), not the artists directly. The artist’s contract with their label or distributor determines what percentage of the royalties they receive. Independent artists who use a distribution service typically keep a larger percentage.
  • Minimum Threshold: As of early 2024, Spotify requires a song to have at least 1,000 streams in the previous 12 months to be eligible to generate royalties.

In short, an artist’s earnings on Spotify aren’t a simple calculation. They are the result of a complex revenue-sharing system that is influenced by a global audience, different subscription types, and each artist’s specific contracts.

I also manage music production through cassiorecords.com

How to make money today as a recording artist with record labels and digital platforms
How to make money today as a recording artist with record labels and digital platforms

Also Read: Understanding the music business

Eduardo Tancredi is a renowned Uruguayan pianist and composer specializing in Latin Jazz

Eduardo was a distinguished student at Berklee College of Music in Boston.

Eduardo was an outstanding student at the Berklee College of Music in Boston.
Eduardo was an outstanding student at the Berklee College of Music in Boston.

Musical Style: His music fuses a wide variety of Afro-Latin rhythms (such as Uruguayan candombe, Brazilian samba, Cuban son, Peruvian landó, and Venezuelan joropo) with the harmonies and melodies of modern jazz.

Accolades: He has recorded several CDs with his own compositions and has received awards for his outstanding performance in the Latin jazz scene. His album “Ongoing Dreams” was chosen as the best album in its category in 2002 by “The Boston Globe.”

Teaching Experience: During his time in the United States, he was a piano and harmony professor at Berklee College of Music. Since 2003, he has resided in Barcelona and teaches at ESMUC (Escola Superior de Música de Catalunya).

Collaborations: He has collaborated with numerous musical groups as a pianist and is a significant figure in the jazz scene in Spain.

Eduardo Tancredi is a prominent figure in Latin Jazz, known for his ability to integrate diverse Latin American rhythmic influences with the harmonic sophistication of modern jazz.

 

Latin accents took some time to establish themselves in jazz music. Very few composers ventured into that genre in the early decades of the last century, to the point that their timid attempts were considered exotic and trivial.

Initially, one recalls passages from William C. Handy’s “St. Louis Blues,” some Scott Joplin ragtimes, Jelly Roll Morton’s references to the “Spanish tinge,” or, shortly after, the themes performed by Duke Ellington’s orchestra.

Eduardo Tancredi
Eduardo Tancredi

It was in the 1940s that the Latin touch gained relevance. Cuban Mario Bauzá, who had played trumpet in Chick Webb’s and Cab Calloway’s orchestras, propelled the success of Machito’s band and convinced Dizzy Gillespie to hire conga player Chano Pozo.

Afro-Cuban influence became powerful in the following decades through sones, charangas, rumba, mambo, and salsa. Names like Chico O’Farrill, Tito Puente, Mongo Santamaría, Ray Barretto, and Chucho Valdés became highly regarded, and their works inspired a legion of jazz musicians.

Eduardo Tancredi es un reconocido pianista y compositor uruguayo, especializado en Jazz Latino
Eduardo Tancredi es un reconocido pianista y compositor uruguayo, especializado en Jazz Latino

Latin jazz today has a strong presence in popular music, and Uruguayan Eduardo “Edú” Tancredi is a brilliant exponent of that style. He was an outstanding student at Berklee College of Music in Boston, where he won awards such as the Quincy Jones Award and the Outstanding Latin Act Award.

After his acclaimed “Ongoing Dreams” from 2002, this CD, “Venimos Tumbando,” recorded in 2007, now arrives with ten formidable compositions and his own arrangements. His background in Latin American folklore plus his jazz studies have achieved a splendid confluence that is enjoyed from beginning to end on this album.

His versatility as a composer is evident in candombes (“La mama vieja” and “Montevideo”), a baião (“Baialona”), a chorinho (“El germen”), a zamba (“Zamba del aire”), and the obvious references to Afro-Caribbean rhythms that unite their exciting cadences with jazz elements. Edú’s works are incisive, stimulating, possess an overflowing swing, and it’s easy to imagine the musicians’ pleasure during their performance.

The arrangements contrast the different orchestral sections, highlighting their diverse sound textures, suggestive harmonizations, and enhancing the dynamics and fiery percussion instruments. Three saxophones, piano, guitar, bass, and drums alternate with ten other guest musicians (vocals, sax, harmonica, two basses, two drum sets, and three percussionists), generating a sonic turbine that captivates the listener from the first note.

This doesn’t mean that all tracks propose an overwhelming rhythm. There are passages of beautiful lyricism, as in the two versions sung by Ana Finger, or the pleasant harmonica of Antonio Serrano, or the director’s piano in “Como un blues.”

The soloists perform at a high level, with special mention of Miguel Zenón’s alto sax, an improviser of fresh ideas, clean musicality, and great inspiration and fervor. The interventions of guitarist Alejandro Luzardo, trumpeter Matthew Simon, tenor saxophonist Eladio Reinón, and baritone saxophonist Xavi Figuerola are also noteworthy.

“Venimos Tumbando” confirms Tancredi’s talent as a composer and pianist and his skill as an orchestra conductor. Abilities he generously demonstrated during his acclaimed performance at the Teatro Solís last December. Thomas Werner

Edu Tancredi & Bandon 33 – Venimos Tumbando (2007)

Tracks:

  1. El Subibaja
  2. Hocus Pocus
  3. Montevideo
  4. El Germen
  5. La Mama Vieja
  6. Baialona
  7. Mapa Del Mundo
  8. Venimos Tumbando
  9. Como Un Blues
  10. Zamba Del Aire

Musicians: Edu Tancredi (Piano) Ana Finger (Vocals) Antonio Serrano (Harmonica) Mathew Simón (Trumpet) Pere Grau (Soprano sax, alto sax) Miguel Zenón (Alto sax) Eladio Reinón (Tenor sax) Juajo Arrom (Trombone) Xavi Figuerola (Baritone sax) Alejandro Luzardo (Guitar) Matías Migues, Paco Weht, Javier Gómez (Double Bass) Santiago Blanco, Salvador Toscano (Drums) Carlos Reyes “Compota”, Alejandro Luzardo, Santiago Blanco, Alexis Liden, Sandro Lustosa, Salvador Toscano (Percussion)

Edu Tancredi & Bandon 33 - Venimos Tumbando (2007)
Edu Tancredi & Bandon 33 – Venimos Tumbando (2007)

Information By:

Ostia Latin Jazz

DJ, Augusto Felibertt

Also Read: Arturo “Chico” O’Farrill. “The Architect of Afro-Cuban Jazz”

Eddie Montalvo Iron Hands: “I’m in love with Venezuela”

We felt an unforgivable duty to publish this interview with Eddie Montalvo “Iron Hands,” as it is Swing Latino update on the biography of a musician who is more than just a friend, a godfather; he’s family, the kind that gives you friendship, that fills you with conflicting feelings and leads you to relive wonderful and unforgettable moments.

Giogerling Mendez y Eddie Montalvo
Giogerling Mendez y Eddie Montalvo

He is a living legend of our Afro-Caribbean music.

We hadn’t seen each other for many years, so I wanted to share the time with him before he left Venezuela (he was playing on Saturday, so we met on Friday and shared some time with longtime friends starting at noon), before the show. The next day he would say goodbye to Venezuelan soil. This interview will be published in two installments, and here is the first one.

– How long has it been since Eddie Montalvo last came to Venezuela?

– Let me put it this way. The last time I came to Venezuela was with Rubén Blades and Son del Solar. I’ll call it Seis, because Son was with another keyboardist, Arturo Ortiz, Robby Ameen on drums, and two trombones, Reinaldo (Jorge) and Jimmy Bosch. That was the last time, many years ago.

I’ve always loved Venezuela, it’s the honest truth. I’m in love with Venezuela, no matter what happens. I’m always grateful for it. I’ve always had many friends here.

The School of the Street

– What was your first experience in music? Why conga?

– Well, when I was very young, my parents and I would go every weekend to a party at an aunt’s house. At that time, my goddaughter, I’m not going to lie to you. The gentlemen were always well-dressed, with ties, the ladies with their eyebrows done, their hair combed, a real formality despite their humility.

Everyone was dancing at that party, and Eddie Montalvo was banging on the tables until he could say no more. That’s how they got me two metal cookie tins, and it became my first instrument.

When I was five, I asked my parents if it was possible for Santa Claus to bring me a bongo. My parents were poor, and yet, on December 25th, a bongo appeared under the Christmas tree.

A bongo that didn’t have a key, a bongo that you had to put a fire under to get the sound out.

At ten, without lying to you, I asked them if it was possible for them to buy me a conga, and my parents bought me a conga that cost 50 US dollars.

As I grew older, I started crossing the street where there was always a party of rumba players. I went down with the conga, and they asked me, “Do you know how to play?” And I said, “No,” then they said, “Well, if you don’t know how to play, you can’t sit here with us and rumba.”

I went home frustrated with the conga line because they wouldn’t let me sit in and play at the party.

Héctor «Bucky» Andrade
Héctor «Bucky» Andrade

It just so happened that there was a conga player who played with Héctor Lavoe, with Willie Colón, on an album called The Hustler.

His name was Héctor Andrade and he had a nickname: Bucky. He saw me every day when I came down with the conga line, and it seems he felt sorry for me and said, “Come here.” I said, “Are you talking to me?” He said, “Yes, yourself, come here!” Bucky said, “I see you here every day, and I feel sorry for you because I know you love the conga line, because you spend hours sitting on the bench watching us; I’m going to teach you the first tumbao like it’s played in rumba, street rumba.”

Because remember, my first music school was the street. My parents didn’t have the money. After Bucky taught me, he said, “Go home and practice.

When you think you’re ready, come, but I warn you, there will be about five rumberos playing the quinto. If you get tired, you’ll never play here again.”

I went to my room and practiced. When I felt God tell me to come down, that you’re ready, I went down.

Bucky looked at me and said, “How are you feeling?” And I sat down to play the tumba’o. About seven or eight rumberos played by, and I was still playing the tumba’o, tired, but I couldn’t stop playing, and that was my first experience. I learned a lot by watching the rumberos on the street. That way, I prepared myself and was able to sit with all of them, play the first part, play the second part, play the third part, and then quintate. That way, I played the grade they wanted and went down every day to sit with them.

Formal Studies

As I grew older, in my last year of school, I saw they had a Latin orchestra at a music school, but honestly, all they played was a Latin segment, but it was all American music.

The teacher was Italian. I knocked on the door of that school, and the teacher in charge looked at me and said, “Can I help you?” And I said, “I’m here because I’d like to know if it’s possible for you to let me play conga here with the Latin group.” He said, “Oh, no, no, no, look, son, I have tons of conga players here. Everyone comes here because they want to play conga. Excuse me, come see me next year.” And so I wasted all that time frustrated because I wanted to play.

Time came and school started in September. I tried again, and the teacher refused again. So I said, “No, no, no, no, wait, you promised me I could play conga here.” And seeing my insistence, the teacher asked me, “Do you really play conga?” “I think so.” Then he said, “Bring me a conga that’s in that room. I want it to play me a merengue, a cha-cha-cha, and a mambo.” I played it for him, and he said, “Wow, you have good hands, you’re starting with the Latin orchestra here,” and that’s how I graduated from hig  h school at 17.

From School to Work

At that time, I went to work at the stock exchange in New York, and I didn’t like it, so I left. One day, I went into a New York club, and Joey Pastrana’s orchestra was playing.

It just so happened that someone said to Joey Pastrana, “Look, you see that skinny kid over there on the corner, that kid plays conga,” and he said to the kid, “Tell him to come over here.”

The kid came up to me and said, “Look, Joey wants you to go over there on stage.” I replied, “I don’t know Joey. And you’re telling me Joey wants me to go over there when I don’t even know him?” “Well, look, go, he’s calling you.”

Joe Psatrana
Joe Psatrana

I went over there, and he said, “Look, and Joey said, “Do you want to play a number with me?” And I said, “I don’t know who told you I play conga. I don’t play conga.” And he answers, “But the kids here are saying you play conga.”

And because of his insistence, I played a number. When I played the number, he said, “Do you want to play here? Because my brother, Willie Pastrana, is leaving the group.”

And when I came to see you, at 17, I was playing with Joey Pastrana. So, from then on, I went with Tony Pabón in the protest. I was with Ernie Agosto and La Conspiración, with Adalberto Santiago, Los Kimbos, even with La Diferente for a little while, just for a while; with the great Héctor Lavoe, with Pacheco, with Pete el Conde, very quickly. Then with the Estrellas Fania, and those from Puerto Rico.

– You replaced Ray Barreto in Fania, hence the nickname Manos de Hierro? Tell us a little about your experience with Fania.

– Oh, because I always had heavy hands when I played. And they called me that name: Ray Barretto, “Hard Hands,” and I, “Iron Hands.” They were the musicians, and your dad (Ángel Méndez) gave me that nickname. I’ll never forget this. I forgot to mention someone, Willie Colón, who I also played with and recorded the album “Siembra.”

Ray Barretto’s Replacement

I can’t explain how I was able to make my career in music, because, blissfully, I was in the audience at Madison Square Garden watching Fania, and I never in my life thought I’d play with the Fania Stars!

Regarding the question about whether I reviewed Barretto: before joining the Fania stars, there was Johnny Rodriguez, El Dandy.

He left, and I joined. So when I saw Barreto wanting to return, I said these words to Ray Barreto: “With all due respect to you, because you’re an icon I’ve always respected, this chair, I was just warming it up, this chair is yours.” And he said to me in English: “Eddie, we’re going to split the show. You play half the show, and I’ll play half.” And I said to him, “Ray, this seat is yours. I respect it,” and he said, “No, half and half.”

Ray Barretto
Ray Barretto

We always had a tremendous relationship. I remember when my father passed away, and Ray came and stayed with me at the funeral home for two hours. I’ll never forget it.

And I’m telling you from the bottom of my heart, one of the things I hold dear is that when Ray got sick, honestly, I wanted to go see him, and they always told me, Eddie, you can’t go because they have him in intensive care and they won’t let you in.

I was always calling mutual friends who knew if he was coming out of intensive care or not. They would tell me, “Eddie, no, hey man, don’t come because you’ll waste your time.” That’s how I couldn’t see him in his final days. It was only when he passed away that I went to the funeral home.

The same thing with your father, you know, your father for me is the friendship, and I’m not saying this because you’re interviewing me, but the relationship, the respect I have for your father, and you know, I thank your father because he was the one who made us, and I say this, of course, God made us, and with all due respect, but when it comes to the entertainment side of things, your father was the magazine that everyone bought.

When I started out in 1977, coming to Venezuela, I met your father, Ángel Méndez, Swing Latino, with Fernando, the photographer, and the truth is that the friendship was never lost.

Eddie Montalvo y Ángel Méndez
Eddie Montalvo y Ángel Méndez

We’ll be releasing the second part of this interview soon.

Pónle Saborrrr!

By:

cafeatlantico

Swing Latino

Giogerling Mendez

Dj. Augusto Felibertt

Also Read: The legacy of Leopoldo Pineda, the ambassador of the trombone in La Maquinaria Fania All Stars

  • Page 1
  • Page 2
  • Page 3
  • Interim pages omitted …
  • Page 5
  • Go to Next Page »

International Salsa Magazine (ISM) is a monthly publication about Salsa activities around the world, that has been publishing since 2007. It is a world network of volunteers coordinated by ISM Magazine. We are working to strengthen all the events by working together.