The immense Hispanic legacy is usually relegated to the background, while being a key part of our sound identity.
Image courtesy of RYCY Productions
By YALIL GUERRA
The birth of the Cuban nation, after gaining its independence from its former colonizer, Spain, marked a break that transcended political concerns and entered strongly in the cultural aspect. Cubans were “denaturalized” after the Treaty of Paris in 1898, leading to a profound metamorphosis of identity that was inevitably reflected in our music. Out of that process a fresh and powerful sound expression emerged: a vibrant fusion between European, African, and North American influences, something that had already begun in the 19th century but was driven by a growth music industry and the cultural magnet of its northern neighbor, the United States.
For years I have listened to, studied, and enjoyed Cuban popular music — both the old and contemporary— and what I notice is that most productions tend to highlight the folklore—especially the Afro-descendant roots and the imprint of jazz — while the immense Hispanic legacy is usually relegated to the background, while being a key part of our musical identity.
In Cuban music today, both on and off the island, the record business is committed to a modern and bold sound. Compositions explore contemporary harmonies, bitonality, and extended chords — resources that come from both classical music and jazz — entwined with surprising and refreshing harmonic cycles. In wind instruments, melodic lines and musical motifs reveal the virtuosity and creativity of a new generation of musicians and arrangers, who are raised in solid academic traditions but open to global influences. The percussion stands out for its polyrhythm and the number of sophisticated tutti that require a unique expertise, but the Spanish influence is quite absent or just present in the language.
In contrast, What caught my attention was the newest music of singer, composer, and multi-instrumentalist Alain Pérez on his new album Bingo, where Spain resonates powerfully and recognizably. I find this gesture very special, as it vindicates a Spanish legacy in Cuban music that is often forgotten or minimized. I also highlight the case of pianist and composer José (Pepe) Rivero and his new album Estampas y Raíces where he pays tribute to classical Spanish composers, mixing their works with his unique interpretive style, bringing it closer to the language of Cuban jazz that is so familiar to him.
What about the large mass of Cuban artists and musicians who do not pay homage to the mother country? It is that we lost our historical memory or has it been erased? Is the omission of certain elements of our Spanish traditions a symptom of what some call the “Spanish Black Legend,” a myth that has seeped into our musical history and present?
I remember when Juan Perón said:
“And through the figure and work of Cervantes, Argentina pays tribute to the mother country, fruitful, civilizing, eternal, and to all peoples who have emerged from its maternal womb.” “And through the figure and work of Cervantes, Argentina pays tribute to the mother country, fruitful, civilizing, eternal, and to all peoples who have emerged from her maternal womb.”
Cuba is no exception.
Over the years, in response to the previously exposed, I have tried to make Spain present in my work: incorporating harmonious colors, Andalusian cadences, and the Phrygian mode—so tied to the Iberian sound—creating compositions devoted specifically to Spanish culture, especially my new string quartet entitled “Noches de España”, following the line of our great composer Ernesto Lecuona, who knew how to bring to life both African and Spanish things. As for me, I seek to keep alive that heritage and project it onto 21st-century Cuban music, without forgetting our important African legacy.
Today, rescuing the Spanish heritage in Cuban music is not just an act of memory: it is also an opportunity to rediscover the richness of crossbreeding that continues to define who we are and how our history sounds. Contemporary Cuban music not only looks to the future: it sings to its African roots, but it also needs to reconnect with that other essential part of our identity. After all, we think, love, and communicate in Spanish. Every note, every guitar or lute that sounds, will evoke that heritage and bring us near to the fullness of what we are.
It does not matter the color our skin is, or whether our grandfather was from Asturias or the Congo: cultural fusion is what forged our identity and will remain the essence of Hispanic America. Mexican writer, philosopher, and politician José Vasconcelos said: “I am Hispanic, and nothing about Hispanic is alien to me.”
At this crucial time, Cuban music has the challenge—and the opportunity—to sing its entirety. And in doing so, it shows us that, beyond styles or labels, what unites us is the sound of a common history.
