The most Caribbean Cruïlla between memory and anguish

The star of the night was undoubtedly Rubén Blades, a musician who, among other things, defined the urban Caribbean. Also part of the history of Latin music is the Cuban Omara Portuondo, already a nonagenarian, whom the Buena Vista Social Club phenomenon brought out of the showcases of Caribbean music and returned her to the present day. Still in daylight hours, the concert was quite similar to her last visit to the Teatre Grec, in Barcelona, in the summer of 2021. On this occasion, the singer exchanged Roberto Fonseca's quintet for José Portillo's quartet, both combos with Cuban jazz as their banner. Omara sings little, but she whispers wonderfully, as in the opening Drume Negrita.

A few thousand people came to listen to her and dance to immortal pieces like Quizás, quizás, quizás, Solamente una vez and Tal vez, in those pieces she put effort into her singing. The quartet accompanied her with the characteristic tumbao of Cuban musicians who know the powerful value of their country's musical tradition, which they envelop and reinterpret with flavor, rhythm, and jazz. They closed with Dos gardenias, Lágrimas negras and Bésame mucho. The stalls, that is, the immense, dirty, cold, and anything but Caribbean concrete, served as a dance floor for an intergenerational audience, varied in its many accents and colors, where black predominated in women, and t-shirts and suspicious viscose Hawaiian shirts, in men.

Sneakers, colored in a thousand different ways, were the footwear chosen by the improvised dancers who then moved to the stage where Roberto Delgado's orchestra backed Rubén Blades, who bathed in the crowds, between history ---his own, as he explained how and when songs emerged that X-ray five decades of his life, and of millions of Latinos and also many Anglo-Saxons--- and the anguish of being in the middle of stale, hot air, which forces one to be more aware of elbows and stomping, as well as to sadly observe the thousands of mobile phones that replace oral memory with digital memory. The lack of personal space brought more than one spectator to the verge of fainting.

In this type of gathering, music has long ceased to be the main objective of attendees. Rubén Blades was seen by thousands and thousands of people, but in reality, only a small great minority listened to him. Sam Cooke and Bob Dylan already announced it, in the distant sixties, that change was coming.

Before, a group that long ago entered the history of Cuban music made an appearance, namely Los Van Van, led by bassist, composer, and arranger Juan Formell (1942-2014), who founded it in 1969. In the eighties, the son montuno turned 180 degrees, thanks to his talent and innovations, such as introducing electric instruments and giving space to the drums in the percussion section. Yesterday afternoon was enjoyable and danceable, but clichés make the Cuban essence monotonous. Years pass and original members are no longer there.

Blades was something else. Another party. Another rumba. Ultimately, he inhabits his own universe, with one eye on what is happening in the world. Amidst the affection shown by the audience, the singer and, therefore, the orchestra, almost always magnificent, were excessively academic. Long speeches and extensive instrumental developments somewhat hampered the performance. Furthermore, something happened, as the sound of the orchestra, detailed in its nuances, with percussion and winds at the forefront, did not reach the esplanade as clearly as would have been desirable. However, the group always came to the rescue, with guaguancó and swing as their banner.

Now the surprise factor has disappeared. The surprise arose six years ago, in 2017, when the composer arrived at Poble Espanyol with Roberto Delgado's orchestra. That night, the regulars gathered, just a few thousand. And without crowds in the square. The repertoire then was as expected, with different and even more imaginative arrangements. Dancers had a great time. A night to remember. On this occasion, Blades, about to turn 75, deprived us of that wonderful tune called Ligia Elena.

The Panamanian is a narrator of urban scenes, of popular and political demands, and as any attentive fan knows this troubadour and chronicler who has known like no other how to define El Barrio, the vast Pan-American neighborhood, which holds that urban Caribbean, which Blades helped to concretize and visualize, and which from time to time, has a delegation in Barcelona.

But no one, or almost, beats the singer in stage enthusiasm. Once El cantante fell, in homage to Héctor Lavoe, yes, the singer of the Fania All-Stars ---group that also welcomed Blades, in the seventies---, the concert had a lively final part. Paula C., Mack, The Knife, Pedro Navaja like Maestra Vida congratulated the audience. Before, there was time to pay tribute, in swing style, to the great Tonny Bennet in Watch What Happens. In the end, thousands of smiling faces paraded towards other places, with their happy ankles and their chatter in tow.