The fundamental rythms of a hundred genres of music can be traced back to Africa and half way there is where I found myself. Naranjo, In Cuba on a musical mission that has become my life’s nightmare ambition immersed in many a wild fantasy come true.
Cuba !!! yeh, like a pseudo socialist in a Che cap sucking down mojito’s in Havanas hot sun. Not quiet, after my delusions of the utopian peoples revolution were destroyed by my own sense of logical analysis. I soon found myself much preferring to be sucked down to empty via the gyrating hips of reggaeton fueled sex frenzied Mulata, whom no doubt, realizes I am slightly more genuine towards her situation than the droves of Italian & Canadian men on the two week banging bonanza. The same goes for the jet streams of Che fans seeking salsa lessons and some Cuban post card credibility with mates back home.
Now I am neither proud nor ashamed to say that there is not much I have not engaged in on a street level in Havana that a regular Cuban hustler trying to survive on a communist diet, hasn’t done. From shaving tourists for private casa & palada commissions, to sale of fake and genuine cigars and even the outright forbidden. Like reluctantly introducing my girlfriend at the time to a financially better off foreigner, as “my friend” so she can gyrate for him for a night so as to feed her family for a month. As opposed to once a week on my then budget.
After some years in this frail amusement I realized no matter what’s for sale in Cuba or the deep emotional pain that comes with it, there is one thing that sedates all shame and heart ache. Music !!! Music is the great liberator. And if there is an epicenter for musical talent it is definitely Cuba.
Many years had passed since my hustling days and before long I found myself embedded in the underbelly of urban Cuban music. So many people I meet find it easy to assume it’s full of glamor and high rolling but the realities I have experienced are nothing like. Of course the girls are hot and the music is slamming but the levels of degradation and manipulation to make it all happen is seldom revealed. The hustles, the counter hustles, the hostage taking, the technical obstacles and the forever impeding state regulations make the facilitation of urban music production in Cuba for the commercial world, one of the most difficult creative situations music has ever faced.
Over the next coming months, you’ll be given a fly on the wall insight into the most bizarre, tragic & triumphant times of this hustler’s evolution into the cut throat world of music from the bottom of the communist food chain to the clawing my way up to scraps of US network TV music placements. They call me Naranjo ! Naranjo is what they call me. That’s Orange in Spanish.
Cuba !!! yeh, like a pseudo socialist in a Che cap sucking down mojito’s in Havanas hot sun. Not quiet, after my delusions of the utopian peoples revolution were destroyed by my own sense of logical analysis. I soon found myself much preferring to be sucked down to empty via the gyrating hips of reggaeton fueled sex frenzied Mulata, whom no doubt, realizes I am slightly more genuine towards her situation than the droves of Italian & Canadian men on the two week banging bonanza. The same goes for the jet streams of Che fans seeking salsa lessons and some Cuban post card credibility with mates back home.
Now I am neither proud nor ashamed to say that there is not much I have not engaged in on a street level in Havana that a regular Cuban hustler trying to survive on a communist diet, hasn’t done. From shaving tourists for private casa & palada commissions, to sale of fake and genuine cigars and even the outright forbidden. Like reluctantly introducing my girlfriend at the time to a financially better off foreigner, as “my friend” so she can gyrate for him for a night so as to feed her family for a month. As opposed to once a week on my then budget.
After some years in this frail amusement I realized no matter what’s for sale in Cuba or the deep emotional pain that comes with it, there is one thing that sedates all shame and heart ache. Music !!! Music is the great liberator. And if there is an epicenter for musical talent it is definitely Cuba.
Many years had passed since my hustling days and before long I found myself embedded in the underbelly of urban Cuban music. So many people I meet find it easy to assume it’s full of glamor and high rolling but the realities I have experienced are nothing like. Of course the girls are hot and the music is slamming but the levels of degradation and manipulation to make it all happen is seldom revealed. The hustles, the counter hustles, the hostage taking, the technical obstacles and the forever impeding state regulations make the facilitation of urban music production in Cuba for the commercial world, one of the most difficult creative situations music has ever faced.Over the next coming months, you’ll be given a fly on the wall insight into the most bizarre, tragic & triumphant times of this hustler’s evolution into the cut throat world of music from the bottom of the communist food chain to the clawing my way up to scraps of US network TV music placements. They call me Naranjo ! Naranjo is what they call me. That’s Orange in Spanish.
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