Amy Winehouse and the Mambo.

The recent death of pop singer Amy Winehouse, allegedly from her well-documented struggle with substance abuse, was yet another demonstration of popular culture’s fascination with the tragic deaths of young stars.  Although there are examples of misfortune in every musical genre - including Latin jazz and salsa - rock and roll in particular appears almost to revel in an Artists’s complete and flaming self-destruction.  Immediately, the media pointed out that Winehouse had joined Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain and many others in the “27 Club” – a litany of rock stars who died at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.

Already, the Winehouse legend is being re-written: today the story is the tragic death of a tormented artist at the peak of her powers.  But just weeks ago, we observed a stumbling, wacked-out, and marginalized Winehouse being booed off of the stage in Serbia, at the start of her quickly-cancelled ‘comeback tour’.  In truth, although bursting with a natural talent, her career was decidedly in decline.  Had Winehouse not died tragically, had she merely limped along for another year or two of

increasingly unwatchable performances, her name would surely have been added to the scrap heap of today’s disposable stars.  But death has cleansed the Winehouse legend, ensuring that the pop music money machine will keep churning for decades to come for the record companies, agents and managers left behind.

Certainly, Latin music has many examples of artists bedeviled by demons and drug abuse.  The two most glaring examples which come to mind are salsa vocalists Hector Lavoe and La Lupe.  But as harrowing as were their respective struggles with addiction and illness, both artists survived a full two decades longer than did Ms. Winehouse.  La Lupe lived to almost twice her age.  As revealed in historian Joe Conzo’s recent book, Mambo Diablo, Tito Puente was no ‘angel’ in this regard, having a career-long recreational ‘flirtation’ with cocaine.  But Puente lived to a vibrant 77, performing at an amazing level until the end.

The reasons, in my opinion, lay in the difference in audience expectations, as well as in the different sources of inspiration that make rock and Latin music great.  Rock music is rooted in the youthful inability to see beyond ‘the right now,’ and a need to reject all that came before.  Conversely, Latin-jazz and Salsa music has been a bastion of balance between innovation and veneration of its roots.

This trait is perfectly summarized by Village Voice & Billboard critic Enrique Fernandez in what are my favorite album liner notes ever, written for Tito Puente’s 1986 Concord-Picante recording, Sensacion.  “It’s not that 'el Viejo' ('old man') Tito could ‘still swing’,” Fernandez says, commenting on his young nephew’s amazement at the elderly Latin music legend’s bombastic performance in concert.  “…It’s that in his sixties he’s swinging hotter than ever.  He’s burning up.  Where rock ‘n roll provides models of blazing youth, Latin music beckons us with images of a sizzling maturity.  Something to look forward to.”

It’s this forward vision that had always attracted me to Latin music.  The youthful fatalism of rock and roll – where a mere breakup is the end of life on earth as we know it – has always bored me senseless.  In contrast, “El Elegante de la Salsa”, Tito Allen, sings “Lo Nuestro, Si?” – a lament of the relationship's loss, but reveling in the good memories that remain.  In my world of jazz and Latin music, our songs speak not only of survival, but triumph.  In spite of the pain.   In spite of the heartbreak. 

After being kicked in the head by a mule, iconic singer/composer Arsenio Rodriguez was blinded as a youngster in Cuba.  In the late 1940’s, adults and children across the island and in New York’s Latino communities donated thousands of dollars to send the transformational icon of Afro-Cuban music to one of the world’s top surgeons, only to find out that his case was hopeless.  From this heartbreak comes his classic lament “La Vida Es Un Sueno” ("Life Is A Dream").  Rather than a bitter diatribe at his misfortune, his lyrics entreat the listener to live every day to its fullest.  In the deepest way possible, Arsenio knows that each day that you draw a breath holds the promise of change and renewal.  But that’s a truth that youth has not yet learned – especially when 27 is perceived as the absolute end of your horizon, and 30 is considered the beginning of ‘old-age’.

But Latin music audiences also seem to actually want their icons to be happy and fulfilled, much in the same way audiences did during in Hollywood’s golden age.  Their success is seen not as a kick in the stomach reminding us how awful our workaday lives are, but rather as a beacon of hope and inspiration that we too can succeed. 

I remember Celia Cruz commenting in amazement and gratitude to her fans for her long career and attendant good fortune.  Born dirt-poor in Cuba into a family of 14 children, her highest aspiration had been to be a school teacher.  Here she was seven decades later with closets full of custom made gowns, and several homes with Cadillac’s parked out front.  All for doing what she loved to do best: sing from her heart.  She would never have dreamed of ‘insulting’ her fans by appearing on-stage a stumbling and drooling mess. 

But on the other hand, for a Salsa icon like Celia Cruz, when your music is still great, your records generally continue to sell.  Latin music audiences aren’t yet trained to stop loving and respecting your artistry because you’ve committed the ‘sin’ of living to be older than 27.

I’ve now been host of “The Latin Flavor/Classic Edition” - an archival Latin-jazz/Mambo radio show on Washington DC’s WPFW 89.3 FM  - since 1996, and involved in presenting Latin music for over 20 years.  Every Sunday from 6pm until 8pm, I have the pleasure of celebrating this music on-air with my listeners.  While I’m a little ‘late’ in joining the blogosphere, “Mambo-Phonic” is designed as an extension of this endeavor – showcasing the history of Latin-jazz and Mambo as a vibrant, living thing.  Indeed, I’ve always felt that when artists record, they’re not simply making music.  They’re capturing every emotion, every action, every feeling that is occurring at that moment in time.  Hence, Mambo-Phonic treats history as a breathing, soulful entity that walks beside us constantly to inform and guide.  I’m looking forward to taking the journey with you!  So, hop in our '61 Imperial Crown 'time machine,' throw a 45 of Hector Rivera's "Ya Se Formo" on the optional 'Highway Hi-Fi,' and lets cruise!