From the primordial drum to contemporary synthetic compositions, music’s indisputable capability to inspire humankind, on individual and communal planes alike, has always existed as a force of inspiration and mobilization both reflecting and transforming its surrounding societal context. One of the most striking iterations, in terms of its both reactive and generative orientations, belongs to the explosive influence of wedded Afro-Caribbean music, specifically following the passage of Western African musical traditions to Cuba in tandem with the slave trade on through to its globalized, controversial twenty-first century descendants. In tracing and identifying evolution and corresponding contributing factors of Afro-Cuban musical transformations, an elucidative lens materializes proving the crucial role music can play as an arbiter of social justice and cultural preservation in the juxtaposed company of murky, perniciously motivated societal levers.
Colonial Era Foundations:
A near truism, the potential power of music’s impact has ironically been evident in the many measures oppressive forces have taken to stifle and confine its reach. From the earliest stages of slavery in the land where it existed earlier and longer than elsewhere in the Americas, Cuban colonizers, threatened by the unifying power of the Africans’ music, implemented protocols of restraining when and where enslaved people were able to play and listen to their native music (Nodal, 1983). The enslaved people persevered, however discreetly, with their musical traditions mostly in the safer surroundings of their own “districts” and “cabildos” (mutual aid societies)(Manuel & Fiol, 2007). Returning to the relevance of the oldest of known instruments, it must be noted that the drums are of highest significance given their foundational role and symbolism within Afro-Cuban culture (Nodal, 1983). Beyond the rhythms themselves, their physical form, prevalence in rituals, demand of revered expertise, and parallel “social ascendancy…reflect[ing] equally the gradual upward mobility of Cuba’s black people” evince their inextricable presence in the overarching story of Cuban culture (Nodal, 1983, pg. 157). Drums were indisputable inclusions in not only camaraderie-sustaining-and-building “rumbas”, but even more significantly, in religious and ceremonial rites where their cadence directed the ceremony’s flow and the actions of those present, in call and response fashion — a still common inclusion in Latin Caribbean music to this day (Nodal, 1983). From the colonial era to the Republic’s first government commencing in 1902, African-descended Cubans (notably from the Yorubas, Carabalis, Araras, Mandinga tribes among others) crafted drums using differing materials, such as keys and olive oil barrel strips, to disguise and pass them off as “white” instruments as a means of circumventing the laws that criminalized African drums (Nodal, 1983). Despite a multitude of severe consequences for continued involvement in African originating practices, there is no evidence ever suggesting any faltering in Afro-Cubans dedication to their drums and music (Nodal, 1983). The motivations for suppressing African-originating music evolved from fears of its ability to mobilize a slave uprising to eventually, after the abolition of slavery in 1886, highly classicist and still racial prejudices that disdainfully rejected associated cultural components as the white elites intended to Westernize and assimilate the island into the global system as much as possible (Benítez-Rojo & Maraniss,1998; Chambers, 2007; Moore, 2001; Nodal, 1983; Robbins, 1990; Whitmore, 2013).
The 20th Century on Son’s Shoulders:
Afro-Cuban music consists of a multiplicity of sub-genres, each with its own unique inception, path, and relevance. Still, it is commonly agreed that Cuban Son, with its genesis attributed to the late sixteenth century, perhaps is the most influential and integrating of all the genres (Robbins, 1990). It walked so salsa could run (into the international spotlight) one could say. Moreover, its arrival in Havana “signaled a nationalist and democratic awakening” for African-derived cultural elements on the island (Benítez-Rojo & Maraniss, 1998, pg. 180) Having existed for centuries in Oriente (Eastern Cuban) in the sense of its defining musicality, Son grew into renown in the early twentieth century, alongside growing racial and classicist tensions between lighter skinned, if not white European elites and Afro-Cubans who were still antagonized by evolved systems of oppression and thus, made up the majority of lower socioeconomic strata. An unintended by-product of this discriminatory system, however, arose as the entrenched classism of the upper echelons prompted an unanticipatedly inviting space for white and black people of the lower rungs to come together — and Son was a primary, bridging conduit (Chambers, 2007). It can’t be claimed that it was a great equalizer on a large scale, but it moved the needle more than just on vinyl. The elites desire to become fully on par in perception and economy with Western powers, namely the United States, proved stronger than their disdain of the lower classes, as Son’s prominence and popularity grew with foreign tourists so too swaying elites openness and inclinations towards the music and its proponents (Benítez-Rojo & Maraniss, 1998; Chambers, 2007; Robbins, 1990).
Revolution and Beyond:
Notably the first street genre of music, Son’s preeminence in embodying and remaining a sustaining pillar of authentic Afro-Cuban culture has extended from its steadfast loyalty to the Cuban people over other forces (Hernandez, 1998; Moore, 2001). Of course it is the Cuban people and musicians themselves that helm the genre’s path, but it unlike other genres, was kept within authentic circles due to intentional preservation measures, geographical isolation, and discriminatory external forces (Hernandez, 1998; Manuel, 1987; Moore, 2001; Robbins, 1990). Music is not immune to cooptation and exploitation, as other genres such as danzon have displayed, but that does not negate its potential to act as a cultural and political barometer. The touted intentions of cultural prioritization and amplification of all Cuban people by Castro’s regime were at odds with the refusals of interaction and cultural diplomacy with the West during the government’s initial years (Manuel, 1987; Moore, 2001; Perez, 1987). Compoundingly as the United States placed its infamous embargo on Cuba, the already established demand for more of its music had to be supplied from elsewhere, leading to the success of labels like La Fania Allstars and other domestic sources. This emergence is highly controversial to this day as some view the rise of “salsa” in the 1960’s in the US as a Latin extension of the civil rights movements, while other view it as another example of core-periphery dynamics, a global power coopting a developing nation’s cultural traditions for exploitative commodifying gains. Both arguments are well substantiated, and neither fully refute the other. Son musicians in Havana continued creating songs that both spoke to inequality and brought more vibrancy to daily life, while New York-based artists did the same with United States-based social issues creating needed shared identity for Latin immigrants across the country (Moore, 2001; Perez, 1987). From lyrics directly addressing injustices to rumbas prompting social cohesion and resistance, the history of Afro-Cuban Son, along with other related genres, prove just how impactful music is as a civil tool for holding accountable and transcending oppressive forces.
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