Artist Profiles: Manuel Galbán

Galbán is drawn to experimentations. It has something to do with his age; coming up in the 1950’s and 60’s, he fell into the wave of modernization as Cuban popular music began to hint at a fusion of American pop-jazz together with the futuristic creations of composers like Perez Prado and Frank Emilio who were leading Latin music away from traditionalism. Popular music was becoming more hybridized and less tradition-bound all over the world in those times, but nowhere would you find a more sublime example than in the recordings of Los Zafiros, the Cuban Doo-wop vocal group for which Galbán was both guitarist and arranger. They were a sub-genre unto themselves, hugely popular and never duplicated. Strangely, no one followed in Galbán’s footsteps, and he is still considered by his fellow musicians to be completely original and unique.

Galbán has another great quality which is that he is interested in music as something imaginary or speculative, whereas many traditional performers tend to want to play, sing, and then go home and forget about it, not giving much thought to anything outside their own experience. If you ask, “How would Lenny Tristano play ‘Danzon’,” most anyone would tell you that Lenny died so they have no idea, and so on.

But Galbán enjoys this kind of thinking, and it’s how we were able to invent a context for this record. We felt that there was a sound that had not been explored – a Cuban electric guitar band that might reinterpret the atmosphere of the 50’s with beauty, agility and power. We figured on two guitars, two drum sets, congas, and bass – a version of “Sexteto” with enough horsepower to swing like a big band and still have the subtlety to reveal the nuance and mystery of classic songs. We hoped to make a landing back in the cool world of Mambo-jazz, somewhere between Perez Prado and Henry Mancini; a band that never was, playing ultra high-grade jukebox music, at a price you’d care to pay.

But it’s always harder than it looks to get away with such things. For instance, if you want to sound different, then you need a bunch of stuff to make sounds on. Joachim and Jim sent 20 cases to Havana, loaded with everything from toy drums to electronics. I brought along a Bixby pedal steel guitar and an organ for Galbán. It was not so surprising to discover that he is a wicked organ player, even though there are almost no organs, and few guitar amps in Cuba, as both rely on good electricity and high maintenance in the wet climate. So, we dragged everything up the tiny stairs to the second floor of Egrem studio, and set it all out like we might for film scoring, and then just began playing, always watching for a chance to break away from the musical molds that exert such a strong force in Cuba.

After awhile, we sent out for three Bata drummers, who tend to be sort of spiritual and fraternal homey-type cats that you don’t see too often around the clubhouse. They operate in a strict Afro-Cuban folklore bag, playing in 6/8 time, chanting obscure lyrics and incantations, and never do any pop music.

So, Galbán looked over at me and said he reckoned he personally didn’t quite do that sort of thing, so what was up, and the drummers looked over at me and then Jim looked over at me, and my mind just shut down on the spot. After a little while of sitting there, Joachim said, “Look, just let them do that, and you twang something and just go.” Which we did, and then everyone finally relaxed and agreed that it was something, maybe even good. Later during a break, Joachim and I tried a blues shuffle with the younger Bata man, who was about 17 and not so worried about folklore, and suddenly I felt somehow poised and at a point of departure from the fantasy of the past, to a tiny glimpse of a possible future; a rare and almost mystical feeling. These days, the Trojan horse of World Hip-Hop has arrived in Cuba, like everywhere else, with its hypnotic cadence of power and money; all are entranced of course; so who can say what a 17 year-old Cuba Bata drummer thinks; Myself, as always, I’m wondering, are we saying hello, or goodbye?

For me, the greatest pleasure is just to sit around and talk about music, particularly with Galbán, who likes to talk. Actually having to play and record is somewhat stressful. You must learn to balance the desire to do well with a “que sera, sera,” mindset of the masters like Compay Segundo, or Django Reinhardt, or Merle Travis. Occasionally, I always work too hard at it, and Galbán, who is wildly particular and fussy, gets caught by this sometimes as well. But you can hear how he gestures through “Secret Love” with elegance and casual aplomb. He says he never heard of the song, or of Django, but he is a big fan of Duane Eddy.

You can look at Mambo Sinuendo as a road trip through different wordless fantasy landscapes. Sometimes you are in bright daylight; sometimes the streets are dark and empty. You’re riding with the Conjunto Sinuendo; drummers Jim Keltner and Joachim Cooder, Conguero Miguel “Anga” Diaz, and maestro Cachaito Lopez, on bass, to hold you in the road. This music is powerful, lyrical and funny; what more could you ask?