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The golden era
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But the most restless and frenetic rumba sat tight up there in Barcelona's
barrio de Gracia. And it might well have stayed there for all eternity had it
not been for another mould-breaking gitano genius, Pere Pubill i Calaf,
his majesty Peret, who was to become the undefeated heavyweight champion of the
rumba catalana. Peret crossed that local sound with his own great conception
of music - colorful sounds, with flavors borrowed from every type of Caribbean
music. Here was a Romany James Brown look-alike, who shook his hips in a way that
even Elvis himself would have to admire. His records on the Discophon label sold
like hot cakes en the early seventies, and in the wake of his success a whole
generation of artists appeared on the scene. These were performers who had the
know-how and the skills earned from hard graft under countless marquees and at
neighborhood parties. El Noi, Moncho, El Gitano Portugués and Teresiya
were the in-crowd. For the next five years or more, rumba was an essential ingredient
at any party along the coast, and provided the most readily exportable face of
Iberian hedonism.
But it didn't take long before you could sense a change in the air which was
to signal the eventual demise and rejection of this genre. The loose definition
imposed by rumberos on the genre, coupled with that shameless free creativity,
full of vitality, was the driving force behind the evolution which right from
the very start drove the rumba catalana to success. But this freedom was
also to play a key part in its downfall: by endorsing all blends and variations,
by not drawing the line at even the most treacherous of invasions and the most
bizarre commercial productions, by lacking any kind of preventive measures, the
'anything goes' attitude was to seal the fate of the rumba catalana. It
found itself relegated to an undesirable status, disfigured, warped by repetitive
accompaniments which lacked both charm and substance, washed up before its time.
In the late seventies and early eighties, despite the appearance of newcomers
like Chango or the amazing Sisquetó, or the bizarre experimental sounds
of Los Amaya, the Catalan rumba had alienated both audiences and record labels.
Worse still, there was widespread agreement that this was a musical genre with
no virtues and no future whatsoever.
In flamenco, innovation has always been counterbalanced by a strict and ever-watchful
tradition, a tradition which is sometimes accused of inflexibility, but which
perhaps has acted as a filter, resulting in a well-established, careful and thus
stable and lasting evolution. The rumba catalana on the other hand grew
and mutated, stopping at nothing, and as a result it became a tasteless and weary
joke, which became the backdrop at fairgrounds and at the crudest parties in Spain.
Only the worst dregs of the rumba catalana survived in these forms, but
cruelly this was to become the image with which it has been most commonly associated
ever since.
The plot thickens
But the story doesn't end here - there's another even stranger chapter, with
all its contradictions and debates. When Peret and his followers broke down barriers
and saw their songs enjoy sweeping success on Spanish radio stations, this served
as a precedent, and many other rumberos from Andalusia were spurred on
to give their own peculiar twist to the flamenco sound. Among them, Miguel
Vargas Bambino is the figure whose recognition has grown most significantly
up until now. Though he drew his rhythmical frameworks from the Andalusian rumba,
Bambino created a dark and somber mood, and sang breathtaking songs of alienation
and death. And what seems more important today is that he blurred certain boundary
lines, and paved the way for subtle elements of traditional flamenco to seep into
rumba and pop.
The opposing argument has been to blame these rumberos, Bambino and Peret,
for the fact that ever since that moment any music with a vague hint of Andalusia
is automatically dubbed flamenco, and that this label is used in an unscrupulous
and carefree fashion, resulting in confusion and prejudice. They've been repeatedly
accused of opening the flood gates: Bambino and Peret, indirectly responsible
for the fact that groups like Los Chichos and Los Calis, to name but two, have
been branded flamenco artists - an inappropriate baptism no matter what ones views
are as to the quality of their work.
Kiko Veneno in 'El Gran Gato's
But less attention has been given over to the fact that Bambino's rejuvenating
creative approach - separate as it was from flamenco, though the similarities
were clear - galvanized the flamenco scene in the seventies. There's no doubt
that Bambino was both a clear demonstration and a symptom of the fact that certain
taboos were being broken, and it wouldn't be going too far to say that he shared
the same restlessness that led Paco de Lucía to record 'Entre dos aguas'
or that drove Kiko Veneno and the Amador brothers to open up a whole new side
to the ancient Andalusian gypsy art form. Because it's no exaggeration to say
that rumba was an antecedent for the fusion and crossovers which were to become
such an everyday concept in later years.
Reincarnations
Those years, however, saw la rumba catalana entrenched in the crudest
record labels such as Galax and Seven, and confined to the seediest backstreet
cafés in Barcelona's Gracia barrio. Then in 1977 an Argentinian musician
by the name of Javier Patricio Pérez stepped into the Café Petxina,
a well-known meeting place and night spot. This young man, anxious to get to know
all who crossed his path, open to influences of all kinds, and with a well-tuned
ear, felt that the rumba he had stumbled across here was one of the city's most
genuine musical offerings. It was as if he'd found a true goldmine of popular
folklore nestled in the city of Barcelona, with a vivacious sonority, and with
a warmth that could easily be carried over into the jazz and progressive experimentation
that was in vogue among his companions in the city. Javier Patricio, otherwise
known as Gato Pérez, turned his attention to restoring a sense of dignity
to the ill-treated rumba, with a little help from the gypsies on Gracia's Plaza
del Raspall, and his unusual poetic flair. El Gato's rumbas, leaning toward salsa
and crossing over into other genres, demanded the public's attention once again
in the early eighties, as he released some of his best recordings. Many of his
lyrics reveal his intuitions as to the nature, history and power of both rumba
and fusion.
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"Javier Patricio, otherwise known as Gato Pérez, turned
his attention to restoring a sense of dignity to the ill-treated rumba"
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But although El Gato revived rumba after its premature disappearance, and set
it back on the right track, he never managed to create a vehicle with which to
assure that it continued on the up. Yes, there were a few groups which hinted
at something more solid after that second surge. But despite the commercial success
of the Gipsy Kings - Catalan gypsies resident in Montpellier - and the popularity
of Los Manolos, the outstanding Rumbeat (who worked with Carles
Benavent) or Peret's comeback marked by the closing ceremony at the Barcelona
Olympics, the revival lacked substance and once again fizzled out. Back it went
to the catacombs - the barrios where it could carry on in the safety of familiar
surroundings, to receive the true appreciation of the ever-faithful Gitano following,
and to wait with bated breath for the next reinvention of rumba.
'El Gran Gato' documentary film by Ventura Pons
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And there it stayed, well out of sight, for years on end. Lately, though, a
few signs have emerged which suggest a possible new swing of the pendulum. First
was the recording company K Industria Cultural, which released a tribute to Peret
and a compilation disc entitled 'El ventilador', containing classics from the
rumba vaults, many of which have been deleted. And this is only the first in what
is to be a collection entitled Rumba Classics. Then there was the documentary
'El Gran Gato' by Ventura Pons, which featured, among others, Kiko Veneno, Martirio
and Ojos
de Brujo. It has aroused a notable curiosity once again about la rumba
catalana, and the voices demanding recognition for its cultural and social
legacy are growing louder. And at this point in time, the Spanish TV show Sputnik
is running a series of special features dedicated to flamenco in Cataluña.
For the time being, nonetheless, this has served as a stroll down memory lane
and a chance to critically reevaluate the scene once again, rather than a surge
of new initiatives or the flourishing of new groups and artists. But perhaps this
is a chance for flamenco followers to try to better understand the context and
the virtues of the rumba, and to leave behind all the grudges held against it.
And if they choose to delve into this genre, whose finest moments are filled with
humor, ingenuity, madness, rhythm and tumbao, then they're in for a treat.
(1) For those interested in delving deeper into the
origins of rumba:
- 'La Música entre Cuba y España'; by María
Teresa Linares and Faustino Núñez, Madrid Fundación Autor,
1998
- 'La rumba histórica y los bailes tradicionales
de los gitanos catalanes', by Manuel Ponsa i Blanch, 'I Tchatchipen' Magazine
issue 30
magazine@flamenco-world.com
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