Buena Vista Social Club

I’m no stranger to adding to what little information I might have to make a more complete story. In another world, this might be classed as poetic licence. Trouble is, I manage to convince myself that my version is the real thing and then when I find out the real story, I’m usually surprised. And not always pleasantly.

Pre-Cuba, I’d thought that the Buena Vista Social Club was a Cuban band that has been playing together since the 1950s. Relics of time gone by. I had them up there with the Blind Boys of Alabama, who’ve been playing together for more than 70 years.  But was I ever wrong.

Going to see the band was high on my list of things to do in Cuba, right there with having a cocktail at the Hotel Nacional. We’d hooked up after our respective days out for an evening drink at the Hotel Ingleterra on Parque Central and on checking with the concierge, decided to go see if we could get tickets to the Buena Vista, if not for that night, for the next. We followed directions and found ourselves on the street behind the Saratoga Hotel in a neighbourhood that still bears the hallmark of grandeur.

A crowd had gathered at the foot of the stairs in what we assumed was our building, as it was the only place showing any life. We queued, too, not quite sure what was going on. As we moved on up the stairs, I noticed that others behind us and in front of us had tickets in hand. We had nothing. But when we got to the desk it turned out that yes, for €50.00 each, we could get dinner and watch the show – from a front row table.

Now, had I been more on the ball, I might have asked some questions but I was so excited about finally getting to see the boys that I didn’t. We could have cocktailed it for free, all evening, and not bothered with the €35 bottle of white wine that fell way short of what I’m used to in Hungary – but as I said, I was too excited to pay attention to the details.

The food was grand – fine – it filled a gap. Not exactly haute cuisine but as dinner-show dinners went, it did the business. I was there for the music. The band began to come on stage, one by one. Laughing. Joking. Tuning up. And then it all began.

A line of elderly men and women dressed in their finest filed out. All singing. About 14 musicians crammed on the stage played their hearts out. And the MC of the evening told us what was in store. Some of the greats from the days of yore would be entertaining us for the evening.

Pre 1940s, the Buena Vista Social Club was a members’ club in Havana, a place where Cuban singers and musicians entertained the people. In the late 1990s, American musician Ry Cooder won a Grammy for his album featuring singers from the Buena Vista Social Club.  This was in 1997. Two years later, in 1999, Wim Wenders did a documentary of the musicians involved, which was nominated for an Oscar. Wenders himself was fined $25k for breaking the US embargo against Cuba. It was a cheap price to pay for bringing Cuban music to the world stage. What we were treated to that evening were some of the finest of the finest. It was humbling, mesmerizing and simply brilliant to see. A night that ranks up there on my list of Top 10 experiences ever.

Did I mention we had a front-row table? I was practically dancing on their toes. Septuagenarians, octogenarians, each with more life in their little fingers than many twenty-year-olds today. And they gave it wellie. Ill-fitting box suits reeking of mothballs. Spats. Wide, printed ties. Hats. All so last-century. It was like going back in time.

Each performer wandered in and out of the tables, entertaining everyone in the room. Cabaret at its best. The house dancers dragged people up to the front to dance (there was no shortage of volunteers). At the table next to us, a Meryl Streep lookalike was celebrating her birthday, somehow connected with who appeared to be the mother of one of the younger singers and a force in her own right. It was all very speak-easyish. Booze. Cigars. Babes. And the godfathers. My imagination was running riot.

And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get much better, the MC for the evening announced Juana Bacallao, the goddess of Cuban cabaret. In her 90s, the woman is nothing short of amazing. Apparently she plays regularly at the El Gato Tuerto and in her day was one of the stars of the Tropicano (two more for my list should I ever get back to Havana – but the tourguide of one of the women in front  of me in the queue apparently rated the BVSC above the Tropicano – if you have to make a choice). She keeps her tonsils oiled by drinking honey with egg yolk every day. She’s quite the woman. An inspiration. Seeing her live was something else.

And Juana was in good company. I rather fell for Orestes Macias and would quite happily enjoy a Cuba Libre with Flora Max. It was only afterwards that I realised how many greats were in the room that evening.I checked out Mundito González…

Many have been the singers, who have cultivated the musical genres characteristic of the Cuban sound universe. But when we think of that glittering jewel that is the bolero, Mundito Gonzálezs image appears, and with him, his privileged voice, his musical culture and his exquisite sensibility lavishing the listener, the joy of entering the deep secrets of music. 
Harold Gramatges

And then had to check the bolero – a slow-tempo 2/4 dance music that has fused with other forms into what even I recognise as styles.


The bolero-son: long-time favourite dance music in Cuba, captured abroad under the misnomer ‘rumba’. The bolero-mambo in which slow and beautiful lyrics were added to the sophisticated big-band arrangements of the mambo.The bolero-cha: many Cha-cha-cha lyrics come from boleros.

Amazing what you learn on a weeknight in Havana. If you’re in town, make it your business to go see the Buena Vista Social Club. For one night, take yourself back to the 1940s and let loose. It’s worth every penny and more.

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