Popular Music and Society Vol. 28, No. 1, February2005, pp.

35-54

I)

Routledge
Ty]o,&F-dnc,, T, ;oup

Salsa Criticism at the Turn of the Century: Identity Politics and Authenticity
Marco Katz

Turning the table on the critics, a salsa musician writes about the writings on music, becoming a critic himself during the process. Having played in at least one of the famous salsa bands mentioned in each of the books he considers, the musician sets out with the presumption that the critics will have nothing new to tell him. Picking his way along the printed pages, he discovers answers to some of the questions that plagued him during salsa's golden age, as well as newly significant aspects of a musical style that has lasted long enough to be heard by the children of its original audience. Some mysteries remain, however; the critics cannot agree on who plays this music authentically, who knows how to listen to it, and why. In the end, it may turn out that the music will create its own listeners: the interbred offspring of salsa's varied listeners who are as difficult to categorize as the music.

Introduction Driving along in silent disbelief, bassist Goodwin Benjamin and I contemplated the burned-out streets of what had once been the South Bronx neighborhoods where we used to make our livings playing salsa. There was no more Hunts Point Palace, nor was there a Cerromar Casino. In fact, there was nothing but the unvaried sight of vacant lots along quiet streets that, several years earlier, had hummed with activity day and night. The eighties had begun and salsa was only a small part of the vast culture being swept away by the razing of buildings and a rising tide of gentrification. Salsa had been our nemesis when played with lackluster bands, just as it had allowed us to soar when performed with dedicated musicians well versed in the ways of blending salsa y control. It was the music we heard on the streets of our neighborhoods, through the walls of our apartments, and in the stores and restaurants we frequented, providing a steady background for youthful love affairs, day-to-day
ISSN 0300-7766 (print)/ISSN 1740-1712 (online) D 2005 Taylor & Francis Ltd DOI: 10.1080/0300776042000300963

36 M. Katz

chores, and dreams of musical success. Salsa, the neglected child, gave us work in selected areas of Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Upper Manhattan, along with occasional trips to Boston and Philadelphia and annual tours of the small towns of Puerto Rico. Like all musical styles that belong to the people, it was often ignored by popular media outlets. Radio WADO hardly ever broadcast salsa, nor was it often found among las novelas shown nightly on Channels 41 and 47. Before the world was turned on to the Fania All-Stars, the big Spanish-speaking audiences were lining up to hear the commercial pop singers Camilo Sesto, Nelson Ned, and a still-to-be-crossed-over Julio Iglesias. Many of their sons and daughters, who sometimes owed their lives to salsa, rejected all songs in Spanish. Years later, the books began to appear, some of them from the children of the children who had abandoned the mambo, cha-cha, bolero, gua-guanco, and son montuno in order to embrace the hipper rock and disco sounds favored by the young "Americans" they wished to emulate. But how could any of these printed pages hope to capture the combination of laughter and tears, joyous festivities, and desperate struggles of a generation relegated to the most forsaken corners of the city? 1 I love Latin food, Latin music and Latin people. (KHSU Announcer, Arcata, California) Issues of identity suffuse current studies of salsa, with varying constructions of who should be allowed in, how to define the music, and where its roots are planted. Differing takes on identity involve questions concerning musical training, the foci of music as art or accompaniment, the ways in which music is marketed, the rise of mechanical reproductions that replace musicians, and works of music as social and political statements. The twenty-first-century salsa criticism considered here includes essays from Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin Popular Music, edited by Lise Waxer, Tony Evora's El libro del bolero, and Enrique Romero's Salsa: el orgullo del barrio. If nothing else, the word "salsa" provides an excuse for publishing lurid pictures, even on books that pretend to academic importance; the covers of the books under discussion in this article include one with a red-and-yellow design featuring Celia Cruz in a passionate moment of song, another colored maroon with the graffiti-laden LP cover of My Ghetto, and a third showing a couple embracing against a lavender background. If Caribbean music does nothing else for the university press industry, it has at least given it an opportunity to produce book jackets in a wider assortment of shades of red. The sense that these are texts dealing with an exotic "other" goes beyond the surface. Ethnic distinctions that will guide discussion of the music are introduced in the second sentence of Lise Waxer's Preface to Situating Salsa: "I do not come from a Latin American family, but through the experiences accompanying my research, I

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have become Latina por adopci6n." Not content to leave it there, she marshals her grandparents' dim sum brunches and "Bubbi's special Jewish feasts" in order to place herself in opposition to her "middle-class Anglo neighborhood in Toronto that didn't feel like somewhere I belonged" (xi). Her final coup is Medardo, a Latino spouse, and her Arias in-laws who are supportive of Waxer's work. Clearly, it is not enough to learn about these others; one must make an ethnic case that justifies one's own participation.' To shorten the learning curve, perhaps, Waxer quickly admits Jews-including half-breeds with shikse mothers such as herself, and myself-and African-Americans into the New York salsa scene. By contrast, Evora's book, which uses the bolero's consistent popularity to create an exquisitely wrought sense of the western hemisphere's best-known musical styles, particularly those of the Caribbean, comes off as less self-consciously ethnic than the other texts considered here. Romero's text resembles that of Waxer and some of her contributors when it suggests that the best possible case for inclusion elides whiteness. Questions of and about whiteness abound in salsa-related discourse, just as they have for so many years in discussions concerning jazz-the biggest difference being that the former has added language issues, which can serve to make access simultaneously easier and more difficult. After all, a white person can generally learn Spanish much more quickly than he or she can approximate black appearance, although this will in no way-Waxer's adopci6n notwithstanding-transform said individual into a Latino. This was made clear to me, yet again, at the November 2001 conference of the American Studies Association in Washington, DC, where derisive comments about the growing population of "granola souls" at Latin clubs found great favor. Members of this disdained group of so-called Anglos 2 make themselves objectionable by trying to fit into a scene where, according to several outspoken commentators, they do not belong. This discussion, although it involved occasional pointed looks in my direction, amused me as I reflected on the many white people who have suddenly developed a mania for all things Hispanic. Several questions arose in my mind, however. Why was there such a strong feeling of animosity towards the "granola souls"? After all, this group of academics was not exactly the kind of crowd one usually expects to encounter on a rinc6n caliente; many were themselves not only quite pale but also seemed more ghetto-sentimental than street-savvy. So how does one decide which people fit in and which deserve banishment? Is it color, language, accent, dancing, or just a matter of getting oneself into the proper social set? It must be palpable to any sentient reader by now that I am white enough to be taken for a "granola soul" anywhere. As entertaining as it was to hear the granola bashing-with its evocation of aging California hippies making fools of themselves at Buena Vista Social Club concerts and local salsa dance nights-I was vain enough to resist the thought of being lumped in with the rest of those other white folks. When it comes time, however, to be visually identified and sorted, chewed up, and spat out by the old scantron, my box will invariably be checked white, admittedly a fact that I am never at pains to deny in certain situations, such as when being pulled over by a police officer.

38 M. Katz

Juan Flores, one of the more thoughtful essayists in Situating Salsa, observes the debates and dissensions inevitably brought to the surface by discussions of origins (79). That these debates remain valuable comes through clearly in Shuhei Hosokawa's (292) powerful concluding essay from the same book, which explores the dissonances created by those who regard music "both as a universal language and as a particular expression of certain groups of people." Arguments for inclusion made by white musicians, who generally share the meager earnings and abundant mistreatment dealt out to musicians of all colors, are heard more favorably when music is regarded as a multicultural force. When musical styles are divvied up and assigned to select communities, the musicians-although not the critics, producers, and presenters-are only granted importance when they are members of the group considered authentic. In jazz, for example, where "whiteness tends to be a sign of inauthenticity," writes Hosokawa, "the appeals of white musicians to universalistic rhetoric can be perceived as power plays rather than genuine expressions of universal brotherhood" (292). African-American musicians might be more inclined to take a universal view when they are allowed meaningful participation in America's wellendowed major symphony orchestras. While waiting, it will be useful for all concerned to keep a sharp eye on the Ideological State Apparatuses defined three decades ago by Louis Althusser, notably the iron triangle of broadcast, cultural, and educational institutions that profit from the continuation of easily categorized ethnic distinctions. Many of the problems inherent in this discourse are evident within the Ideological State Apparatus where this paper is being written-the California State University system, an institution charged by government with decisions pertaining to the ownership of culture and the means of its dissemination. Strict adherence to the postmodernist mantra "think globally, act locally" would provide years of meaningful activity for any truly concerned residents of Arcata, California, home to a university that continually indulges itself in tired expressions of "diversity and multiculturalism" while remaining one of the most segregated campuses in the system. Examples of restrictive zoning and bigoted protectionism, often cloaked in liberal-sounding statements of environmentalism and concerns about development, abound here. Focusing on music, it takes little effort to discover that faculty hiring on this campus can be fairly characterized as "affirmative action for white men." Not only are there no nonwhite men in the music department, the white teachers of jazz and Caribbean percussion were hired with neither terminal degrees in music nor the professional experience normally required to offset such an educational deficiency. The few Cuban teachers who ever appear on campus are migrant workers employed for Humboldt State University's short summer session and then sent packing. I mention this as an example close at hand; few readers, I suspect, can honestly say that things are better where they live. On the other side of the United States, some campuses of the City University of New York have engaged in profiling so blatant that it might have provoked lawsuits sooner had the area involved not been merely music. While studying music at Hunter

Popular Music and Society 39 College, many of us noted that the students, overwhelmingly Latino and AfricanAmerican, were pushed into jazz and other "popular music" programs, while conservatory students from Julliard and the Manhattan School of Music, almost entirely white and Asian, were hired to play in the school's orchestra. At the time, some of the same instrumental teachers offered lessons at both the public and private schools, an arrangement that gave them a profitable incentive-the ability to provide entry-level music positions for their favored students-for helping to maintain the status quo. All of this should be remembered the next time a big-city philharmonic complains that it would hire African-American musicians if only they could find some who were sufficiently qualified. The line quoted at the beginning of this section is an excerpt from an actual broadcast by a scab announcer filling in for Spanish-speaking hosts who had been forced off their weekly program by Humboldt State University's National Public Radio affiliate. Like so many declarations of love offered to the Others, this one invokes food and music; when They are not performing for Us, it is time to devour Them. Some sing for their supper, while others sing in order not to become the main course. Spanish speakers will appreciate the wonderful self-deconstruction, which may not have been intended, in the opening line of the broadcast: "Estoy Deboritah."3 2 Hasta que el pueblo las canta las coplas, coplas no son y cuando las canta el pueblo ya nadie sabe su autor. (Manuel Machado in Evora 383) Composer and science writer Louis Jourdain has compared music to speech translation in order to highlight the difficulties involved for those attempting to develop a true appreciation for the music of another culture. "In language, meaning is largely distinct from dialect. But in music, meaning appears to be partly embedded in the idiom of its expression" (Jourdain 277). Who, then, can claim to speak salsa? Noting how the distance between Japan and the Americas "eases the dissonance" for the well-known Japanese salsa ensemble Orquesta de la Luz, Hosokawa mentions how, in spite of relatively extensive studies of salsa and its meaning for Latinos, "except for a few cynical notes about gringo audiences, there has been little examination of the significance of its spread outside Spanish-speaking communities" (291). In The Location of Culture, Homi Bhabha informs us that "a range of contemporary critical theories suggest that it is from those who have suffered the sentence of history-subjugation, domination, diaspora, displacement-that we learn our most enduring lessons for living and thinking" (172). Obviously, careful readers need to determine if "those who have suffered" is a literal reference or is meant to include even those descendents not currently subjugated under crushing wheels of fate. Assuming the latter, the pool of potential teachers must be enormous, considering

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the ubiquity of slavery and other significant torture and oppression. In spite of Romantic notions about the creation of Art, there has not been much music handed down directly from victims of the world's worst abuses. Having established herself as culturally exotic, Waxer views salsa as yet a further difference, a type of other "other" that maintains a grand narrative of American musical criticism in which whites toujours deja engage in the illicit appropriation of what is essentially African. In her second essay, "Lleg6 la Salsa," one encounters many repetitions of Afro-Venezuelan, Afro-Colombian, Afro-Hispanic Caribbean, AfroPuerto Rican, and even Pacific Coast-Afro-Colombian, as well as the ever-popular Afro-Cuban. Another Situating Salsa essay, "Se Prohibe Escuchar 'Salsa y Control,"' by Waxer's husband, Medardo Arias Satizabul, a Colombian columnist for the New York tabloid Hoy, also pursues African influences, as opposed to a supposed white superficiality, in his homeland. This strained prose comes as a surprise, given that Waxer's and Arias's primary areas of interest, Venezuela and Colombia, were never populated by more than a handful of African descendants. In Salsa: el orgullo del barrio, Colombian journalist Enrique Romero estimates that Blacks make up one percent of the population of his country. The Colombians residing in New York City during the late seventies and early eighties, when salseros started playing with cumbia bands, were regarded by many musicians as a largely white group that remained ensconced in their suburban neighborhoods, adamantly avoiding immigrants from the Caribbean islands, especially Puerto Ricans. Identifying as a Puerto Rican can be filled with other perils; for Patria RomanVelazquez, another Situating Salsa contributor, it sometimes made fieldwork and writing difficult. She relates that on various occasions her "knowledge about salsa was either overestimated, tested or taken for granted" with the implication that she was a "complete insider (which was not the case)" and that this provided her with "an authoritative voice" (283-84). Conversely, the well-known musician and politician Willie Col6n claims "The new fad is to redefine everything Latino as Cuban." This charge is supported in interviews for "The Making of a Salsa Music Scene in London," in which Roman-Velazquez quotes an unusually frank operating strategy offered by Dave, the owner of Bar Cuba: What can be Spanish Caribbean? Puerto Rico, well, no. Cuba, well, that is a good idea, it is basically Spanish. Not Puerto Rico, because it normally reflects fairly violent images. Puerto Rico is West Side Story, things like that, Puerto Ricans in America, and I did not want to have that sort of image. I wanted a mysterious image of the Caribbean extended in the food, be a little more competent in the food, rather than just the tapas. (274) Fidel Castro's government, however, hasn't always been quite so eager to claim salsa. In fact, Tony Evora and Situating Salsa contributor Robin Moore both deal with the fact that Cuba actually incurred financial losses owing to its socialistinspired abolition of copyrights and composer royalties. Moore displays unusual awareness of the difficulties inherent in discussions involving Castro's government, pointing out how "much of the academic literature about Cuba from abroad is

PopularMusic and Society 41 extremely polarized, either unrealistically supportive or critical of recent policies" (51-52). The complexities of this discourse are further revealed with tvora's rare and entertaining coupling of Camilo Jose Cela and Pablo Neruda-strange bedfellows, indeed-in a paragraph praising Cuban singer and pianist Ignacio "Bola de Nieve" Villa (109). What is more difficult for Evora is an acknowledgment of the vital musical relationships between the Caribbean and New York City. Beginning in Cuba, where Evora was born, his explorations of the music move on to Mexico, through Central America, down the western coast to Chile, over to Argentina, back up the eastern coast to Venezuela, returning to the islands for a look at Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic, and finally traversing the entire Atlantic to bring in Spain, where the author currently resides. In fact, this book, couched in the idioms of Madrid, 4 overtly aims for a Spanish audience whose fascination with all things Caribbean is much like that found these days in the United States. Even so, the Big Apple pushes its way into Evora's narrative, popping up-however unbidden-in every section of the book. Important figures such as Marcelino Guerra "Rapindey," Mario Bauza, Chano Pozo, and Alfredo "Chocolate" Armenteros keep showing up in la gran manzana, often staying for the rest of their lives (102-03). Most of the musicians in Evora's book who develop new sounds out of mixtures of national styles do so in New York, an early example being the Mexican composer and performer Guty Cardenas, who established important contacts in that city with the Colombian Jorge nfiez, the Argentine Gregorio Ayala, and the Cubans Nilo Menendez and Adolfo and Conchita Utrera (209-10). Properly establishing the importance of Mexico City, Buenos Aires, and Havana in music of the Americas, the author is clearly reluctant to let in any part of the United States, even as its internationally important Spanish-speaking cities-New York, Miami, and Los Angeles-practically beat down his doors. 5 Salsa musicians have long known about this Cuban diffidence in acknowledging the musical importance of New York and other cities in the United States. Many Cuban musicians, pro-Castro as well as refugee, believe that the blame for current yanqui predominance lies with Fidel Castro; Havana would now be the center of rhumba, son, montuno and salsa if only most of the really good musicians had chosen or been allowed to stay. Evora reserves his most openly political writing for this topic; in a ten-page section titled "El exodo de artistas" he discusses international diplomacy, unions, homosexuals, expropriation of businesses, Milan Kundera, and the Soviet Block, not always making clear connections between these topics and the music under discussion (122-32). In future arguments, he would be more persuasive by allowing the case to stand with the obvious reality that over the past four decades a huge number of great musicians have left the worker's paradise presided over by Fidel Castro, finishing their careers in Mexico City, Caracas, Buenos Aires, and Madrid, as well as New York and Miami. One might add the many current stars who, though legally Cuban citizens, basically spend their lives in hotel rooms around the world or maintaining residences of one kind or another in Europe or the United States. Short

42 M. Katz

trips home to see family and bring sufficient funds into the country have become enough to keep one's Cuban citizenship intact these days. Whatever other ambiguities exist about salsa and the politics of Cuba, Moore paints a clear picture of a Cuban Communist Party-always dominated by white men-spending decades dismissing dance music as "'low class' music (munsica baja, sin nivel, de la hampa), crude and vulgar, as well as a cosa de negros," while supporting mostly "classical music, or pop music with overtly political content" such as Silvio Rodriguez (56-57). According to journalist Crist6bal Sosa, "The 'salsa' from New York, that of Eddie and Charlie Palmieri, all that, was considered 'the enemy"' (Moore 63). Moore demonstrates how the views of Castro's government changed, in part, with the rise of more "politically oriented salsa compositions by Ruben Blades and others" (63-64). An immediately compelling force for policy change, discussed by both Moore and Evora, was occasioned by the abrupt break in the flow of money from Moscow to Havana following the collapse of the Soviet Union. As the whole world knows, Hollywood promoters were suddenly able to find all sorts of previously hidden treasures on the island with the result that "performing music in tourist revues or abroad offers Cubans a potentially higher standard of living than they could hope to achieve in virtually any other way" (Moore 64). Consequently, Havana's national budget now enjoys 20 percent of the earnings of Cuba's resurrected performing rights society, Estudios de Grabaciones y Ediciones Musicales (Evora 194). Moore points out: "One unfortunate result of these policies has been the development of a quasi-apartheid music system in which many live concerts today cannot be attended by Cubans themselves" (66).6 Further studies of these issues might consider how the "granola souls" perpetuate a similar system of segregation in the United States, where groups such as Buena Vista Social Club and Mufiequitos de Matanzas play for white audiences while Spanishspeaking immigrants are most often found listening to other groups in different venues. A similar phenomenon in London is well documented in Roman-Velazquez's chapter, in which she carefully charts the different paths taken by Latino and British revelers in search of salsa. One of her South American interviewees says that he feels uncomfortable in places like the inanely named Down Mexico Way salsa club because "you don't see any Latin people around, but you are listening to salsa music, seeing Mexican food, and perhaps the only Latin is washing dishes." Other respondents noted that these clubs "were reproducing the image of a 'ghetto"' (Roman-Velazquez 279-80). As is clear from the title of his book, the ghetto-specifically that part of New York City known as Spanish Harlem or El Barrio-is exactly where Enrique Romero discovers the birth of salsa during the 1970s as "an urban socio-cultural movement, synthesized in a musical expression created and developed by Caribbean emigrants and some North American musicians identifying with Latino pathos and seduced by the rhythms of Cuba and Puerto Rico" (12).7 Said pathos is no small thing for Romero, who believes that the original inhabitants of the Caribbean were essentially endowed with extraordinary quantities of generosity, social permeability, and ability

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to mix and adapt rhythms of other cultures-qualities that, in spite of the conquistadors, "remains present in the DNA of all Caribbeans and all Latinos in general" (15) 8 Genes come up several times in Romero's work, explaining to his satisfaction not only why Latinos came up with better salsa but, conversely, why "The Caribbean hasn't participated in the Space Race nor in the development of science and technology" (21).9 Evora also implies that science and technology are gifts unique to Northern European nations, ignoring the many important breakthroughs, such as the treatment for malaria-an imported ailment-developed by Incan physicians in the seventeenth century, that have been and continue to be made in all 1 of the former Spanish colonies.' Latinos, in the sense that this consists of the Spanish-speaking population of the Americas, have roots in the Taino, Caribe, Arawac, Aztec, Inca, Quechua, and Mayan nations as well as in Spain, Italy, France, Portugal, Germany, England, Holland, Eastern Europe, Israel, Palestine, Syria, Turkey, Persia, China, Japan, Korea, Morocco, Nigeria, Ghana, Tanzania, South Africa, and Zimbabwe.'1 The appealing part of Romero's genetic theory, suggested in part by his unreserved admiration for Larry Harlow, Barry Rogers, and other salsa greats from non-Latino families, is that everybody must be Latino. Or, as Hosokawa writes in a reference to a CD by Orquesta de la Luz, "it is not that salsa has no borders, but rather that some groups cross over them more easily than others" (308). Lest readers believe that such issues are confined to wrangling between constructed groups identified as Latino and Anglo, Hosokawa brings in elements of Asian stereotyping found in the Americas, a hemisphere where many Spanish speakers continue to replace coreanos, vietnamitas, and japoneses with the all-purpose chinos, often not even aware-at least in the United States-of the Castilian words for these other nationalities. Sometimes, though, the greater distance between Japan and the Americas turns out to be beneficial to "musical communication at both ends by allowing the undisturbed production of OL [Orquesta de la Luz] in Japan and the curious reception and consumption of them abroad" (Hosokawa 291). Elsewhere, claims of authenticity have sometimes proven useful as marketing devices to promote, or explain away, bad musicianship. Xavier Cugat, a white native of Catalonia, tried to blame the United States for the commercial relics with which he made his fortune: "In order to make it in the United States I gave the North Americans Latin music that had no authenticity" (Evora 223).12 Attention must also be paid to differences among Spanish-speaking nations. At one time, the Mexican singer and songwriter Guty Cardenas was branded with the epithet "malinchista" (quisling) for using the Cuban clave in one of his compositions (Evora 209). Marisol Berrios-Miranda begins "Is Salsa a Musical Genre" with Gerardo Rosales's insistence that every style be set "in its place" with salsa reserved for Puerto Rican bands because "Cubans cannot play salsa. There is not a Cuban salsa group, it does not exist" (23). On another front, Francis R. Aparicio's elegant deconstruction, in Situating Salsa, of a performance by Celia Cruz and La India casts an entirely new light on the endless debates of origination between Cuba and Puerto

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Rico. This is accomplished through a meticulous unraveling of show-business trappings which identifies La India, a popular young Puerto Rican singer, with the late La Lupe, "one of the few Cuban singers who identified salsa as Puerto Rican," in opposition, however unconsciously, to the "Cuban-centric perspective" publicly insisted on by Cruz, thus subverting "hierarchies imposed by the industry and Celia herself' (154-55). Among current cultural critics writing on salsa, Aparicio stands out as a writer who uses critical theory that reveals the myriad complexities of the music and the cultures in which it rises. A reflection on the history of profound panAmerican musical criticism, moving from Alejo Carpentier to Aparicio, deserves, at the very least, an entire chapter of its own. "Culture is translational because such spatial histories of displacement-now accompanied by the territorial ambitions of 'global' media technologies-make the question of how culture signifies, or what is signified by culture, a rather complex issue" (Bhabha 172). Like the writers I'm reading, I've managed to drag the source, and discussion, back to my own madre patria, New York City. Still, there are other scholars supportive of this view. In "There Goes the Transnational Neighborhood: Calypso Buys a Bungalow," Michael Eldridge includes the claims of calypso singers of the 1920s "that The Tropics are New York; that the two places have become virtually interchangeable; that Gotham has been irrevocably inflected with Caribbean culture" (622). Caribbean connections with New York City provide many possibilities for the consideration of some fundamental questions concerning American culture and identity. 3 If hybridity is heresy, then to blaspheme is to dream. (Bhabha 226-27) One answer that begins to emerge, but never entirely appears, in some of these writings is a concept of Music of the Americas. This phrase, suggested in works by Jose Marti, arose among a group of New York City musicians during the late 1970s and early 1980s to explain some important, however unrecognized, similarities in salsa, cumbia, and jazz ensembles. By 1985, a few of us had created a bilingual school show intended to reveal this aspect of American culture to elementary school students.'3 Educators at first resisted this as a confusing new idea; by the late 1990s, though, several arts-in-education organizations had included us in their programs, with schools beginning to ask for Music of the Americas by name. Our study guides emphasized how our music came with our people from Africa, Asia, Europe, and throughout the American continents. It also posited New Orleans as a Caribbean city in order to demonstrate how musical styles of Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, Mexico, Colombia, and the United States washed back and forth over maritime paths of trade and conquest, creating combinations that became known as ragtime, blues, dixieland, swing, danz6n, cumbia, and salsa, all of which went on to influence performers and composers around the world. An example of this type of

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development can be found in my Preface to an edition of compositions by Puerto Rican composer Juan Morel Campos that "exhibit forms and rhythms developed during the following decades by Scott Joplin and other masters of ragtime" (2). Waxer's anthology contains an interesting blend of observations on the global and local factors that help explain salsa's trajectory from a neighborhood mixture of styles to an international phenomenon flourishing in an arena where it could in turn become an element in further musical concoctions. Her own writings provide needed insight into distinctions between Latin music and salsa, showing how the latter has been used as a general term that reduces Latinos to a stereotyped sameness (Waxer, "Situating Salsa" 5). Later, she explains how the New York experience moves people from specific national identities toward generic Latino identification (Waxer, "Lleg6 la Salsa" 227). Aparicio sees this trend in other parts of the United States, as well, observing cases in which "second- and third-generation Latinos do identify themselves as Latinos rather than as Mexicans or Puerto Ricans, as their parents still do" ("La Lupe, La India, and Celia" 143). Hosokawa believes that a move away from a "barrio (street) aesthetic" was necessary for the acceptance of Orquesta de la Luz, where there "is no global 'street' but only global images of it" (293). The other side of this push and pull between international and neighborhood factors is nicely stated by Romero, himself an amazing combination of cobblestone and cosmopolitan, who informs us that: [in] any Latin American country ... and above all for salsa, the concept of neighborhood is more important than that of country. In one of his songs, Ruben Blades sang this most clearly: "To hang out, you must have the keys to the
neighborhood, ... you must love the street corner." (38)14

The inevitable results of this are new mixtures and auto-identifications. Aparicio's student Wilson A. Valentin Escobar weaves a "diaspo-Rican" identity for the "white" singer Hector Lavoe with strands from Africa as well as the English-speaking islands of St. Kitts, Nevis, Barbados, and Jamaica, all of which have been credited in the creation of Puerto Rican plena rhythms. Lavoe's Bronx burial creates "a metaphor of the transnational character of the Puerto Rican community" (173-75). Other mixtures and their explanations actually begin in the Big Apple; Juan Flores quotes Joe Bataan, who "was not of Puerto Rican ethnic parentage" but was from El Barrio, where he achieved fame as a street gang member and later as a singer. "My father was Filipino and my mother was African-American, and my culture is Puerto Rican" (91). Several of Waxer's contributors, as well as Evora and Romero, bring in another famous casirriqueio1 5 native of El Barrio-"El judio maravilloso" Lawrence Ira Kahn, known as Larry Harlow. Whether or not one swallows George Lipsitz's assertion, quoted by Hosokawa, that Harlow's music provides him with a "powerful critique of mainstream middle-class Anglo-Saxon America as well as with an elaborate vocabulary for airing feelings of marginality and contestation," few would deny that el judio maravilloso played a huge role in salsa's formation (300).16 A look at why a disproportionate number of Jews became involved as players and listeners of

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salsa, not in the purview of the writings under discussion, would make a fascinating future volume. Without mentioning Music of the Americas by name, several of the authors under discussion delve into its cross-pollinations. Steven Loza, another Situating Salsa contributor, explains how New Orleans jazz may have influenced the inclusion of trumpets in the son ensembles even as early blues and dixieland artists such as W. C. Handy and Louis Armstrong were being exposed to those Cuban sounds (210). El libro del bolero is filled with tonal matrimony sparked by the propinquity of homo sapiens organizers of sound, arising from relationships formed during Olmec, Teotihuacan, and successive Mexican civilizations, Spanish invasions, Chinese immigration that provided labor for the Panama Canal, and Cuban politics and migrations. After demonstrating the influence of Italian operas, African-American influences on Debussy, Colombian openness to foreign musical styles, U.S. big bands and crooners, and Brazilian bossa nova, Evora finally arrives at a figure who could be a prototypical musician of the Americas: "Heitor Villa-Lobos, the brilliant Brazilian composer of 'art' music, engaged in carrying out an American art based on a wealth of popular folklore, capable of becoming one with the abundance of universal music" (329).17 Romero-who defines salsa as a fusion of Caribbean elements with jazz, samba, rock, and reggae-also brings in a wide array of musical styles and the people who create them, with particular attention to how major ethnic groups in New York City have rubbed off on each other. His history of influences lists artists from Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, and Cuba along with big band leaders, bebop soloists, Tin Pan AHey songwriters, flamenco artists, musicians from Senegal and Morocco, and composers from the classical canon, especially Bach, "the most modern musician in history" (22).18 Bringing in the creator of The Art of the Fugue in this manner may signal, whatever Romero intended, the beginning of a new Baroque era in music; the last one came to prominence during similar times of cultural confusion and internationalism. Like "jazz," the word "Baroque" was originally a pejorative reference to an art considered impure. It was, in fact, the Portuguese term for an imperfect pearl. 4 People compose for many reasons: to become immortal; because the piano happens to be open; because they want to become a millionaire; because of the praise of friends; because they have looked into a pair of beautiful eyes; or for no reason whatsoever. (Robert Schumann qtd. in Jourdain 192) One of the problems with writing about this music, according to Berrios-Miranda, is "that a study of salsa style requires a musical proficiency and musicianship that many salsa scholars lack, particularly those who have approached salsa from a literary or cultural perspective" (27). It is a sad truism that some music critics have no idea how to listen to music; their work suggests that they've spent too much time with music in the background while talking, reading, or performing some other activity. We might well ask, at this point, what has happened to the field of music history?

Popular Music and Society 47 Another problem in analyzing contemporary music is that some of the worst excesses of corporate musical production have helped create a musical scene that "is profoundly anti-intellectual [and where] the inability to read music is worn as a badge of honor" (Jourdain 262). In part, this bad bargain was made as a way to encourage listeners to allow musical styles of the Americas into chambers where only serious forms of art had previously been permitted. The most important advance in understanding music and the societies within which it flourishes will occur once we begin to consider our American music with a postmodernism prepared to find instances of depth in all genres, including eclectic endeavors at nongenres, rather than a noncritical critical approach engaged in the creation of political egalitarianism within cultural spheres. Bar Cuba's owner, who earlier expressed a popular view of Cuban mystery, seems to have once again caught the pulse of a generation unprepared for complex postmodernist rumination when he tells Roman-Velazquez why music "was one of the last considerations in constructing the identity of the place. 'You can get away with any type of music as long as it has the right atmosphere,' Dave said. 'The main thing is the decor, then the people and then the music"' (275). In spite of Dave's misguided patrons, there can be found in every part of the world a select group of people who learn enough to perceive music on more than a superficial level. Literary critics might regard them as music's informed readers. These listeners understand how "classic salsa is like the music of Bach, Mozart, or Beethoven, that continues to be listened to and passionately enjoyed many years and centuries after its creation"
(Romero 61).19

Aparicio is among the salsa writers who stress this music's importance as accompaniment to dance. Although much can be learned from the connections she makes between music, dance, and people, there are problems inherent in any idea of dance as music's ultimate objective. Like some critics, bandleaders are often obsessed with dancing; getting the people "on their feet" means more gigs and better money. If, however, good music makes people move, great music can make them still. The best memories of good players usually involve those moments of intense listening by a crowd absorbed in the music. When Mon Rivera had me stand at the front of the stage, as the trombone section launched into "Mosaico #2," people who knew the band gathered around. After Mon shouted "iOye Mayagiuezf' it was time to improvise, and I could feel a thousand eyes on me; it seemed as though everyone had frozen. The energy from that experience stayed with me and, although I've yet to formulate a properly mystical philosophy to draw upon in explanation, I am aware that something well beyond my comprehension transpired in those places. A few great conga players, such as Vicki Soto and Jose Venero, regularly generated this kind of excitement, using two, sometimes just one, drum to entice crowds of knowledgeable admirers into motionless enchantment around the bandstand. Lyric is another area that causes writers to wander into strange places. Evora asks: "To what are we listening in a bolero, the music or the words?" (25).2 Oddly, considering its fundamental nature, this inquiry seldom arises, even though lyrics

48 M. Katz

often "provide a welcome memory aid for the musically undeveloped mind" (Jourdain 257). Some writers on music are so engrossed with the words that the music never appears for them while others-although not many-concentrate on diatonic maneuverings to an extent that lyric is excluded. In cases where both are joined, one often has the sense of a shotgun marriage where no one is completely sure whether these disparate elements ought to remain hitched. In the theatrical world of New York, there is a famous old anecdote about a woman who approaches the wife of Richard Rodgers at a party. Gushing about the famous Broadway composer's music, the fan breaks into "Some enchanted evening...," only to be stunned when Mrs. Rodgers replies that her husband never wrote that. In answer to the lady's continued protestations, Mrs. Rodgers finally sings what her husband did compose: "Da daa, Da da da daa....'21 All of these writers would benefit from rethinking their definitions of a musician; in these books the term is generally limited to signifying singers, songwriters, and bandleaders. In some cases this goes even further off track when people who operate nightclubs, agents who handle bookings, and DJs who play recordings are treated as if they were, in fact, the creators of the music. Aside from a few useful observations on musicians as workers in Romero's book, there is scant consideration of the place of 22 side-musicians in these histories. The two articles by instrumentalists that appear in Situating Salsa do little to correct the situation. Steven Loza and Christopher Washburne do not appear to have been included because of any real interest in them as players per se, but because of their academic achievements. Loza's piece, a disproportionate celebration of one of his employers, should have prompted ethical concerns regarding the academic integrity of its inclusion in this publication. Washburne, an excellent trombonist, provides a nicely balanced discussion of the differences between 1970s and 1990s salsa. His consideration of the historical aspects of the trombone in salsa, however, fails to include well-known side-musicians Generoso "Tojo" Jimenez, Barry Rogers, Jose Rodriguez, or Jimmy Bosch. The omission of side-musicians in El libro del bolero is similarly surprising since Evora, credited as a percussionist on the back cover, focuses on the music. His book comes with a superb CD containing original recordings by Tito Rodriguez, Benny More, Olga Guillot, Bobby Cap6, Lucho Gatica, Antonio Machin, El Trio Los Panchos, and other important artists. Eight pages of "Comentarios a la selecci6n del CD" discuss the singers and songwriters along with dates and circumstances of the recordings. Among the 22 recordings, however, one finds only two players mentioned-trumpeter Chapottin and bassist Elpidio Vazquez. Similarly, the twenty artists singled out for individual biographical treatment in Salsa: el orgullo del barrio would also appear to have offered solo performances throughout their careers. With room for photos, discographies, and spacious margins, it is unfortunate that those men and women in the background were left unidentified. Those who were on the salsa scene in the 1970s understand the importance of those now-forgotten trombonists as well as the treseros, congueros, bongoseros, and timbaleros. Bands of that era also featured great pianists, bassists, trumpeters,

Popular Music and Society 49 flautists, violinists, and occasional saxophonists. An expenditure of ink on trombonists Barry Rogers and Jose Rodriguez is long overdue; their stature was equal to that of their boss, Eddie Palmieri. With my superficial resemblance to Barry, I often found myself besieged during the mid-seventies by young fans and well-wishers as I carried my trombone case around East Harlem or the Lower East Side. The fact that Barry, another Jew, and Jose, a Brazilian, were outsiders added to their luster at the time, even if it has caused them to be neglected by purist historians. Hopefully, future studies of this music will do more to highlight their vital contributions. When I last saw Jose, he was living in a West Side Manhattan housing project, scuffling for diminishing gigs. Generoso was living in a small, crumbling room when I visited him in Havana in 1999. After enduring a period of critical neglect, Barry succumbed to a brain aneurysm in 1991. Paying more attention to the musicians would help writers understand the proper place of musical scores and parts. When Berrios-Miranda, for instance, finally stops lecturing others on their ignorance and gets down to notated examples, it becomes obvious that she is out of her element. Her rhythmic patterns on page 32 are either overly simplistic or, in the bongo and conga parts, just plain wrong. A phrase sung by Ismael Rivera is accompanied by the observation that: "Perhaps the most instructive aspect of this transcription is the fact that it cannot capture the rhythmic or melodic subtleties of Ismael's fraseo" (Berrios-Miranda 40). This ridiculous idea that salsa, jazz, and other "Africanized" music cannot be written down would be hilarious if it were not so demeaning. Recently developed computer programs prove that the subtleties of all these styles can be traced with notes on manuscript paper, assuming that one wouldn't mind reading beats pared down to fractions of the 64th, 128th, or even smaller units. The more commonly employed whole-note-to-32nd parameters convey an approximation of Brahms's symphonies or Chopin's piano works, with their many tempo variations, just as inexact as that which can be given of Charlie Palmieri's Arroz con bacalao or Duke Ellington's Black and Tan Fantasy. The musical notations offered in Situating Salsa by Washburne and Loza will, for the most part, be as useless to nonmusicians as they are simplistic for those who can read them. For those who need to know, Rebeca Maule6n's Salsa Guidebookfor Piano & Ensemble is still the best source of information for musicians involved in salsa performance and notation. Possibly attempting a mitigation of her own deficiencies, Berrios-Miranda recycles stories of untrained Puerto Rican musicians, ignoring the fact that most players and composers have had enormous amounts of training, many of them-such as Tito Puente-having studied at Julliard and other world-famous conservatories. Tony tvora's biographies constantly refer to conservatory enrollment and operatic experiences, while researchers such as Ruth Glasser demolished such stereotyping early on, describing even earlier generations of "Afro-Puerto Rican" musicians as "reading musicians who were well-trained in Puerto Rico's municipal bands" (15). An element inextricably tied to the notation of salsa is clave, and Berrios-Miranda quite accurately points out the importance of this rhythm to the music; even when

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not actually played by the instrument of the same name, the rhythm should always be implied. She also brings up the musicians who believe "that a lot of great salsa music is cruza'o ('crossed,' i.e., all rhythms are not properly lined up with the clave), but it still swings and it is still good" (37). After hearing several criticisms of crossed clave in the music of the Lebr6n Brothers-possibly connected with jealous feelings arising from the band's number-one hit in Puerto Rico at the time-I once asked the band's arranger, Jose Lebr6n, about this. His response was: "Oh yeah, fick the clave. I never even think about it." Berrios-Miranda mentions that some "great musicians have at one time or another lost the clave, and other musicians love to comment about those instances" (39). She is certainly right about this. During one of the recording sessions for The Heavyweight I was astonished to hear a couple of Charlie Palmieri's sidemusicians criticize the great pianist for turning the clave around. The final, and unanimously convincing, proof was that Charlie's montuno, a repeated pattern, conflicted with the tapping of bassist Bobby Rodriguez's foot. While Palmieri was still the acknowledged master of all musical styles, everyone knew that Bobby's foot never crossed, so the montuno was dumped. The most beautiful players, like the most articulate writers, all improve when they can stand a bit of correction. As Lise Waxer has endured brickbats as well as bouquets on these pages, her passing on August 13, 2002 must be noted. Although already possessing a formidable list of accomplishments, she was entirely too young to leave this life, still having much to contribute. Her writing reveals social and musical scholarship, an ability to accommodate a variety of viewpoints on a complex topic, and a sincere passion for the sounds of salsa. I hope to have honored Waxer's work here by a critical view that, as much as possible, has ignored her physical demise while seriously examining the living embodiment of her work. Sadly, we will not see more of Waxer's thoughts on the place that recordings have taken in the music and, by extension, in various societies. The best parts of her essay "Lleg6 la Salsa" build on Walter Benjamin's thoughts on the ways in which reproduction liberates art from ritual, moving creation towards the political. Evora also takes on recordings and broadcasts, at one point showing us the irony of Hollywood films such as Blood and Sand, in which the voice of Rita Hayworth is performed by Cuban singer Graciela Parraga. So far, however, it is Waxer who has done the most interesting work on the applications of these thoughts to salsa, noting, for example, that the "centrality of recorded music for Calefios [residents of Cali, Colombia] challenges the privileging, in most scholarly work, of live performance as more 'real' or 'authentic' than its mediated versions" ("Lleg6 la Salsa" 232). Future efforts by Waxer's colleagues and students would do well to expand on these ideas of how, after "the age of mechanical reproduction separated art from its basis in cult, the semblance of its autonomy disappeared forever" (Benjamin 226). There are enormous societal gains to be made from answering questions of what is salsa, what differences and similarities it has vis-a-vis other musical styles of the Americas, and who is served by these histories and denominations. Also, how are the various meanings provided for salsa, along with representations of its history, used to

Popular Music and Society 51 develop national policies, enforce cultural controls, bring people together or keep them apart, or-in that famous old record company phrase-just sell product? It is already clear that our labels for musical forms resist definition, and everevolving styles will increase our confusion while adding to our pleasure. Also, as the offspring of the granola souls and the original salseros find they cannot keep their hands off each other, the categorization of human beings will become as difficult as the selection of bins for recordings. This "mongrelization" of America can even be found on the Op-Ed page of the New York Times. "In a world brimming with bad news," writes Nicholas D. Kristof, "here's one of the happiest trends: Instead of preying on people of different races, young Americans are falling in love with them" (A33). So it turns out that these new texts dealing with the music Goodwin and I played will be indispensable. They answer many questions we had during those hectic times, and, even when the responses turn out to be wrong, they give our thought processes a place to begin. The blend of critical theory, musical knowledge, and personal experience presented in works on salsa has the potential to foster greater understanding of how places, times, and events are changed according to the signifiers that are applied to them. Our increasing consciousness will help us reserve our judgments as we endeavor to comprehend people with a clarity never to be possessed by those who have decided in advance what behaviors will be encountered and how they should be addressed. The conclusions we come to, however temporarily in each instance, and the feelings we have about them will have greater meaning with each step we take in this direction. And that is not all. The neoyorriqueiio descendants have come back and even brought with them the children of those "Americans" and others from all over the world who are beginning to discover the joy of learning how to listen to music from the corners, las esquinas y los rincones, from the simple slap on the conga accompanied by hollow claves-clak-clak; clak, clak, clak-later joined by a bass line that comes as a revelation, introducing in its turn a swirling world of beats struck and pounded on skins and wood and metal, all aligned with ever-shifting harmonies played on the piano, brass notes pouncing on top until the singers enter with words of love and anger and happiness and despair, and love again, and again, and again until the world is filled with every emotion and the memories pour out all at once as the beats shift, all changing the music and ourselves until everything comes together in a final assault that leaves us both drained and filled, not sure what to think anymore but knowing that nothing will ever be the same. The music. iChevere! Acknowledgments None of this work would have been possible without Dr. M. Elizabeth Boone, mi musa y mi mujer. Others who helped me express these thoughts are the peer reviewers at PopularMusic and Society, musicians Tony DiGregorio and Dale Turk, Humboldt State University (HSU) students Matthew Giffel and Andrea Schriner, and Dr David

52 M. Katz Stacey. The English Department at HSU has provided a supportive home during these studies, especially my advisor, Dr. Barbara Brinson Curiel. jOs agradezco un mont6n! Notes [1] While contemplating the implications of Waxer's point of departure, I had the serendipitous pleasure of being shown how an author with very similar ethnic origins handled such concerns quite differently. Christina Accomando, a dark-skinned professor of English at Humboldt State University, confronts the question of her ethnicity in a note to the Introduction of a book dealing with African-American slavery in the United States. Noting her own Italian-Chinese-Armenian-French heritage, she explains why she often employs a white construction anyhow, "not to erase my cultural and ethnic background or the immigrant status of my grandparents but rather to acknowledge my access to white privilege, by virtue of my skin color and class position" (Accomando 215). As should be obvious, this catch-all term for white people offends more than gringo. I am indebted to Ronald Schmidt's Language Policy and Identity Politics in the United States for reminding me that many so-called Anglos trace their descent from groups that themselves have long histories of troubled relations with this English tribe. The idea that the United States is inhabited exclusively by descendants of the British is as ridiculous as the notion that Mexico, or any other Spanish-speaking country of the Americas, is populated with gallegos. More about KHSU hilariously playing Keystone Cops can be found in the Times-Standard, Eureka California, editions of September 12 and 17, 1999 as well as in my Arcata Eye retrospective (Katz, "KHSU"). Another interesting take on this issue can be found in the well-known bell hooks essay "Eating the Other." There are many examples of this, most strikingly on page 87, where manisero needs to be translated for the Spanish reader as vendedor callejero de cacahuetes. In addition to the Castilian broadcast media found across the United States, three newspapers using the language of Cervantes are published every day in New York, gubernatorial elections in Florida include debates in Iberia's best-known tongue, and Los Angeles hasafter Mexico City-the second largest Spanish-speaking population in the world. The film Azucar amarga (1996), filmed in the Dominican Republic by the Cuban-born director Le6n Ichaso, provides a vivid, if polemical, portrayal of the rise of Cuban "apartheid" as well as these altered employment opportunities. "un movimiento socio-cultural urbano, sintetizado en una expresi6n musical, creada y desarrollada por los emigrantes del Caribe y algunos musicos norteamericanos identificados con el pathos latino y seducidos por los ritmos de Cuba y Puerto Rico." This and all subsequent translations by the author. "sigue presente en el ADN de todos los caribenios y, en general, de todos los latinos." "El Caribe no ha participado en la carrera espacial, tampoco en el desarrollo cientifico y tecnol6gico." This information has been provided by Nathalia Katz, a graduate student of parasitology at Tulane University. She also points out the thousands of other examples that can by found by searching Peru or any other Spanish-speaking country at sciencedirect.com. Hopefully, this will provoke responses from Latinos with roots in countries not specified. Please go right ahead and write them in. I've limited myself here to my own circle of friends and acquaintances. "Para triunfar en Estados Unidos le di a los norteamericanos musica latina que no tenia nada de autentica."

[2]

[3]

[4] [5]

[6] [7]

[8] [9] [10] [11] [12]

Popular Music and Society [13] [14]

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[15] [16] [17]

[18] [19] [20] [21] [22]

Dale Turk and J. J. Silva stand out as vital contributors to these efforts, made as part of the Performing-Arts-in-the-Schools program at Teachers College, Columbia University. "cualquier pais de America Latina ... y sobre todo para la salsa, es mas importante el concepto de barrio que el de pais. Esto lo cant6 bien claro Ruben Blades en uno de sus temas: "Para ser rumbero, tienes que tener las llaves del barrio, ... tienes que amar a la esquina." My own invention, which could be interpreted as almost-Rican. Larry Harlow, a real New York character, was the only well-known bandleader who ever fired me, a fact that did nothing to diminish my appreciation of his music. "Heitor Villa-Lobos, el genial compositor brasilenio de musica 'culta', empeniado en la realizaci6n de un arte americano basado en el caudal focl6rico-popular, capaz de integrarse a plenitud a la musica universal." "el musico mas moderno de la historia." "la salsa clasica es como la musica de Bach, Mozart o Beethoven, que se sigue oyendo y gozando con igual emoci6n despues de tantos aios y siglos de creada." "~Que escuchamos en un bolero, la musica o las palabras?" This anecdote was first related to me many years ago by Freddie Gershon, owner of Music Theatre International. This increasingly appropriate replacement for the word "sideman" was adopted in the early 1980s by the Musicians of Greater New York, Local 802 of the American Federation of Musicians (AFM), for use in all of their publications and official communications.

Works Cited
Accomando, Christina. "The Regulations of Robbers": Legal Fictions of Slavery and Resistance. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 2001. Althusser, Louis. "Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (Notes towards an Investigation)." Trans. Ben Brewster. London: Monthly Review P, 1971. (Trans. of article first published in La Pensee, 1970.) Aparicio, Frances R. "La Lupe, La India, and Celia: Toward a Feminist Geneology of Salsa Music." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin PopularMusic. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 135-60. Listening to Salsa: Gender, Latin PopularMusic, and Puerto Rican Cultures. Hanover, NH: UP of New England, 1998. Arias Satizabal, Medardo. "Se Prohibe Escuchar 'Salsa y Control': When Salsa Arrived in Buenaventura, Colombia." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin Popular Music. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 247-58. Benjamin, Walter. Illuminations 1968. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Harcourt, 1968. (Trans. of Illuminationen. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1955.) Berrios-Miranda, Marisol. "Is Salsa a Musical Genre?" Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin PopularMusic. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 23-50. Bhabha, Homi K. The Location of Culture. London and New York: Routledge, 1994. Col6n, Willie. "Willie Col6n Speaks Out: Is There No Limit to the Miami Mafia's Egotism & Greed?" Salsa Magazine 13 Sept. 2000. 19 Sept. 2002. <http://www.salsa.bigstep;com/ generic.jhtml?pid=22>. Eldridge, Michael. "There Goes the Transnational Neighborhood: Calypso Buys a Bungalow." Callaloo 25.2 (2002): 620-38. Evora, Tony. El libro del bolero. Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 2001. Flores, Juan. "'Cha-Cha with a Backbeat': Songs and Stories of Latin Boogaloo." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin Popular Music. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 75-99. Glasser, Ruth. "Buscando Ambiente: Puerto Rican Musicians in New York City, 1917-1940" Island Sounds in the Global City. Ed. Ray AUlen and Lois Wilcken. New York: The New York Folklore Society and The Institute for Studies in American Music, Brooklyn College, 1998.

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hooks, bell. "Eating the Other: Desire and Resistance" Feminist Approaches to Theory and Methodology. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1999. 179-94. Hosokawa, Shuhei. "Salsa No Tiene Fronteras: Orquesta de la Luz and the Globalization of Popular Music." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin PopularMusic. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 289-311. Jourdain, Robert. Music, the Brain, and Ecstasy: How Music Captures Our Imagination. New York: Avon, 1997. Katz, Marco. "KHSU's faux pas of 1999 still aggravates." Arcata Eye 14 Jan. 2003: 11. Preface. Four Danzas for Two Trumpets, Horn, Trombone and Tuba by Juan Morel Campos. New York: International Music Company, 2001. Kristof, Nicholas D. "Love and Race." New York Times 6 Dec. 2002, national ed.: A33. Loza, Steven. "Poncho Sanchez, Latin Jazz, and the Cuban Son: A Stylistic and Social Analysis." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin PopularMusic. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 201-15. Maule6n, Rebeca. Salsa Guidebook for Piano & Ensemble. Petaluma, CA: Sher Music Company, 1993. Moore, Robin. "Salsa and Socialism: Dance Music in Cuba, 1959-99." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin PopularMusic. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 51-74. Roman-Velizquez, Patria. "The Making of a Salsa Scene in London." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin PopularMusic. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 259-87. Romero, Enrique. Salsa: el orgullo del barrio. Madrid: Celeste Ediciones, 2000. Schmidt, Sr., Ronald. Language Policy and Identity Politics in the United States. Philadelphia: Temple UP, 2000. Valentin Escobar, Wilson A. "El Hombre que Respira Debajo del Agua: Trans-Boricua Memories, Identities, and Nationalisms." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin Popular Music. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 161-86. Washburne, Christopher. "Salsa Romantica: An Analysis of Style." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin Popular Music. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 101-32. Waxer, Lise. "Lleg6 la Salsa: The Rise of Salsa in Venezuela and Colombia." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin Popular Music. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 219-45. ed. Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin Popular Music. New York: Routledge, 2002. . "Situating Salsa: Latin Music at the Crossroads." Situating Salsa: Global Markets and Local Meanings in Latin PopularMusic. Ed. Lise Waxer. New York: Routledge, 2002. 3-22.

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