Manolín, the Martí of Salsa music
“There is no Mercedes Benz, or a luxury, ocean-front apartment on Miami Beach, nor high-speed internet or any other comfort that can compete with the land where I was born.” That is what Manolin says. The modest Manolin. The Spiritualist of Salsa, Manolin.
That is his current version of “the mountain stream is more satisfying to me than the ocean.” Of his “our wine is bitter, but it is our win.”
A wannabe Martí and a garbage peddler.
This is like saying: “The love I have for Central Havana is more satisfying than my apartment in Miami and my bank account and my 320-inch television and my Mercedes Benz that I have parked in front of the apartment that as I mentioned, has three bathrooms. And the Mercedes Benz with the blonde sitting in it, which I am not sure if I told you is the 2020 model (I am referring to the Mercedes, not the blonde who is named Cindy, not Mercedes, and she is already 18).”
He says that while he was in Havana, he forgot about the Mercedes Benz but he goes on to mention the car six times in his essay dedicated to exalting his love of country. (He only mentioned the apartment five times)
Manolin and his “I fill my pool with Dom Perignon that is good and expensive but that is not our wine” takes nationalism to a new dimension: One by one he mentions the worldly possessions he will renounce to once again live in his country to see if they make him a better offer. To see if they would allow him for example, to take his Mercedes to Havana, and his apartment, and his internet connection. And that they could return to him the fame he once had and give him a new fame so he can move on to become Manolin, the Doctor of Regueton instead of Manolin, the Doctor of an Extinct Genre.
Let’s see, Manolin, repeat after me: You left, and we you leave, you lose…