PINAR DEL RIO


support babalú


Your donations help fund
our continued operation

do you babalú?

what they’re saying


bestlatinosmall.jpg

quotes.gif

activism


ozt_bilingual


buclbanner

recommended reading





babalú features





recent comments


  • asombra: There’s a misspelling on that plaque. It should have read “Esta es tu caca, Fidel.”

  • asombra: Don’t worry. Castro, Inc. knows what it’s doing, and it knows its public.

  • asombra: Either these people are pitiful idiots or they think everyone else is.

  • asombra: Because, you know, Reuters cares SO much about Cubans, so it really “feels their pain.” Just like Clinton did.

  • asombra: Well, at least Batista didn’t run around in military garb, which he was more entitled to do than either Castro tyrant.

search babalu

babalú archives

frequent topics


elsewhere on the net



realclearworld

I found my voice in Celia Cruz’s

Cuban American filmmaker Joe Cardona in The Miami Herald:

I found my voice in Celia Cruz’s

  A young Celia Cruz in the 1940s in Cuba before she made it big. The first memories I have of Celia Cruz is the sound of her guttural voice echoing through my grandparents’ radio. Yo Soy de Cuba la Voz — I am the voice of Cuba — she bellowed. It was the station ID for WQBA radio, the focal point of all things Cuban for exiles in the early to mid 1970s.

Then-station director and radio icon Emilio Milian’s idea to have Celia record the station’s moniker was a stroke of genius. The jingle played on Miami’s radio airwaves for more than four decades, defiantly claiming her, and our, Cuban roots. And there lies the crux of Celia’s connection with Cubans all around the world. Her talent, her larger-than-life persona and her innately acute understanding of our yearning for our homeland made Celia an inextricable part of our exile identity.

In the 1970s, Celia was one of only a handful of recognizable Cubans who lived outside of Cuba. In the Cardonas’ humble abode in Hialeah, as well as many other exile households of that era, Celia represented a stalwart of Cuban culture. She had single-handedly managed to preserve the essence of the island’s rich musical traditions. However, it was her clear and unflagging stance against Cuba’s dictatorial regime that cemented Celia’s distinguished position among a community whose woes and sacrifices were little known and rarely mentioned.

Though I was exposed to Celia’s voice at a young age, my true understanding of her craft didn’t come until much later. Some time in my late teens, I inherited some of my older cousins’ party albums — the ones that were played at least twice at all family weddings, Año nuevos and quince celebrations. The collection included several of Celia Cruz’s salsa recordings under the Fania label.

The salsa sound was a veritable hodgepodge of Latin rhythms that were blended in the streets of New York City and became the soundtrack of a cultural and political movement that redefined Latino identity in the United States. Celia Cruz was at the epicenter of this cultural wave. Hers was the thunderous female voice that punctuated the era.

Celia’s historic recordings landed on my turntable a few years removed from their heyday. Yet it was perfect timing because I was discovering them at a moment when I was grappling with my own “Cubanity.”

Continue reading HERE.

Comments are closed.