Wednesday 5 March 2014

Pieces of Me, Pieces of Havana

Your stutter and beard took me by surprise, up to then I was only used to the millions of whys, that with your verses and notes you asked of the state, your voice was full of concern, in it not a trace of hate. A key part of the New Song Movement triptych you were in those years, although there were also others it was always so clear, that Silvio, Pablo and you were blazing the trail, which to thousands of Cuban youngsters was our own Holy Grail.

That night at the theatre, the first time I saw you live, not for a single second the thought crossed my mind that one day would arrive, when I would not only mourn your untimely demise but the impact you had on thousands of Cubans who have now bid you goodbye. To paraphrase Bertolt Brecht via Silvio’s dream of snakes, there are singer-songwriters who sing one day and do not make many mistakes. There are others who sing one year and manage better, compared to the former they are musical go-getters. There is a third group who can go for many lustra, countless plaudits they receive like a heavyweight boxer. Yet there are also those composers and performers who inspire generations, who sing, not just to their own country, but also to other nations. We call them the indispensable ones, without whom life would be dark, bereft of the sun.

That night at the theatre I realised you were that person, so did everyone else, of that we were certain. On the way to the show, my mates by my side, we sang and we joked, we still had our pride. We were the chosen ones, we kept hearing, for us there were neither borders nor for that matter a glass ceiling.

That night in 198_, however, you gave us a wake-up call, metamorphosed into song, it surprised us all. You asked how it can be that a man can change his mind to the point where his prejudices and narrow-mindedness make him blind. How is it possible that his principles can be traded so easily for a car, a secretary, a desk and a life to be lived lazily? Suddenly the white sheets we had seen hanging on clotheslines on the way to the theatre looked no longer normal but frightening creatures. Like white flags of surrender, they ominously warned of a false splendour.

“What became of the communist Quixote?” was your next question, was the windmill that broke his spear to blame for so many concessions? Or were his hopes dashed by too many hallucinations?

On the way back home we all were deeply silent, quiet, disturbed even, but also defiant. We were the generation that would pay the price, for the disaster over which another bearded man was about to preside.

As I write these lines I still remember that night, the palm trees, Revolution Square, the moon (it was so bright!). I also remember your beard and stutter, but guess what, I remember more the words that you uttered.


This post is dedicated to the Cuban singer-songwriter Santiago Feliú who died a few weeks ago on 12th February at the age of 51 from a heart attack. I first saw Santiaguito (as he was known) at the Covarrubias Hall, National Theatre in the mid-80s. Along with Silvio Rodríguez Domínguez and Pablo Milanés, Santiago was a key part of the New Song Movement in Cuba and Latin America. Unlike the former two who eventually became part of the status quo,  Santiago was a rebel, a real rebel who, through his songs, influenced generations of young Cubans like me. Rest in peace, brother, and thank you for the music.

© 2014

Next Post: “Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music”, to be published on Sunday 9th March at 10am (GMT)


24 comments:

  1. Hello:

    Although, sadly, we did not previously know of this Cuban singer, we found this a most moving tribute to someone who clearly made an impact on you in earlier years.

    Thank you for the comment left on our present post and to which we have made reply. We shall hope to see you again.

    We have added ourselves as Followers.

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  2. Beautiful, and moving. And I doubt that any rebel could ask for a better eulogy than to learn he made you think - and feel.
    Thank you. And RIP Santiagiuto.

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  3. Te acompaño en el sentimiento, Cuban. Bonito homenaje a Santi.

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  4. A marvellous tribute. Cuban, beautifully written.

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  5. Forgot to say, I like the new header.

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  6. nice...i hate to say i did not know him prior but you have led me ona chase to find some of his music to see what i missed...and let his songs live on another day....

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  7. Hi! I am staying with someone and cannot play music in this minute but I can read music and there is much in your piece. Thanks. K. Manicddaily

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  8. Every country needs its rebels - maybe Cuba more than most. And his voice is wonderful (wish my Spanish were better so i could understand him!)

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  9. Great voice indeed and a wonderful tribute too. Your new header is nice and oh so blue

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  10. His music is wonderful; his lyrics, even better. Sad to lose him at such a young age.

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  11. Beautifully written, for a beautiful man.

    Greetings from Minneapolis,

    Pearl

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  12. Too young to die! Lovely tribute and memory.

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  13. Me gusta mucho cuando hacen tributo a un gran cantante,linda su cabecera del blog ,es varonil,abrazos fuertes.

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  14. You write about something foreign to me, CiL, and I am not referring to the music or to the musician. There is a concept to be found in some music beyond the mere pleasure of it which has reached you through this man and his music and which I never have found in any music -- which never has penetrated to within me. I wonder why.

    And, again, I will throw out the word homesickness. It could be learning of the death of this man was among the triggers. I am curious to discover where this might lead in terms of your writing for a couple of reasons, one of them being because although Thomas Wolfe might not have meant his words to be literal, I am an absolute believer in the significance of the title of one of his masterpieces -- "You Can't Go Home Again."

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  15. hey..cool beat in your verse today...smiles... and need to check him out a bit more...good questions he asked... to much narrow-mindedness and prejudices on that planet when you ask me...we need more people who ask the uncomfortable questions... i like his voice..

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  16. Metamorfosis

    (Santiago Feliú)
    Cómo puede ser
    que cambie tanto un hombre de parecer,
    que de repente el delirio se le murió,
    que de prejuicios y esquemas se intoxicó.

    Tanto que se mató
    y ahora todo lo andado se le olvidó.
    Luchando contra el constante “no puede ser”,
    y ahora las mismas trabas las pone él.

    Miserias que le imprime el monumento que le hacen,
    muralla en la retina mutilando el sentimiento,
    y las buenas locuras las asesina un buen puesto.

    Llegó lleno de ilusión,
    pero lo atrapó la mierda y se acostumbró.
    Un carro, una secretaria y un gran bureau
    pusieron un candado cerrado en su imaginación.

    Manchas del corazón
    que siembra el oportunismo y la corrupción.
    Cuando de indolencia un alma se contamina
    se le envenenan las ganas y la visión.

    Y adónde fue a parar aquel quijote comunista,
    qué grande fue el molino donde se quebró su lanza,
    o qué alucinación le ha trastornado la esperanza.

    ¡Ay de la generación
    que pagará los desastres de este ciclón!
    ¿Cuánto lloverá en mi patio para que el sol
    degüelle y convierta en fósil esta canción?

    Miserias que le imprime el monumento que le hacen,
    muralla en la retina mutilando el sentimiento,
    y las buenas locuras las asesina un buen puesto.

    ¡Ay de la generación
    que pagará los desastres de este ciclón!
    Y ¿cuánto lloverá en mi patio para que el sol
    degüelle y convierta en fósil esta canción?

    ¡Ay de mi generación!

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  17. Gracias asere. La he estado oyendo continuamente estos días.

    I had a catharsis when I heard of Santiaguito's death. I found out on the 15th, three days later through my Facebook account. I immediately began to write and the rhyming-prose post took shape (thanks, Claudia, yes, it's all verse, but in prose).

    To understand the significance of someone like Santiago Feliú you have to be born in a place like Cuba. Younger than Silvio and Pablo but equal in artistic stature, he was above all a poet. Hence my tribute in rhyming prose. A poet with an unbelievable voice (the song Generacion Asere uploaded above was the soundtrack to those of us who stopped believing in the Revolution in the mid to late 80s) he was a key part of the New Song Movement. People used to say that Silvio was the poet, Pablo the singer with the good voice and Santiago the rebel. Yet Silvio has an amazing voice, Santiaguito was (I can't believe I am writing in the past in respect of him) a great poet and Pablo can do dissidence like anyone else. If in doubt, check his opinions about the treatment of gay people in Cuba.

    It fills me with pride to see the comments section so busy tonight. It means that music crosses borders, not just the geographical ones, but also the linguistic ones.

    Have a great weekend.

    Greetings from London.

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  18. Such a wonderful tribute to someone gone much too soon.
    You write beautifully.

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  19. What a wonderful memorial. Well said.

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  20. A little punch in the heart. Santi, vivo.

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  21. Such a beautiful and moving tribute...I feel I actually know him now!
    Such an amazing voice...how I wish I could understand Spanish...:)

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  22. Such a beautiful and moving tribute...I feel I actually know him now!
    Such an amazing voice...how I wish I could understand Spanish...:)

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  23. What a lovely, touching tribute. 51 is much too young to die. Sounds like a talented man, with a lot to share with the world. May he RIP.

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