Sarah Krulwich/The New York Times
efining salsa, like defining jazz, can be an elusive task. Like jazz, it has absorbed many influences and evolved over time. And like the terms jazz, funk, or disco, the word salsa, which means sauce in Spanish, is a label. No one is quite sure who "invented" the term -- it is said to have been used to describe "hot" Latin music long before the 70's. But it was the New York-based Fania Records operating in the mid-70's that did the most to generate a worldwide recognition of the music and its new name by aggressively promoting its new stars in markets in and beyond the United States.
Izzy Sanabria, graphic artist, M.C., and publisher of Latin New York magazine in the 70's and 80's who was integral to the promotion of salsa, described his own role in an essay on his Web site (www.salsa.bigstep.com)
"I never claimed to have coined the word salsa, or used it first (I'm too young). My claim to fame is being first to see the potential of the word as a marketing tool to promote New York's Latin music. I had always felt that 'Latin music' was too broad a term for the sound being created by Latino New Yorkers and that it needed its own name like jazz, rock 'n' roll, disco, R&B, blues, etc. A new name and image was needed that people could get excited about and be able to relate to. Salsa was easy enough for anyone to pronounce and remember. I thought salsa was just perfect"
Whatever its success as a marketing tool, salsa was still a label, and to some, a simplification of a diverse tradition. In a sense that is true -- salsa is a product of many Latin styles. Early salsa records might contain any of a dozen unique traditional song forms -- son, rumba, pachanga, bomba, danzon, guaguanco. The label may have obscured the variety of Latin music, but it also made it easy for new listeners to identify, and it helped sell records.
Although a great number of New York's stars and sidemen in the 70's were Puerto Rican, the basic musical elements of salsa were derived mainly from Cuba. Traditional Cuban styles had been popular favorites in the United States as far back as the 1920's. Johnny Pacheco, a musician, bandleader and salsa pioneer, explained in an interview that while music from Puerto Rico and the Domincan Republic was often heard in New York, Cuban music held a special appeal for musicians and dancers: "It was more intricate to play Cuban music because of the arrangements. The Cuban music was more danceable and more intriguing."
In the 1940's and 50's, New York was home to flourishing Afro-Cuban jazz and mambo scenes. Tito Puente, Tito Rodriguez, Machito and Dizzy Gillespie led popular bands rooted in Cuban forms, often augmented by big-band jazz arrangements and instrumentation. As the 50's came to a close, only the few most successful big bands could survive economically. But the love affair with the Cuban sound did not die.
| Sarah Krulwich/The New York Times | |
| Eddie Palmieri, the pianist, rehearsing with band for a concert at Lehman Center for the Performing Arts in the Bronx, 1986. |
Cuban song forms such as the son that were a mainstay of the rhumba and mambo eras would also be taken up by younger musicians to form the basis of salsa.
The 60's saw a turn to smaller groups -- first to flute-led charangas, then later to the popular conjunto, or combo, patterned on a type Cuban street band featuring trumpets and percussion. These conjuntos, which in New York often added piano and bass, specialized in tipico, or down-home style of music common in New York's Latino neighborhoods, most notably a section of East Harlem known as El Barrio, considered by most to be the cradle of New York salsa. Early Cuban conjuntos like those led by tres player Arsenio Rodriguez and bassist Israel "Cachao" Lopez -- and those in New York that would follow -- were less jazz-oriented than the big bands, and featured Spanish-Caribbean folk melodies and song forms charged with hard-hitting polyrhythms with African roots that could move bodies well north or south of any border. These groups became the stylistic models for many upcoming salsa bands of the 70's.
Despite Cuba's deep influence, salsa was not merely Cuban music dressed up in a new name: It was a product of pan-Latin New York. By 1961, United States-Cuba relations had been severed. New Yorkers no longer had inspirational visits from well-loved Cuban bands like Orquesta Aragon. They were left to develop a music of their own. Consequently, Puerto Rican, Dominican, African and African-American sounds were all thrown into the mix. Up-and-comers like New York-born Puerto Rican Willie Colon challenged the "Cuban orthodoxy" and eagerly wove sounds and rhythms from down the street and across the globe into his arrangements.
 Latin New York Publications, Courtesy of Izzy Sanabria | |
| Tito Rodriguez during a recording session. |
Traditional Latin music also was subject to a distinct New York urbanization. This was no longer music straight from the "old country" -- it was infected with New York energy. Tempos quickened, bands became more aggressive and brassier, lyrical content changed to reflect city life, addressing subjects like inner-city crime and poverty. Enthusiasts of all backgrounds -- Jewish, African-American and Italian among them -- flocked to the music, as fans, dancers, musicians, journalists or industry players.
During this period, Fania Records, a New York-based label co-founded by musician Johnny Pacheco and his partner Jerry Masucci in 1964, became the engine behind the scene. Fania launched or furthered the musical careers of many of salsa's future stars -- Mr. Pacheco, Hector Lavoe, Roberto Roena, Pete "El Conde" Rodriguez, Larry Harlow, Willie Colon and Ruben Blades among them. Fania was certainly not the only Latin music label in New York in the 70's, but it was dominant. Its matchless roster of musicians and the hard, streetwise music it produced in its heyday inspired an almost cultish loyalty among fans, and helped define New York as salsa's capital. Fania's success was also a source of pride for Latin New Yorkers -- this music, developed and honed in their own neighborhoods, moved quickly from the city's local clubs and studios to stages and airwaves worldwide.
At the close of the 70's, as the popularity of hard salsa began to decline, Mr. Masucci decided to sell the Fania label to a South American company. Though it still exists in name, the label never again reached its former status and its dissolution was a severe blow to the scene. Some, who made their names in New York, like Mr. Barretto and Mr. Blades, moved naturally toward the developing Latin-jazz scene, which departed somewhat from salsa's anchored dance grooves for the more open spaces and experimentation of modern jazz.
 Jimmy Arauz/Latin New York Publications, Courtesy of Izzy Sanabria | |
| Charlie Palmieri's farewell at Beau's Restaurant, February 1980. From left: Ray Baretto, Johnny Pacheco, Tito Puente, Charlie Palmieri. Singing, from left: Machito, Joe Quijano, Joey Pastiance. |
By the early 80's, it seemed New York's day as salsa's capital had passed. The New York style held little sway in the major United States radio and record-buying markets, a void partly filled by "salsa romantica," which featured mellower rhythms and pop-style lyrics and production values. The oncoming wave of popular Dominican merengue would also take a prominent place in the Latin record industry (it still is a major force in Latin music today). New York-based Latin performers like Marc Anthony and La India were working in newer styles like Latin house and hip-hop in the late 80's; they had little interest in salsa at the time, a music that seemed outdated.
The 1990's, though, brought some change to the industry as producers and musicians began to look to the roots of classic salsa and its innovators for new inspiration. With the influence of people like RMM Records' Ralph Mercado and producer Sergio George, a meeting of the generations began to take place as newcomers revisited the harder, homegrown sounds of classic salsa and even collaborated with pioneers, as La India did with master salsa pianist Eddie Palmieri on her 1992 album, "Llego La India via Eddie Palmieri." Around this time, Marc Anthony made his move, too, from the Latin house style to a salsa-based pop with definite Afro-Cuban rhythmic elements, mainly engineered by Mr. George. These records by younger artists retained the polished studio sound and lyrical styles of commercial Latin music, but also brought forward some of the rhythmic drive and complexity of classic 70's salsa. They also set the stage for the so-called Latin Explosion of the late 1990's when Cuban music by veteran groups like the Buena Vista Social Club, and Latin pop with its most visible artist, Ricky Martin, were hugely popular in America. But commercial success has taken its toll on Latin music, too. As Times critic Peter Watrous pointed out in a recent article, that popularity has led in most cases to a creative dead end for Latin artists, with many of the most original performers going unheard outside their niche markets.
Still, the last decade has had its bright spots for classic salsa purists. WSKQ-FM, known as La Mega, the city's popular Spanish language station, now devotes some programming to classic salsa. And non-commercial New York stations, such as WKCR (89.9 FM) and WBAI (99.5 FM) air excellent weekly salsa shows that provide in-depth listening sessions with recordings of some of the world's best Latin groups, past and present.
Popular groups, like Dark Latin Groove (DLG) that draw on many styles, frequently turn to salsa traditions. DLG has recorded a version of Johnny Pacheco's hit "Acuyuye." (Mr. Pacheco still plays with his own group in New York clubs). The talented young trombonist, Jimmy Bosch, has devoted his career to hard salsa (or salsa dura), as a sideman for many artists and with recordings under his own name. Other artists like Victor Manuelle, Gilberto Santa Rosa, and George Lamond often top La Mega's charts and perform in New York clubs. Their records, while not quite tipico, can still appeal to hardcore salsa fans.
