By Rawlins Gilliland
http://stream.publicbroadcasting.net/production/mp3/kera/local-kera-865260.mp3
Dallas, TX – Brazil
INTRO: Latin music has had recurring periods of crossover success in the United States. During the Sixties, the music began to make a fan out of commentator Rawlins Gilliland.
COMMENTARY: Despite appearing certifiably Anglo, my private soul has always felt happiest when immersed in the Latin worlds and I thank God this became clear at an early age.
A 1950s Dallas radio show, American Airlines Music Till Dawn, promoting flights to Mexico City, I'd call and make reservations despite being maybe 9 years old. When I finally did explore the Mexican capital a decade later, I walked the streets pretending I was dining with Maria Felix, Hispanic cinema's goddess, while Eydie Gorme and the Trio Los Panchos sang classic boleros.
How I envied my wealthy cousin Genny whose father lived in Havana. Summers at her Hill Country ranch, we'd listen to Percy Faith's Music of Cuba before crossing into Piedras Negras to dance to live bands at the Cafe Moderno. I had found my bliss.
As the 60s progressed, I imagined South America listening to Brazil '66 and Antonio Carlos Jobim. Into the 70s, it was Latin Jazz - Stan Getz and Cal Tjader - until a defining moment, hearing what came to be called "The Voice." "La Voz". Early 1970s, when backpacking through New York, I camped summer nights in Central Park anticipating the Schaefer Music Festival sharing Latin talents like Celia Cruz and Tito Puente. Until Johnny Pacheco introduced a young singer and like a snake rising from a basket, I responded to Puerto Rico's Hector Lavoe, my heart bleeding as if stabbed.
Mondays in 1980s New York meant the Village Gate's "Salsa meets Jazz" series. Miami to L.A., I was awed by big band icons: The Gran Combo of Puerto Rico and Colombia's Grupo Niche; salsa masters Tito Gomez and Oscar de Leon. Transcending my assigned ethnic cultural background into a parallel universe where passion prevails. Secure, like a born-again native returning home.
There were those amazing 1990s Sunday nights at Monica's Deep Ellum where I learned one dances salsa with an accent, mine being inexplicably Colombian. So I flew to Bogota at the height of its civil wars, risking my life to dance all night in deja vu joy.
I ultimately fell in love in Colombia, making me a veteran of foreign wars. No weapon leaves a scar like a broken heart. But as Hector Lavoe seemed to say when he sang that night in Central Park, and I embraced it as religion, romance in Spanish may kill you but it's a reason to live.
Rawlins Gilliland is a National Endowment Master Poet.
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