!Viva La Musica Cubana!

By CHRISTOPHER JOHN FARLEY

Jesus is running late. The State Department seemed hesitant to let him into the country--his visa application was approved and then unapproved. A few days later, without explanation, it was approved again. So now Jesus is in--but he's running late. At 11 p.m. the man checking names at the door of the Village Vanguard, the New York City jazz club where Miles played, where Monk played, says Jesus hasn't arrived but his plane "is touching down even as we speak." As a result, Jesus' set has been pushed back from 11:30 to 'round midnight. The club is half empty. Only the true believers, only the people whose jazz souls need saving, are going to stick it out that late on a weeknight.

Past midnight now, and Jesus arrives. Jesus ("Chucho") Valdes is the greatest jazz pianist in Cuba, perhaps one of the greatest pianists in the world. He's a tall man, 5 in. north of 6 ft., and wide-bodied. He is casually dressed tonight, clad in an untucked purple shirt, jeans and Fila sneakers. He has played in the U.S. before, but this month he is embarking on his first sizable Stateside tour, one of the most extensive by any Cuban performer since the embargo began in 1962. Valdes has a new solo CD to promote, Bele Bele en la Habana (Blue Note), an album of virtuosity and intellect and sorcery that could just turn out to be the attention-grabbing Kind of Blue of Cuban jazz.

He sits at the piano. He is a faucet, a river, a flood of music. His left hand pounds out sharp, staccato chords, and his right hand flies, hummingbird fast, up and down the keyboard. There is history here: the imaginative, intricate runs of Art Tatum, the restless romanticism of Bill Evans, and of course, the hot, insistent rhythms of Cuba. Valdes' set is frustratingly brief--he is exhausted from his travels--and he plays only one more tune. Afterward he is asked the name of his first number. He smiles and says, "Improvisacion!"

Cuba is an island no more, musically speaking. Its music was once a force in this country, but in the '60s, the embargo hit, and Cuban musicians were barred, for the most part, from playing in the U.S. The music, in America, slipped from a place of prominence. But in 1988 Congress passed an amendment to the embargo that allowed Cuban musicians to perform Stateside if they came as part of a cultural exchange, a requirement typically fulfilled by the artist's giving an educational workshop in addition to his or her regular gig.

Cuban artists are taking advantage of the crack in the embargo door. Over the next few weeks, Valdes plans stops in Philadelphia, Washington, Los Angeles and St. Paul, Minn. Earlier this year, La Charanga Habanera, a hard salsa act that is considered one of Havana's hottest bands, played its first-ever show in the U.S., at a festival outside Boston. Three years ago, pianist Ruben Gonzales, 79, considered himself retired and didn't even own a piano. This summer he has a solo album out (the smoothly accomplished Introducing...Ruben Gonzales on Nonesuch), and in October and November he will be touring the States. Other Cuban acts, including the dance band Los Van Van and the bright-voiced a cappella act Vocal Sampling, are also on the road in the U.S.

Mainstream awareness of Cuban music has been raised in other ways as well. Buena Vista Social Club (Nonesuch), an album that features American guitarist Ry Cooder jamming with Cuban musicians, won a Grammy this year and sold 250,000 copies in the U.S.; on July 1, Cooder's outfit will play Carnegie Hall. Trumpeter Arturo Sandoval, who defected from Cuba in 1990, has a new album out titled Hot House (N2K). Cuba is also going Hollywood. In August, Columbia Pictures will release Dance with Me, a salsa-spiced love story about a Cuban immigrant (played by Puerto Rican singer Chayanne) who falls for an American dancer (Vanessa Williams); the lively Latin sound track features several Cuban artists, including the already mainstream emigres Jon Secada and Gloria Estefan. "On the album we have Vanessa and Chayanne both singing in Spanish and English," says Tammy Lester, the sound track's associate producer. "Hopefully, this will bring a whole new audience to the music. Everyone can relate now."

American record companies, always hungry to latch onto trends, and currently ravenous to get chunks of the emerging Spanish-language entertainment market, have been sending scouts and emissaries to Cuba in search of new acts. U.S. law prohibits American companies from hiring Cuban musicians directly, so when European and Japanese labels sign Cuban performers, the American companies sometimes step in as Stateside distributors. In other cases, the musicians are signed by the American companies' foreign subsidiaries--Valdes, for example, is technically signed to EMI Canada, making it possible for EMI's Blue Note label in the U.S. to release his CD.

The Cuban government, eager for cultural visibility and revenue, is pumping up its music scene, which is state controlled. In May the country staged its second annual music-industry trade show, Cubadisco '98, and the event drew crowds of American record executives. Ned Sublette of Qbadisc, a small, six-year-old label based in New York City that specializes in distributing Cuban music, says many American music executives he had never seen before (some of whom knew nothing about the music) attended the event. "Everybody's there because they hear that's where the action is," says Sublette. "It's close to a feeding frenzy."

What's the attraction? "Cuban jazz differs in that it incorporates the Cuban rhythms, but it has a complexity, a rhythmic complexity, that hasn't hit the U.S.," says Jimmy Durchslag, president of Bembe Records, an independent record label in Redway, Calif., that distributes Cuban music. "It tends to be pretty high energy and frenetic. They have monster chops; they are outrageous performers. The best of the music is incredibly technical and wonderfully creative stuff."

"Getting to the U.S. used to be a nightmare [for Cuban performers]," says Juan de Marcos Gonzalez, a producer of Buena Vista Social Club. "But things are slowly getting better. America is interested in us again. It's in fashion to smoke a Havana, to visit the island, to have an affair with a Cuban woman." In recent months, celebrities such as Leonardo DiCaprio, Naomi Campbell and Alanis Morrisette have visited the island.

But try to get beyond the trendiness. There is a greatness in much of Cuban music that defies the latest fads. Valdes, for one, is an established, longtime star in Cuba. The son of musicians, he began playing piano at age three and began his love affair with jazz at five. As an adult, he has performed in the U.S. with Roy Hargrove and Wynton Marsalis. Valdes, 57, is also the leader of the Cuban rock band Irakere, a group that draws on African rhythms and instruments (such as bata drums) and various musical genres (including classical and folk) to create its sound.

Valdes' Bele Bele en la Habana ranks as his best work. His original compositions, like Son Montuno, are playful yet smart, tuneful but challenging. Other songs, such as El Cumbanchero, showcase his startling dexterity. Valdes pulls songs apart, stretching, searching, plunging in and pulling out each piece's abstract heart. The wonder is that he never loses control of his songs. On every track one feels a strong, disciplined mind at work, summoning Cuban spirits, pounding out the percussive rhythms of salsa and son (the core dance and song form of Cuba). Valdes draws his music from Cuban culture, which is why he says he continues to live in Cuba. "I'm investigating the African roots of Cuban music," he says. "The only way to do it is to stay in Cuba. My work is here. The rhythms are here."

Of course, Castro and his communist regime are also there--and that troubles some critics. Cuban-American Congressman Lincoln Diaz-Balart of Florida says that because the music industry in Cuba is state controlled, artists do not earn the profit they deserve from the albums and tours. "These artists are coming from an apartheid, slave economy, where Cuban workers are denied the fruits of their labor--there are no labor rights in Cuba," says Diaz-Balart. "These Cuban artists are owned and loaned by Castro. Americans can enjoy the music, but the money is going to Fidel. I think people should keep that in mind."

Sandoval, who fled Cuba so that he could have more musical freedom, is one who has not forgotten. "The government put me in jail for 3 1/2 months because I was listening to the voice of enemies--you know, the Voice of America," he recalls. "The people in Cuba are isolated, and we feel a frustration. The only way I could get away from that feeling is by practicing and being a good, solid musician. Then I waited for that day when opportunity came."

For his part, Chucho Valdes looks forward to the day when the embargo is lifted entirely and "things return to normal." Although his album is getting a buzz, Valdes says he's not focused on accolades. "Personal fame doesn't matter to me at all," he says. "What is important to me is that everyone hear my music." If you can hear it above the din of politics, it's a beautiful sound.

--With reporting by Patrick E. Cole/Los Angeles and David E. Thigpen/New York

With reporting by PATRICK E. COLE/LOS ANGELES AND DAVID E. THIGPEN/NEW YORK