No Hace Falta Pensar La Muerto, Porque Yo Estoy A Tu Lado
1993
PAULO Y SU ELITE
• SONANDO Y PEGANDO DURO -P.Fernández-P.Fernández-
• MENEATE -P.Fernández-P.Fernández-
• TU TODO MI TIEMPO -P. Fernández-P.Fernández-
• MUCHACHA TERNURA -C.Gail-P.Fernandez-
• VEN A MI CHACHACHA -P. Fernández-P.Fernández-
• YO NO PUEDO ESTAR CON OTRA -P. Fernández-P. Fernández-
• TU NO ME CALCULAS -P. Fernández-P.Fernández-
• FATALIDAD Y CASUALIDAD -P. Fernández-P.Fernández-
• NO HACE FALTA QUE LO DIGA -A. Lerner-A.Lerner-
• LA CAPTURA -P. Fernández-P.Fernández-
How many years ago was it now? At a restaurant-cabaret in Havana called “La Cecilia,” I saw a band called Opus 13.
That day was an outrageous forced march. First, in the morning, there was the dance lesson for Miho Nikaido, the actress for the film “Kyoko”; next I went to a gallery’s inner courtyard to see Conjunto Caney, where I was moved by an eighty-four-year-old percussionist named Niño (he has retired now, but in the old days he had been in the famous Sonora Matancera, and during their Mexico tour the Cuban Revolution happened; the band’s policy became exile, but he alone returned to his home country — a legendary figure. When I asked his reason, he answered, chest out: “Because I am Cuban”); then in the evening, by car, I went some two hours away to a port town (I forget the name) to see a charanga band, returned to Havana in the middle of the night, and at last reached “La Cecilia.” Body and spirit were deeply exhausted; even when the waiter came to take orders, opening my mouth was a chore. It was in that state that I watched Opus 13 play. Opus 13 is the band one might call the forerunner of Paulo y su Élite.
“Well, what can you do — they’re a good band, I might as well film them,” I thought, and shouldering my video camera, I climbed up onto the stage. As I went up from stage left, the floor was trembling in small, rapid vibrations — and that was the work of the pianist. It was that night that I heard Emilio Morales’s piano for the first time.
Into my deeply fatigued body, that piano came in pleasantly and sharply at once. The feeling that sound runs through the body, shakes it, and releases the nerves — that was the first time I actually felt it.
The footage I shot that day — only Emilio Morales’s fingers and the keys — is preserved as a precious item in my library. Even though it was accompaniment to a song, I had never heard a piano that drove like this. When Paulo formed his band Élite, Emilio Morales joined without hesitation.
In a certain sense, he may be Cuba’s “strongest” pianist.
There are other fine players too — Juan Manuel, music director and tenor sax, and Francisco Rubio on alto sax — but the ones I absolutely want to push are Héctor on drums and percussion, and Sergio on synthesizer. Both of them, astonishingly, are twenty-four years old; both are astonishing musicians who show the deep underlying strength of Cuba. I liked them so much that I almost wanted to adopt them as my own sons.
Cuba has overwhelming percussionists in abundance, like so many stars in the sky — there’s the genius Changuito; Calixto Oviedo of NG La Banda; and on the jazz side, Simpson of Perspectiva, Furuo Barreto who plays with Rubalcaba, and others. Héctor’s drumming — if you wanted to put it down to youth, you could leave it at that — but it’s powerful and flashy, and I love it.
Sergio on synth was discovered at fifteen by none other than Richard Egües (the first flutist of Aragón), and has walked the professional path ever since. He is a player who can play keyboards of every conceivable genre — an unmistakable genius.
In the “Cha-cha-chá” piece, in live performance, he carries on an improvised call-and-response with Emilio Morales. Please pay attention to that.
The sound comes through at an incredible speed, certainly — but the movement of the fingers is utterly invisible.
It’s hard to believe, but neither Emilio Morales nor Sergio has a piano at home. The instruments used at Élite belong to the band; ever since they set out to be keyboardists, they have never owned a piano of their own, let alone a synthesizer.
“Do you know where we get our individual practice on the keyboard?” Emilio Morales asked. I said I didn’t know. As it turned out: in museums where old pianos sit, or in concert halls during their off-hours, they are allowed to play. How much money does it take to raise one great pianist? A country that gives birth to great pianists must have something rich in it.
Cuba is poor to the point of making one sigh.
Yet there are countless musicians with unbelievable technique and unbelievable conception. The reason is not simple, and I will explain it in the next novel I write.
The leader, Paulo, is a rare existence even in Cuba — a man at whose concerts the girls scream “kya, kya” — but of course he is not a mere idol. He is a leader filled with the sense of responsibility one bears in leading the elite.
Ryu Murakami
Pablo Alfonso Fernández Gall
Juan Manuel Ceruto Rabago
Bruno Rogelio Nápoles Collazo
Emilio Morales Ruiz
Luis Filiberto Depestre Montalvo
Francisco Rubio Pampín
Tomás Ramos Ortiz
Francisco Padrón Jiménez
Hector Salazar Frías
Sergio Luis Noroña Rodríguez
Andrés Padrón Acea
Osvaldo Chacón Guía
Carmelo André Llane
Julio Montalvo Cantolla
・ソロ：ファン・マヌエル・セルト in “優しい娘”
・ルイス・エリク in ”君は僕の時間のすべて”、”君にはぼくの心がわからない”、”運命と偶然”
・ルイス・デペストレ、エミリオ・モラレス、フランク・ルビオ in ”何も言う必要はない”
オーケストレーション：
音楽・制作監督：ファン・マヌエル・セルト
録音：ヘルジー・ベレ
ミキシング：ヘルジー・ベレ、ファン・M・セルト、パオロ
EGREM録音スタジオ：ハバナ，キューバ、1993年4月
翻訳協力：網野真木子／木村千里/松本ファン・アルベルト／藤井一/山口光生
Design: Yasutaka Kato for Above Us Only Sky Studio
Art Work:Hisashi Nishikata
Photography:Atsushi Kondo, Koh Hosokawa