A Resurgence Of Rubén Blades

A few days ago, last Saturday to be exact, I found myself seated in a quite dark room in a populated area in downtown D.C. It was a rekindle of sorts, or perhaps a fastidious lingering to stimulate my senses with a stream of visuals projected in a gargantuan screen. Daniel Espinosa's "Safe House" jumped out in the glare of my iPhone while swiftly scrolling through Fandango. Once I glanced at the characters' list, Denzel Washington seemed to be a valid enough reason to consider the film. Also, the story synopsis seemed appealing. The deadpan silence momentarily existing at the film's commencement was obstructed with a hoodrat' skirmish on the last row over apparently a mere seat. Luckily, she was escorted out, along with the other suspect of Hispanic origin, by a bevy of burly men clad in navy blue uniforms and black bullet-proof vests, bearing the name "Police" in yellow letters festooned on their backs. The fixation of my eyes to what was unfolding on screen never lost its focus. 

It wasn't even Ryan Reynold's toned specs of flesh passing through my eyes, when I casually lower my vision to the bottom of the screen and I mentally read "Rubén Blades" as the credits were passing by. Those two words inadvertently preoccupied my mind with childhood memories as Reynolds was divesting of his shirt and stepping into a running shower. What an inhibited moment of puerile infancy retrospect met with suggestive homoerotic imagery. I was really there for Denzel, but Blades made a pleasant, unexpected appearance. 

I was able to comprehend the fist-fighting, action-condensed story line of my first Espinosa film, and marvel at the typical, hat-tipping performance of a Hollywood Royalty constituent, but after the movie came to an end, I started to ponder upon the intrinsically familiar, yet apparent long-muted name Rubén Blades. I was bemused for a moment. It was unbeknownst to me the man could act, let alone display, albeit brief, a decent, bonafide, believable portrayal of a document forger residing in Cape Town named Carlos Villar (drawing similarities with Adolfo Kaminsky), and trade lines with someone the caliber of Washington and Reynolds. I will later learn, belatedly, the man has been part of hefty blockbusters including Stephen Hopkins' "Predator 2" and Robert Rodriguez's "Once Upon A Time in Mexico", and one of the ultimate TV series, The X Files. So then, when one considers this man's accomplishments; Minister of Tourism of Panama from 2004-2009, Harvard graduate, Grammy-award recipient, and legit Hollywood actor -- it's befittingly apropos to catalogued him as one of great Latin America's multifaceted performers. 

Growing up in Lima, Rubén Blades was constantly being played in my living room. The windows, wide open, letting out the distinctively cooing voice of Blades, accompanied with slow thuds of conga drums loudly emanating from the black stereo constructing a lively background to any salsa party. The man was being equally praised, if not as much as Héctor Lavoe and Willie Colon, and his ballads, laden with social and political messages established a connection with the peruvian public. I vividly remember chanting to Amor y Control with cousins, and I even knew, albeit no longer, every single lyric from Plastico ("ella era una chica plastica..."). One that carved a hole in my psyche was Pedro Navaja, a narrative that tells the story of the life and presumed death of a panderer of the same name (navaja means knife or razor in Spanish) in New York City. It was his rendering of Pedro Navaja (video above), performed in a fully realized, beautifully decorated stage that might've imbue Diego Rivera, in which he brilliantly fuses his hip-swinging inducing sounds, the art of story telling, live performance with the theatricality of a play that takes his work, and the salsa genre, to a different level. I mean, the man has senior citizens showing off on stage! (Betty White not included).  

To my world-citizens, non-latin fellow music enthusiasts, you're welcome. 

Miss Little Havana

The Queen of Latin Pop, as we know her, is reclaiming her throne. Gloria Stefan is someone of a Donna Summer or Madonna to the Latin community (or at least in Miami). She has been part of a movement, along with luminaries as Tito Puentes, Celia Cruz, Carlos Santana, and Hector Lavoe, of spreading, celebrating, and educating the world of the rich diversity in Latin music. Gloria, especially, has been a key leader of the Cuban American migrants in Florida, and advocate for immigration rights, and event performed duties of hostess when president Obama visited her in Miami. Although her political views do not conflict with the message or merits of her artistry, it's pleasant to find artists who stand for what they believe in.

Miss Little Havana is her 26th album (astonishing accomplishment is an understatement), and her first English-speaking album since 2003. This Pharrell-produced album is filled with the familiar Estefanism; conga-infused, hip-swinging latin sounds, and melodramatic ballads, yet it places Estefan in a niche, as a few relevant latin artist in today's market. As you might have heard before, "WEPA" is her contagious single being played in your television screen and radio emissions as you read this. It's slowly becoming a latin anthem. How can those merengue-pop ("like merengue in the streets"!) sounds not entice a sudden movement of hips or feet? Maybe I'm being biased because I'm latin. 

I'm throughly mesmerized by the Miami-based artist LEBO's album artwork. It sort of looks like an explosion of melted popsicles metastasizing into abstract figures of exotics birds. The small conga drums add a sense of  a humorous symbolization of Estefan's beloved Havana. I'm equally please to see her in a frizzy fro a la Diana Ross. The whole image brings nostalgic memories of 80's Estefan, yet it's also pragmatic, vivid and full of life. 

Gloria Estefan, a woman of a certain age, has been making the round of national televised shows in looks that are age appropriate, without appearing to grasp with Menopause. She showed up at The View, in a gorgeous deep purple silk shift and matching stilettos (possible Oscar de la Renta), she performed live at The ALMA Awards in a demure black ensemble with beaded lace bolero, and a olive green number at The Rachel Ray Show. She seems to know what silhouette works for her, knee-lenght shifts with a soupçon of décolleté. And it's paying off. There is nothing more desperate than women, of a certain age, trying to compete with 15-year-olds. 

Now, get on the treadmill, and press play. 

Freddie Mercury

A couple of days ago the good folks over at Google released an animated Woody Allen/Mario Bros-esque clip commemorating Freddie Mercury's birth. The gaudiness. The mannerism. The artistry in motion. You can't fake that. Queen for ever. 

A Whole Lot of Blackness

In one of those moments of lassitude, I came across a set of steamy new visuals by Kelly Rowland. This did not come as a surprise. A few days before the video came to surface, she ostensively mentioned via twitter the release of her new video dubbed, "Motivation" featuring Weezy (who by the way, is on the April cover of Interview. He was interviewed by Paris Hilton. You already know how that went down). Ms. Rowland has parted ways from trio Destiny Child's years ago, but the sultry, vixen mantra is still looming over her persona. Sex sells, and Ms. Rowland knows that. She injected all these notions of sexuality in Motivation, that at times comes off as a soft-porn flick.

The video takes place at a foggy abandoned warehouse, where Ms. Rowland seductively walks across the hall, imposing her presence, wearing a purple frilly swimsuit under a long cardigan. She's not alone. She's accompanied by a bevy of chocolate shirtless dancers and models, who bare a perfectly sculpted physique. We later see Ms. Rowland wearing what seems to be a shredded macrame dress over a fishnet bodysuit. When fashion suppose to further express one's own identity, this look muddled it. But I don't think it hindered the outcome of the original idea. In one scene, Kelly's hands appear from behind a shirtless dancer and blatantly starts groping his beefy body (this is eye candy to the 100th power). In another instance, she's holding on to a dancer's belt while he's withering along with her. Their bodies come to a synchronized move that suggests sexual tension. This sex factor reached its climax, when one model is pushed against a wall, and a male model is portentously standing in front of her. His right arm is not on the shot, but it suggests that he's grabbing her privates. But then the camera slowly lowers and we can see she's wearing men's boxers. In one group shot, this could certainly be confused as an orgy in its beginning stages (I hope I'm not setting myself up here). At this point I can't fathom how this video made it on mid-day national television. 

After the video came to a conclusion, I couldn't help but to associate its resemblance to an Interview editorial published back in May of last year (see below). The fashion story, shot by Mikael Jansson and styled by Karl Templer, gave much fodder to discuss. The photographs portray a clutch of diaphoretic black models (this is what I call "glamorous sweat") caressing Polish model Daria Werbowy in a mysteriously-litted, smoke-filled mechanic studio. Evidently, Daria's light pigmentation against a black body of mass makes a stark contrast. This contrast of white and black lead to a flood of accusations of racism. I never though of Jansson and Templer as racists, hence they worked with black models before, and celebrated their beautiful skin tone. Perhaps, that was the idea of the story; make the Versace gown stand out, at the risk of portraying black models as fashion "accessories". I don't think it was intentionally done, but I comprehend why some people felt offended. They now have Lil' Wayne on the cover of the April issue. Not as an attempt to seek forgiveness from the world, but as a manifestation of culture diversity. 

This alleged racism that the photographs portray did not lead me to link these two forms of art. But I was more intrigued at how both, the video and the editorial boast raw sexual tension within its subjects. I don't know if Kelly was imbued by Jansson's pictures, but it's clear that both forms share similarities in attitude, setting and dialogue.  If you take a look at the entire editorial, and ponder for a minute what is unfolding in the story, one could easily see the locales, and how they're precisely illuminated in order to give off a mysterious, almost underground vibe, that they are not too far from each other. They both display wet, dingy floors, deteriorated furniture, and accoutrements you could only find at an specific place. In addition, the lascivious attitude of the models in the editorial, and talented dancers in Motivation further intensifies the nonchalance, romance, and sex so unabashedly presented in both forms. It's also important to note this non-verbal dialogue between subjects that can be read through body language in sexual suggestive pelvic thrusts, dalliance, and the manner in which they interact. In short, they both ooze sex. 

Karl Templer is a seasoned editor and one of the best in the business. What he does for Interview Magazine you won't find nowhere else. Once again, these shots (click on the link provided above so you know what I'm talking about) exemplifies his adept abilities to conceptualize a story. The Interview pictures you could see there is a fashion dialogue going on. It's certainly better edited and stylized than Kelly's video. However, though, they're both so rich visually appealing and entertaining enough that it sorts of makes you want to be there, absorbing all kinds of artistry in motion, or even if it's just for eye-candy purposes.