This is The New Yorker Radio Hour, a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. This is The New Yorker Radio Hour, I'm David Remnik. In the world of salsa music, Ruben Blades is one of the greats. His 1978 album, Siembre, a word that means planting or cultivating remains one of the best selling salsa albums of all time. Ruben Blades, or as we call him in Latin America, Ruben Blades, though his name is actually Ruben Blades, is one of the most important figures in salsa. Graciella Machkovsky writes for The New Yorker about Latin American politics and culture. He's an incredibly prolific artist, a writer, a singer, an activist, and a Hollywood actor. Hi, my name is Brudy Valos and I have this music that is going to blow you away. I grew up in Argentina and he really sings for an entire people. We all feel like Blades' or Blades' songs are speaking about the struggles of our own countries. It's not about Panama or Latinos in New York. It's really about all of us. 45 years ago, he released his very first really big album, Siembre, that he recorded with Willy Colón, who was at the center of the salsa movement then. It was the first album that really brought salsa outside of New York and outside of the US and Latin America to the world. Now, there's salsa, the salsa movement is very much alive and vibrant in Israel, in Taiwan, in Japan. You could say that Ruben Blades or Blades sort of did for salsa music, but Bob Marlady did for reggae. He really brought it into the global consciousness. This year, Ruben Blades' record, Photografius, is up for a Grammy Award and should he win it, it would be his 13th Grammy. He also wrote a new song for the film, Black Butterflies, which just came out and it's vying for the Oscar for best animated feature. The film is about the impact of climate change and Blades' song is called, in migrantis, immigrants. Graciela Muchkovsky set down to talk with Blades back in 2023 about a life in music, politics and acting. Okay, pues empecemos. Buenos días. Buenos días. I always started at the beginning, so I wanted to start in 1969 when you were 21 and you came to New York City for the first time. And in that trip, you recorded what I believe was your first album from Panama to New York, the Panama Nueva York, with Peter Rodriguez and the historic strand. Let's listen for a moment to a song from that album just to get a sense of what it sounded like. So tell us about that album that where it came from. As anything and most of the things in my life, it came as a result of a total unexpected occurrences. I had quit music by that time because the dean of the law school in Panama asked me if I was going to be a musician or a lawyer because somebody saw me playing at a private house with a band called Los Alvajas del Rizmo. And the professor went and told the dean that he had seen me and that he didn't think that that was a good idea to have a student singing on the weekends. Was this a very conservative environment? Was very, very, very, very, very strict. So anyway, then a friend of mine that was a musician, Francisco Buclie, the first recording studio ever to have been built in Panama. This goes his menus, had asked him to come with his band and perform to make sure that everything wasn't its right position to record. So Buc, knowing that I sang, called me and asked me to be a part of the group and I said, I can't do that. And he said, no, this is a private thing. There's nobody, no one's going to be there. And just the band, please help us with this. And I said, well, I'll go and help as a backup. I went. The owner of the record label had brought somebody from New York called Pancho Cristal, which was one of the biggest producers in New York at the time to supervise the happenings. The band was three, I think three horns in the rhythm section. So eight people. One or two of the guys got lost. So they couldn't play the arrangements. So that required then improvisation. Benito Guardia, who was the piano player for Bush, said, Rueño. You like, you know, let's do a ratón, which was a very popular song from Chéo Feliciano at the time. And I did it. Pancho Cristal was at that moment in the cabin. And when he heard my voice, he ran out and went to me because at that time, my voice sounded very much like the sound of the voice of Jose Chéo Feliciano, who was a recording start. And he was stunned. And he asked me if I ever wanted to record an album. And I said, no, not now. I can't do music. You know, the thing is he said, look, if you ever get to New York, call me. And he gave me his number. Then in Panama, in 1968, we had had the military coup. So one of the first things they did, the military did was a close shot down the university. Down my mother was very afraid that I was going to join any of the movements. A seguiria. Como garicero. She was concerned that I was going to join. So she came up with this notion, like if I wanted a holiday, remember for my birthday, she wanted to send me to New York. And I called Pancho Cristal, that producer that I had met the year before. And then he said, oh, she had come over and I'll record you. Then we recorded this basically, South Salvo, and that's how this album got done. I left New York, went back to Panama. The university was reopened. I went back to law school. And you finished your degree there? I finished my degree. I never got involved in music again until the album came out. I believe in 1970. Yes. I didn't even know about it when it came out. It didn't come out in Panama. It only came out here. In Panama, it was released in Panama. You know, the first song of the album was a song I had written about. I got rid of a guerrilla fighter who gets murdered by the army. Juan Gonzales. Juan Gonzales. So I thought in order not to be arrested, I thought I can deflect the whole notion by saying that these events were occurring in a mythical place. So I said, like, this is all fiction. I'm doing this. This is fiction. Any, any semi-handsack on personal life, I'm worth it. Put a coincidence here. Any, if this, this looks like Che Guevara, it's just a coincidence. So you didn't settle in New York, and as you said, you came back to Panama, you got your law degree, and when you ended up coming back to the US in 1973 to Florida, where your parents were. 74. My father was accused of by Norega. We was then a colonel. He was accused by Mano Alantoni. Norega had been my father being involved in a plot to kill him. So my family, my mother took my family. Was that the truth? And I don't think so. I don't think it was the truth, but my father was a detective. He was working with the DEA. The DEA just started. So the DEA was using my father in Panama as a contact and investigated, because my father was one of the few the Panamanian detectives was spoke English. Right. And so the fact that I think the DEA was closing in on Norega, I made him want to get rid of it. So in 1974, I graduated from law school. I was working with people in jail at the time. I finished my thesis. I presented it and I was approved. And I decided to leave because I didn't, I see no point of being a lawyer under a military dictatorship. So I went to Florida and my family was having a lot of trouble. My mother was working in Florida. My father could not get a job. I had three small brothers. My diploma was not accepted by the Florida bar. So I didn't know what to do. I felt useless. I didn't know what to do. And then all of a sudden I thought of calling Fania, records which was the biggest salsa label at the time. I pray to God for the fun your old stuff, everybody. And then I called and I offered myself as a writer and a singer. And they said no to both. And then I said, well, do you have any jobs? And then they said, well, as a matter of fact, just had an opening today in the mail office. And I said, well, what does that mean with what other chores they explain to me? And I said, I'll take it. But when Barreto's band broke for the second time, Tituál and a wonderful great local singer left the band. Barreto had to find another singer. So somebody told him that I sang. And then he came to the mail room to ask me if it was true that I sang. And then he sort of interrogated me for like a while, for like an hour, like trying to understand what it was that I was doing there. And finally, he gave me a date for an audition. And I went, he hired Tituál mis. We had been working with La Sonora Ponsania, Papa Oloca, and Puerto Rico, excellent singer, Tituál. And he hired me as well. So he had two singers in case that one singer left the other one was still there. Right. And this is how you started, really. That's just, that's how I started the full time as a musician in 1974, 1975. I'm not sure. Right. From the start, you were politically engaged. And you sang about political topics. You talk about, you were writing points about what was happening in Panama when you were in high school. And Juan Gonzales, the song you refer to in your first album, is about the death of Agarirero, Agarirero. Pablo Pueblo from 1977, is about this poor man who comes home and tired and hopeless, hopeless after working all day. The politicians he voted for have never made his life better. Here's a bit of Pablo Pueblo for those who haven't heard it. So you've written some about, about, about class, about the struggles of people, about the dictatorships and revolutions about the disappears in Latin America, etc. But you've always rejected the label of political singer or protest singer. And you've never want to be seen as somebody who sings political songs. Why? Because political songs are propaganda by definition. If you start singing about political ideology, you're not an artist. You're doing propaganda, basically. I try to be as close to a newspaper person as I can. Of course, it's, you can't really say that you're objective by writing songs that reflect a point of view. You have a point of view, but you can be balanced and you have to be careful in how you write it. So it doesn't become a lie. And basically, what I thought at the time was that music, and especially salsa music, was creating what did not exist at the time. And I did not see it at the time, which was this excuse or this vehicle for total strangers to meet and all of a sudden share a common ground. So imagine that incredible possibility of having all these people who come from all these different walks of life in one place. You can dance. Well, let's think too. Enhanced the experience you're having right now, which is a contact. You're touching a total stranger to you. And sometimes intimate ways, because it's a contact dance. And all of a sudden, I'm talking to you about a priest that was killed, or I'm talking to you about your mother that died of cancer, or I'm talking to you about the girlfriend that went away because you were black. And she was white, or I'm going to talk to you about the gay guy who doesn't dare to say that he's gay because he may have reprisals. Some people had never heard songs that touched politics or political aspects before. And some of them got very upset with me because they called me a communist, because I was not using music only to escape. And they wrongly interpreted the direction of my criticism and that'scribed it to a political ideology, which really pissed me off, because I was always trying not to go there. I was remembering Charlie Garcia, you know, the Argentine. Oh, yes, I do. He once said he was, you know, those questions were advised. Would you give to young artists or young musicians? And he said that the only piece of advice he had was to not make compromises at the start, because people always thought that you had to compromise at the beginning to be able to be famous. But he said, by the time you're famous, you're going to be, you're not going to be able to walk out of that box. It's too late. Absolutely. Very smart. My goal from the beginning was not to be famous, to become famous or rich. My goal from the beginning was to communicate, to present a position and create a conversation. Singer Rubin Blades talking with Graciela Munchkowski. This is the New Yorker radio hour. Stick around. I'm Mandy and I'm Melissa and this is Mom's and Mysteries. We're two Florida moms obsessed with true crime. From infamous cases like Ellen Greenberg to shocking Florida stories like the Dan Markel killing. With 55 million downloads, we bring you new deep dives every Tuesday and Thursday. Listen to moms and Mysteries on Apple podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts. This is the New Yorker radio hour. I'm David Remnick. We'll continue now with a Saul Selegent, Rubin Blades, who's talking here in 2023 with contributor Graciela Munchkowski. Blades is now up for his 13th Grammy Award and he has a song featured in the film Black Butterflies, which is potentially up for an Oscar this year. It's about refugees fleeing the impact of climate change. That kind of socially aware songwriting has been a hallmark of Rubin Blades' career. And in his over 50 years of making records, he's often looked for ways to push the bounds of what he was doing musically as well. So let's talk about jazz. So I attended your performance in 2014 with Winton Marseilles at Jazz at Lincoln Center. Yeah, that was great. That was great. I remember the beginning was mostly jazz and then you started singing some of your classics and then all these people who had been restless in their rooms, they just finally could dance. And so everybody just jumped off their seats and started dancing on the sides of the A.L.C. It was wonderful. But I believe that was the correct mix if I'm wrong, but if I understand it correctly, that was the origin of a Saul Swing, this project of three albums that you recorded in 2021 with Roberto Delgado, the Panamanian Big Band leader. So gorgeous. It's always so joyful. But the thing again to bring it into context, my father's a gambling man. So one day he was going to be a good guy. And he was like, I'm not a good guy. I'm not a good guy. I'm not a good guy. The thing again to bring it into context, my father's a gambling man. So one day he showed up in the house with a record player. It was the biggest record player I've ever seen. And with the record player, it came some albums. And these albums were some of the songs that I picked when I did the Saul Swing. There was an album, there was a Tony Bennett record, there was of course a Sinatra album, there was a Sami Davis Jr album. So I learned to sing on top of the records. And that's why I lost my accent singing. And as a matter of fact, I learned how to breathe because I started mimicking Sinatra so that I could... I ended up learning how to breathe just by following what he was doing in his records. But the point is that the jazz Latin connection is an all one. Right. It's a very old one. And I'm out of Louis Russell, and there have been Louis Armstrong's band leader, Dani Lopez, who played with Wayne Shorter. So Carlos Enriquez is the bass player for Winton Marseilles's Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra. Approach me to say, you know, would you like to do some shows with us? And we did. And it worked. You're at one point between 2004 and 2009. You interrupted again your career as a musician for those what, five years. To take on the role of minister of tourism in Panama. This was after you had run for president of Panama in 1994, which you didn't win obviously. And when you came back from Panama, you took on an acting role in Fear the Walking Dead, a post-apocalyptic TV series, The Spin-Off of the Walking Dead. Yes. And you said that was, you did it as a way to go back to relevancy. You said people were asking, is he dead? I don't know if that's true. No, it is true. Is it? Sure. And then, so this was not your first acting role. You've acted in like 30 movies and you've been in Hollywood for a long time. But I wanted you to talk a little bit about this decision to be a killer in a zombie movie, as a way to go back to popular culture. There were many things. I mean, one of them was, I went back to public service because it was a way to, I hope to inspire the young in my country, Panama, to become involved in politics. Most people don't think, at least in Panama, to become involved in politics because they considered that is corrupt and it's horrible. And I tell them it's corrupt and horrible because people like us don't participate. You have to eliminate their space for the corruption. For five years, I didn't do any singing or writing or touring or doing movies or anything. For five years, I just stayed in the public service. I did not want to go first to the Minister of Tourism. I wanted to work in the correctional system in Panama because that's what I had been involved with when I was in law school. The president felt that I would be more helpful in an area that was going to contribute to the National Gross Product and then needed somebody there that can push it forward. But anyway, once I left Panama and not having recorded and not having done anything, I didn't even have an agent anymore. I needed work. It wasn't just the fact that people were going like, where is he? But it was also like, I was thinking in more practical ways as well. For instance, to get the medical insurance of screen actors guilt. I ended up being offered a role. And what attracted me to the role was that it was a total opposite of me. It was a guy who had worked with the death squads in Salah. Daniel Salazar. Daniel Salazar. So that when the event occurred and death people were rising and killing living people, for reasons that have never been totally explained. And the thing is that his skills ended up becoming the thing to have to survive in this new apocalyptic world. And I provided me with that access not just to audiences in this country, but also worldwide. So all of a sudden you have somebody in Nigeria that maybe doesn't know about Peronawa. And all of a sudden goes like, oh, Daniel Salazar sings. I didn't know that. You run for president in Panama, but how about your political participation here in the US? I wouldn't do it here because I would have to be a citizen. Oh, you're still not? I'm not a citizen. I'm a resident because if I had become a citizen, then I could not participate in politics in Panama. Of course. Right. You said that coming back to the US, that Latinos have no political power to speak of because we act like tribes and we don't identify as one people. What did you mean by that? Basically, you know, it's again an interesting scenario. When you think about Latin America, you think about really the world. You know, in Latin America, you have white, black, brown. You can't really say that one group represents all groups because it's not true. So that's one very important difference. The second is that people who, like myself, ended up in this country, came running from dictatorship or a scenario where we didn't have opportunities. When people arrive to the United States, most people don't want to talk about politics. They feel, you know what, I'm not going to rock the boat and I'm not going to say anything. I'm just going to be quiet. So, as a result of that, we don't have the political representation and or power or and or recognition. We're not even considered in films. I think it's 4% of all acting roles that are played by Latinos. But then when you go and see who goes most to the movies, Latinos. Who is more popcorn Latinos, you know, who I don't drink more soda. Bob, if we're the top ones and they're going to the movies, we're sure it's more popcorn than anybody else. But I'm saying, where are we? When are we going to break away from the roles of of of not-cotrophic kind of made illegal alien hoodlum? Right. So, do you feel that you were able to make away from that? I was able to say no and I lost. I lost. I'll never forget. I lost a role in a movie called Q&A and I turned it down because it was a drug dealer. And as a career movie, it was not a wise move because if I had done that role, which was a lead, I maybe could have been seen for something else. Right. But I could say no because I had the music. I'm not turning, I'm not criticizing those who need to work and because they need to support themselves. I had an option that was brought to me by music, so I said no. So my second question about staying relevant. You do a lot of collaboration with younger musicians, not just across genres, but also with people who are much younger and with shorter careers. So you play with Cajetrese, with Natalia La Forcade, I love your song with Natalia La Forcade. And if you ask my son who is 12 about Ruben Blades, he will tell you that Blades is the guy who played with Stay Homas during the pandemic. Stay Homas from Stay Home in case people don't know what we're talking about. It was a group created during the COVID-19 lockdown in Barcelona, three guys who play on their rooftop and invited artists to play with them via their cellphones. So all my son's friends, those kids, were listening to them on YouTube. I thought they were great. Melodically, I love where they go. They're very good musicians on their own right. So then through the net, I sent a message, hey guys, I'd love to do something with you. And then they call me. I saw him again and I sang with them live in the festival in Barcelona. Oh, that's great. 25,000 people, which is something again, I'm going like, this kid's going from being in a rooftop singing with a glass and with a can, right? To all of a sudden, 25,000 people, they had their tour was bigger than mine. That's great. Thank you so much. No, thank you. Thank you all for listening. David Ramnik, happy new year from all of us at the New Yorker Radio Hour. See you next time. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Our theme music was composed and performed by Merrill Garbis of Tunearts, with additional music by Louis Mitchell and Jared Paul. This episode was produced by Max Boulton, Adam Howard, David Krasnell, Jeffrey Masters, Louis Mitchell, Jared Paul and Ursula Summer, with guidance from Emily Boateen and assistance from Michael May, David Gabel, Alex Barge, Victor Guan and Alejandra Deca. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Trevina and Downing Fund. I'm Merrill Lombards. I'm Nigel Pore, we're the hosts and creators of Ear Hustle from PRX's Radiotopia. When we met, I was doing time at San Quentin State Prison in California. And I was coming in as a volunteer. The stories we tell are probably not what people expect from a prison podcast. Like cooking meals in a prison sale, keeping little pets, prison nicknames, and trying to be a parent from inside. Stories about life on the inside, shared by those who live it. Find Ear Hustle wherever you get your podcasts.
