Tripwolf Blog

Much to my surprise (and contrary to what living in New York had led me to expect), Puerto Rico was not an easy place to find authentic live music. One reason for this is that public transportation on the island is of little use, unless you’re commuting between major tourist areas. As a result, I elected to rent a car in order to maximize my time during the brief five days before my flight to Kingston, Jamaica. Arriving around ten, I left the airport and headed southwest, to the mountainous region of Adjuntas, and the heartland of Puerto Rico’s Jibaro Music. This genre, I was to learn, originated among Spanish-born settlers who migrated from Europe in the hopes of finding cheap land that wasn’t suitable for plantations. They represented the rugged ideal of the Puerto Rican frontiersman: independent, tough-minded and strong, not unlike their counterparts in the American west. Jibaro is unique among the island’s predominant musical forms in that it emerged independent of the West African rhythms and rituals that were brought by imported slaves. However, like most Spanish music of the time, its strum patterns and mournful, chant-like singing take their roots from Spain’s centuries of Moorish occupation and acculturation.

Among the mountains of Adjuntas, I found waterfalls, and lush, forest-lined roads, but no hint of any local flavor—even the plantation site I visited was closed for repairs. Feeling a little frustrated, but still upbeat, I proceeded south to Ponce, Puerto Rico’s second-largest city and birthplace of its Bomba and Plena musical styles. I checked into a hotel two blocks away from the National Museum of Puerto Rican Music, where I had an interview and tour scheduled for the next morning. I made it to the museum’s front door at 9:30 a.m., and the temperature was already 90 degrees Fahrenheit. With my crisp and fresh-smelling shirt now a dripping rag, I introduced myself to Kevin, the museum’s chief tour guide, and walked into the entrance hall. During our thirty minute on-camera discussion, Kevin echoed many of the same sentiments as the cultural figures I interviewed during my visits to Tobago and Antigua, namely: (1)slaves on various Caribbean islands, with no connection to the outside world, took quite similar steps to preserve the traditions and customs they had when taken from Africa; (2) this was most often done through dancing and drumming, often while mocking their captors or communicating without their knowledge; (3) in the decades following emancipation, these African folk rhythms were incorporated into new forms of music that were emerging/and or spreading throughout the Caribbean region—for example Calypso in Trinidad & Tobago, Mento & Ska in Jamaica and Bomba & Plena in Puerto Rico; and (4) these musical innovations were most often used as a means of social commentary or mobilization, “like a newspaper,” my host said. He also noted that one important difference between Puerto Rico and the other islands I visited was that its most famous brand, Salsa, was actually invented in New York City, among the community of Cuban and “NewYorican” expatriate musicians in Brooklyn and Spanish Harlem.

When asked about the future of his island’s music, Kevin shrugged his shoulders and told me it was anyone’s guess. But he concluded our interview much like his politico-cultural contemporaries of my previous stops by mentioning the current supremacy of a nontraditional, youth-driven “party music” that mimicked American hip-hop’s bling-bling flashiness, denigration of women and glorification of the “thug life.”

In Trinidad, Tobago and Antigua, this new style was Soca music, a Calypso offshoot which was all but unknown in the Latin Caribbean. As I would soon discover in the local hotspots of San Juan—where I inadvertently checked into one of the city’s gayest gay-friendly hotels—the reigning king of Puerto Rican music is called Reggaeton. And even though its popularity left little to find in the way of traditional music, Puerto Ricans everywhere I went were eager to talk music with me. Some enjoyed Reggaeton’s newness and energy, and viewed Salsa as “un-hip” and antiquated. Some, mostly women, were put off by its vulgar lyrics; some enjoyed both forms equally. Most were sure that something else would come along and shake up the regional music scene. “The one thing I AM sure of,” Kevin from the museum told me, “is that Reggaeton is not here to stay.” As a lover of traditional music—and a long-time fan of Salsa—I hoped he was right. But I couldn’t help but think that he was underestimating the intoxicating appeal of flash and swagger.