The man who brought us the Buena Vista Social Club is taking the Cuban
phenomenon a step further. John Fordham meets Nick Gold
Guardian Unlimited.
Tuesday April 10, 2001.
Nick Gold is fond of the Cuban question "Como no?", which means "Why
not?" It would be the perfect soundbite, if such a glib and tacky notion
were not anathema to this offbeat music-lover, the seat-of-the-pants architect
of the Buena Vista Social Club phenomenon. Gold and his small company, World
Circuit Records, have been operating a non-strategy based on the philosophy of "Como
no?" for much of the past decade. Yards of newsprint and weeks of
domination of album charts suggest they've been on the right track.
Gold isn't self-important, but in his shrugging, phlegmatic manner he's
proud of himself at present. From early in World Circuit's history and his first
recordings with the Malian singer-guitarist Ali Farka Toure, Gold has always
suggested experimental variations on traditional idioms if the artist is up for
it. Jazz saxophonist Steve Williamson and Irish folksters The Chieftains were on
Toure's second World Circuit album. This time, Gold has gone further.
As producer of a new session for the powerhouse Buena Vista bassist Orlando "Cachaito"
Lopez, Gold has pulled dub reggae, jazz, a Jamaican Hammond organist, a 1960s
Cuban doo-wop guitarist, and even a turntable DJ into the elegant sway of
classic Cuban dance music. In the best traditions of his label, it's a risky
world-music experiment. But much of this complex and subtly vivacious album grew
organically - fragments of tunes, chance meetings and spontaneously forged
relationships turning into a tapestry of glowing colours swirling over one of
the most infectious groove-making rhythm sections in world-music.
Nick Gold gives the impression of blinking in the glare of publicity. He
never intended to run a record label, though he was a fanatical record collector
from his teens. But after university in 1986, when he was waiting to go to
teacher training college, Gold found himself holding down three jobs - two
temporary and one voluntary - as assistant in the Kings Cross record shop Mole
Jazz, working at an after-school play centre, and stuffing envelopes for the
charity Community Music. The latter fixed work-experience placements for its
helpers, and Gold wound up at Arts Worldwide, a promotional organisation touring
non-mainstream international artists, mostly from Africa.
The company had decided to record its charges, and Gold got the job of
overseeing things because he was the only member of staff with the word "record"
in his CV. A little later, a label called World Circuit Limited was born. A
little later still, Gold was running the show on his own.
A fast-moving, fast-talking man in his 30s with an arresting clatter of a
voice somewhere between an auctioneer's and a sports broadcaster's, Gold exudes
irrepressible enthusiasm for his work, and shuttles back and forth from Cuba as
if commuting to a day-job. He recalls he knew next to nothing about recording
technology at the start. The jazz records that inspired him involved nothing
more technical than a few microphones, and the right musicians in the right
room. But Gold had a sharp instinct for good material, and began working closely
with the former Arts Worldwide performers to produce repertoires that would
balance authenticity with accessibility.
One of his most fruitful relationships was with Ali Farka Toure from the
early 1990s, and American guitarist Ry Cooder's out-of-the-blue call to the
World Circuit office while searching for Toure in London led them to get
together to share ideas. Gold was also listening to vintage Cuban dance music
from the pre-revolutionary years and the interest sparked a relationship with
the Cuban bandleader Juan de Marcos Gonzalez. Gold was astonished to find that
many of the Cuban stars of the 1940s were still alive and playing.
Gold planned a joint Malian-Cuban recording for the second of two sessions
on a trip to Havana in 1996. But the Africans' passport applications were lost
and they never made it. The producer found himself searching for something to do
with a variety of veteran dance-band musicians in Havana's Egrem Studio, some of
whom knew each other by reputation, all of whom were intrigued by the occasion.
"You'd wander around and there'd be pockets of them in corners, some
around the piano, some around a guitar," says Gold. "You'd hear bits
that sounded good and record them. As it went on, it was obvious we were getting
something wonderful on tape, and the Buena Vista thing just went from there.
"They were very word-of-mouth successful, right off the bat. The record
started to sell very well, and it kept churning on, and then when the Wenders
movie came out it became a phenomenon. But the way we made that record is no
different from the way we've always worked, and the way we've done it all the
way up to this new CD of Cachaito's. I started with that beautiful groove, just
the rhythm section and we built it up from there.
"I love things that come together like that. What comes out of it is
always different from the way you imagined. That's why we shouldn't fear
homogenised corporate-culture so much. This kind of music-making is too strong
to be destroyed."
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