By Cindy Rodriguez, Globe Staff, 1/30/2001.
Boston Globe
He walked on stage in a black suit and shimmering bowtie, a humble man with
steely confidence. Johnny Pacheco, a living legend, stood front-stage with his
silvery hair slicked back, a silver guiro at his side. Without uttering a word,
he nodded his head, and in an instant the Orpheum Theatre went back in time.
Horns blared. The clave and cowbell kept a frenetic pace. And the congas
summoned the gods of Africa. In an instant, the swirl of music that bridges two
worlds - West Africa and Spain - spun into magnificent crescendo.
There was no buildup. No warming for the fast ball. Saturday night's concert
began with an electrifying bang. With his 10-piece band following his subtle
cues, Pacheco filled the theater with music so vibrant, so alive it made hearts
beat in syncopation.
Pacheco took the packed theater - filled with a majority Latino audience -
to the New York City dance halls of the '50s, when he was helping to create a
stew of music called salsa. Incorporating rhythms of his native Dominican
Republic with sounds from Cuba and Puerto Rico, Pacheco's masterful arrangements
sounded as brilliant as they did on his early recordings, which made him a
household name.
Age has slowed Pacheco, not stopped him. He barely moved, creating a dulling
effect on younger band members who wanted to get their groove on. Standing next
to Pacheco, a 30-something singer would break out into rhythmic dance, only to
slow down to keep Pacheco's pace.
By his fifth solo song, a few members of the audience were getting restless.
''Celia!'' they shouted. In a dazzling, ankle-length dress sparkling with silver
sequins, and a sheer black cape flowing off her shoulders, Cruz strutted onto
stage looking every bit the diva that she is. ''A-zu-caarrr!'' she shouted,
rolling the R off her tongue. ''A-zu-caarrr negra!''
(''Azucar negra'' is Spanish for ''black sugar.'') Cruz gets her vocal
stylings from her native Cuba, where African percussion melded with Spanish
syncopation, horns, and strings to create son, the precursor to salsa. But
Celia's soul, the raw emotions that rise from her belly, belongs to Africa.
At 76, Celia - before stars like Cher and Madonna clipped off their last
names, she was known as ''Celia'' - looks incredible. And her deep, throaty
voice has only gotten better.
Holding a miniature Cuban flag that a woman in the audience handed her,
Celia told the audience in Spanish: ''It's been a while since I've performed in
Boston. But it's not that I've forgotten you. It's that no one had called me.''
After a quick plug of her new CD, ''Siempre Vivire,'' which features
Pacheco, her longtime friend and collaborator, Celia quickened the tempo with
''Usted Abuso'' (''You Abuse''). The throbbing congas made audience members near
the lip of the stage rise to their feet. Soon nearly all the people in the
historic theater were dancing at their seats.
Her next number, the hit ''La Vida es un Carnaval'' (''Life Is a
Carnival''), got them dancing along the aisles. With its staccato horns and
playful clave beat, the song is like a trip to a carnival: spontaneous,
adventurous, exhilarating. Pacheco sang along on the refrain: ''Ay, no que
llorar. Que la vida es un carnival ... '' (''There's no reason to cry. Life is a
carnival.'')
The crowd chanted ''Fua!'' - an interjection much like the English slang
phrase ''You go!'' - along with Celia. All the while, Celia was bopping around
the stage. At one point, she gyrated her hips with hedonistic flair, then she
winked, as the audience roared in adoration. Then, with her fingers, she did a
quick sign of the cross, before kissing her fingers to God.
The song was so good, Celia didn't want it to end. So she turned to the band
on a whim and said, ''I like that one. That was fun. Let's do it again.''
She capped the night with a few more songs, among them her famous ''La
Cuca,'' giving Pacheco another moment in the limelight with a heart-tripping
flute solo. At the end of the two-hour concert, and two encores, it was clear
that age can't stop talent.
This story ran on page E2 of the Boston Globe on 1/30/2001.
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