In praise of New York Bomba: a three-part series.

Rivera, Raquel Z.

[Note: Originally published in Claridad newspaper between October-December 2004 as "Elogio de la bomba de Nueva York." This English version was translated from the Spanish by Juan Cartagena and published in Guiro y Maraca magazine (2005).]

In Praise of New York Bomba: Part I.

One

I first encountered New York bomba in a casita and garden on 4th Street called La Yarda de Loisaida. Juan Usera, already a master dancer and member of Los Pleneros de la 21 and still in his twenties, introduced me to this bomba. It was markedly different from the bomba I saw on the folkloric stages of our island. And it resembled little of the testosterone-laden, street rumba scene that I knew in New York.

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Two

The Festival of the Holy Cross, sponsored by Los Pleneros de la 21, is going on its second decade. Every year in El Barrio scores of people, sometimes hundreds of them, gather to commune and to pay homage to the cross.

Sammy and Nelly Tanco, dressed entirely in white, lead the choral responses. Just looking at them gives you goose bumps. Brother and sister--strong, svelte, and graying handsomely--they have voices that transport you. Their elderly mother sits across from them, first row, to complete a triangle of energy, with mannerisms and facial expressions that evidence her devotion.

Under the direction of Juango Gutierrez, Los Pleneros have created a sacred space that fuses Catholicism, non-denominational spirituality, and intense joy.

Year after year, an enormous group of neighbors, friends, and acquaintances gather for the festival. And every year new arrivals come, get hooked, and assiduously return for more.

The last night of the festival always ends with a musical jam of bomba and plena rhythms where the labor of over 20 years of commitment by Los Pleneros comes to fruition. The number of youngsters and children that participates is impressive. Some were actual students of Los Pleneros; others informally acquired the knowledge through observation.

At the end of the Festival of the Holy Cross at the Julia de Burgos Center, the party moves elsewhere. This year it moved to a local bar that featured the group Yerbabuena. Packed to the hilt with people of all ages, it was the 30-something and under-30 crowd that carried the music and dance. Tato Torres sang ayuba; Flaco Navaja and Sandra Garcia Rivera added a heavenly chorus; Obanilu Ire Allende played the primo; and Georgie Vazquez, Nico Laboy, and Camilo Molina-Gaetan played the buleadores. Indira Cordova had just finished dancing, and Liana was waiting, revving up her motor. I was standing by the door when Juango and his wife, Luci, walked by. They looked exhausted but smiled nonetheless. "We can't stay because we're dead tired." And with the satisfaction that comes with knowing that his mission was accomplished, Juango added: "Let's let you young ones keep the party going."

Three

Her seasoned gaze crosses that of the adolescent young man who converts her movements into music on the drum. Her left knee anchors the slender arch that her sinewy and supple body creates. With subtlety and precision, she rotates various joints of her limbs in multiple directions, thus creating delightful, complex dance moves for the drummer to transform into sound. Her feet, ankles, wrists, thighs, hips, fingers, waist, shoulders, and elbows speak of salt, of sugar. I've only seen her use a skirt to dance when she's on stage. Without the fabric as medium, the black contortions of her body speak profoundly and honestly. Camilo Molina-Gaetan translates into music what she speaks in dance.

Alexandra Vasallo was born in Catano but raised in New York. She says that our ancestors speak through our movement, which is why for her, dance technique is meaningless if it lacks a communication line to the invisible world.

Years ago, she once saw me at the outskirts of the bomba circle. "So why haven't you danced?" she asked. "I don't know how to dance," I answered. "Why not? Anyone who moves, can dance," and with these words she gave me the license to do what I had never dared to try, because I lacked "credentials."

Alexandra would later explain that, of course, bomba has a body language that everyone must learn. But it is always better to dance it, even badly, than not to dance it all.

Four

Bomba in New York has its own particular trajectory. It has grown and spread, thanks to the passion and commitment of numerous people. It has its key families, key locations. Families like that of Tona and Beatriz, one a lead singer, the other a percussionist. Like the family of Mickey Sierra, Josie, and their kids. Like the family of Mercedes Molina, of Nilsa, and Benny Ayala, of Luci Rivera, and Juan Gutierrez, the Tancos and the Flores.

Chema's casita is one of bomba's key spaces. This was confirmed once again with the spontaneous bombazo / plenazo jam that developed on the Friday after the Hostos Community College concert by Los Pleneros de la 21 and Los Pleneros de la 23 Abajo. There at nightfall, in the communal space of the casita, bomba and plena was sung, danced and played until Chema announced, gently but firmly, "People, it's now two in the morning ..."

There were people there from New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Philadelphia, Puerto Rico, and a large contingent from Chicago. Those who had previously visited the casita were happy to return. Those who hadn't looked in awe at their surroundings: the handsome wooden casita painted in intense greens with shuttered windows, the apple tree, the enormous shekeres hanging aloft from the imposing and gigantic beams, the plants growing wildly and abundantly likeyerba buena, mint, rue, cilantro, basil, and oregano ... and all of this in the middle of the South Bronx?

If that Friday night was intense, then Sunday was glorious. The streets were blocked from oncoming traffic and instead, a stage was built. It provided the space for presentations from La Familia Alduen, Los Pleneros de la 23 Abajo, and many more groups. The street was packed and on fire. After several hours of on-stage presentations, the music moved down to the property of the casita. Under the apple tree came hours and hours of straight bomba. On the patio of the casita, plena was performed. Indeed, at one point, a third nucleus of pleneros performed at the back of the casita.

Bomba in New York has its own history, its own form. It navigates the boundaries of the sacred and the profane. In unique fashion it converges with plena, jibaro music, rumba, hiphop, and Dominicanpalos. It really takes root at the community level. It is tradition reclaimed, culture on the move. And it has its own magic.

In Praise of New York Bomba Part II: The Diaspora Strikes Back

I confess. In the first segment of this article I dared not say what I truly wanted to say. Silly me.

Oh, I definitely celebrated the history of bomba, its practitioners, and its manifestations in New York. But I never explained the real concern that inspired my ponderings.

I censured myself thinking: Who am I to get into this? I've barely started to learn about these traditions. I have green eyes and light skin, and no bomba pedigree. I am a relative newcomer when it comes to these matters.

But what I held back from saying is now an annoyingly sharp pebble in my winter boots. So I'm putting aside my insecurities. I, too, have opinions and insights.

What I'm about to say should ideally go without saying. But recent (and not so recent) events require that it be stated plainly: BOMBA, AS IT IS PLAYED AND LIVED IN NEW YORK, IS NOT INFERIOR TO THE BOMBA IN PUERTO RICO. It is neither less legitimate, less masterful, less raw, less lively, nor less ingenious.

It is neither better, nor inferior. It is simply distinctive in certain respects. And that merits respect.

The same can be said about other places in the United States. What Ramon Lopez has documented about Chicago is a good example.

What constitutes the elements of "true" bomba has always been debated in Puerto Rico. There are people on the southern coast who say that the bomba of Santurce and Loiza lacks the elegance and decorum of "real" bomba. There are others that claim that the booty shakes of Loiza's bomba is a tasteless modernism outside of what they consider "true" bomba. And others note that the "typical dress" of bomba is really made up, not "typical" at all.

We have barely begun to engage in a collective dialogue about the variety of bomba over time and over regions. The First National Bomba Congress at the beginning of 2004 and the documentary Raices are notable first attempts to recognize the many faces of bomba. But the prep work, so to speak, didn't just start recently. That groundbreaking work was done by groups like Paracumbe and Bambalue, who for years have been presenting the southern style of bomba; by families and communities in diverse towns who have perpetuated bomba far from the public eye; by research and education projects like C.I.C.R.E. (Centro de Investigation y Cultura "Raices Eternas") and Restauration Cultural, not to mention the numerous musicians and researchers who have repeatedly affirmed the diversity of bomba.

Healthy and necessary, this debate continues. Is bomba in its "essential" form, Puerto Rican? Does the fact that so many of its songs and rhythms carry words outside the Spanish language make bomba any less Puerto Rican? If a dancer "mixes" steps associated with different regions of the island, does it adulterate bomba? Is today's bomba merely a reduction in simplified form, of yesteryear's more complex rhythmic patterns? Does bomba have spiritual / religious dimensions?

These debates are rendered with the same passion in the United States as they are in Puerto Rico. And on both sides of the ocean, there is wide array of opinions.

Both locations have masters, both male and female, and serious researchers. Both have their share of impostors and troublemakers. In the United States, just like in Puerto Rico, there are some who take poetic/musical/dance license to compose new songs, innovate dance moves, and thereby integrate their subjective take on this collective expression.

There are veterans, both young and old, who are bomba masters both in and outside the island. Their perspectives and lived experiences all deserve respect.

The families and groups, on both sides of the ocean, that have distinguished themselves internationally by cultivating these traditions, merit our respect and recognition. The same is true for the families, groups, and persons who do the same within the borders of their own neighborhoods. Indeed, all who invest their commitment, passion, and dedication to continuing to show the many faces that have always characterized bomba, deserve our respect.

The Diaspora Strikes Back

I borrow this notion of a diaspora that strikes back from Juan Flores, who in a recent article challenged the myth, which claims that what is authentically Puerto Rican can only originate and reside in Puerto Rico. Flores notes that diasporic communities should see themselves as sources of cultural innovations and not just as repositories or extensions of the traditions of the island of Puerto Rico. And he warns us that these new diasporic perspectives often challenge traditional definitions of what is, or is not, Puerto Rican.

Coda: New York Rican Polyphony

Warning: This sampling of voice is absolutely subjective, fragmented, and non-representative!

Voice 1: "In New York, bomba is excessively mixed in with rumba and hip hop."

Voice 2: "You know, body movements are, to a certain point, involuntary. If people, especially our youth, are mixing in bomba with rumba and hip hop, it's because these are often the maternal language, the principal language, that their bodies speak."

Voice 3: "And so what if they mix it with rumba and hip hop? Over in Puerto Rico, there are people who mix it with flamenco and ballet."

Voice 4: "Is it a bombazo if it also includes Dominican palo?"

Voice 5: "Who cares? Why do you have to label it? If they want to play bomba for a while, then palo for a while, what's the problem?" answers a Dominican speaking with a Puerto Rican accent.

Voice 6: "Is it a bombazo if only bomba is played, but half of those who play and dance it are Dominican?"

Voice 7: "Of coooourse" replies a Puerto Rican speaking with a Dominican accent.

Voice 8: "Please, stop inventing so many things and just take a few classes in bomba."

Voice 9: "In New York there's more freedom to dance," observes a young dancer. "In Puerto Rico, the people who dance are more likely to have taken classes."

Voice 10: "Bomba classes? What's that? Girl, you don't learn this in class!" says a veteran female Bronx dancer.

As Julia L. Gutierrez-Rivera, another young dancer, concludes: "In New York, dancing connects you to your roots, it reaffirms what it is to be Puerto Rican."

In Praise of New York Bomba Part III: Tradition? What Can You Eat That With?

Defining "tradition," be it in bomba or in other cultural expressions, is a complicated task. Reaching consensus on what is, or is not, "traditional" is frequently impossible. What some consider traditional, others consider innovative and enriching, or useless and dangerous.

It is productive to engage in dialogue regarding the complexities of the concept of tradition and to encourage more research and debates about history. Conversely, it is highly counterproductive for us to attack or silence one another by brandishing the mythical sword of tradition and shouting that my opinion is the only thing that counts. It is one thing to say, "I don't like what you do," and quite another to say, "what you do has no value," or "what you do is disrespectful."

I am far from being the only one who proposes these things. I present below a number of diverse voices from the trenches that inspire, challenge, and nurture my own.

Hector "Tito" Matos

This master percussionist, singer, composer, and director of Viento de Agua says: "If you look closely, the real studious and learned ones are humble and will avoid putting roadblocks to the development of the tradition. You know that I am one who always supports creativity; and it's important to learn (to the extent we still can) the forms and elements of the genre, not just to show others that we know them, but to prove to ourselves that we have the necessary tools to construct and deconstruct the traditions we've inherited."

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Awilda Sterling Duprey

This dancer, visual artist, performer, and professor says: "To my understanding, the act of dancing, in the case of the popular genres, is an intuitive response of rhythmic/ muscular-skeletal associations blended by the idiosyncratic sensory framework that the dancer possesses. Accordingly, it is perfectly acceptable (that is, if one's mind is receptive to the reasoning behind contextual change) that in New York so many stylistic variants are added to the traditional patterns danced in Puerto Rican bomba."

"It seems to me that bomba in New York is an example of constancy in the chain of human survival: the adaptation and appropriation of cultural patterns that converge in a social system and where a specific vocabulary surges from within, contributing to the development and preservation of cultural norms, that are not fixed, but in continuous change. In the case of Puerto Rican bomba who can really vouch for its 'authencity'? And if it were possible, authenticity under what criteria? To paraphrase the biblical passage: 'Let he that is free from sin throw the first stone!"'

Tato Torres

The singer-composer and director of the jibaro music, bomba and plena group Yerbabuena, says: "What is 'traditional'? Simply whatever is repeated over more than two or three generations independently of how 'genuine' it may or may not be. If people continue to do it, it's traditional. Some people confine themselves to their conceptualization of what things are, or are not, and that makes it difficult for them to break from that mold."

"I play the music that I play to commune with my parents, my brothers and sisters, and my grandfather. My goal is to get my family to the table. You can possess all of the cultural by-products (the music, food, dress) but if your family doesn't come to the table, it is not culture. Culture is a living thing. These cultural by-products are tools, but they are not culture. Instead, they adapt and change with time. The dance, dress and songs, that is not culture. It is culture if it serves as a space of cultural expression, like a rite of intensification that reinforces the bonds that exist between certain persons. The magic lies in how to call out those persons and how to preserve those bonds."

Yerbabuena

According to Yerbabuena's website, the group started five years ago from a "need for cultural expression, redefinition and re-appropriation of the Puerto Rican musical heritage by a new generation of Boricuas. Yerbabuena reclaims the Puerto Rican music branded 'folkloric,' refusing to accept its pack aging as frozen-in-time museum pieces, only vaguely connected to contemporary culture."

So how do we translate all of this in concrete terms? Let's visit a local bar-restaurant in El Barrio called Camaradas on a Thursday night: There is Flaco Navaja re-interpreting a seis mapeye recorded by Ramito but appropriated by these young folks in true Bronx style as a new "seis Boogie Down." In addition to being a singer, Flaco is a well-known poet in the hip hop world. Just check out his mannerisms; anyone would swear he was rapping. Now erase the visual image from your mind and just listen: don't you hear echoes of Hector Lavoe? Luis "Bebo" Reyes plays his cua sticks to a rhythm called "down south," which he learned from the kids who play spackle buckets on the subway stations. Bebo is also a producer of house and hip hop music. Hector "Pucho" Alamo, the cuatro player, has his hair in cornrows and is a big fan of reggaeton. Nick Laboy and Obanilu Allende, excellent percussionists both, play the barrel drums. The former wears a doo-rag and hat, T-shirt, and baggy jeans. The latter wears aguayabera, dress pants, and a hat his grandfather would wear.

That's some gang of 20-something year olds that fronts Yerbabuena! They are a perfect complement to the gorgeously nasal voice and rural aesthetic of Tato Torres which is indebted to the sacred aguinaldos and secular jibaro party music he witnessed growing up in the hills of Guayanilla. Their website doesn't lie when it declares: "Yerbabuena makes gorgeous music that incorporates past and present. Yerbabuena taps right into the core of who we are."

Tradition and Invention Went to the Mountains One Day ...

The only thing left for me to do now is share the following quote from the German architect and painter, Karl Friedrich Schinkel, that Tito Matos brought to my attention: "Tradition inspires innovation, but innovation keeps tradition alive."

Discography

Raquel Z. Rivera & Ojos de Sofia. 2010. Las 7 Salves de La Magdalena / 7 Songs of Praise for The Magdalene. Independent CD and digital release.

Alma Moyo. 2010. No hay sabado sin sol. Independent CD and digital release.

Selected Bibliography

Books

Rivera, Raquel Z., Wayne Marshall, and Deborah Pacini Hernandez, eds. 2009. Reggaeton. Durham, North Carolina: Duke University Press.

Rivera, Raquel Z. 2003. New York Ricans from the Hip Hop Zone. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Book and Journal Articles (recent publications only)

Rivera, Raquel Z. 2012. "New York AfroPuerto Rican and Afro-Dominican Roots Music: Liberation Mythologies and Overlapping Diasporas." Black Music Research Journal 32(2): 3-24.

Rivera, Raquel Z. 2010. "New York Bomba: Puerto Ricans, Dominicans and a Bridge Called Haiti." In Mamadou Diouf and Ifeoma Kiddoe Nwankwo, eds. Rhythms of the Afro-Atlantic World, pp.178-199. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press.

Marshall, Wayne, Raquel Z. Rivera, and Deborah Pacini Hernandez. 2010. "Los circuitos socio-sonicos del reggaeton." TRANS: Revista Transcultural de Musica 14.

Rivera, Raquel Z. 2009. "Policing Morality, Mano Dura Stylee: The Case of Underground Rap and Reggae in Puerto Rico in the Mid-1990s." In Rivera, R. Z., W Marshall, and D. Pacini Hernandez, eds., Reggaeton, pp. 111-134. Durham, North Carolina: Duke University Press.

Marshall, Wayne, Raquel Z. Rivera, and Deborah Pacini Hernandez. 2009. "Reggaeton's Socio-Sonic Circuitry." In Rivera, R. Z., W Marshall, and D. Pacini Hernandez, eds., Reggaeton, pp. 1-16. Durham, North Carolina: Duke University Press.

Negron-Muntaner, Frances and Raquel Z. Rivera. 2009. "Nacion Reggaeton." Nueva Sociedad223 (September-October): 29-38.

Short Stories

Rivera, Raquel Z. 2012. "While In Stirrups." In Nieves, Myrna, ed., Breaking Ground: Anthology of Puerto Rican Women Writers in New York 1980-2010. New York, NY: Editorial Campana.

Rivera, Raquel Z. 2012. "Con los pies en los estribos." Letras Salvajes 7.

Rivera, Raquel Z. 2012. "In Yellow." En la Orilla (online literary journal).

Rivera, R. Z. 2010. "Of Woman Born." En la Orilla (online literary journal).

Rivera, R. Z. 2010. "Papi, El Gato." En la Orilla (online literary journal).

Rivera, R. Z. 2005. "Abuela Luz." Hostos Review / Revista Hostosiana, 2: 82-88.

Rivera, R. Z. 2005. "Mas vieja es la brisa." Claridad, January 20-26: 30.

Rivera, R. Z. 2004. "De una bestia las dos grenas." Claridad, September 9-15: 30.

Rivera, R. Z. 2004. "Encarnada." Claridad, August 5-11: 30.

Rivera, R. Z. 2004. "Papi El Gato." Claridad, May 6-12: 30.

Rivera, R. Z. 2004. "Que me de sombra." Claridad, February 19-25: 30.

Selected newspaper, magazine and web articles

Rivera, R. Z. 2013. "Home Birthing Nico Tenoch." Cascabel de Cobre (online), February 20.

Rivera, R. Z. 2011. "Conversaciones conNoemi Segarra: de raices y ramas." 80 Grados (online), April 1.

Rivera, R. Z. 2010. "Recordando al Terror: un ano sin Luis Dias." 80 Grados (online), December 22.

Rivera, R. Z. 2010. "Para cantar salves dominicanas en Puerto Rico." 80 Grados (online), October 29.

Rivera, R. Z. 2005. "Jean-Michel Basquiat: radiante griot, nuestro grillo." El Nuevo Dia, June 26: 2 (Letras).

Rivera, R. Z. 2005. "Entre la fe y el mercurio." Claridad, February 17-23: 30.

Rivera, R. Z. 2005. "In Praise of New York Bomba." Guiro y Maraca.

Rivera, R. Z. 2004. "Elogio de la bomba de Nueva York (3): Tradicion, y con que se come eso?" Claridad, December 2329:30.

Rivera, R. Z. 2004. "Elogio de la bomba de Nueva York (2): 'la diaspora contraataca'." Claridad, November 18-24: 30.

Rivera, R. Z. 2004. "Elogio de la bomba de Nueva York." Claridad, October 21-27: 30.

Rivera, R. Z. 2004. "De un pajaro las dos patas." El Nuevo Dia, April 4: 3 (Foro).