Yasmine Abdeldayem
Professor Soto
Hon 122
2 May 2020

Celia Cruz: The Queen of Salsa

Celia Cruz is more than a household name that rolls off tongues, garnering instant recognition. She is a powerful force that has swept through the Latin community and beyond, pushing her way into the sights and minds of the general population. A woman that is widely known to this day as the “Queen of Salsa” started off humbly in her hometown of Havana, Cuba. Her passion for music was pushed to the side for a while, due to her father’s open disapproval of the career path. In an attempt to please him, she studied to be a teacher, though the practical career was far from what her heart was seeking. Seemingly in a twist of fate, one of her old teachers reached out to her and asked her to sing at some school benefits, one at her old elementary school and another at Republica de Mexico. The encouragement from her teacher to pursue her nearly-suppressed dream gave Celia the push she’d been needing to take the next significant step into the musical world. Her career officially took a turn when she replaced Mirta Silva, the lead singer of La Sonora Matancera.
It was six months after joining La Sonora Matancera that Cruz began to record with Tico Records. She had not been welcomed with immediate confidence; in fact, Mr. Zigler, the man who worked there, had said right off the bat that female artists typically don’t sell very well. Reflecting on the memory, Cruz stated in an interview, “At first, I didn’t understand what he meant, but later I understood he meant women who sang salsa music.” The odds were already stacked against her, as a Cuban woman trying to have her breakthrough in an industry that hadn’t necessarily expressed an open attitude toward other female artists. She didn’t let the record producer’s lack of enthusiasm sway her from putting her all into the sounds she recorded, the first being “Cao, Cao Mani Picao” and “Mata Siguaraya.” They were a hit with sells, which led to more recordings, a signed contract with La Sonora Matancera, and a tour of the Americas. They paved their way through Central America, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica. Fidel Castro’s revolution in 1959 prompted the lead singer and her orchestra to flee from Cuba and make their way into Mexico, where their influence would soon spread beyond the boundaries of their home country. They made appearances in films and television, recorded songs, and ultimately extended their influence on an international scale, which would precede their entry into the United States. She settled in New York in 1961, where the Puerto Rican community graciously welcomed her.
Her solo career was initiated in the 1960s with her collaboration with Tito Puente and the release, Son Con Guaguancó. It was a fitting title, considering that her brand had become heavily reliant on the combination of genres and identities. Elements of lucumi and santeria, derived from West Africa, became popularized, courtesy of Cruz’s influence. The Afro-Cuban style that solidified her as a distinct artist and appealed to audiences that could amiably identify with the genre mixes. She spurred the emergence of salsa, by daring to bend the confines of genre to her whims and allow other influences to flavor her musical genius. In the 1970s, salsa saw an upsurge in its popularity—a feat that Cruz was largely responsible for. It was an umbrella term, accounting for multiple Latin styles coming together into the versatile dance music. Cruz brought a layer to it, one that could be admired and enjoyed by many. Through the power of her impressive vocal range, rhymed lyrics, and exuberant clothing, the queen of salsa proceeded to captivate audiences, even those who were not a part of the Latin community. Salsa inspired a movement of people proudly possessing their identities, after the ostracization they had faced when immigrating to America. It gave them a sense of belonging and joy, to take part in this thriving section of music and use it to celebrate their culture, rather than bury it for the purpose of assimilation. Celia Cruz’s “Quimbara” was a highlight of salsa, with repetition that put a spotlight on the product of Afro-Cuban drums. Her music, combined with her dominating stage presence, electrified audiences and contagiously invoked their high energies. The captivating performances were typically accompanied by Cruz’s signature phrase: “Azucar!” Its catchiness was far from the only notable aspect about the word; it referenced Cruz’s passion for performing, her humble start to life, and that adversity that Cubans and the Afro-Latino community at large had overcome. It was a cry of victory.
Celia Cruz’s experience being a Cuban exile in America played its own role in her career, trickling into her songs—often her outlet for voicing nostalgias and frustrations. Her formal request to return to Cuba for her mother’s funeral was denied by Cuban officials, since she had frequently vocalized her opposition to the Cuban Revolution. It was this rejection that moved her to make the final decision: “If I can’t return to bury my mother, I will never return.” Later releases elaborated on this longing Cruz felt for the island, such as in “Cuando Sali de Cuba.” In “No Hay Manteca”, she further discusses the hardships Cubans face, though the vagueness of the lyrics could allude to either one’s experience on the island she’d been exiled from or as an immigrant in the United States. In “Cuando Cuba se acabe de liberar”, which was released in 1994, Cruz depicted her continued wish for a democratic, practically utopian version of Cuba and how she wants to return to that Cuba. As the years went on, her hope took a significant toll, as chances of returning someday seemed bleaker. Despite the wistfulness Cruz expressed regarding the distance from her homeland, she stood strong in her identity as a Cuban American and unapologetically clung to those roots. She never strayed too far from her first language, even if it meant not catering to an audience that was broader than the Latin American populations of the country that she was now a permanent resident of. She claimed that her English simply was not good enough, deeming it pointless to venture into territory that she was not linguistically comfortable with. She persistently sang in her language, which did little to deter her appeal to non-Spanish-speaking countries, such as Macedonia, Turkey, and Australia. This maintenance of Spanish speaking was not uncommon for Cuban Americans, who were determined to keep a tight hold on their linguistic roots in the aftermath of exile. She spoke to those who could relate to her experiences through the soulful nature of her music.
Celia Cruz’s Cuban immigrant identity is crucial to the establishment of her discography. One cannot be separated from the other; the two seamlessly bleed into each other, forming a cohesive product that tugs at the heartstrings of those who listen. Much of her artistic legacy lies in the hit songs that gave her the title of the “Queen of Salsa”, songs like “Quimbara” that consistently raised audiences onto their feet with contagious enthusiasm. These songs hardly scratch the surface of the soul that she unabashedly has expressed throughout her discography. When one digs deeper, past the excitable concert favorites, there exists the heartfelt music that is directly tied to the nostalgia and fond memory of Cuba that Cruz never truly disconnected from in her time in America. “Guántanamera” and “Cuando Salí de Cuba” are prominent examples in Celia’s artistry that allow for her listeners to get an unfiltered perspective into the person that breathes beneath the public musician persona; the person that longs for the place that she came from. As with all of her music, she powerfully sang these patriotic songs in her native language to emphasize the unbreakable connection to her roots—a connection that even the everyday pressures of assimilation could not tear her away from. Getting a taste of the exuberant songs that she contributed to the currently popular genre of salsa is a sure way to become familiar and fond with the Queen of Salsa, but diving into the emotionally ridden patriotism in her artistry is how one will truly get to know Celia Cruz.
When the public thinks of any particular artist who has garnered impressive popularity across the globe, there are always a select few projects or events that everyone can recognize in an instant if its mentioned. For Celia Cruz, quite a few of her songs fit the bill of securing a permanent place in the heads of her millions of listeners, even those who may not consider themselves educated enough to be fans. “Guántanamera” is one of those iconic recordings that has become integral in defining Celia Cruz. The lyrics were not her original creation, but the rhythmic spin she put on the song and the beneficial inclusion of her powerful voice popularized it further, particularly among Cubans. She was not one of the only artists to try their hand at recording the known song, but she certainly succeeded in becoming one of the most significant vocalizations of its patriotic lyrics. The vibrant tune is known to have been the genius of Joseito Fernandez, a Cuban radio host who had frequently played the instrumental on his show in the 1920s. The true origin of the lyrics come from Jose Marti, a famous Cuban poet who was known not only for his meaningful and eloquent literary pieces, but also the activism that he relentlessly engaged in for Cuba. Verses were taken from his collection, Versos sencillos, and it became the folk song known as “Guántanamera”, a frontrunner of Cuban nationalism. It is undoubtedly fitting that such a vital figure in the extensive history of Cuban immigration has had his words transformed into a battle cry of sorts for the people of Cuba to adapt to their collective voice. Celia Cruz took his words, not to possess them as her own, but to infuse them with the complicated swirl of emotions she too felt about the homeland. The song was positive in nature, not straying too far from the contagiously enthusiastic music that Cruz has built much of her musical legacy off of. However, that did not take anything significant away from the true emotion that really shapes the song into what it is. Positivity was something that many Cuban-Americans, or many immigrants in general for that matter, had to attempt to practice, because attitudes were critical in a society that appeared to have the odds stacked against “outsiders.” The belief that there was light at the end of the seemingly eternal tunnel was an anchor to prevent them from sinking, and it was clung to with all its force. The enthusiastic tune behind Cruz’s version of “Guántanamera” was heartwarming, if only because it tugged immigrants out of their nostalgia and allowed them to focus on appreciation for what once was. Then, when we delve into the lyrics, we peel back the laminated cover to perceive the message embedded in its bouncy rhythm. “Guántanamera” in itself refers to a woman from Guantanamo, the Cuban city where the military base at Guantanamo Bay is situated. The repetition of this word in the chorus is a simplistic effort to embody the belonging that Cruz, and all those who sing it, feel with the Cuba that they remember. It is laden with a bittersweet flavor when one realizes that Cruz, for all her longing, has had much difficulty returning to the place she recalls with fondness. The denied permission to attend her mother’s funeral in Cuba fuels this song adaptation with another layer entirely, and it gives a new meaning to the romanticizing that many Cuban Americans are familiar with. Such hard-to-decipher feelings were a commonality among Cuban-Americans, who had taken to romanticizing the idea of returning home someday but could not ignore the resentment they harbored toward Fidel Castro and the negativity that his regime spread. At its core, the song that has permeated Cuba expresses the relentless advocacy for freedom, which is perhaps best represented by the line, “La libertad fue un trofeo, que nos conquisto el Bambi / Con el verbo de Marti, y el machete de Maceo”. There are shackles figuratively slapped onto the wrists of Cubans, both those who remain in Cuba and those who emigrated, and Cruz can whole-heartedly relate to that struggle. There is hope, however, in the realization that power lies in the voices of figures who use their famed platforms to speak out about the strife of their people, and Celia Cruz is only one major example of taking on this responsibility and executing it with grace.
Nostalgia is an emotion that every immigrant can relate to, albeit on varying levels, and it is an inherent component of the tumultuous experience of upending the life one has known since birth to seek a better one. “Cuando Salí de Cuba” speaks more to the personal experiences and emotions that have gripped Celia in her years as a Cuban exile, in contrast to “Guántanamera” which served as more of a collective voice of the people fighting for freedom. While “Guántanamera” was the lyrical genius of poet Jose Marti, the lyrics of “Cuando Salí
de Cuba” are the original work of, Luis Aguilé, an Argentine musician. As a Cuban exile, Celia Cruz took the lyrics that spoke directly to her and empowered them further with the melancholy that she had faced. She sings of her aching wish to return to the place that was her home before her life was transformed in America, for all the fame and recognition in the world cannot disguise the fact that she deals with the same trauma that plagues immigrants globally. She sings, “When I left Cuba, / I left my life I left my love / When I left Cuba / I left my heart buried.” There is a piece of her that will always be missing as long as she is apart from the place she grew up in, a piece lingering in the very soil of Cuba that she dreams of being reunited with. The gratitude of getting the chance to build a life in America does not cancel out the hollowness in one’s chest when reflecting sadly upon their roots; the two contrasting sensations are forced to coexist and such juxtaposition leads to a disruption in the natural harmony of life. Cruz manages to somewhat ease this disruption by soulfully singing ballads that convey how she feels to broad audiences, audiences that diversely consist of immigrants who can sorrowfully relate to her pain and those who don’t relate but are hearing a common perspective of immigrants in the United States. Cuban Americans generally have experienced the process of solidifying their footing in the United States at a faster rate than other demographics, but such frequent success in climbing up the social hierarchy did not equate to complete emotional satisfaction in their new lives. Celia Cruz is perhaps the epitome of this phenomenon; she achieved worldwide success and was certainly in a position where she could have accepted her new lifestyle without ever looking back. The reality, when you get down to it, is that she shared the same sensation that many Cubans felt, of being torn between the Cuba that they have overly romanticized in their minds and the security they currently have as citizens in America.
Optimism isn’t easily attainable, particularly for immigrants who receive the short end of the stick in many facets of living. It’s a struggle to maintain such an attitude, for the sake of one’s mental health, when the circumstances that greet them day in and day out can be quite debilitating. Celia Cruz practiced optimism so persistently that it inevitably reached not only the ears of her attentive audience, but their hearts as well. To know that your conflict is understood by someone so prominent in pop culture is naturally a relief and a comfort, because it wasn’t every day that a minority found their way to such ranks in American society and was able to speak out to their people. Celia Cruz wasn’t a meaningless token of representation in the Latin-American immigrant community, she was the culmination of so many voices seeking the outlet that not all of them had the privilege to access. She made it one of her central missions to infuse her songs with optimism, even the ones that involved the emotional subject matter of her mentality about Cuba. “No Hay Manteca” acknowledges the inconveniences that many people in her community faced, while not necessarily being a negative or sad song by nature. To openly express sadness about such a missing piece in Cruz’s and many other Cuban immigrants’ life surely would have been justified, but that was not Cruz’s goal with her music. There was enough sadness and longing to go around, to the point where positivity was a sensation that people grew desperate for. She took on this responsibility with grace, making sure that her music, even the songs with the touchiest lyrics, included a dose of optimism. “No Hay Manteca” is an upbeat song, on-brand with the queen of salsa’s usual style that aimed to have her listeners dancing along with her. The lyrical content of the song is where the audience becomes in tune to the true tone, which is initially alluded to by the title itself too; in English, it translates to “There is no lard.” It emulates the harder days, though the specific environmental circumstances described in the song are slightly spotty. They could be in reference to Cuba, swept by a revolution in which scarce grocery supplies was one of the various effects, or to the United States after one has emigrated there. After all, lard was not as commonly used there, so the contrast stands to be representative of the many differences that immigrants deal with, living in a society that didn’t practice what they’d known all their life. It’s actually powerful that it’s unclear which side of the Cuban-American lifestyle the song refers to, because both countries have played their critical roles in the shaping of these immigrants and the conflicts are difficult to divide so completely. The strife faced as a Cuban witnessing their home country be ravaged by a harsh regime and as an American immigrant pressured with assimilation are both equally relevant, blending together into the unwavering strength of immigrants. “Things have gotten bad now” is one of the lyrics that Celia belts out in the song, and short and simple as it is, it perfectly attests to the message regarding the Cuban-American collective experience, or the Cuban experience specifically. The remnants of the Revolution left an impact on Cuba that can very much be analyzed through a socioeconomic lens, but Celia Cruz focuses on the emotional and mental impact of the jarring time period in her home. Things had taken a turn for the worse, whether you were a Cuban still residing in the homeland or a refugee who had fled to America out of necessity. This acknowledgment of a dual identity is one of the reasons that Cruz was such a prominent representative of Latin-American immigrants, for she understood the complexity behind their sense of selves and the internal conflicts that coincide with that.
While she was indeed a spokesperson for the Cuban-American experience, and the Cuban experience for that matter, Celia Cruz didn’t stop there. She saw herself as more than just a face for a particular branch of the broad-reaching Latin-American community; she had the power to reach all of these branches and unite them through the undying power of music. Music is a universal language, which is what constitutes much of its beauty and appeal throughout all countries, all continents. New York City was her home, and within it were multiple Latin populations seeking economic opportunities, refuge, and quite simply, a new life. It was inevitable that Celia Cruz would develop a fondness for these people, especially when she was embraced by Puerto Ricans in Manhattan upon her first arrival. She was known for executing her musical platform to develop songs, both upbeat and heartfelt, about her home country and the experience of exiled Cubans, but she also cared about intertwining the differing Latin American communities. The beauty of salsa, in all its enthusiasm and joy, is that it had the ability to blanket overwhelming amounts of people in its positive feelings, in a way that isn’t always accomplished through other means. The music starts up, Cruz sings soulfully into her microphone, and the crowd becomes one. She knew that she possessed this admirable power, and so she released another song about the Latin-American experience, which encompassed the various communities that exist under that extensive title. In the early 90s, Cruz released the song, “Pasaporte Latino Americano”. It was yet another song detailing an experience that she was notoriously outspoken about throughout her career: her life as an immigrant. However, this particular anthem had another motive: to unite Latin-American immigrant groups of all backgrounds, through the common ground they shared and whole-heartedly understood. The song begins with a genuine expression of the fear and uncertainty that characterizes that first step into a new country, away from home. She had “one hand forward, one hand behind”, which is a resonating sentiment that emphasizes being torn between the two places. Out with the old and in with the new is a difficult motto to adapt to right away, but the solace comes in the form of unification with people living in the same boat. She feels strange in America, at first, an outsider in a country that didn’t particularly feel welcoming toward those who were considered foreign. Then, the song takes a turn, when she manages to overcome the lack of environmental and cultural familiarity, the language barriers, and the daunting feel of a new land. What matters, at the core of the song and in the heart of many immigrants, is the realization that their experiences are shared and if they take a long look around, they won’t have to know the feeling of loneliness in stressful circumstances. New York City attracted, and continues to bring in, immigrants of all Latin-American backgrounds, and these people learned to flock together when the nostalgia for familiarity grew too burdensome. Celia Cruz highlights the importance of leaning on each other, in order to get over the hurdles, and come together, whether one is Cuban, Puerto Rican, Mexican, Dominican, and so on. She puts it beautifully in this verse from “Pasaporte Latino Americano”: “Thousands of faces and souls are looking for peace and progress / We have the same dreams / See how much we look alike.” It’s the goals that they have in America that unite them, as much as their similar immigrant identities, and in Cruz’s eyes, as long as they understand that, there is no reason that they can’t form a lasting bond that will strengthen their presence in America. It’s significant that at the time she released the song to the public, a large immigration was occurring from Peruvians, Argentinians, and Venezuelans. This motivated her to put out the anthem that aimed to break down unnecessary walls and promote togetherness when it was needed and valued most. She made the most of her story, by spreading it to her audience and putting a spin on it that instilled hope within her fellow immigrants, whether they were in the early stages of the process or well into their new lives in America.
She broke down walls, as black Cuban woman who both cultivated and dominated the salsa genre. She never shied away from her identities, or felt the need to suppress one at the expense of another, which is one of the traits that made her so loved by various demographics for decades. She released over 70 albums in the decades that her career spanned, though her first held a significance in terms of its subtle outspokenness about Cuban plight. Her effort and talents put her front and center in a field that was traditionally dominated by men, which would open the gate for more women to step into—one prominent name being Gloria Estefan. In the latter half of her life, she proceeded to make her mark in the non-Latino population through performances with David Byrne and Patti Labelle, as well appearances in movies such as The Mambo Kings and The Perez Family. She won a Grammy award for best tropical Latin performance in 1989 and best tropical album in 2000, and was honored by President Clinton with the National Medal of Arts. On July 16, 2003, Celia Cruz passed away from a brain tumor in her home in Fort Lee, New Jersey. The queen of salsa’s long-lived career hardly saw a dull moment, as she defied odds and dissolved boundaries of genre from beginning to end. Her legacy didn’t die with her, but rather spread like wildfire throughout modern-day musical culture and the Latin-American community that continuously celebrates her positive contributions.

Works Cited

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