Upstate Films in Rhinebeck. (photo by Dion Ogust)
“Hey man, I’m sorry, we‘re running real late. Can you make it 11?”
I had invested so much into this already. “Sure man, I’ll hang out here, maybe just take a nap in my car.” Two minutes later I get another phone call from Ron. “Listen, we’re at a restaurant right around the corner, The Golden Ginza, do you know the place?” he asked. “Come on over, sit with us, have a drink or a club soda and please, no interview here, we’ll work something out for later. The guys are tired and hungry.”
I walked over to the restaurant and saw Ron, Carlos, and his band all sitting around the old steel Japanese cooking table. The moment I walked in Carlos came over to me and gave me a hug like a bear. I squeezed him back and we stood there for a moment looking into each other’s eyes. Carlos’ key board player Aldo Lopez-Gavilian, a world renowned composer and virtuoso in his own right, was the only person speaking English other than Ron. Carlos spoke some words to Aldo and gestured with his hands to me as Aldo conveyed, “eat, please, join us.”
Aldo joined Carlos’ band so he could learn from Carlos. “Learn what?” I asked Ron. “Aldo did not join to learn music but to learn from Carlos the humility and way of Carlos, how he gives to his people.”
As we ate, Ron told me how much he liked my CD that he had listened to it in the motel room. “It’s really good, the lyrics and melodies are quite powerful,” he told me. This was worth it all, the waiting, the driving, the emails and endless phone calls.
We all walked over to Ole Savannah together and Ron and I spoke in English while the band walked behind us clowning around. They were surely a tight crew and they reminded me of days on the road with a rock and roll band.
Ole Savannah was mobbed and we needed a quiet place to talk. Ron spoke to the owner of the club who took us all up to a quiet office. Ron, Evry Mann, Carlos’ interpreter, Carlos and I spent close to 90 minutes talking, and getting to know each other. “I can see that this guy is a songwriter and a musician,” Carlos said to Evry in Spanish after I asked him about songwriting.
About midway through it wasn’t just an interview anymore. We were a bunch of comrades sitting around talking about the injustices of the world and how art can change things. Carlos told me about the “Wet Foot Dry Foot” policy that the United States has with Cuba till this day. If a Cuban leaves Cuba and swims, takes a boat or gets to the United States shore and doesn’t have both feet on the ground, the USA sends them back. It doesn’t matter if they are sick, weak, or close to death, back they go if both feet don’t touch the ground.
When we finished the talking, Ron welcomed me into the family and I felt that they meant it. We exchanged CDs, Carlos’ entitled No Es El Fin — “It’s Not The End.” We all hugged again and again and took pictures of all sorts including some selfies.
I was ecstatic driving home. I not only met Carlos but we shared some fine moments together. Like the title of his new CD, “It’s not the end.”
About 2:30 a.m. I was driving across Route 28 listening to Carlos’ new CD and kind of daydreaming. I was not speeding though I did have my high beams on which I could have gotten a ticket for. It’s a good thing though, since three baby bears all jumped out in front of my car running across the road at the same time. They were almost like little drunken sailors weaving in and out of each other as I weaved around them barely missing the last one by inches.
I took it as a sign. A sign of hope, a sign that maybe it’s not the end. As Carlos says “No Es El Fin.”
