Elpalmas Music Vinyl, CD & Tape 20 Items

“This LP with Sexteto Caracas will be, from now on, the favorite of all parties with a happy atmosphere, because through its interpretations it has that rhythm and party flavor that we all want to hear and dance to” reads the back cover of the original edition of the great album that the El Palmas Music label has the enormous pleasure of reissuing on vinyl, respecting every detail of its original art.

Ritmo y Sabor de Fiesta Con El… Sexteto Caracas, was launched in 1969 by a small Venezuelan label (Discos Diana), it appeared when salsa was already a consolidated popular phenomenon in the country. The era of the rage of the tasty crossover of genres with guaguancó and boogalú and even soul, of the “superdiscotecas with cinematic sound and psycho-delirious dance floor”, as was announced in the promotion of a show at El Palacio del Baile when Caracas was experiencing an impressive cultural explosion.

In this context, the only album by Sexteto Caracas was released, a group of young but seasoned musicians through dozens and dozens of shows, with a luxury musical director (Abiezer M. D'Aubeterre, better known as “Ajoporro”, also in charge of the piano and guitar) and the voice of Alfredo Antonio, who had previously ventured into pop music as the singer of the group Chicles.

Sexteto Caracas was born in the mid-60s as the initiative of the timbalero Jesús “Chui” Osuna, who conditioned his own house for the group's rehearsals, and it established itself as it added concerts in that Caracas of great musical revelry until it reached its unique album, a collector's item that El Palmas Music proudly recovers, faithful to its objective of cultural archeology and revaluation of artists who deserve a privileged place in history. ________________________________________

El Palmas Music rescues a hidden gem of Venezuelan salsa

With the vinyl reissue of En La Conquista del Mundo Latino (1979), by the Salsa Suprema Orchestra, it pays a fair tribute to Larry Francia.

“Larry Francia's work deserves nothing less than transcendence,” says Miguel Álvarez, the Venezuelan musical collector and archaeologist who one day came across with this Salsa legend from his country without planning it and knew it was fair and necessary to spread this magnificent work.

Born in Barlovento, an Afro area of Venezuela where the drum rules, Larry Francia grew up in San Agustín del Sur, a Caracas neighborhood that is salsa territory par excellence. When he was barely 12 years old, Víctor Piñero, one of the most popular orchestra singers in Venezuela in the 60s, summoned him to record choirs. An early initiation that marked Larry forever and at the same time revealed his indisputable talent.

“His driving force is singing. If you're talking to him, he often stops talking to sing" says Álvarez. “He was a man who never stopped being a musician, even though his living conditions were never the best. And the legacy of Salsa Suprema is key to Venezuelan popular music.”

When that orchestra stopped working (there were no producers who supported their tours, their records were pirated in Spain in the 80s), Larry suffered an emotional breakdown and even gave up devoting himself to music for a few years. He was someone who undoubtedly lived for and through music.

Larry Francia left this world in 2023, but we are left with a fabulous album like En La Conquista del Mundo Latino, recovered from the chest of memories by Álvarez and the Suicide Diggerz collective, specialists in rescuing hidden gems. “It’s a collector's item of the most exquisite and least known Venezuelan salsa” he defines.

The El Palmas Music label - created by musician, DJ, designer and cultural agitator Maurice Aymard, whose base of operations is in Barcelona - has been committed since 2020 to making known the best and least visible of the rich heritage of the popular music from Venezuela. Now he is pleased to present the reissue of this fundamental album as a posthumous tribute to an artist with capital letters: the great Larry Francia.

The rescue of the only album by the La Solvencia Orquesta symbolizes very well the full meaning of the mission of the El Palmas label, stubborn in keeping the history of salsa alive in Venezuela, recovering the intrepid and genuine music with which the pillars of the salsa genre were built.

At the time this album appeared, originally released by the Corpodisco label in 1980, “guaguancó, guaracha, son and merengue were played, but Latin rhythms were not yet definitively labeled as salsa” says Felipe Díaz, singer of La Solvencia.

There were many orchestras of this type in Venezuela. Every season they used to visit dozens and dozens of towns to celebrate the festivities of different patron saints, popular celebrations in which people gave themselves up to dancing in an atmosphere of collective trance.

The combination of the natural and contagious groove of La Solvencia's songs with lyrics that paint with strokes as simple as they are accurate the daily life of ordinary people, their joys and disappointments, their urgencies and troubles, transformed the group into one of the favorites of the Venezuelan salsa public.

In the 80s, Dimas “Sam Dimas” Pedroza was encouraged with two atypical projects. One in partnership with the great Larry Francia, another artist released by El Palmas Music, and titled La salsa es con Dimas y Larry. And the other with an orchestra of great artists of the time that El Palmas also proudly relaunches in 2024: Sam Dimas and La Diferente’s El Tumbao…, with songs by prestigious authors such as Joseíto Fernández and José González Giralt and arrangements by the renowned trombonist Rafael Silva.

It is worth mentioning the great musicians that Dimas Pedroza summoned for this album: Rafael Araujo, Lewis Vargas and Gustavo Aranguren (trumpets), Carlos Espinoza and Rafael Silva (trombones), José Ávila (piano), Rafael Prado (bass), Pedro Viloria (timbales, güiro), Williams (congas), Nene Pacheco (bongo, drum), Leo Pacheco, Rafael Silva and Rafael Prado (choirs). There were also some special guests: Alfredo Pollo Gil and Manuel Icazas (trumpets), Oscar Mendoza (trombone), Joe Santamaría and Chucho Chuchochi (timbal) and Edwin Infante (maracas). Sam Dimas y La Diferente’s El Tumbao… is an album that Dimas - who is 80 years old today and still lives in Caracas - never presented live. One of those hidden gems in the history of salsa that El Palmas is dedicated to rescuing to continue reconstructing the memory of Venezuelan popular music, one of its main objectives. At the time of its appearance it did not receive the attention it deserved, perhaps because at first glance you can only see the surface. “I met Dimas through Roberto Monserrat on Radio Emisora Venezuela. He was from La Pastora, San José, and worked in a hospital - says Federico Betancourt in the book La salsa de Federico Betancourt y su Combo Latino, published by the Editorial Foundation El perro y la rana -. They invited him to one of the Combo Latino rehearsals and he came. Honestly, at first I was very impressed by the timbre and the way he sang, but Monserrat and the other members of Combo Latino thought it was good and they convinced me to leave him in the group. The day of recording our first LP arrived and I listened to Dimas again and then I said to myself: “Damn, this dude really sings well! You should never get carried away by your first impression.”

If the first album from Venezuela’s Los Calvos, despite its greatness, could be considered to have a varied sound, then this second, and lamentably final, album found them creating a signature sound with the musicians given free rein and a stronger push to the dance floor, this is música bailable personified. The drum kit was instrumental to their image and sound; it was an instrumental unusual in salsa at the time. So much so that their own drummer Frank “Pavo” Hernandez had said disparagingly that “salsa with a drum kit is like pasta with avocado”. Kudos then to “Pavo”, along with fellow drummer Alfredo Padilla, who seamlessly integrated the instrument into the line-up, allowing its heavy hits to add energy and power to the group’s sound; just listen to the drum solo in “Suenan Los Cueros” and you will be in no doubt that it was a genius move. Vocal duties throughout are split evenly, five tracks a piece in fact, between Carlos “Carlín” Asicio Rodríguez and Carlos “Calaven” Yanes. It is Calaven who surprises the most, his mischievous delivery and ability to improvise and scat placing him in the higher echelons of vocalists, and not just within salsa. “José”, which is also a showcase for bandleader Ray Perez to free wheel on the piano, is a perfect example of Calaven’s ability to enliven any descarga (jam) with unexpected vocal turns; but then, even on the album’s original single “El Moño De Maria” he shows that with a few variations on the chorus, he can elevate any song. His partner in vocals, Carlín, is no slouch either, leading the driving “Tiene La Razón” with ease and showing that he can get down and dirty on the percussion-heavy “El Tumbeleco”, guiding the song through to its pulsating conclusion. Perez was one of Venezuela’s finest bandleaders, also helming the legendary Los Dementes, Los Kenya and others, and he brings a number of famous friends and allies to the party. Professional lucha fighter turned composer Gustavo “El Chiclayano” Seclén contributes the playful “El Marciano y Yo” (“The Martian and Me”), which allows Calaven plenty of opportunity to improvise, his imitations of intergalactic beings a wonderful thing, with what sounds like the rim of a wine glass being used to create Mars-esque special effects. You can also hear Perucho Torcatt, a regular collaborator of Ray Perez’s in Los Dementes, adding his voice throughout the album. ...Y Que Calvos! is not for the idle, it’s an album which does not allow you to sit down. Powerful, inventive and abundant of rhythm, it’s everything you could want from a salsa album, and a fitting way for Los Calvos to sign off their far-too short career. Perhaps now it will finally get its dues as a lost salsa classic.

“We are inspired by our own experiences, as well as those of others. The last year was the beginning of a new era for all of us and it has left us with much to analyze and the need to rethink our priorities. There’s been so many changes on this planet: the confinement, the constant looking back at the past, the struggle of many against endless injustices, love, all this leads to the fact that our new songs have very current themes but that also transcend time. They continue the characteristic sound of Acid Coco, with the undeniable influence of the Caribbean.” Acid Coco If we can define folklore as the passing on of traditions from a particular group of people, then there can be no denying that Acid Coco, whether consciously or not, are playing an important role in disseminating the folk culture of Colombia’s Caribbean coast. Throughout their music there are links to tradition: the gaita flute typical of rural cumbia, the effervescent guitar licks that are such a big part of the coast’s Afro-diasporic sounds, the teeth-rattling bass indicative of communities brought up on picó sound systems since the 70s, the unmistakable sound of the marimba wooden xylophone (each note like a rain drop on the jungle canopy), and then there are the lyrics. Tradition should not stand still, and in Andrea’s words we find the oral traditions of the last 30 years: on “Hoy Como Siempre” she sings of the need for women to stick up for themselves, to not fall in love too easily; on “Cara Dura” the sentiment is even stronger, its lyrics picking out a male predator on the dance floor who will not be tolerated; and then there’s “Mundo de Mentira” where vulnerability peaks through, the story of a woman whose life has become a “world of lies” since their lover has left – who can she believe now the one she trusted the most has gone? They are stories that could have spilled out of Cali’s salsatecas, Cartagena’s picós or any club the world over, yet through Paulo’s canny production there is no doubt where we are. Dembow, cumbia, reggaeton, even on the spiky Caribbean folk of final track “Por Las Venas” or chiptune melody of “Aquí y Allá”, there is nowhere we can be other than on Colombia’s Caribbean coast. It’s music that comes from lived experiences, from growing up in Colombia’s clubs and through its violence and daily realities. Culture is being passed forward.

El Palmas Music to release a new compilation of songs by the famous Venezuelan singer and percussionist Tabaco.

Tabaco Quintana is, without a doubt, one of the great masters of Venezuelan salsa. Born in Caracas in 1943, he was tall and very skinny, which earned him the nickname ‘Tabaco’. A shoeshine boy and street hawker, at the age of 18 he fell in love with the Caracas nightlife and spent his days listening to the rehearsals of a musical group that he ended up joining, thanks to the intervention of his friend Elio Pacheco. That group was called Sexteto Juventud.

Tabaco passed through almost every musical position within the band until he became a singer. It was the resemblance of his voice to Ismael Rivera and his skills as an interpreter that earned him a permanent position in the band.

After leaving the group in 1973, he created his own sextet, Tabaco y Su Sexteto, and later formed Tabaco y sus Metales, two groups that achieved international recognition, and became staples of the Venezuelan music scene ‘til the mid-80s. Throughout, and despite his fame, Tabaco was always clear that music had a social role to play, and would often sing in Venezuelan prisons. Sadly, he died young, on May 30, 1995, due to a lung condition. The public overflowed the streets to accompany him to his last dance.

This compilation of Tabaco’s songs, simply titled Tabaco and compiled by El Dragón Criollo and El Palmas, is an attempt to shine a light on this musical icon, and to show his versatility, vocal ability and unparalleled knowledge of musical rhythms.

Primarily known for his voice - which isn’t surprising considering his vocal nuances and the different registers he is able to reach - it can be said that he was also no slouch when it came to mixing up the rhythms. On this compilation there is a strong influence of African music (“San Juan Guarincongo”, “Imolle”) and jazz - just listen to the unforgettable beginning of “Arrollando”.

Percussion, piano and wind instruments are high in the mix, but it’s the masterful voice of Tabaco that adapts effortlessly to the requirements of the melody and the lyrics, riding each groove masterfully. The lyrics also show the great social sensitivity of the Venezuelan maestro: “Una Sola Bandera” and “Cuando Llora el Indio” are two great examples of salsa’s power in denouncing social injustice, and Tabaco’s commitment to that ethos.

Tabaco is unmissable, a heady journey into the essence of salsa and the rhythms of the Caribbean.

El Palmas Music are reissuing a rare 1970s Venezuela salsa record that spotlights the work of enigmatic Caracas guitar maestro, Andrés Moros Given his singular vision on the 1976 salsa masterpiece, Andres y Sus Estrellas, the absence of information on Venezuelan musician Andres Moros, also known as “Morito”, feels almost criminal. What we do know is that Morito first began his musical journey as a live performer in the bars and nightclubs of Caracas in the 1960s-70s, at the full height of the Venezuelan salsa boom, and was a core figure on the scene. Alongside a small band, Morito would frequently perform in the bustling live music circuits of Caracas and La Guiara, where he first met the notable singer Nano Grant. Andres y Sus Estrellas was the result of a long-held dream of Morito’s to partner with Grant to record an album. This album, Morito’s debut project, is now getting reissued by El Palmas Music. With big band compositions spiced with the flavour of Caribbean rhythm, the album is a seminal example of Venezuelan music at the height of its salsa movement. Grant’s effortlessly smooth flowing vocals chronicle tales of love, passion and party, masterfully guided under Morito’s cohesive musical direction. Here, the arrangement flows with succinct percussion, dramatic pauses, and satisfying brass bursts all timed to perfection and employed with astonishing versatility from track to track. “Canuto” is a soft, sensual calling to end the tears, “no quiero que llores más”, soulfully implores Grant. “No Quiero Bailar Pegao” is an upbeat merengue-infused track that humorously chronicles tales of sweaty, intimate dancefloors. On the bolero-ballad “Condición”, a female vocalist known today only as Yara passionately navigates heartbreak and reconciliation, the anguish of her vocal underscored by sweeping brass. Meanwhile, “La Mazucamba” is a skittish ode to the act of dancing, a gleeful celebration to what the record as a whole evokes: dancing with feeling; come joy or sorrow; the rhythm moves us. Andres y Sus Estrellas is a cult classic that encapsulates the very best of Venezuelan’s golden salsa-era; a must-have for any collector looking to add an overlooked gem of the genre to their music library.

As the 1950s drew to a close a group of students at Caracas’ Universidad Central de Venezuela caught the tropical music bug and decided to form an orchestra. With the majority of the students coming from the engineering faculty, they were duly christened Conjunto Ingeniería (The Engineering Group) and from the offset, they were ahead of the game. Tropical music, or música bailable (danceable music), was slowly making its way to Venezuela, but Conjunto Ingeniería had a secret weapon as one of their fellow students was studying in New York and every July he’d return with the latest Latin big band sounds: Tito Puente, Machito, they heard it first. And they wasted no time in making a name for themselves: nine young male musicians playing the hippest sounds around, they were the obvious band to play high-society quinceañeras (15th birthday celebrations to mark a “girl’s journey into womanhood”), which their original bass player, Juan Marquez, says they did at least 80 times in their heyday, as well as playing countless times at the university, on TV, at weddings, and at carnival, where on one occasion they accompanied Celia Cruz. “We played on all the TV channels”, says Marquez, “we were the first group to play at the launch party for ‘salsa’, a term that was established by the [Venezuelan] announcer Phidias Danilo Escalona… in Barquisimeto we were considered the best orchestra”, he remembers. On record their eclecticism and musical chops belied their age. In 1961 they released their self-titled debut album, which tackled mambo, guaracha, cha-cha-cha and charanga, veering from the Les Baxter-esque exotica of “Mambo Silbando” with its kitsch whistling, through the horn-and-percussion heavy stomp of “La Bola” (complete with bolero bridge) and on to “Amorcito”, their cover of The Diamond’s “Little Darlin’”, which was arguably the first rock ‘n’ roll song recorded in Venezuela. They followed it up with Aqui Esta El Conjunto Ingenieria, their second album in 1962, in which they showed once more that rock could easily sit next to Latin on tracks like “Mambo Rock”. Their last album, Boogaloo Con Ingenieria, arrived in 1967, and made clear the influence of New York in their sound, with the group adopting the boogaloo of Pete Rodriguez, Tito Puente and Ricardo Ray. Tracks like “Dame Boogaloo” and “La Boa” were the epitome of this, but they also took that sound into new places, as on the staccato groove of “Intermission Riff” which left plenty of space for the musicians to flex their muscles, or on the ominous “Aefo” with its unsettling vocals and dramatic Henry Mancini-esque melody. Conjunto Ingeniería came to an end at the beginning of the 70s, by which time many of their original members had left after graduating, but there can be no doubt they had made their mark. Though their recording output was nowhere near as prolific as their contemporaries Billo’s Caracas Boys or Los Melódicos, if you were turning on the TV, going to carnival or, especially, attending a quinceañera, in Caracas in the 1960s, then you would no doubt of come across Conjunto Ingeniería and their rock ‘n’roll-embellished New York-meets-Venezuela big band sound. On this compilation, simply titled Conjunto Ingeniería, El Palmas Music have cherrypicked a glorious selection of tracks from across the group’s career, capturing all the creativity and youthful excitement that made them one of the first titans of Venezuela’s tropical music history.

El Palmas Music to reissue incredibly hard-to-find album by Venezuelan salsa bandleader and polymath.

Few artists worked as hard at their craft as Ramón Urbina. At the age of 15, and in thrall to the Latin jazz and tropical music he was hearing on the radio, he learnt to play tres guitar. Then he learnt bass. Then percussion, tumbadora, timpani drums, trumpet, trombone, piano, whatever instrument he could get his hands on. A true enthusiast and student of all the tropical music that was percolating through Venezuela and the rest of Latin America at the time, he wanted to understand the art of composition and arranging, and around 1972 he decided to put it to the test, forming his first group, Ramón y su Banda Latina. Taking inspiration from salsa ensembles like Sexteto Juventud, as well as Pastor López, a Venezuelan singer and bandleader who was having huge successes in Colombia for his mix of cumbias, guarachas and boleros, Ramón’s group toured throughout Venezuela during the 1970s. Then one day, he went to see La Dimensión Latina in his home town of Charallave, and he saw the future. The age of salsa with its multi-trombone sound was here, and he wanted to take part, recruiting new members to form Moncho y su Banda. After road testing their material, the new group was ready to record an album in 1981, but finding a record label was not easy. Ramón loved music but he was a homebody too and spent most of his time in Charallave, at a distance from the thriving music scene in Caracas. This, combined with the fact that he’d yet to record an album and create any kind of international reputation meant that he initially struggled to find a label. “God help me, even if I have to pay myself, I’m going to record my album”, he said at the time. Despite no guarantee of any album being released, Moncho y su Banda stepped into a recording studio and didn’t rest until they’d got what they wanted. Those who were there remember a feeling of being at a party, hanging out with family and friends, and dancing all night. After realising they’d forgotten to eat at a session, one of the group’s singers, Eduardo Fernandez, ordered a bottle of sambuca, and just like that they kept on recording, without pause, albeit with extra spirit. Once record label executives finally heard the album, titled Qué Bellas Son (How Beautiful They Are), they couldn’t resist its energy and a release date was set. It’s an album that captures the sound of a working band at ease, playing the kind of set that they would be knocking out at clubs around Venezuela at the time, full of life and passion. Whereas a formulaic salsa sound was forming in the early 80s, Moncho y su Banda bucked the trend, playing a mix of raw, unbridled salsa dura, as well as cumbias, merengues, boleros and chucu-chucus, all with a heady dose of Caribbean spirit that sets the group apart from the more urbane salsa ensembles of the day. Qué Bellas Son is the only album that Ramón Urbina ever recorded, though he has kept performing to this day, where you can still find him in Charallave. A true lover of music, we should be thankful that we have at least this one album of his to remind us of a band at the height of their powers.

Grupo Casabe can lay claim to being Ray Pérez’s last great group. Fresh from the successes of Los Dementes and Los Kenya, Pérez was at the forefront of salsa in the mid-70s, and still experimenting with música bailable and all the danceable hornblazing styles that were beginning to be known collectively as salsa. The finest tracks of this short-lived combo, active from 1974 until 1975, are now being celebrated by El Palmas Music on a new compilation simply titled Ray Pérez y El Grupo Casabe. Pérez was bandleader for an astonishing number of groups, which was partly due to his in-demand status, with each move to a new label meaning he needed a new band name. Such was the case with Ray Pérez y El Grupo Casabe, formed when CBS came calling. Their line-up built on his previous groups, with both a drum kit and percussion for additional power, with Pérez himself belting out those trusty piano montuños, however there was one significant change, with Pérez using saxophones for the first time, alongside his usual brass section of trumpets and trombones. With him for the ride were vocalists including Rodrigo Perdomo (brother of “El Negrito Calavén”, from Pérez’s earlier group, Los Calvos) and Rafael Morillo. The compilation begins with “María Antonia”, the first 7” Grupo Casabe released in 1974. Instantly, it’s clear why Pérez is so loved in salsa circles, for this is salsa of the highest order, the focus switching between piano, vocals and brass effortlessly, while the drums restlessly inject the song with energy; then there’s the breakdown, Rodrigo Perdomo stretching his vocals to a rasp and throwing the brass into an extended passage; suddenly, they stop and Ray, El Loco as he was affectionately known, lets loose with a piano solo that’s elegant in its efficiency, before the band return for one more trip round the salsateca. 1974 and 1975 were important years in the trajectory of salsa. It was this period when salsa became a collective name for urban orchestras playing Latin music styles like son, guaganco, mambo, cha-cha-cha and rumba. Though undoubtedly salsa – Ray was a “rey de salseros” after all – there is so much nuance in the music. “Campesino Nuestro” is a slow-building rural son, taking the Cuban countryside to the dancefloor; “Santa” and “Oye Nena” are twisting guaguancos, the former possessing one of Perdomo’s finest vocal performances, and the latter the finest showcase for the band, with percussion, brass and piano on fire. “La Reina”, a danzón, show that the band can do the slow numbers too, and then there’s “Sábado En La Tarde”, Perez’s take on surf with a melody seemingly taken from the finest Steve McQueen crime caper. There are few that come close to Ray Pérez for musical inventiveness and a sheer ability to keep dance floors moving. If Ray had been born and raised in New York then no doubt he’d be regarded as one of salsa’s pioneers. He’s had to work harder for his reputation, but there can be no doubt, he deserves to be one of the greats, and his work with Grupo Casabe is even more proof.

Few have done as much for salsa in Venezuela as band-leader, composer and pianist Ray Pérez. He burst on to the scene in the mid-60s with his group Los Dementes, creating the blueprint for guaguanco, pachanga and boogaloo in Venezuela. When the name salsa began to be used as something of a catch-all-term he was still at the forefront, recording two hugely-popular salsa albums with Los Dementes in 1967. Remarkably, that very same year, he also recorded two albums with a brand new group, Los Calvos, that showed how as well as being the genre’s most visible band-leader, he was also pushing the nascent genre to its limits. Looking back, revered journalist Alfredo Churion states that Los Calvos were “one of the most innovative experiences in Venezuelan popular music.” Estos Son Los Calvos is the first of the two albums he made with Los Calvos. On it, he made a few alterations to the line-up that may seem minor, but created a completely new sound. For the first time, he recruited a drummer (unprecedented at the time for a salsa ensemble, which always used percussionists), he switched from the trombones of Los Dementes to the much harder, direct sound of trumpets, and he recruited Carlos Yanez, best known as El Negrito Calavén, as singer. Whereas Los Dementes had been aligned with the slightly pop sound of tropical orchestras, Los Calvos took an almost-jazz approach, allowing room for the musicians and vocalists to improvise, and they also took inspiration from the sounds of surf rock swirling around Caracas. The group’s drummer El Pavo amusingly once described the group’s sound as like “wearing a dinner suit with flip-flops”. Opening track “El Kenya” is the clearest example of that surf rock influence; it’s opening lines make clear its intentions: “una linda trigueña que me invitó a bailar el Kenya” (“a beautiful trigueña – tri-ethnic girl – invited me to dance the Kenya”). They are intent on creating their own dance craze, El Kenya. If the group had ever performed live, then maybe it would have taken off, as the song had all the credentials: rollicking montuno piano from Pérez, ingenious scatting and vocal improvs from Calavén, and a middle section where the drums and trumpets battle it out hard, with an audience screaming its appreciation throughout. It’s followed by ‘Mi Salsa Llego’, which Pérez had already recorded with Los Dementes; here, it’s a tougher beast, the sparser hits of the drums and trumpets giving a harder sound evocative of the times, with more and more people moving to the cities, and wanting a grittier, urban soundtrack. The secret weapon in Los Calvos was the fact that this was a group made up of some of Venezuela’s finest musicians, many of which, Pérez included, had working class roots. Music for them was as much a part of their day-to-day lives, as it was a profession, it was what they did. The legendary Frank “El Pavo” Hernandez was on drum kit, with revered names like Alfredo Padilla, Carlos “Nene” Quintero, Pedro García, Miguel Silva, Enrique Vazquez, Rafael Araujo and Luis Lewis, also involved in the group. Their versatility allowed Los Calvos to go from the slower, haunting groove of “Negrito Calavan”, a showcase for their singer to improvise, and on to “Bailemos Kenya”, another attempt by the group to create their own version of “The Twist”! Los Calvos never played live, but that was always the intention. Pérez was in demand by the record labels of the time and his deal with RCA Victor to make two albums as Los Calvos was only ever that. But the spirit of Los Calvos remained when Pérez then formed Los Kenya, whose name came from the opening track of this album, and whose line-up featured the same inventions as Los Calvos, with a drum kit, two trumpets and the same vocalists (for their second album, Carlín Rodríguez joined as a singer, and remained for Las Kenya). For this reason, Los Calvos would never have the same successes as Pérez’s other groups, though even Pérez has revealed in interviews that the two albums he made as Los Calvos are some of the most fun he ever had recording. With the price of originals for both albums ever increasing for vinyl collectors, this is a great chance to get hold of two of the heaviest salsa albums ever issued in the 60s, and an important moment in the life of Venezuela’s salsa king, Ray Pérez.

El Palmas Music are back with a third instalment of rare Venezuelan sounds from the 60s and 70s, a wild trip through salsa, boogaloo, garage rock, jazz and delinquent pop. Venezuelan music was moving at such a pace through the 60s and 70s that almost as soon as a new craze was born, another was preparing to eclipse it. In barely 10 years, musicians latched on to the sound of the Latin big bands of Cuba, New York and Colombia, turned to the 60s pop and rock ‘n’ roll of England and the US, before heading back to salsa as it took root across Latin American, before forays into jazz, psych rock and Afro-Venezuelan rhythms took hold in the 70s. This fertile musical period, coming at a time when Venezuela was economically abundant and culturally as relevant as any other developed country, has always been the focus of the Color de Trópico series, and continues to be the case on this third instalment, though it should also be noted that the tracks are getting rarer and rarer, indicative of the curatorship of DJ El Palmas and El Drágon Criollo and their constant search for new sounds that reflect Venezuela’s musical treasures at this time. Color de Trópico Vol. 3 starts with Un, Dos, Tres Y ... Fuera’s “Aquella Noche”, a song that’s fully indicative of Venezuela’s coastline with the much-loved Un, Dos, Tres Y ... Fuera giving a llanero rhythm (normally played on a harp and other stringed instruments in its rural incarnation) a fully Afro-Caribbean makeover with pulsating bass and an electric keyboard that teases and energises the groove. It possesses some of that same mid-70s vitality and need to experiment as Grupo Vaquedanus, the band of sax maestro Santiago Baquedano, and their cover of Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five”, here fashioned as “Toma Cinco”. This version strips away all the niceties of the original, turning it in to a psych-fuzz jazz romp with Baquedano’s raspy sax leading the way. Step back 10 years and the energy remains even if the musical terrain was different. Girl group Los Pájaros hit hard with a boogaloo whose instruction is simple enough: “shake it baby, kiss for you, take the rhythm, and do the boogaloo”. Los Pájaros were one of a number of groups who were taking inspiration from the 60s sounds of the US and Britain but repackaging it for Venezuelan youth. Pop stars Geminis 5 were at it too with a fuzzy ballad “Tus 16 Años”, and Junior Squad even injected a bit of San Francisco hippy charm into affairs with their loose adaptation of The Turtles “She’d Rather Be With Me”, retitled as “Siempre Para Ti” and sounding as rough, ready and full of youthful vim as anything made north of Mexico. On the farthest end of the pop spectrum is The Pets with their cult hit “El Entierro de un hombre rico que murió de hambre” (“The Burial of a Rich Man Who Died of Starvation”), a true countercultural anthem that even dips into “The Funeral March” for a minute, and which is much desired by record collectors. Finally, we must mention the salsa ensembles and their big band predecessors, always an important element of any Color de Trópico compilation. On Volume 3, we find one of the earliest salsa groups in Venezuela, Los Megatones De Lucho, who recorded a pachanga, “Yo Se Que Tu”, long before salsa was even a thing. Influenced by Venezuela’s very own Los Dementes and Joe Cuba’s sextet, Principe Y Su Sexteto were one of Venezuela’s most prominent salsa ensembles. On their 1969 track “San De Manique” we get a different vibe altogether, it’s a creeping son with just vocals, bass and congas for its opening minute, before really kicking into action with a twisted guitar line and wild percussion, while always retaining a raw, Afro-Latin feel. Last, but not least by any means, is one of Venezuela’s most beloved salseros, Johnny Sede, who pipes up with a classic salsa, “Guararé”, showing how the style had developed in just a few short years. You could accuse El Palmas and El Dragón Criollo, the curators of this collection, as getting some sort of a sick thrill at throwing such a weird and unwieldy bunch of tracks together, and that may be true, but there is logic too. These are songs full of life and creativity that signalled an era of boundless optimism. Listen to them now, and you’ll find yourself feeling those emotions once again.

"Hope and liberation reign free on an album overflowing with Caribbean cumbia flavours.

On his debut album as El Drágon Crillo, Colombian producer, musician and singer Paulo Olarte Toro finds a meeting place between bouncing Caribbean cadences and dance floor- ready beats that threaten to propel your body into motion.

Pase Lo Que Pase (translating as Whatever Happens, Happens) is one of those albums that threatens to take you some place new, in this case to the Colombian Caribbean some time around the 80s or 90s, when analog synths, punchy drum machines and Afro- Caribbean guitar melodies ruled the roost. The fact it was this era when Olarte Toro was growing up in Colombia should not go unnoticed. Now based in Geneva, Switzerland, it’s like he’s dialing back the years to a more innocent musical time, re-imagining what it was like for those early pioneers of reggaeton (long before it became so commercial) and for the musicians on Colombia’s Caribbean coast augmenting their tropical vinyl sets with rough-and-ready samples and lo-fi drum sounds.

Within this sonic milieu, there is joy at every corner, from the moment opening track “La Número Uno” sets off on its stripped-back champeta rhythm. In its swirling guitar lines, programmed beat (slowed down to cumbia pace) and unrushed vocals it’s impossible not to lose track of time. Scratchy samples that mimic a dog’s bark and a beatific synth that enters the fray late on only add to the summery shimmer. Further twisted guitar lines are to be found on following track “La Brisa”, which was influenced by US West Coast 90s rock a la Jane’s Addiction (spot the reference if you can), while “Líbrame de Todo Mal” finds an unlikely union between reggae, a disarmingly-anthemic 80s synth line and stinging guitar, with the odd klaxon letting you know this is a party you’re at. It’s a fiesta at which you’re never far from cumbia, as on the mesmerizing “Cumbia Fantasia”, but also throughout the album, where cumbia’s rhythm, instrumentation and traditions are continually hinted at. If musically there is much playfulness and a hint of nostalgia, albeit thrust up-to-date thanks to Olarte Toro’s production (lest it be known he has been making electronic music for nigh on 20 years), lyrically there is a heavy heart at play. The title track is a perfect example, as Olarte Toro states:

“’Pase lo que pase’ talks about the situation that Latin America is experiencing at the moment. It’s a situation that, even though it is old, has become more important and has gained much more awareness on the part of the people. It talks about how the new generations are afraid of a situation that is no longer bearable, that people want a change and that they no longer care at what price, they no longer care if the price they have to pay is their life.”

While despairing at the continued inability of Colombia, and Latin America as a whole, to find peace, equality and a sense that the fight is there to be won, Olarte Toro is also hopeful. “Hoy No Moriré”, with a Brazilian influence in its percussion and guitar, is the story of someone who faces social injustice every day and has grown increasingly tired of the struggle, yet in its chorus, “Hoy No Moriré” (“Today, I Will Not Die”) it also shows their resistance and hope for a better time. “Ojos de Bosque”, a duet which likewise has a sprinkle of Brazilian bombast and is unafraid to get close to ‘pop’ terrain, was written when the first pandemic hit. It’s dedicated to Olarte Toro’s daughters, telling of the sadness that came with uncertainty and confinement, but likewise it’s optimistic, looking for inspiration in daily life and showing that you should never lose the desire to continue.

With his arsenal of guitar, bass, analog synths (chiefly Roland Juno-106 and JX-3P), samplers and percussion, not to mention his guiding voice, Olarte Toro has created an album that could only have been made by him, by a Colombian who grew up with Latin rock, reggaeton, cumbia, champeta, etc., and who moved to Europe to become a noted name in underground dance music circles. Since switching to making music wholeheartedly with a Latin tinge a few years ago he has not held back, releasing albums as a member of Acid Coco and Contento, with one from Jaguar to come.

Now, with his first solo album as El Drágon Criollo, we find him at his most playful, joyous and paradoxically realist, summoning a mesmeric sound that represents the Colombian Caribbean’s past, present and future."

Those two über-hip expatriate Colombian ‘salsapunks’ are back. Contento’s first album, Lo Bueno Está Aquí, was an artistic and critical success: chosen, for example, by the UK’s discerning national newspaper, The Guardian, as their global album of the month in November last year. Their follow-up, En Lancha Pal Futuro, builds seamlessly on its predecessor. Yet it could not have been recorded in more different, and difficult, circumstances.

The duo’s debut was laid down between 2016 and 2019, a period when the two European-based Colombians, who met at an Eddie Palmieri concert in Berlin, were able to take some serious time off from their diverse individual projects to explore a new vision for salsa. Paulo, a member of Acid Coco, Jaguar and El Dragón Criollo; and Sano, a DJ and producer known for his minimalist Latin house releases for the Cómeme label, crystallized on their debut what Paulo describes as “a new salsa sound that may also make [listeners] want to discover some of the older sounds, too.” That sound is a kind of ‘retro-smart’ combination of Nuyorican boogaloo from the ‘60s and cumbia from the golden age of Discos Fuentes. Contento’s contemporary electronic twist suggests, if you like, a kind of post-modern variation on Dave ‘Baby’ Cortez’s “Happy Hook With an Organ”.

The album that you now enjoy has been compiled by El Palmas & El Drágon Criollo an begins with the theme that every afternoon, starting at 6 O´clock, all the youth of Caracas waited anxiously: “Introduction Theme” by Los Supersónicos was the wake-up call to introduce the charge of surfing that that later it would explode in El Club Musical.

And from the same group, another of their greatest hits is included, such as “Rosas Rojas para una Dama Triste”.

The Dangers were in charge of entertaining many youth parties in Venezuelan society. Their great success was “Congratulations”, an obscure Ricky Nelson song, of which they made an excellent cover. And to demonstrate the great influence of the British group The Shadows - present in all the youth bands of the time - here they shine with their recreation of the song “González” The Blonders were by far the possessors of the purest and most crystalline sound among the surf groups in Venezuela. A bold and highly imaginative arrangement of the classic “Lamento Borincano” is enough to justify its inclusion in this compilation.

And although The Impala came to have the most aggressive and rock-and-roll sound, here they show another facet of their music with the songs “Triste” and “Desafinado”.

Jaguar mine the sounds of the Colombian Caribbean and global dance sub cultureson a debut album that veers between psychedelic salsa, taut cumbia-disco and zouk party jams.



Rave culture never hit Colombia in the 90s – an internal civil war and a music industry fixated on blandness and payola made sure of that – but if it had then Jaguar would have been one of its leading lights. On their debut album this Colombian duo excavate the sound of their country’s dance floors, uniting the classy, brassy sounds of cumbia, porro and salsa with the earthier DIY vibrations coming from Afro-Colombian street parties on the coast, melodies and guitar lines learnt from imported African vinyl filtered through drum machines and hand-painted picó sound systems with the bass so high it threatens to knock you over.

The twosome mark out their stall on album opener “Bailalo Tu También” (“You Dance It, Too”), urging all to come and dance on a tune that references champeta (the #1 sound of Afro-Colombian block parties), zouk and calypso, as well as doffing a cap to disco and Brit funk, uniting the underground dance cultures of Colombia, the Caribbean, New York and London in one fell swoop. The cumbia card comes out on “Contra La Corriente” (“Against The Tide”), which with its subtle influences of global bass and minimal post-disco gives this classic rhythm even more thrust. “Ten Presente” (“Keep In Mind”) represents another side step, a salsa orchestra stripped down to just vocals, percussion, killer horn section and raspy charango, with the groove never in doubt.

Yet, if 90s rave culture represented a response to the darkness of the 80s, then something similar is at play here, the image of the Caribbean as a warm, happy and danceable place coming in contrast with the poverty that is the reality for many living there, and this dark underbelly is not ignored by Jaguar. “Is it possible that the people united could become invincible?” they ask on “Guadalupe”, offering a message of hope that one day the inequality, poverty and neglect that is everyday life for many people in Colombia will be diminished by getting behind the same cause. Driven by an 80s-inspired zouk beat, they dream of there one day being a united people with the strength to fight back against the authorities. “¿Será posible, será posible?” they sing, “Could it be possible, could it be possible?” This dichotomy of emotions crops up again on “Siguele El Paso” (“Keep Up”), a pure Caribbean groove that is impossibly infectious with lyrics that speak of keeping those hips moving but can’t help but mention reality, the protagonist of the song dodging bullets and nefarious forces while still keeping their rhythm on the dance floor. It’s a perfect encapsulation of Jaguar’s modus operandi, this is music to make you dance, but it remains grounded, in Colombian and Caribbean musical idioms as well as the hard times that many Colombians are living through. It’s a rhythmic elixir, but with bite; rum straight from the bottle.

Jaguar are two Colombians based in Europe, Paulo and Raúl. Since the 90s their paths crossed, their names mentioned by mutual friends, but it would not be until 2017 that they finally got to know each other. Quickly they established a musical rapport, forming a band with some friends that fell apart just as quickly, but they knew that wasn’t the end, and they continued working on songs, finding their musical language; a path that led them to Madremonte and a sound that imbibes cumbia, salsa, bolero, rock, zouk and champeta, music from across Colombia, from the Caribbean, its Pacific Coast and high into the Andes, all the while transposing these sounds to the dance floor.

Venezuelan aggressive guaguanco originally released in 1967 and reissued for the very first time. Frank y sus Inquietos is a little-commented Venezuelan treasure in our time, an amazing, almost unknown jewel of Venezuelan hard salsa, treasured with zeal by music lovers of all times. This group is evidence of the musical communion of the young Caracas of the late sixties with the sounds of the Caribbean in their nascent marriage with urban aggressiveness. As a result of these meetings of “friends who played instruments” such as congas, bongos, piano, timbales and their fiery discharges on the top floor of Block 3 of La Silsa, a building located in this humble and highly populated Caracas popular area, the repertoire of songs by the homonym Frank y sus Inquietos (1969), with an exquisite imagination and brimming with vitality, authentic vocals and choirs, overwhelming percussion, strong bass and fierce piano conducted by Frank González.

The best kept secret of the new album by El Dragón Criollo, the jewel in the crown, a song that, like the best of Latin music, comes with dynamite, gasoline and candela for the dance floor as well as reflective and sensitive with the reality of our countries, especially Colombia, where the oppressed are getting worse and worse and those from above always fall on their feet. But let's not forget that dance is catharsis and a good song is the key that opens our senses. "Sentencia " plays this wonderful role, not in vain has it been the last song on the album to be finished with this objective clearly in mind and verified before the release and, gentlemen, the dance floor does not lie. People get lost in this pure fantasy. "Sentencia " goes beyond the ordinary, it is the product of the countless styles that Paulo Olarte has perfected throughout his career as a producer, at a sound and musical level, it has innumerable elements that have influenced his entire personal life and that, without a doubt, comes to shake us with its extreme flavor. "La Número Uno" Dedicated to love and the dancefloor, hot as the earth, a song with the intention of transmitting the most authentic vibes of affection with movement and party. “La Número Uno” arises from El Dragón Criollo’s love for the four women in his heart. At the same time, it does not skimp on fanning the heat of the track. An arsenal of classic elements of champeta and Panamanian reggae from the 90s. The presence of the classic Casio Sk-5 and samples that you will recognize instantly if you are a connoisseur of this real sound, the kind that ignites the rumba in the neighborhood. It is a dedicated theme to fill the energy track while dedicating it to your number one.

Enigmatic group known for their song Cumbia Del Desierto on a 7-inch vinyl they share with El Dragón Criollo at El Palmas Music. This song was played with fury by music lovers and collectors around the world.

Well, beautiful people La Jungla is back with the melody in this mini album titled De Borondo!!! A cut of four songs where criticism, humor, experiences and good vibes are present throughout all the songs.