Johnny Pacheco’s life told a typical New York Latino story in many ways: He was a Dominican immigrant who played Cuban music for a predominantly Puerto Rican audience. Like many self-proclaimed New York entrepreneurs, he knew he had to take his product to the sidewalk and meet his customers face-to-face to sell records from the trunk of an old Mercedes-Benz in Harlem and the Bronx.
Pacheco had worked on several variations of the son genre at Triton’s nightclub in the Bronx and made a name for himself by adding a hop and flashing a handkerchief while on stage to a hot new one, according to Juan Flores’ book “Salsa Rising.” The style of dancing was called Pachanga. Dreaming of starting his own record label (and in the middle of ending a marriage), he met Jerry Masucci, an Italian-American divorce lawyer with a taste for the Cuban sound. The two got on so well that they started a new record label called Fania, which housed the greatest talents of salsa.
Pacheco and Masucci’s experiment went beyond their wildest dreams. Using the streamlined term “salsa” that had surfaced years earlier in Cuba and Venezuela, Fania Records linked the Afro-Latin fad (think, “I like it that way”) with the remnants of Cuban sounds dulled by the radio silence the embargo after the revolution to create an international dance craze. Fania Records turned Puerto Ricans like Willie Colón and Héctor Lavoe, Cuban diva Celia Cruz, a Brooklyn Jew named Larry Harlow and a Panamanian troubadour named Rubén Blades into stars and spread the new Latin groove from Yankee Stadium to Kinshasa, Zaire.
Here are 15 examples of how Pacheco, who died this week at the age of 85, and his Fania cohort made music history.
Johnny Pacheco, “El Güiro de Macorina” (1961)
From his second album, “Johnny Pacheco y su Charanga”, this is a compelling distillation of Pacheco’s early Pachanga sound that shows the full effect of a Charanga-style Cuban orchestra heavy on flutes and violins. The relentless percussion embellishes texts that tell the story of a woman scratching the percussive Güiro instrument to the satisfaction of the narrator. If you can imagine Pacheco stepping on the downbeat quickly, witness the creation of salsa dance the New York style.
Johnny Pacheco with Pete ‘El Conde’ Rodríguez, ‘La Esencia del Guaguancó’ (1970)
Pacheco’s collaboration with the unrecognized singer Pete “El Conde” Rodríguez (not to be confused with Bugalús Pete Rodríguez) captures a more polished phase of his career. Driven by the guaguancó rhythm that was to become the template for salsa, Rodríguez’s angular, velvety rasp is reminiscent of Afro-Puerto Rican colleagues such as Ismael Rivera and Cheo Feliciano. Pacheco’s arrangements, which created a gentle flow between the piano and horns, quickly became the salsa sound.
Fania All-Stars, “Live at the Cheetah” (1971)
Pachecos and Masucci’s coordination of the Fania All-Stars, an inconceivably strong group of the genre’s emerging stars, was perhaps the single most important factor in salsa’s single-handed rise. This recording, which was made at the Cheetah Club, where Bugalú and the first production of “Hair” were shown before the Broadway run, includes long jam songs like “Anacaona”, a tribute to a rebellious Taíno leader powerful vocals by Cheo Feliciano, supported by Willie Colón, Larry Harlow and Ray Barretto, among others.
Johnny Pacheco with Celia Cruz, “Químbara” (1974)
Celia Cruz was already a star with Sonora Matancera when she left Cuba in 1960 and replaced the legendary La Lupe as Tito Puentes singer in 1966. Her collaboration with Pacheco on “Celia and Johnny” was key to making her the queen of salsa. Pacheco’s precise tempo and the evolving wall of sound made this guaguancó a dizzying, onomatopoeic expression of percussion instruments.
Héctor Lavoe, “My People” (1975)
Probably the most popular and talented singer in salsa, Héctor Lavoe was in many ways a symbol of the Puerto Rican experience in New York. His wistful, nasal singing style was reminiscent of a compatriot who at the same time lost himself in the big city and celebrated hell out of the city. The emotional power of Mi Gente, written by Pacheco, stems from his ability to bring New York’s diverse Latino community together to celebrate a dynamic self-esteem amid a grave financial crisis. The studio version is great, but the Live at Yankee Stadium version is the classic.
Willie Colón, “El Malo” (1967)
Willie Colón was born and raised in Mott Haven’s gravelly apartments in the Bronx. He recorded his first album at the age of 17, inspired by a sour, derisive tone that Barry Rogers gave to his trombone in his collaboration with Mon Rivera and Eddie Palmieri. Although there are many bugalú here, this is a scaled-down proto-salsa. Colón’s role in the invention of the salsa attitude by the “Malo” persona becomes clear here. The songs, which insist on Spanish-speaking, Latin American dancing authenticity, are filtered through a gangster-like heartfelt in the street fight.
“Our Latin Cause / Nuestra Cosa Latina” (1972)
This low budget 1970s film, directed by Leon Gast, has the grainy underground feel that later films like Charlie Ahearn’s hip-hop genesis “Wild Style” and Glenn O’Brien’s reconstructed post-punk fever dream “Downtown 81” has penetrated. The best visual record of Fania All-Stars rehearsals, club gigs, spontaneous Bembés and street party performances is also the African-hippie-fused wardrobe of the salsa dancers of the time. Just a few minutes later, on “Quítate Tu,” you can see Pacheco effortlessly master the diverse chorus of star singers as he conducts horns and percussion.
Ismael Rivera, “The Beautiful Faces” (1979)
Ismael “Maelo” Rivera’s sound, known in Puerto Rico as “El Sonero Mayor” (the greatest singer), was born from working with his childhood friend, drummer Rafael Cortijo. The Rivera Cortijo sound recontextualized the rustic bomba and plena genres by adding more instruments and flowed easily into New York style salsa. “Las Caras Lindas” comes from Rivera’s solo time with Fania – it was written by the famous songwriter Tite Curet Alonso and celebrates the beauty of Afro-Puerto Ricans.
Ismael Miranda with Harlow Orchestra, ‘Abran Paso’ (1971)
Harlow was a unique figure in the salsa scene – he was born and raised in Brooklyn, the son of a mambo musician who couldn’t get the Cuban sound out of his head. As a whiplash pianist, Harlow called himself “El Judío Maravilloso” (The Wonderful Jew) after his hero Arsenio Rodríguez, known as “El Ciego Maravilloso”. “Abran Paso”, sung by his favorite singer Ismael Miranda, is both an invocation of the Santeria mysticism and a metaphor for an aspiring Latino community.
Héctor Lavoe, Willie Colón and Yomo Toro, “Asalto Navideño” (1970)
This was a Christmas album with a twist – instead of tarnishing the Fania All-Stars to make salsa versions of “Silent Night” and “Jingle Bells,” Willie Colón and Héctor Lavoe decided to record classic Puerto Rican aguinaldos with some sort of bath Santa Feel New York. This album is inevitable over the holidays, when you’ve expanded the Puerto Rican family and balanced awe of tradition with an incredible sense of swing. A highlight is the first appearance of Yomo Toro, sometimes known as Cuatro’s Jimi Hendrix, a rustic 10-string lute that explodes out of vinyl.
Ray Barretto, “Indestructible” (1973)
Ray Barretto, the emotional percussive core of the Fania All-Stars, was a remarkably versatile conga player whose career ranged from bugalú to salsa, latin jazz to session work for the Rolling Stones. His mid-period excellence crystallizes in “Indestructible” riding unprecedented waves of frenetic dance energy. The title track describes a promise salseros make to themselves to keep getting up no matter how often they’re knocked down.
Rubén Blades and Willie Colón, “Siembra” (1978)
For many years, “Siembra” was the best-selling salsa album of all time and the highlight of the Blades-Colón partnership. The album is an attempt to combine a cinematic concept of New York Latino life with the idea of a classic rock concept album, and the performances are unique and immortal. As a songwriting team, the two had no competition; Blades was at the forefront of his singing, and Colón’s arrangements were never more brilliant.
Tommy Olivencia and Chamaco Ramírez, “Planted Bandera” (1975)
Another anthemic crowd-pleaser, “Plante Bandera,” alludes to the growing sense of nationalism and pride that brought salsa fans together, as well as the growing awareness of the Latino presence in the US and the projection of the salsa genre itself. Chamaco Ramírez’s sometimes overlooked plaintive style hits just the right notes, and the band’s percussive dynamics, punctuated by an insistent horn section, bring the lyrics to their maximum impact.
Rubén Blades, “Bohemian and Poet” (1979)
The multi-talented poet / troubadour / Hollywood actor shines here on his groundbreaking solo album and combines lyrical elements of the Cuban Nueva Trova with lush Colón orchestral salsa arrangements. With songs like “Pablo Pueblo” he defined the Latino theme of the working class, which became disillusioned with urban misery after being promised the American dream. In “Paula C” he recalls a lost love with the skill of a boom novelist of Magic Realism.
Ricardo Ray and Bobby Cruz, “Sonido Bestial” (1971)
Ray and Cruz were one of the most successful internationalization forces of salsa and spread the promise of their sound especially in countries like Colombia. Ray and Cruz are evolving from their Bugalú roots into mainstream salsa machines and have a following of rabid fans. This particular track offers a break based on a Chopin etude that is always a live crowd puller.
