His black cowboy hat may be his most overt badge of kinship with the peasant farmers of Santiago de Cuba, but the musical purity of singer-guitarist Eliades Ochoa transcends any need for ostentatious display.| This fifty-two-year-old could step on stage looking like Dennis Rodman and never be mistaken for anyone but a master of traditional guajiro from eastern Cuba, as long as he was armed with his guitar and earthy tenor. Should he be traveling with the five musicians who make up el Cuarteto Patria, then look out! The resulting music would leave audiences slapping hands on tables, shouting themselves hoarse and cackling helplessly at stale jokes in a foreign language -- all of which actually happened at New York City's Bottom Line on Sept. 27. Though Ochoa wore his customary hat and ordinary garb, his clothes couldn't fool the audience. Everybody there saw Ochoa for the true stylist he is, and his performance masterfully combined fresh guitar phrasing with traditional folk songs.

Ochoa, whose already strong career has experienced a stateside boom ever since he appeared as a member of the Buena Vista Social Club, possesses enough plainspoken charm and guitar mastery to make every word from his mouth and note from his guitar seem inevitable. Which is to take nothing from his excellent band -- brother Humberto Ochoa on guitar, son Eglis Ochoa on maracas, William Calder=n on bass, Anibal Avila on claves and trumpet and Roberto Torres on congas. Like much Afro-Cuban music, guajiro is based on the clave rhythm -- five notes stretched across two bars of time. When played perfectly, the clave seems to shift during the song and the music twists and swirls around it with joyous exuberance.

From the opening moment of "Ay Papacito," the clave (played by Avila on two pieces of wood called claves) was bang-on. When Avila played trumpet, the ever-smiling Torres made the clave-sound with his mouth. Sometimes both of them clicked back and forth at one another, sounding like racing thoroughbreds with elaborately interlocking footfalls. The show was a rhythm-lover's dream as el Cuarteto played percolating sons, stately boleros and rolling guarachas.

With his eight-stringed guitar (a self-designed hybrid of an acoustic six-string and the Cuban tres) strapped to his upper body, Ochoa led them through most of his new album Sublime Ilusion, and four songs from 1997's Buena Vista Social Club. One of that record's best tracks, "El Cuarto de Tula," was given a rousing workout, with Avila braying madly through his trumpet as Ochoa dryly sang "Tula's bedroom, it's gone up in flames / Here comes Eliades amid the commotion / Hey Marco! Quick get a bucket / Call the fire brigade".

Through most of the set, the musicians looked to be having the time of their lives, which only fed the wildly enthusiastic audience. On "Carino Falso" ("False Love"), Eglis shook his maracas with jagged perfection. Later, during a brief maracas solo (who knew?) Eglis approximated the sound of a tap-dancing rattlesnake, after which Avila held one trumpet note for at least twenty seconds before launching into a bebop-like solo, delighting the already ecstatic crowd. Such standout moments were commonplace. The sexy "Pintate los Labios Marfa" ("Put on Your Lipstick Maria") blew up via a passionate call-and-response between Ochoa and band. As if being fine instrumentalists weren't enough, they sang together beautifully.

Through it all Ochoa maintained a farmer's steady, "seen-it-all-before" composure. When the audience cheered wildly, he said "Thank you, my family. Thank you, my brothers," in Spanish, of course. By the end of this lovefest, Ochoa and band returned to the stage and raised their arms in appreciation and wonderment at the congregation's ardor. Ochoa, who will be touring the United States again in January 2000, stood there stunned.

RODD McLEOD
(October 6, 1999)