The Book of Salsa: A Chronicle of Urban Music from the Caribbean to New York City, and: Sounding Salsa: Performing Latin Music in New York City (review)

The year 2008 saw the publication of two books offering complementary perspectives on the Latin music popularly known as salsa—an English-language translation of The Book of Salsa by Cesar Miguel Rondón (first published in Spanish in 1980) and Sounding Salsa by Christopher Washburne. Discussing the history of the music, Rondón's study offers a macro-level perspective, while Washburne provides a micro-level, ethnographic view. Examining song lyrics as well as issues of national identity and grassroots transmission, these books will be of direct interest to folklorists.

For many studying salsa, Rondón's book has long been a primary source. It is the earliest historical compendia of the music, and this English translation is sure to be eagerly received. This first English-language edition includes a new chapter, which discusses the post 1980s history and examines salsa trends elsewhere in Latin America. The book's main argument is that salsa, which was made popular on the Fania record label during the 1970s, has its foundation in Cuban music but became a voice for Latinos, especially urban Latinos, throughout the Spanish-speaking Americas. While emphasizing the centrality of the Cuban legacy, Rondón takes into account other elements that have influenced the music—Puerto Rican rhythms, the role of Dominican and Venezuelan musicians in salsa's dissemination, and the significant contributions of the New York Jewish community, particularly the dancers who popularized it and the virtuosity of musicians like pianist Larry Harlow and trombonist Barry Rogers. Despite these varied influences, salsa remains a form based on Cuban music.

Setting aside its main thesis, with which I concur, this book is frustrating on several levels. First, it contains many errors of fact, some from the original text and some arising from the translation. Factual errors from the original and remaining in the translation include those of lesser importance—such as identifying Panamanian drummer Billy Cobham as being from the United States (El libro de la salsa, Editorial Arte, 1980, p. 99)—as well as more serious ones, such as identifying the term monina as being from the Yoruba Santeria tradition (p. 258), when it is actually an Efik word from the Abakuá tradition. Translation is an arduous task, but the many errors sprinkled throughout the book could have been avoided with better editing. For instance, while the original text referred to Pete Rodríguez, the translation added "El Conde" as Rodríguez's nickname (p. 28). There were two Pete Rodríguezes, one a Latin bugalú-era bandleader and the other, El Conde, a leading Fania soñero (improvising vocalist). The original text lists both Rodríguezes in the index, but the new one only has "El Conde," which confuses the identities of these two major players. In addition, "Guajira guantanamera" and "Bruca maniguá" are credited to Rafael Hernández, when they are in fact by Joseíto Fernández and Arsenio Rodríguez, respectively (p. 77). Even more confusingly, five lines after its initial misidentification, "Bruca maniguá" is properly credited to Rodríguez. Another concern with the text is the translation of the Spanish word vanguardia as "avant-garde"; "vanguard" would have been a far better choice. For example, the original text referred to musicians such as Eddie Palmieri and his group La Perfecta or Willie Colón as being in the "vanguard" of salsa, meaning in the forefront of a movement or style. This is true since both bands were highly innovative yet fit squarely in the genre of salsa. In the translation, this was glossed as "avant-garde," which can denote a particular genre, as...