‘Candyman’ reggaeton star isn’t sweet on Cuban government

'Candyman' reggaeton star isn't sweet on Cuban government
BY NORA GÁMEZ TORRES
ngameztorres@elnuevoherald.com

The so-called "father" of Cuban reggaeton — known by his fans simply as
"Candyman" — has nothing sweet to say about the Cuban government.

The Santiago de Cuba artist, whose music was silenced in official
government media outlets, is now an openly critical voice of the Raúl
Castro government as an active member of the opposition group Unión
Patriótica de Cuba (UNPACU).

How Rubén Cuesta Palomo — an artist with sexually explicit songs like El
pru that generated a wave of moral panic among the island's cultural
elites — came to be the pioneer of confrontational reggaeton, shares a
common thread among those who clash with the system in Cuba.

After recording a version of a song titled Señor oficial by Puerto Rican
singer Eddy D, which criticizes "the police siege of the youth in
Santiago de Cuba," the Cuban musician said he was censored for eight
years, but never received an official notice of the ban.

"They never tell you but you come to realize it because you are no
longer hired to perform; you get vetoed," Cuesta said earlier this week
during a visit to Miami, his first in the United States. "The censorship
was lifted after eight years but I continue dragging that chain."

Cuesta believes the government and state cultural institutions are
engaged in a battle against the genre, particularly in Santiago de Cuba,
with precise instructions to music promoters on how much local reggaeton
can be played at their events, just two percent per night. An official
with the Cuban Institute of Music publicly stated that "Santiago de Cuba
is the capital of son, not reggaeton," during a meeting with local artists.

Why would the Cuban government declare war against this musical genre?

"Because reggaeton is liberal, it says what it wants, what it thinks.
Reggaeton does not keep its mouth shut," said Cuesta. "They know that
culture, the arts, is the most dangerous weapon they can have in their
own yard, because they can't take an artist and beat him up for singing.

"They can do it with a dissident, or a homosexual, if they do something,
like making a scandal in the streets," he said. "But if an artist makes
a scandal in the streets they treat him differently."

The moral crusade against reggaeton, which has kept cultural policy
makers busy for the past 15 years (with the support of middle-class
professionals worried about the impact this music might have on their
children) shrouds the real issue, Cuesta said: intolerance.

"People are not prepared for tolerance of anything," he said. "We're not
used to anything; in Cuba there are many taboos."

This is not the first time that the Cuban government has waged battle
against genres it considers to be "ideological deformations,"
"pro-imperialist," "vulgar" or even exudes a feeling of, "little
enthusiasm."

But reggaeton has symbolized a greater threat to socialism on the
island; not only because of lyrics classified as obscene but, above all,
because of its massive popularity and messages that revolve around
consumption and material desires. Those topics are far removed from
revolutionary ideals and dangerously subversive in the context of
scarcity Cubans are experiencing.

As an artist, Candyman admits he was "indignant" about being censored
and wants to use reggaeton as a vehicle to issue radical messages
against the government. That in is line with the UNPACU strategy, an
organization he came to know through a relative who has been an active
member for years.

"Our goal is to show the youth of Cuba, who are dreaming of coming to
the United States and abandoning their homeland, that they don't need to
leave and forget about the problems in Cuba. Rather, we have to fight
from within. We must change Cuba," he said.

The musician recently resigned his membership from Santiago's Provincial
Music Center to protest what he considers political discrimination.

"They demoralize you," Cuesta said, referring to government officials.
"During carnival festivities I got contracted for a single concert for a
measly 4,000 pesos (about $145)."

Other reggaeton artists with professional stature can charge as much as
20,000 pesos (about $725) per concert, even though all performers must
pay a 30 percent tax on their income.

With an artistic career that spans 24 years, the 40 year-old father of
two girls stands out for fighting against what he calls "geographic
fatalism."

"The artists of Santiago de Cuba have always been vetted by a
regionalism that strengthens the regime," Cuesta said. "It's a
diabolical strategy."

According to his own observations, the Cuban government is more tolerant
of nightlife in the capital city of Havana, but the same is not true for
the city that has been dubbed as "the cradle" of the revolution.

"In Santiago de Cuba it is not because it is the capital of communism,
the last bastion they have," he said, adding that as with "every
cultural trend that is liberal...they try to extinguish the willingness
of artists so that they either abandon the art or leave to the capital."

With few spaces to perform and limited outlets for promotion, the
Santiago artists who define themselves as "underground" find it more
difficult to compete with the nationally recognized reggaeton stars, the
majority of whom operate from the capital. In Havana, tourism has
generated discos and nightclubs where this music has proliferated, and
that city is also where the major record labels and home recording
studios are found.

From the musical point of view, Candyman does not distinguish between
hip hop and reggaeton, although many rappers have been critical of the
latter.

"Rap, reggae and reggaeton are the same thing, what changes is the
compass but they all have the same essence," the musician explained,
referring to the influence of Caribbean music in Cuba's eastern region
on reggaeton.

UNPACU, the dissident organization, has tapped into the popularity of
the genre to spread government opposition messages via recordings
distributed by supporters. Having a popular reggaeton artist like
Candyman take part could contribute to the emergence of a subgenre
within Cuba.

"Every day more and more Cuban youth get together to express their true
feelings; they are realizing that time is running out for the regime,"
said Liettys Rachel Reyes, another young artist and UNPACU activist who
has joined the confrontational urban music scene with the son Hay un pueblo.

Reggaeton artist José Manuel Berlo, better known as "Mucho Manolo" has
also joined this trend.

"I've always been an advocate for the roots of the genre. Reggaeton and
urban music rise from the barrios and its essence is to touch on these
issues, too; to highlight the problems that are around you," said the 27
year-old singer. "Why, if I can make a song talking about love, can't I
make a song talking, for example, about a man who is collaborating [with
the government]?"

Both Liettys and Mucho Manolo, who were visiting Miami with Candyman,
said their aspirations are to enjoy the same freedoms experienced in the
U.S. in their own country.

With the typical nonchalant attitude of many artists of this genre,
Mucho Manolo summarized Cuban cultural policies in relation to reggaeton
this way: "We are in 2016 and these people are still saying, 'Let's ban
reggaeton.'

"Look at the world we're living in, a world where people are figuring
out how to get to Mars and you are concerned about banning a musical
genre?" he questioned, referring to the Cuban government. "You guys are
burned out."

REPORTER MARIO J. PENTÓN CONTRIBUTED TO THIS STORY.

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