When I meet Dan Zacks, the man behind the much-loved Waxing Deep radio show-turned-podcast and its spinoff Si Para Usted: The Funky Beats of Revolutionary Cuba compilations, he looks like an earnest, buttoned-down fella. Clad in a smart checkered dress shirt and thick-rimmed specs, the guy is working a Milhouse-chic vibe – evidence of his day job at a law firm. On first glimpse, he comes across as someone who’d be into virtuosic math rock, or perhaps a great aficionado of cerebral minimal techno.
You probably wouldn’t peg the polite, somewhat goofy Zacks as a guy who’s made it part of his life’s project to unearth unknown, mercilessly funky music from a tropical climate. Then again, one wouldn’t assume that the repressive regime of revolutionary Cuba — an environment where all cultural capital was religiously monitored — would have produced such a rich trove of innovative, cross-pollinated, dancefloor-ready tunes.
Zacks’ fascination with this paradoxical phenomenon inspired him to create the first Si Para Usted comp, which came out in 2007. And now, the Toronto-based wax fiend has produced a second volume, which builds on the template he established two years back. Where Vol. 1 introduced listeners to the legacy of state-funded music in Cuba (in the early years under Castro, musicians could apply to become employees of the government, earning a salary in exchange for conforming to certain rules), Si Para Usted Vol. 2 is full of work opposing that system.
“I started with the music I discovered after the first comp and didn’t have an opportunity to include in the first one,” Zacks explains, noting that his primary drive is to “share music that’s worth sharing.” But this time around, he wanted to shift his curatorial focus. “I was sensitive to the way people perceived the first comp as celebrating the Cuban revolution — it emphasized the positive aspects of that world, the fact that such great music was being created. I wanted to balance that out on the second comp by elucidating the more negative side of things, namely that musicians were packing up and heading to places like the US and Toronto.”
In Vol. 2, he explores the output of artists who were compelled to escape the strict doctrines of the Communist government, from early work by Juno-winning jazz piano ace Hilario Duràn, who now makes his home in Toronto, to “powerhouse” group Los Barba, who absorbed diverse stylistic influences through extensive touring, but never released a proper LP. (Tragically, several members were killed in a bus crash in the mid-’70s, but their former lead singer now lives in the T-dot area.)
From the engaging, meticulously researched liner notes to the smartly sequenced tracks, Si Para Usted Vol. 2 is a tremendous accomplishment. While Zacks radiates a clear sense of excitement at the thought of listeners engaging with these obscure tracks, he’s humble about the part he played in the process, insisting that he “doesn’t buy into” the mythology that often surrounds rarities compilations.
“I’m a record collector, and I used to work as a dealer, so I understand how people who work on these comps feel heroic because they’ve unearthed this stuff,” he laughs sheepishly. Still, he’s eager to rhapsodize about some of the more exciting discoveries he included on the album.
“I love the eighth track, ‘Andalucía,’ by Combo Los Caribe. At that time, you had a split between artists who were state employees and amateur musicians who didn’t have that support, guys who worked in factories and stuff. They’d play whenever they could, and they’d compete in these contests — the equivalent of a Battle of the Bands — and, often, the winners would get to record one of their songs. That’s how this track came to be. Nobody knows anything about this group, and yet they’re these incredibly talented musicians who’ve made an innovative song that shifts between Morricone-esque spaghetti-western themes and deeply funky breakdowns.
“And though there was no real drug culture in Cuba at the time,” he continues, “there’s some extremely psychedelic stuff. The Mirtha Y Raul track on the album (‘El Sueño De Andria’) is pretty trippy, but it was actually the theme song for a popular variety show at the time, like the Cuban equivalent of Sonny and Cher.”
Though totalitarian regimes are notorious for creating massive bureaucratic hassles, Zacks says the Cuban government’s control of so much revolution-era Cuban music was actually helpful when it came to gaining access to songs for his compilations.
“I mostly dealt with employees of the state record label, Egrem, and they don’t really care about who’s licensing out the music — it’s basically about how much money they can get. I’d like to say they feel friendlier toward Canadians because of our historical political relationship, but I don’t know that that’s true.
“I wish they were more capable of being cultural stewards of [their own] musical history,” he adds. “It’s unfortunate when you have labels who don’t respect the legacy of their catalogue. But on the other hand, I appreciate the ease it created for me. Still, it created a bit of an ethical dilemma, since I know that the musicians who made this music won’t see a penny of the proceeds.”
Now that he’s released two volumes of Cuban tunes, Zacks is ready to expose other unexplored subgenres. (His next project is a compilation of funk, jazz and psychedelic tracks from Israel.) Though Zacks notes that there’s a wealth of vintage Cuban work left to mine — specifically tracks recorded exclusively for TV and radio — he says he’s not prepared to go through the arduous process of picking through those dusty media archives (and paying off the authorities).
Still, he’s clearly pleased to have opened up so many listeners’ ears to the notion that Cuban music doesn’t begin and end with Ibrahim Ferrer.
“The success of Buena Vista Social Club made people more aware of Cuban music and more interested in Cuban sounds, but I think it’s actually bad for Cuban musicians, in a way. One of the only ways you make money as an artist in Cuba is to play for tourists — ’cause you get cash tips — but people come there expecting to hear Buena Vista Social Club stuff. That music is all pre-revolutionary, which means you have all these kids who are stuck learning their grandparents’ traditions and not moving forward.”