Berkley Center

Having now passed the halfway point of my semester in Havana, the sounds of Cuban music—salsa, reggaetón, rap, jazz, rumba—will be among the things I miss the most. Musicians can be found everywhere. The front lobbies of hotels, clubs, and cafés, the Malecón (the seaside wall that draws Cubans and tourists alike at all hours), and the front steps of the University of Havana are all places where I have heard some incredible performances. Music is a tradition that every Cuban shares in, and there are few, if any, private or exclusive venues.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I wanted to learn more about the Cuban music industry and its many talented artists. Luckily for me, I happened to meet Iliana, an administrator at the Instituto Cubano de Musica with a soft spot for American students. After a chance meeting outside our residence, she invited a few friends and me to four concerts in the course of two days. The whirlwind experience of backstage access that followed gave me a fascinating glimpse into the intersection of Cuban music and the Cuban state. As an American student all too familiar with the lack of funding for arts education programs in our public schools, the difference in mentality of the Cuban and US governments quickly drew my attention.

In Cuba, young musicians in every genre are supported in their pursuits by the Cuban government. Beginning in primary school, Cuban students receive mandatory arts instruction in various mediums of the students’ choosing. From 7-9 years of age, students with demonstrated talent are able to test into the competitive music track. Students that successfully qualify receive intensive musical instruction in addition to their regular schoolwork and financial assistance to help cover the cost of instruments and instructors. Increasingly selective exams are administered at the pre-university and university level to continue distinguishing the best musicians. Musicians can begin applying for full time employment through the Instituto Cubano de Música and its affiliate state-run businesses following completion of the pre-university level of education.

These state-run businesses are specialized by genre, i.e. popular, campesino, and concierto. Artists that are picked up by a business are legally allowed to perform, earning various amounts for domestic performances, twenty percent of sales for foreign performances, or a state-paid salary if not currently under contract to perform. In this way the state has come to solidly support Cuba’s music industry and a number of its many artists. This support system differs drastically from the days directly after the revolution, in which many of the world’s most talented musicians were forced to work odd jobs to make ends meet. But now, since the tourism boom has made culture one of Cuba’s primary exports, the state has every incentive to contribute to the continued success of its musicians. The results of this investment are impossible to ignore. Cuba’s musicians are among the world’s finest, and they continue to innovate each and every day.

Okay, now for the elephant in the room. If the Cuban government is the lone source of funding for the arts, what happens to freedom of expression? Is an artist’s work really his or her own? Or do they become another mouthpiece of the revolution? To these questions, I have only the beginning of a response. The full range of Cuban music is incredibly diverse in its expression. Some artists genuinely love the revolution and proudly dedicate their music to it. Others avoid politics altogether and are just looking for the next popular hit. But most significantly, Cuban music has recently begun to give voice to dissident sentiments, without loss of government support. While I’ve only started learning more about this phenomenon, I do have some suggestions for further reading. This article from the New York Times is good for a quick overview and Cuba Represent: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures by Sujatha Fernandes is a good read if you have a bit more time.

I’ll miss hearing the sound of maracas, the guitar, the tres, and the myriad other instruments that have become a part of my daily life in Havana. Although my iPhone will be full of Cuban music when I get back home, hearing it through headphones simply won’t be the same. Fortunately, I still have a month and a half to aprovechar (take advantage of) and disfrutar (enjoy) the best that Cuba has to offer.