Saturday, January 27, 2007

Machito - Mambo A La Savoy

Machito played a huge role in the history of Latin jazz, for his bands of the 1940s were probably the first to achieve a fusion of powerful Afro-Cuban rhythms and jazz improvisation. At its roaring best, the band had a hard-charging sound, loaded with jostling, hyperactive bongos and congas and razor-edged riffing brass. Machito was the front man, singing, conducting, shaking maracas, while his brother-in-law Mario Bauzá was the innovator behind the scenes, getting Machito to hire jazz-oriented arrangers. The son of a cigar manufacturer, Machito became a professional musician in Cuba in his teens before he emigrated to America in 1937 as a vocalist with La Estrella Habanera. He worked with several Latin artists and orchestras in the late '30s, recording with the then-dominant Latin bandleader Xavier Cugat. After an earlier aborted attempt to launch a band with Bauzá, Machito founded the Afro-Cubans in 1940, taking on Bauza the following year as music director where he remained for 35 years. After making some early 78s for Decca, the Afro-Cubans really began to catch on after the end of World War II, appearing with -- and no doubt influencing -- Stan Kenton's orchestra (Machito played maracas on Kenton's recordings of "The Peanut Vendor" and "Cuban Carnival") and recording some exciting sides for Mercury and Clef. Upon Bauzá's urging, Machito's band featured a galaxy of American jazz soloists on its recordings from 1948 to 1960, including Charlie Parker (heard memorably on "No Noise"), Dizzy Gillespie, Flip Phillips, Howard McGhee, Buddy Rich, Harry "Sweets" Edison, Cannonball Adderley, Herbie Mann, Curtis Fuller and Johnny Griffin. Playing regularly at New York's Palladium, Machito's band reached its peak of popularity during the mambo craze of the 1950s, survived the upheavals of the '60s and despite the loss of Bauza in 1976, continued to work frequently in the '60s, '70s, and early '80s when the term "salsa" came into use. The band recorded for Pablo (in tandem with Gillespie) and Timeless in its later years, and was playing Ronnie Scott's club in London in 1984 when Machito suffered a fatal stroke.

Well here is for you latin jazz music at it's best from the university of Mambo music, thanks to Mario Bauzá, Machito and all the rest of the musicians who played on these songs.

Tracklist in comments.
Download link:


Mario V. said...

Profile: The Legacy of Mario Bauzá
by Bobby Sanabria
A lot can be learned by asking questions. Curiosity is the mother of man's inventiveness and knowledge; his or her teacher, so to speak. If one is lucky enough to encounter a person who has true life experience coupled with mastery in the arts, whatever discipline it may be, the effect is profound. The reason is because when you come upon such a person, he or she not only has the answers to questions — but can also illuminate and inspire you so that you may become an illuminator yourself. I have been fortunate to have come upon a few of these magical teachers in my short lifetime.

On Sunday, June 11, 1993, the world lost one such special person. Prudencio Mario Bauzá was a man who has yet to be recognized by his own community, even though he is arguably the most important figure in 20th century music. His career spanned over seven decades. In those seventy years he completely mastered the world of symphonic, Latin-American, pop and African-American music. In the words of master arranger-composer-trumpeter Arturo "Chico" O'Farrill, "he was a multi-instrumentalist, composer/arranger, bandleader and teacher. Therefore, he was a complete artist." But Mario Bauzá was much more than this. His unique perspective on life made him a very complex individual. He could be the humblest of human beings, yet he was not afraid to speak his mind and reveal the truth as only he could.

A prime example of this was revealed in a recent conversation I had with Mario's godson, Modesto Ubiera, where he told me of a trip that Mario and his sister-in-law, the great vocalist Graciela, made to Mexico, in 1984, to appear on Veronica Castro's show. When asked by Ms. Castro what he thought of Mexican television, Mario didn't miss a beat. He proceeded to tell her "...all I see here on your TV are people with blond hair and blue eyes. I thought the people of Mexico were of Native-American descent. Where have you hid them all?"

Mario's penchant for revealing the hypocrisy of the world around him was no doubt developed during his youth in the Cayo Hueso district of Havana where he was born on April 28, 1911. Cuba had finally rescinded slavery in 1886 (Chinese slaves, who were brought to the island to build the railroads, were the last freed) and people of color were still looked down upon. The utterly illogical practice of equating social status with skin tone was, as any "homeboy" would say, in full effect.

All great figures who have brought something positive to this planet have had, in turn, other figures who have illuminated them. For Mario, they were Arturo Andrades and Sofia Dominguez, Mario's "godparents", who adopted him and raised him. Hilario, Mario's paternal father loved him dearly, but times were rough for a black man in turn of the century Cuba. His wife Dolores was bedridden and his job as a professional baseball scout and trainer for Cuba's national team had him constantly travelling. To augment this income he would also do a little bit of cigar making on the side.

From Arturo, Mario learned the importance of respect for others, no matter what their social strata or skin tone. Mario always told me, "nationality is only an accident from above. You could just as easily been born in an airplane as in Japan, Greece, or Alaska. As long as you respect your fellow man you can have a dialogue with him and learn from each other. This is true evolution. My godparents were white from Spain and had adopted 14 children. I learned the beauty of culture through them even though when I would walk the streets of Havana I would see the horrors of prejudice. Arturo prepared me for my eventual coming to the U.S. by telling me 'you are educated. You are a gifted musician. You are eloquent, have high standards, etc. There is no place in the world that you cannot live and become a success. Never let anyone disrespect you or your legacy' ".

Besides being a strong moral role model, Arturo was also Mario's first music teacher. He was a business man but he also was a very good amateur musician who would teach local students the art of solfege (singing written music on sight). Mario would precociously listen in on these lessons. However, his musical education began in earnest the day Arturo found out that his godson, at the age of five, could play note-for-note on the piano all of his student's lessons. At the municipal academy of Havana his teacher was maestro Hugo Sian, an immigrant to Cuba from France who played clarinet with the Havana Philharmonic. Maestro Sian was an impeccable dresser and cultured individual who, although he was a classical musician, had a profound respect for both Cuba's musical heritage and his young clarinet and bass clarinet protege, Prudencio. The young Bauzá had a gifted ear. His strong early training in solfege, his discipline, confidence and amazing progress on both clarinet and bass clarinet impressed Maestro Sian so much that he sent young Mario, at the age of 9, as a substitute for himself, to play with the Philharmonic. His instructions to him were clear: present yourself to the conductor and tell him why you are there. Upon Mario's arrival he was instructed to be seated in the 2nd clarinetist's chair. Mario proceeded to tell the conductor, "I am sorry sir, but Maestro Sian sent me to play 1st clarinet — not second clarinet!" By the age of twelve he was a regular member of the orchestra, alternating between clarinet and bass clarinet. A year earlier he had been offered a full scholarship to study at the prestigious La Scala in Milan, Italy, — a breeding ground for young virtuoso orchestral soloists. Mario politely turned it down. He would tell me in private that because of the racial conditions in Cuba, he did not feel that he would be treated any better in Italy, "besides...for some innate reason, I did not see myself having a career in symphonic music. I wanted to see what life had in store for me."

In 1926 Mario was in a music store checking out some reeds for his clarinet. In the store was pianist Antonio Maria Romeu, a prolific composer/bandleader who's specialty was the elegant danzón — a Cuban hybrid music fusing the French contra-danse (a British court dance with Afro-Cuban rhythm). He had heard about the young virtuoso and struck up a conversation with him. Noticing that Romeu had some music with him, he asked about it. Romeu said it was a new composition of his which was rather difficult. Of course Mario asked to see it, took out his clarinet and immediately sight read it. "Romeu offered me a job right away. You should have seen the look on his face! I just laughed. His band was the first Charanga orchestra...he replaced the trumpet lead and brass oriented bands, that typically played the danzón, with wooden baroque flute and strings — but still retained the clarinet and bass clarinet. I knew he was well known and he travelled — that's why I took the job. Besides, he was constantly writing new things which, of course, were challenges to play — and I did my first recordings with him. The most important thing was that at that time I was listening to American music — jazz on the radio. Romeu got an offer to record in New York City for RCA and I got to come here to the states with him." RCA at the time was eager to expose Americans to Cuban music in a big way, and, in 1927, they picked the popular Romeu to be the orchestra to do it. Cuba was the playground for America's elite: gambling, prostitution and liquor were abundant and organized crime had begun to invest money into Havana's growing night life. Exposing America to Cuba through music was logical, but the choice of Romeu's music was an ill-fated one. America was in the midst of its so called "Jazz Age". Up-tempo music, the fast life and flappers dancing the wild Charleston were popular; as was the African-American music, jazz, that had come up north from New Orleans through Chicago, Kansas city, and St. Louis to New York, taking the world by storm. The elegant stylings of Romeu's newly created Charanga Francesa (a term used to promote the music in Cuba — the word "Francesa" added to give it a bourgeois air), although rhythmically intense in subtle ways, were not what Americans wanted to hear. But the eleven days Mario was in New York City recording with Romeu's Charanga changed his life and the course of American musical history.

Paul Whiteman was a bandleader par excellence who gave jazz a symphonic approach. He commissioned extensive works by the Gershwins to showcase this. He also employed unique soloists such as trumpeter Bix Beiderbecke and Frankie Trumbauer, a virtuoso on C-melody saxophone, cornet, and bassoon. While in New York City, Mario would attend the daily performances of the Whiteman orchestra and hear the newly commissioned Gershwin masterpiece "Rhapsody In Blue", which featured Trumbauer on C melody saxophone. Mario's growing hunger for the American black experience was completely satisfied. Here was an orchestra which combined classical technique while interpreting music of the American black experience. "When I saw Trumbauer play so beautifully I was completely amazed; the orchestration, the sounds... I went everyday to see all four shows. I had been hearing small group recordings by the Missourians in Cuba but this was on another level. I bought myself an alto and immediately began playing in show bands at the big hotels in Cuba when we got back. The other thing was Harlem's night life. My cousin, Rene Endreira, was a trumpet player and he lived in Harlem, so I got to see how black people had developed their own community in New York City. I had to return. That innate feeling returned to me. This is what life had in store for me. There were Latino's playing jazz in New York City then. My cousin, Rene, played for a band called the Santo Domingo Serenaders. It was a band made up of Dominican, Cuban, Panamanian and West Indian musicians playing jazz. I laugh when writers ask me what I think about the growing interest of this new generation of Latinos who play jazz. How can they when they don't even know that there were players before them doing what they profess to do now!"

Back in Cuba, the són, a form of folk music fusing Spanish troubadour styles with African elements, was slowly taking hold in Havana. In 1898, after the start of the Spanish-American War, the Cuban army travelled from the Eastern (Oriente) province towards Havanna, allowing the són to slowly overtake the danzón in popularity. By 1930 RCA made a second attempt to introduce Cuban music on a mass level to the U.S. public by contracting the Don Azpiazú Havana Casino Orchestra to record in New York City and make some theater appearances. As fate would have it, the Azpiazú Orchestra would sail on the same boat with a young 19 year old man determined to become a jazz musician.

Although RCA did record the classic Azpiazú version of the són-pregón (vendor song), "El Manisero" (The Peanut Vendor), the promo people at the recording giant did not have any inkling on how to market it. Although the orchestra was a big hit in New York City's Palace Theatre, how would the music go over in the South, midwest, etc? The saving grace was Louis Armstrong's version of "El Manisero" which became a hit. The Azpiazú version was soon released along with a blatantly racist film short featuring the orchestra which was shown in theaters across the country. A year later Xavier Cugat's orchestra would become the house band at the luxurious Waldorf-Astoria, exposing America's jet set to the subtleties of the tango, rumba, bolero and són.

Mario had told me that while all this was happening he was immersing himself in the "jazz" life". His first gig was with pianist Lucky Roberts playing house parties for Harlemites. Here he began to learn American pop tunes, jazz and blues riffs, and most of all "Black English." So much so, that when he returned to Cuba to marry his childhood sweetheart, Estella, the sister of Graciela and Machito,..."The passport people didn't believe I was Cuban, they thought I was Black-American because of my Harlem accent." Mario continued..."There were a bunch of Black latino musicians living in Harlem who were playing in jazz groups; Panamanians, Dominicans, Puerto-Ricans and, of course, Cubans. Alberto Socarras (the first flute player in jazz and Cuban to boot) and Juan Tizol (the puerto-Rican composer of Perdido and Caravan, and trombonist with Ellington) were all part of the scene." Mario would also do theater shows as well as Broadway pit show jobs. "Being a musician in those days was considered a dishonorable profession, so blacks were able to get into Broadway shows as musicians. I worked with Noble Sissle, Hi Clark and the Missourians, but the turning point came in 1931 when Machin, the singer for Azpiazú, needed a trumpeter." Machin's interpretation of "El Manisero" with Azpiazú had made him an attractive prospect to record as a soloist, but the Azpiazú Orchestra had left to go back to Cuba with Humberto "El Chino" Lara, the mulatto-Chinese-Cuban trumpet soloist. Machin had been offered an opportunity to record four tunes with his quartet. It was here that maestro Bauzá offered his services to Machin as a trumpeter. Mario explained to Machin that even though his instrument was clarinet, the trumpet was in the same key — B flat, he knew the style, he was Cuban, and, he had three weeks to develop some "chops" on the horn. Besides, Machin had no choice.

For 15 dollars Machin bought Mario a trumpet, recorded his four sides (two 78rpm's that are available on CD) with his Quarteto Machin, and, like an episode out of "The Twilight Zone", changed the course of one man's life and, in turn, history.

Mario transcribed Louis Armstrong, Lamar Wright, Bix Beiderbecke and Mugsy Spanier solos and studied the horn in earnest while still retaining his clarinet "chops." By 1933, he had not only become the lead trumpeter of what was arguably the leading swing band of the time, the Chick Webb Orchestra, but he had also mastered the musical language of black Americans. This is when he realized the secret of any music was phrasing and interpretation. Chick would rehearse with Mario alone and show him how to phrase a "blues lick" — interpret a passage by slightly bending a note or changing its color by attacking it differently to reflect black speech pattern. This has been the greatest lesson I myself as a member of the Afro-Cuban Jazz Orchestra have learned. Technique does not mean a thing unless it is coupled by proper interpretation. In my training as an arranger I learned to write in phrasing and dynamic markings into the written music. Mario told me..."You notice that I don't have that written in most of the parts of our book. The reason is that the pronunciation of each note is determined by the character of the piece and the character of the individual playing the lead chair in each section. That is why the bands of yesteryear were so identifiable." (Tenian su sello, as he would say.) "You could tell Basie from Ellington, Machito from Curbelo. Unfortunately, if you listen to our music today it is a sad state of affairs. All the bands sound the same, all the singers sound the same---mediocre. I learned how to pace music for dancers, how to lead a band, how to play lead. Chick was an incredible teacher and drummer. You want to see where Buddy Rich came from, listen to Chick. Buddy always used to come to Harlem to see Chick; he was one of the few whites respected by black players."

Mario was present when, in 1937, the Webb Orchestra totally annihilated the then "King of Swing" Benny Goodman at a legendary musical battle at the famous Savoy Ballroom. "Goodman had the most famous white band at the time, he had a hit with "Stompin' at the Savoy". I really wrote that tune in a way." Mario continued; "In 1927 I wrote a piece called Leona, the nickname I had for Estella because when she got mad she would look like a lion. Chick recorded it, but I told him to call it Lona so my wife wouldn't get mad. Edgar Sampson the arranger for us at the time liked it and asked me if he could just change it a little. I said sure, the result was Benny Goodman's biggest hit. I remember that not only was Krupa part of Benny's band, but he had Tommy Dorsey on trombone too. Anyway, (after the musical battle) Krupa goes to Chick like an embarrassed little kid and bows down to him with the sticks in his hand and, you're the king."

Because of the jealousy of certain band members, Mario would leave the band. But not before he introduced to Webb one of the most famous jazz vocalists of all time — Ella Fitzgerald. "An electrician heard her and told me about her. He worked at the Harlem Opera House, a small place next to the Apollo. I heard her sing downstairs in the basement where he took me to meet her. I knew she was the female vocalist we were looking for. I took her to meet Chick. He liked the way she sang, but didn't like her looks. 'She's too fat and dresses poorly', he said. I told him to forget about that, I'll dress her up, let me worry about it. We had no music for her, but we performed at a college dance at Yale University. She was an instant hit. and the rest is history. I read in jazz history books that it was Benny Carter that discovered her---bullshit! Let me tell you, Benny Carter got famous for playing saxophone and trumpet. You know why? He used to see me play trumpet with Chick and on some tunes I'd play clarinet. He got mad. He said you play trumpet too! So he bought himself a trumpet and I'd let him sub for me occasionally on a Sunday matinee show when the music that was played was not that difficult. He would practice the horn, and I would go to the ballgame."

During this time Duke Ellington was after Mario to join his band, but he continually refused. "I was tired and needed a break. I loved Duke, but his music was not the style I wanted to play." Mario would eventually replace Doc Cheathem in the Cab Calloway Orchestra. Calloway knew the potential of Afro-Cuban music and did record some Latin oriented music. In fact, Mario helped him put it together and Calloway can be rightfully credited with being the first to use Afro-Cuban percussion (Alejandro Rodriguez on bongo) in a strictly American Jazz band. Mario was now performing with the highest paid black band in the country. His bandmates were people like the legendary bassist Milt Hinton, who recalls how horn players were always asking Mario for tips on playing technique. He would again change the course of history by bringing the band John Birks Gillespie. "Nobody wanted to give Dizzy a gig, he was always joking around, but he was a serious player who I knew was way ahead of his time. I made believe I was sick and sent Dizzy in my place. I knew him from my days with Chick. I just told him, 'when you get a solo just be cool don't show off your brilliance.' Cab told me at the end, 'hey, the kid ain't bad'. I said, 'you don't know the potential this guy has. In ten years he's going to change the way everybody plays trumpet.' Cab just laughed and said, 'Good. You can babysit him then. He rooms with you on the road'!"

While in the Calloway orchestra Mario would play recordings of typical Cuban conjuntos for certain band members. The musicians would comment on how it sounded like hillbilly or country music. Mario would explain, "You're right it is country music, my country, Cuba. You laugh now but you don't know the potential this music has. One day there will be an orchestra that plays this music but with the same sophistication of any American Jazz Big Band." That day came when his brother in law Francisco Raul Guiterrez Grillo, aka Machito, collaborated with Mario and formed the Afro-Cubans. The seeds of the orchestra were planted when Mario was with Calloway. After he left Calloway because Calloway used foul language towards him for not using a mute during a certain passage, Mario worked with Fletcher Henderson. He would pick up gigs with Machito who was already an experienced sónero (one who sings són and can improvise in the idiom).

By now, Mario had ten years of experience as a top flight jazz lead trumpeter, studio and Broadway show musician. This, along with his show band work in Cuba and his symphonic background, gave him the tools he needed to create an orchestra that would revolutionize the then current approach to Cuban music. His experience observing how the Calloway operation was run gave him the knowledge on how to manage a big band, and his years with Webb gave him the disciplinary skills needed to run a "tight-ship". His contacts with the best musicians and the respect he commanded gave him access to club owners and top players. However, it was the disrespectful attitude the Calloway musicians had taken toward the music of his homeland that drove Mario to realize his dream. He had remembered his godfather Arturo's words..."Never let anyone disrespect your culture and the legacy you represent."

Much has been made of the relationship between Macho (as Machito was called by friends and family) and Mario. It has been jokingly said that if they had been buried side by side they would have gotten into an argument. The reality is that they were boyhood friends who loved and respected each other. The orchestra was a gift to Macho from Mario because of the love he had for Macho's sister Estella and the respect he had for the Grillo family. The moniker, the Afro-Cubans, was, in my opinion, one of the bravest acts in the history of the civil rights movement. Mario insisted on the name for the orchestra. "I am black, which means my roots are in Africa. Why should I be ashamed of that?" Mario used to tell club owners, 'You don't like the name? We don't play here!'" On December 7, 1941 Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, but the Afro-Cubans dropped a bigger bomb by being the first band of color to perform in a downtown New York venue, the Beachcomber. The Afro-Cubans were so versatile that they could play American swing music, read shows, and of course not only play explosive Afro-Cuban rhythms, but a myriad of South American styles.

The band was a breeding ground for every talented young player of the day. Musicians like Tito Puente, Joe Loco, Bobby Rodriguez, Jose Mangual, Ubaldo Nieto, Pin Madera and, arguably, the greatest arranger of Afro-Cuban music, Rene Hernandez, were all alumni of the Afro-Cubans. Mario continued to be the Martin Luther King of his day, speaking out on the hypocrisy of certain bandleaders who would only hire "white looking" players. The Afro-Cubans, through the efforts of jazz D.J. Fred Robbins, would be the first band of color to play in Miami in the 40's. Much has been said about Dizzy Gillespie's multi ethnic United Nations Big Band, but Mario had done it 50 years earlier with no credit or hoopla. The Afro-Cubans had Jews, Italians, Puerto-Ricans, Cubans, Dominicans, Panamanians, Irishmen, etc., as regular members of the orchestra — a practice that still continues today. Mario's only requirements? Be technically proficient and respect the legacy the music represents.

Besides these groundbreaking advancements in human relations, Mario, of course, brought new musical concepts to Afro-Cuban rhythm. The Afro-Cubans were the first group to use a complete battery of percussion (conga, timbales and bongos) simultaneously - an idea of Mario's. (Listen to "Nague" on the 1941 Machito CD: Tito Puente-timbales, Lorenzo "Chiquitico" Gallan-Conga, Bilingue Ayala-Bongo). The rich harmonic concept of jazz big band writing was thoroughly explored by the orchestra under Mario's direction through the performance and recording of extended works (1948 - the Afro-Cuban suite; The Original Mambo Kings CD). They were also the first orchestra to record rhythms in 6/8 meter reflecting Cuba's direct link to Africa.

In 1948 Mario would be partially responsible for the creation of the Palladium Ballroom when then owner Tommy Martin asked him to perform with the Afro-Cubans on a Sunday afternoon to help business. Mario promoted the dance with Fredrico Pagan and called it the "Blen Blen Club". Max Hyman bought the club, changed the name from the Alma Dance Studios to the Palladium and the modern mambo era was born. He helped launch the careers of Tito Puente by recommending him to perform at the Palladium and Harry Belafonte by backing him up with the Machito Orchestra on his first record date. Any time Mario would hear about a musician who was saying something unique on their instrument he would seek them out and recommend them for work. Names like Lew Soloff, Jon Faddis, Papo Pepin, Eddie Martinez, Ronnie Cuber, Jorge Dalto, John Purcell, Jerry Dodgien, Jerome Richardson, Paquito D'Rivera, Danny Turner, Richie Cole, Dexter Gordon, Cannonball Adderly, Bob James, are just a few Machito alumni.

Mario's greatest contribution, besides the fact that he brought our music into the 20th century, is the example he gave us through his very life. A life that triumphed over racial injustice to completely change the course of musical history. How you may ask? Mario took two distinct branches of an old African tree and brought them together — each shining brightly in their uniqueness, yet complementing the other to create the seed of the funk, rhythm and blues, hip-hop, and fusion rhythms of today. The music of Carlos Santana, Run D.M.C., Aerosmith, Frank Zappa and others would have not been possible if it had not been for this man. As Chico O'Farrill has stated "Mario, through his efforts married these musics. It was a new concept to incorporate as much richness in rhythm and harmony as possible; all bands, therefore that came after the Afro-Cubans were just followers."

After lacking acknowledgement for years from both the fields of jazz and Latin music, Mario finally graced the cover of Downbeat Magazine this year. A month later, on June 11th, 1993, at about 3 in the morning he asked his friend Yo Yo, a former singer for Xavier Cugat who had been staying with him in his convalescence, for a shot of whiskey to ease the pain of the cancer that had ravaged his body for about four months. He finally was able to go to sleep, never to wake up. He died at 944 Columbus Ave., the same apartment he had lived in since 1943. Just as he had seen the decay of the neighborhood around him, he refused to move. I would often see the "old man" at 106th and Amsterdam at the Cathedral Café (his office, as he called it) and would notice how even the local drug dealers and crack heads would pay him respect. Yet at the recent memorial tribute in St. Peters Church (New York City's jazz church), I looked around and saw many luminaries from the jazz and Latin world — but no young musicians from the "Salsa" scene. How can we even begin to ask for respect when we do not even respect our very own? Mario stayed as long as he could on this planet to remind us of the greatness of our common heritage. He taught me that we have more things in common than differences. Much has been written about the current crop of so-called "young lions" in both the fields of Latin and jazz (myself included). I, for one, don't believe the hype... it remains to be seen whether they understand the legacy they represent. If you want to find out, ask them if they know anything about maestro Bauzá and his contributions to our American musical heritage. If they don't, as a public service, explain to them what the "real deal" is. Believe me, you will feel a lot better and you'll be helping to stamp out ignorance in the world. Adios maestro

Snowbag said...

Quite the informative comment above. I just wanted to say thanks for the post.

Stevy White said...

thanks for sharing. I love popcorn and a lot of other oldies music. Therefor i'm sharing music for all music lovers on
take a look, i think you will like it.

thanks again and i hope that you continue sharing this kind of music

Stevy White

anita said...

Que Rico
Mambo Latino