Alto saxophonist and composer Miguel Zenón is best known for combining innovation with the folkloric and traditional music of his native Puerto Rico. Zenón has been prolific recently both as a leader {Sonero: The Music of Ismael Rivera (2020), The Law Years (2021), El Arte Bolero (2021)} and as a contributor on Ches Smith’s We All Break’s Path of Seven Colors (2021)}. On Música de Las Américas Zenón further broadens his scope in a wide-ranging project inspired by the history of the American continent (think North, Central, and South): not only before European colonization but the resulting aftereffects. Leading his enduring quartet – pianist Luis Perdomo, bassist Hans Glawischnig, and drummer Henry Cole, Zenón also tapped the Puerto Rican ensemble Los Pleneros de La Cresta to contribute their unmistakable rhythms with additional contributions by Paoli Mejías on percussion, Daniel Díaz on congas, and Victor Emmanuelli on barril de bomba.
Substantive inspiration for these pieces came from Zenón’s deep dive into history books and resources during the pandemic. For example, the opening “Tainos y Caribes” is also the title of a book by Sebastian Robiou Lamarche describing the two major societies inhabiting the Caribbean before European colonization: the Tainos being a more passive agricultural society while the Caribes were warriors bent on conquest. Beginning with Perdomo’s pulsating piano, Zenón is already flying upon entry, spurred on by Perdomo and churning percussion that pulls and pushes as the piece unfolds, reflecting the clashing of the two with the leader blowing as aggressively here as on any of the eight pieces.
As you might guess, “Navegando (Las Estrellas Nos Guian)” nods to the seafaring culture that existed in the region, with Zenón especially struck by how these “mariners” could sail ridiculously long distances in canoes guides only by star formations. Perdomo quietly begins, painting a calm aural seascape undisturbed by Zenón’s pure tones which gradually grow in intensity to the tricky rhythms of Los Pleneros de la Cresta who add their vocals to their percussion in the last section. “Opresion y Revolucion” rhythms are even more complex, as it evokes the tension and release of revolts on the American continent, mostly the Haitian Revolution, reflecting the influence of Haitian Vodou music which was at the heart of the aforementioned Ches Smith masterpiece. Percussionist Paoli Mejías and Perdomo’s percussive attack of the piano primarily shapes the turbulent undercurrent.
The initial pensive nature of “Imperios” traces to the leader’s admiration for the indigenous empires and advanced societies (vs. much of Europe at the time) of the Incas, Mayans, and Aztecs with melody derived from a ceremony of Aztec descendants. As with other pieces, this evolves in sections with Zenón and his quartet embracing a much livelier tempo midway before reprising the original melody of the piece as Perdomo displays his immense chops in his solo as well, all climaxing in a flourish.
“Venus Abiertas,” translated as “Open Veins,” references Eduardo Galeano’s book, Open Veins of Latin America: Five Centuries of Pillage of a Continent (English translation). Simply put, it’s about the Western exploitation of South America’s resources. Perdomo’s piano and accompanying percussion bring a stark, haunting quality that introduces the piece as Zenón quickly picks up on that mood upon his entrance but quickly builds his solo into one that evokes the frantic and panic that accompanies plundering as his alto screams.
“Bambula” is simpler thematically. Featuring percussionist Victor Emmanuelli, the term “bambula” refers to a dance that African slaves brought to the Americas, the same rhythm currently called “habanera” in Latin American music today, the thread of which runs from New Orleans to Brazil to Central America and back to Africa. “America, el Continente” is a not-so-subtle jab at the United States arrogantly claiming the term “America” while ignoring its neighbors on the continent. Zenón states the melody calmly, passing it then to bassist Glawischnig before rejoining in a more agitated mood, as the tempo increases and threatens to boil over, ending with a thunderous cymbal crash, after which the altoist speaks mournfully to spare backdrop. Yet, with “Antillano,” named for residents of the Antilles, Zenón brings his trademark ability to merge the past with the present, intent on closing the project optimistically. The tone here, unlike the others, is distinctively celebratory as Daniel Diaz on congas helps the quartet navigate some odd meters and shifting tempos while keeping the musical flow intact.
Lest there be any lingering doubt, Miguel Zenón is one of the most influential and innovative musicians of these times.
