Cuba probably has one the richest musical heritages in the Caribian. Its incredibly diverse pantheon of styles is a mix of Mediterranean, Northern European and West African folk styles. The first two you might have been able to guess based on the island's colonial past, but you'd be missing an essential ingredient if you left out the third. Cuba under Spanish rule was one of the largest importers and exporters of slaves in the Americas. Further, it continued to rely heavily on slave labor for its agricultural output, decades after the slave trade officially ended in the rest of North America, surviving until it was finally abolished in 1886. However, just because you take someone away from their home, does not mean that they forget themselves or where they are from. Many of these displaced peoples managed to replicate the drums and other instruments that were used in their ceremonial forms of music back in Africa, including Arará, Abakua and Lucumi. These sounds made an indelible mark on the music of Cuba, and as the popularity of the island's music spread, so did the imprint of these sounds.
For a better part of the early to mid-20th Century, Cuba was essentially run as an organized crime ring under the auspices of General Batista, who governed the country with the aid of US bankers and mobsters whose main business was tourism. During this period, forms of dance music like conga and son were used to help create an exotic atmosphere in order to entice middle class Americans to come to Cuba, where they could live like kings for a weekend while they dumped a sizable portion of their savings (and/or company payroll) at a mafia owned casino. This is how the mambo became a punching bag in American media and synonymous with a gullible, white-bread and mayo fattened oaf, who lives for pleasure and is easily parted with his money. Ergo, the mambo became the sound that masks a wise guy laughing all the way to his safe. A dubious fate for any tradition.
Okate is seemingly an attempt to rehabilitate some of these wayward Cuban traditions by bringing them back to their African roots. The band is comprised of veteran Havana musicians who primarily perform variations on the rumba, but manage to integrate African spirituals and traditional forms of son as well. I'm pretty familiar with Afro-Cuban music as it often appears blended with Afro-beat, but what Okate is doing on their debut, self-titled LP feels radically different, and all together fresh. For starters, the first track, "Caridad" doesn't sound at home in a club, but instead seems to emanate from the street corner just outside, with its twisting rhythms, parched melodies, and choruses that calls out, begging for a response. " Chi Chi Ribako" sounds like you are witnessing a conversation across the centuries, beginning with one voice arching like an arrow shot into the sky, only to fall back towards terra firma in a hail of descendants represented by the response to the initial, sky-ward solicitation- all these points landing on the banks of a babbling bongo rhythm and salsa melody- sprouting, flourishing, and becoming a lush valley of tropical sound. "Gaston's Rumba" begins as a slow, ridged traipse that gradually gains speed and complexity to gradually develop a hypnotic rhythm. This pattern is replicated on the more avuncular "Na Na Saguey" to an undeniably trancey triumph.
I don't need to labor the point any further, Okute's self-titled is damn good. The band describes their sound as Havana unfiltered. I've never been, so I have no way of verifying this is true, but I'm thankful to have something genuinely Cuban as a reference point for the island's culture after decades of cringing at mambo jokes.