Stri king ChordsHAVANA, Cuba May:18, 1999

THE REHEARSAL

By Paige Evans

By the time I meet Zenaida Romeu in person, i’ve twice seen her conduct,with passionate intensity, the outstanding women’s’string orchestra shenamed La Camerata Romeu in homage to her legendary family Of musicians;I’ve heard Cubans of :all stripes proudly extol her talents, as well as those ofthe nine young women she masterfullY leads; and I’ve read a stack of ravereviews from around the world lauding her extraordinary string group ontheir international tours.

When she founded La Camerata Romeu six years ago, Zenaida hoped totumble taboos about classical music, and project an image of Cuban womendistinct from that usually seen by the rest of the world. She wanted to presentclassical musicians endowed withyouth, sensuality and boldness and Cubanwomen equipped with strongprofessional training. She planned to celebrate,through an eclectic repertoire, the richness and variety of Cuban music otherthan salsa music that moved people’s emotions and intellects, rather thantheir bodies. And she:hoped, with all these different elements, to attract adiverse audience.

Shortly before noon Monday, I arrive at Old Havana’s Basilica de SanFrancisco de Asis, the 16th-century former convent that was a home for desti-tute workers’ widows and a post office earlier in Cuba’s communist regimeand now serves as La Camerata’s base. The domed roof and rounded backwall of the basilica’s cupola were blown off 50 years ago by a hurricane; a flatback wall painted with a faux-dome now stands in their stead. On a stage infront of the simulated cupola, two young women, whose fresh faces and bluejeans suggest adolescence rather than professionalism, are gathering chairsand music stands into a semicircle for rehearsal. One .of them, a chocolate-skinned, dimple-cheeked lass whom I recognize as a violist for La Camerata,holds up a loaded key chain, selects a key and mutters: "We have not triedthis room yet. If we are lucky, we will find one chair there. What a pain!"

A pallid wisp of a violinist with a permanent crimson mark on her jawpractices for the sultry, Mediterranean-featured second violinist, one of thethree founding members who remain in La Camerata. The coffee-skinned,frazzle-hairedbassist,LaCamerata’s eldestmusicianbyfar at 33, examinesapage ofthe Cellist’s sheet fnusic and marks her own accordingly. The cellist, who has cara-mel skin and almond eyes, rubs the upper arm of the pale, pout-m0uthedfirs.t violinist, as the two gossip about their weekends. And slumped in anearbychair, her lanky legs and platform boots extending for miles, a spec-

tacled, pitch-skinned violinist grumbles about not hav-ing a day off.

Just as the church bell strikes noon, Zenaida Romeustrides into the basilica. I’m relieved to see that, thoughshe exudes confidence and determination, Zenaidaseems more approachable without the silk suits and heelsshe wears for concerts. Her close-cropped blonde hair,pixyish features and bright smile .give her an appealing,childlike quality. She introduces herself to me warmly,kisses my cheek and exclaims in a raspy, high-pitchedvoice: "What a fantastic morning! I went with the Phila-delphia Boys’ Choir to a music school just outside Ha-vana. The Cubanmusic students played for the PBC, andthe PBC sang for the students. It was a true cultural ex-change! Each of them offered something to the other,and all of them were fantastic! Fantastic!"

A matronly lady with a pinched expression ap-proaches Zenaida; inhushed tones, the two have a heateddebate. When the woman stalks off, Zenaida gesturesdisparaginglytowards the stage and tells me: "She refuses tomove those two big angels! She administers this building,and she says they are very valuable. I would not mindjust the paintings, or the Christ alone --" Zenaida waves

towards amammothcrudfixhanging above the stage. LargeChristianoilpaintingsadornthewallsandman-sized wingedangels stand on either side of the bleak, bleeding-heartedChrist. Shaking her head in aggravation, Zenaida pro-nounces: "All of this, though, it is just too much!"

With a shrug, Zenaida’s irritation seems to evapo-rate. Flashing an impish grin, she says: "I cannot com-plain too much. The Historiador de La Habana the re-nowned architect who has masterminded the impres-sive renovation of historic buildings throughout OldHavana- "has been very generous with us. He offeredus this space as a concert hall. The acoustics Here are thebest in Havana, though they are still not good enoughfor whatwe need. Theywere better originally of course,before the cupola was destroyed. The Historiador’s of-rice also gave the girls motorcycles to ride to and fromrehearsal. But he is a human being, like the rest of us,and none of us is perfect. He decided to make this a reli-gious museum, as well as a concert hall, and he put allthose things up on the stage."

Pulling her conductor’s baton and a sheaf of wornRussian sheet music from a tidy black bag, Zenaida beck-ons the nine musicians. The young women settle into

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ten for La Camerata by the Cubancomposer Juan Pinera. As theybegin the piece’s poignant"Minuet" second movement, ajackhammer’s machine-gun reportblasts through the basilica, Rais-ing her voice above the clamor,Zenaida works through a series ofshort, echoing solos with the firstviolinist (who repeats her solo be-grudgingly but plays it more mas-terfully each time), the cellist anda violist. Loudly, Zenaida.urges theviolist: "Yourpartis different.Youarelamenting. Yours is the most interiorof the three." Though she looks atZenaida blankly and seems not tohave understood, the violist man-ages to infuse her part with aheart-wrenching sorrow.

In rehersalmZenada with her baton and the musicians with their instruments.

the semicircle of chairs surrounding her, still chattingamong thernselves. The cellist hushes the violist besideher, who has been talking ceaselessly; the violist play-fully pokes thecellist with her bow. With their dividedattention, Zenaida moves efficiently through the day’sbusiness: whose friend can make photocopies of a newscore, which;unifdrrn they will wear in Saturdayevening’s back:to-backl concerts, what pieces they willplay. When Zenaida suggests programs, two of the mu-sicians object. While heeding their arguments, Zenaidaguides the young women firmly, and they quickly agreeon programs for both concerts.

-At Zenaida’s instruction, the musicians launch into"Pequena Suite Cubana," by the 20th-century Cubancomposer Favio Landa. Abruptly, they transform fromgangly girls to professionals: they play with formidableconcentration, precision and technical skill. But soon af-ter they begin the piece’s first movement, a Habanera (aromantic song with a tango rhythm); Zenaida hushesthem and directs: "This is not a hymn! Give it more life,more movement!" The musicians begin the piece again,this time with a more sensual swing. Zenaida conductsthem with a jaunty swoop of her baton and tilt of herhead. As the music sweetens and trembles, her forearmquavers, and her features ache with tenderness, Duringthe piece’s Afro second movement, which captures theforceful polyrhythms of Afro-Cuban syncopated percus-sion, Zenaida commandingly claps her hands andstamps her foot, marking the tempo. And in the Ritmothird movement she uses precise, sharp gestures to con-duct the musicians’ crisp plucking of strings.

Next, they practice "Suite Peregrina," a piece writ-

The jackhammer’s din growseven louder, more insistent. Exas-perated, Zenaida spins aroundand protests: "This is intolerable!"

One of the basilica’s staff shuts the building’s heavy frontdoors. This muffles but does not completely block outthe construction racket. Using formidable concentration,the nine youngwomenplay Suite Peregrina’s four move-ments through with flair and finely calibrated emotion.At the piece’s end, dropping their instruments from chinsand chests, they exchange satisfied grins and glances.

When the rehearsal breaks, the young women talkanimatedly and start to put away their instruments. Asthey prepare to head off for the Cupet, a nearby corpo-ration that feeds them lunch free of charge, I: remindZenaida I need to photograph them for my article. Aflurry of primping ensues: the women borrow mirrors,apply mascara and rouge, trade lipsticks. I hover, mor-tified they’re making such a fuss for me and my rinky-dink instamatic camera. Centuries later, when they’vefinished preening and unpacking their instruments,Zenaida and the youngwomen line up beneath the loom-ing crucifix. I try to fit Christ into the frame but can’tmanage it and so shoot:a quick series of photos withouthim. Before the final photo, a violinist calls out "Cheese!"This inspires a joking volley of English words andphrases ("Hello! Come on, baby! My friend! Onemoment, please!"), as the musicians head off to lunch.

THE INTERVIEW

Seated on a pew in the basilica’s tranquil courtyard,I ask Zenaida a series of questions about herself, Cubanmusic and La Camerata Romeu. She is friendly, directand articulate in her responses. This is what she tells me:

"These early rehearsals are for getting to know the

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pieces, laying the groundwork. The creative partcomes later in the rehearsal process, when we canenjoy the different things the music inspires in us.These feelings are then communicated to the audi-ence when we perform. If you want the audience toreceive something, you must create it beforehand.Sometimes rehearsals are more relaxed and disorga-nized, like today’s. But sometimes, I carry a knife. Itdepends how much pressure we are under.

"We have three new members in the orchestra.Each time a new girl joins, we have to start over again,rehearsing all the pieces in our repertoire. It iS hardfor all of us. Later this afternoon, one of the moreexperienced girls will work with the new violinist onpieces for Saturday’s concert.

"I have lost many orchestra members over theyears. When we travel to other countries, the girlsget good offers, and they stay. I have to replace them.Two years ago, I lost my first violinist whenshe mar-ried a man who lives in New York City. I was terri,bly worried, as I did not only have to find a girl whOplayed well, I had to find a leader. I was lucky. Thegirl I found to replace her is working out fine.

"WhenIamlookingfor anewmemberofthe orches-tra, Ihold apublic audition. I donotjustlistento themusi-cians. I watch them. I believe an audience comes to seemusidans perform, not just to hear. I look for girlswhocarry themselves .well, who are confident, I ask them toplay both Cuban music and universal music. I mix LaCamerata’s programs, between classical music fromaround the world and more contemporary music fromCubaand otherparts ofLatinAmerica.Myaudience likestohear familiarpieces. AndIwantto showthemthe greatwealth ofCubanmusic.

"There is no single idea or aspect that distinguishesCuban music. It is a combination of rhythms, accents andsonorities. Cuban culture has many different roots andinfluences. Spain is the primary European influence, ofcourse. And Africa. These are the two most importantelements. But there are also elements of French culture,and Italian, English, Chinese. Cuban Culture combinesthese origins, but it has a new, distinct quality a qual-ity all its own. Like a son. He can be something like you,but he will never be exactly like you. He is a combina-tion of his parents and an individual in his own right.

"Oftentimes, when the girls come to La Camerata,they have not played much Cuban music. They are well-trained in classical music, but they are required to playjust one piece of Cuban music by the time they graduatethe Instituto Superior de Arte’[ISA]’m Cuba’s most im-portant university-level arts’ school. "Can you imaginethat?! Only one piece of Cuban music in their entire edu-cations! Many girls come to us straight from the ISA.And two of our musicians are still in the Escuela Nacional

Christ looms above them in the Basilica

de Arte" Cubas most renowned high school for thearts. "Sometimes, they have played in school orchestras.But the discipline of a professional orchestra is entirelydifferent. It is much more rigorous,

"I was the first woman to graduate from ISA in or-chestral and choral direction, No one made it difficultfor me. As you know, there is no discrimination againstwomen in this country. People were more curious aboutme than threatened by me, They said ’Oh, a woman Iwonder how she will do.’ I decided to be a choral direc-tor at age 18. I was lucky to have an excellent teacherfrom Hungary. She taught me how to express myselfwith my hands. I studied with her for four years. I stud-ied orchestral direction for five years’in the universityafter that. Eight or nine women have graduated in or-chestral direction since I did. Being a woman conductoris no longer unusual here in Cuba.

"I started out as a pianist. Most of us in our familyare musicians. When I was little, I heard my uncles, my

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cousins and my grandfather playing music. I heard allsorts of stories involving music and musicians. Of course,this had a big influence on me. My mother was a pianoteacher. One day, when I was five years old, I asked her:’Why are you giving classes to everyone and not to me?’She began teaching me that same evening.

"Cuban musicians are better trained than manymusicians in other countries, because there is a systemfor musical education here. We have good arts schools,which begin at a very young age. This system of artsschools was set up after the Revolution, but there werealso excellent private conservatories here in Cuba be-fore. Unfortunately, the quality of the musical educa-tion here has suffered in recent years; many of our bestteacher have gone to other countries. Many of our bestmusicians have also left the country. There is a sym-phonic orchestra in Spain that is 90 percent Cuban. Somany Cuban artists were moing to Mexico that theMexican government stopped granting visas to Cubans.

"Today our music schools do nothave teachers, theydo not have instruments and they do not have othermaterials. But they have students! During the periodo es-pecial" five years of austerity that began in 1990, whenhefty Soviet subsidies to Cuba collapsed "we beganto have more and more music students, who were de-termined to learn. This determination helps make themgood. It is as if you clear a section of bare, dead earth,and you say: ’I dare anything to grow here.’ And yetthings grow. It is incredible how things grow!

"Concert audiences also changed during the specialperiod, Before the Revolution, only older, wealthypeoplewent to hear music like ours. Then all those people leftthe country. Still, only older people went to this kind ofconcert. You would look across the audience and see onlygray heads. But during the special period, youngerpeople began going to our concerts, in search of alterna-tive ways of living. You do not know how these peoplefeed themselves, how they manage to find clothing. Butthey come to see concerts. I cannot tell you how manypeople have come up to me after a concert and said: ’Ifeel so good now. You have helped me to keep on liv-ing.’ It is very moving, to hear that.

"I find this a testament to the strength of life. Withthe material necessities facing us every day here in Cuba,spiritual life is essential. Before people solve their mate-rial problems, they turn. to the spiritual. The arts fulfill avery real, profound need for them, a need to find an al-ternative way to survive.

"LaCamerata, too,hasveryrealnecessities.Wehave dif-ficultie getting thebasic things weneed in order to perform.For example, it is almostimpossible to get sheetmusichere inCuba. Friends and other people who want to help send it tous from other countries. When we do.manage to get a newscore, it is difficult to makephoto copies. Wecannot afford it!

So we rely on a legion of friends with photocopiers in theiroffices to make them for us.

"Our cellist, Maylin, who is in her final year at theISA, hitchhikes 40 kilometers every day between schooland rehearsal, because the motorcycle the Historiador’soffice gave her broke down six months ago, and still theycannot get the new parts for it. Her cello, which the Mu-sic Museum kindly lent us, cracked when we played inBolivia last year- and still it has not been repaired.Three of the girls are now playing instruments of infe-rior quality. One of the violists has a particularly badinstrument, a Chinese-student viola. She needs a newinstrument. But a good viola, if we can find one in Cuba,costs around four thousand dollars. That is a low priceinternationally it would be a joke in the rest of theworld. But we do not have that kind of money.

"I dream, too, of having a fund for commissioningnew works. Now, when a composer writes a piece forLa Camerata, he does so as a gift. For our fifth anniver-sary concert last December, all the pieces we performedwere written for us as gifts. I would like to pay the com-posers, butwe do nothave the financial resources neededfor commissions.

"Our salaries, as you know, are very low. For themoth, the girls make one hundred forty pesos [about$7.] We can make more money performing internation-ally, but even then we make less than we might becausethe group or institution sponsoring us has to pay ourairfares, Often, when an orchestra travels, an airline willdonate their tickets. But Cubana cannot afford to do this.So the people producing our performance have tO coverour airfares as well as our accommodations and food. Itis very expensive for them. And our pay is reduced as aresult. We have traveled twice to the. United States, butthere we are paid only enough to cover our daily ex-penses. Because of the embarg0 we cannot earn dollarsto take back with us to Cuba."

While recounting these significant problems andchallenges, Zenaida’s tone remains matter-of-fact, herdisposition surprisgly chipper. It is only when I askwhether their gender affects how La Camerata’s womenplay and create together that she scowls, and her toneturns dour. She growls: "The fact that we are womendoes not influence our art. This is an artistic thing. It isnot a sex thing." I have confoundingly received this sameresponse from every woman musician I’ve interviewedin Cuba a country where, though gender discrimina-tion was officially abolished with the Revolution, ma-chismo still rules.

THE CONCERT

Shortly before La Camerata’s first concert Saturday,I find Zenaida in the courtyard of the Basilica de SanFrancisco, peering anxiously into the half,empty concert

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hall. "I did not do any promotionfor this concert," she la-ments. "We have the other concert at the Amadeo Roldanlater tonight, and I figured the radio and television were al-ready saturated, with allthe performances we have donerecently. And now look- there is no One here!"

Glad tobebearing goodnews, I tell Zenaida that a friendand patron of the arts who saw La Camerata perform whilevisiting Havana will donate 4,000 dollars for a new viola.Zenaida’s face lights up beatifically, and she intones: "Whatwonderful news that is! Whatwonderful, wonderful news!"Then, looking at me intentlyas if fully registering me for.the first time, she questions:"Howmuch longer will-yoube here in Cuba, Paige? Doyouhavemanyfriendships?Doyou feel alone?" This Cu-ban ability, to touch deepemotional chords stuns me::howcanshe tell? Thoughnot-.usually prey to homesick-ness, I’ve felt a potent yearn-ing to. visit home sincesoledosefriendhere, Clarice,was expelled from the coun-try. ’:Look!" Zenaida cries;

happily, nodding :towardsthe now-full hall.-we havean audienceV....

The house is filledwi[h Cubans and foreign-ers of all kinds: collegestudents, professionals,young parents with tod-dlers, elderly couples and their adolescent grandchil-dren. The audience breaks into appreciative applauseas Zenaida enters, and the musicians looking older instylish cream-colored suits, and heels, their hair pulledneatly back settle into their semicircle of chairs. Step-ping forward, Zenaida announces: "For Mother’s Day,we would like to dedicate this concert to the mothers.The women who bring us up and lead us through-theworld, not just in our childhoods, but until we are menand women." Her voice, projected through the hall with-out a microphone’s amplification, rings with understatedemotion.

The concert begins with classical pieces by-Bach,Albinioni and Vivaldi, which the musicians play withrigor and impressive technique. As always, they performfrommemory, without music stands or sheet music. Thisopens them up to each other and their audience. Coupledwith their youth and lovely appearances, t gives them a

striking stage presence.

In the program’s second hall La Camerata performsmore contemporary works by’Cuban and other Latin-

American composers. During Rafael Landestoy’s vibrant"DanzaLoca" ("Crazy Dance"),the musicians tap theirfeet, slap their instruments’ bellies and backs and vocal-ize percussive sounds. While thwacking her inferior in-strument, the dimple-cheeked violistcatches the cellist’seye, and the two break into merry grins. Conductingthem, Zenaida moves more freely than she did earlier,her bodyseemingly loosened by the music’s heat andspirit. She smiles, then laughs. Three musicians gigglein response. I’ve never before seen an exchange like thisbetween conductor and orchestra.

La Camerata Romeu takes a stand

At concert’s-end, the audience springs to its feet,cheering and applauding enthusiastically. Zenaida andthe musicians at first look pleased, then embarrassed bythis reception. They play four encores, each of which in-spires an extended standing ovation. La Camerata finallyleaves the Stage just 10 minutes before their second con-cert is scheduled to begin.

On the street, as her husband struggles to stuff thebass into the back of the mini van that will carry them totheir next engagement, Zenaida tells me: "We do nothave time to sound out the room before this next con-cert. Amadeo Roldan is a smaller hall, and the musiciansmust adjust the way they play accordingly. It is as if youhave made yourself up for a large theater, and then youperform in a small space. You look ridiculous. You looklike a clown."

As I watch them cram an incredible number ofpeople and instruments into a too-small vehicle, circus-style, I’m Sure that, though they certainly know how toentertain; La Camerata Romeu will be anything butcloWnish. GI

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