by Peter Moore

Number Three – Eliades Ochoa: Pintate los Labios Maria

During the scorched summer months, as a fat sun burns away, shining down upon the remaining residents of Madrid and making them feel for all the world like ants beneath a magnifying glass, you might just be able to catch sight of an enormous hat steadily making its way around the barrio of Quintana.

It is, as I said, quite an enormous hat. The kind of hat that you’d expect to be worn by a snuff chewing, bourbon swilling, pistol spinning sheriff in a John Wayne Western – but it isn’t; this particular hat is attached to the head of a Cuban musician called Eliades Ochoa.

Apart from being a former neighbour of mine, Eliades Ochoa is universally accepted to be one of the last surviving members of the golden generation of Cuban musicians. Following the deaths of Ibrahim Ferrer, Compay Segundo and Ruben Gonzales, Ochoa remains the final surviving member of The Buena Vista Social Club of any prominence. Strolling softly around the barrios of Madrid, he is our last living link with an era of beautiful music – son, bolero and guajira – and a fistful of songs of delicate, but unquestionable power.

It’s difficult to pick a single song to define Ochoa’s output. One could easily go for the Chan Chan, which Ry Cooder once dubbed ‘the calling card’ of the Buena Vista Social Club; others might go for his memorable rendition of Estoy Como Nunca or his guajira lament El Carretero. Me? I’m going to go for a little known song about a girl called Maria, who decides she want to go out for a dance.

(see an excerpt from the documentary The Buena Vista Social Club, including Eliades Ochoa, here and you can read a longer article I wrote about him here)