Jimmy Maslon was raised a Minnesota country boy who didn\u2019t speak a speck of Spanish and barely heard a serious lick of Latin music until a few years ago. Today, this onetime R&B guitarist and horror-film fan owns the hottest contemporary Cuban music label in the U.S.<\/p>\n
The quixotic executive lives in Hollywood, thousands of miles and cultural light years from historic Havana, where most of his artists are based. Maslon\u2019s tiny recording company, Ahi-Nama Music, briefly operated out of his basement until he moved his staff of three into a strip mall on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City, where it occupies a second-story space as unpolished and unpretentious as its tenant.<\/p>\n
Visitors may have a hard time finding the company. There\u2019s no sign on the door, no furniture in the small lobby, and no decor to speak of anywhere. There\u2019s just the owner\u2019s messy desk, a functional office area and an adjacent shipping room manned by an exiled Cuban musician. This ragtag outfit has corralled a dazzling roster of top-notch Cuban artists, including singer Issac Delgado, who was just nominated for a best salsa album Latin Grammy for \u201cLa Formula.\u201d Its title cut is also up for best tropical song.<\/p>\n
Maslon has also released remarkable works by flutist Orlando Valle, alias Maraca of Irakere fame; Arte Mixto, the unique folk\/salsa ensemble from the province of Cienfuegos; and Bamboleo, the quintessentially cool Afro-Cuban group known for its funky fusions and glamorously bald female vocalists.<\/p>\n
Maslon\u2019s label stems from a musical obsession that began six years ago when he first went to Cuba as a tourist. And like many worthwhile obsessions, it hasn\u2019t always been easy. Maslon has had CD shipments to Cuba held up by U.S. Customs agents and has received probing correspondence about his activities from the U.S. Treasury Department. But perhaps the toughest obstacle has been the biases against modern Cuban music, from political exiles who oppose all trade with Castro\u2019s Cuba and from traditional salsa fans who resist experimentation with the historic genre.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s been definitely harder than I thought it was going to be,\u201d said Maslon, 43, who has also produced some of his label\u2019s releases. \u201cBut it\u2019s definitely worth it. The [U.S] embargo pushed this music away for 40 years, but it\u2019s inevitable that Cuba will be the future of Latin music.\u201d<\/p>\n
Maslon\u2019s persistence has earned praise from fellow salsa producer and film editor Alan Geik, who compared the Latin label chief to pioneering rock \u2018n\u2019 roll entrepreneurs of the 1950s.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey were all eccentrics and people with passions who had an ear for a sound they wanted to produce, and that\u2019s what Jimmy does,\u201d said Geik, a veteran DJ on \u201cAlma del Barrio,\u201d the long-running salsa show on KXLU-FM (88.9). \u201cI give him great grades for inventiveness and daring. After all, that\u2019s what you want a small label to be.\u201d<\/p>\n
Bamboleo, Ahi-Nama \u2018s inaugural act, appeared on the Cuban scene the year after Maslon\u2019s first visit to the island. He introduced the group to U.S. audiences in 1997 with a concert at New York\u2019s Lincoln Center, making it among the first contemporary Cuban dance bands to set foot in the U.S.<\/p>\n
Around the same time, Ry Cooder and Buena Vista Social Club were poised to capture U.S. audiences with their low-key nostalgia craze. The contrast in styles could not have been more striking.<\/p>\n
While Buena Vista stuck to dusty standards and old-fashioned approaches, Bamboleo represented all that was fresh, daring and progressive in Cuban music. Where Buena Vista was avuncular and lovable, Bamboleo was young, irreverent and sexy.<\/p>\n
Buena Vista became a big hit, of course. But Bamboleo remained an underground phenomenon.<\/p>\n
Yet, the tide may be starting to turn for Maslon and Ahi-Nama, Spanish slang that means roughly \u201cThat\u2019s it\u201d or \u201cRight on,\u201d an expression shouted spontaneously by salsa musicians. For the first time ever, commercial Latin radio stations such as KLVE-FM (107.5) in Los Angeles are beginning to play his label\u2019s music, especially Delgado\u2019s catchy \u201cEl Pregon del Chocolate.\u201d The song has also appeared on the all-important playlist of DJ pools, such as Latinos Unidos, whose members spin records and set trends in Latin dance clubs across the country.<\/p>\n
\u201cYears ago, there\u2019s no way any of these guys would play anything Cuban,\u201d Maslon says. \u201cIt\u2019s changing, and it\u2019s kind of exciting because we feel like we\u2019re making some headway.\u201d<\/p>\n
But his biggest break may be yet to come. Maslon has just joined forces with a powerful new business partner, New York salsa producer Sergio George. The Puerto Rican pianist and arranger has worked with the top U.S. salsa stars, including Marc Anthony, Tito Puente and La India. And he made waves with his breakthrough rap-cum-salsa band DLG, for Dark Latin Groove, which was heavily influenced by the contemporary Cuban sound.<\/p>\n
George\u2019s track record made him the most sought after salsa producer in the country, first as in-house A&R man at RMM Records, the top independent salsa label of the 1990s, then as head of his own Sir George Productions.<\/p>\n
Above all, George was known for making hits. And that\u2019s the one asset modern Cubans need most in the conservative U.S. salsa market.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat Cuban artists have been doing lately has had a major influence on my music,\u201d George says. \u201cThey have so much to give and it\u2019s time for them to get out there a little more. The music is there, the sound is there. It\u2019s only a matter of time.\u201d<\/p>\n
Maslon hopes that his alliance with the high-profile producer will substantially boost his artists\u2019 airplay and sales. As the new partners negotiate with major labels for distribution, George has started planning his first album with Bamboleo, with the new team set to go into the studio next month.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll finally have some muscle behind me,\u201d Maslon said at his office recently. \u201cIt\u2019s going to be nice, for once.\u201d
\n You can call Maslon the accidental Cuban tourist.<\/p>\n
He never meant to go to the embargoed island. In 1994, he planned to go hiking in Venezuela with a friend who was dying of cancer. But when the pair missed their plane and were stuck at LAX, Maslon had a liberating idea. He pointed to the schedule of flights and told his traveling companion to pick a new destination.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere do you want to go?\u201d he asked his late friend, who was aware it would be his last vacation. \u201cI\u2019ll take you anywhere in the world.\u201d<\/p>\n
None of the choices on the monitor appealed to the duo, however. So Maslon suggested a new place out of the blue.<\/p>\n
\u201cI said Cuba, and his eyes lit up,\u201d Maslon recalled.<\/p>\n
Sadly, the friend never finished the trip. He felt ill during a stop in Mexico City and returned home. Maslon, joined by his girlfriend, proceeded with the unauthorized adventure.<\/p>\n
In Cuba, he met people who turned him on to the most popular dance band on the island, Los Van Van. One live concert, and Maslon\u2019s life was changed.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was like a religious experience,\u201d recalls Maslon, whose gruff exterior dissolves when he gets talking about music. \u201cIt was like, \u2018Wow!\u2019 \u201c<\/p>\n
Maslon had stumbled into Cuba at a moment of intense creativity among the island\u2019s progressive dance bands. Unlike the familiar oldies that were to come from Buena Vista, innovation and bold musicianship were all the rage among hip Cuban music fans in the early and mid-1990s.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was just blown away at the talent I saw there,\u201d Maslon says. \u201cEveryone was trying to one-up the next guy, and the music was getting very complex.\u201d<\/p>\n
Back home, Maslon was already operating a small music label, the North Hollywood-based House of Funk, which had a modest hit with \u201cFunky Party\u201d by composer Clarence Reid, alias Blowfly.<\/p>\n
In the Cubans, he saw an open window, as he calls it.<\/p>\n
Because the U.S. embargo had kept most Cuban performers out of this country, Maslon decided that making videos was the best way for exposure. If only people could see these acts, Maslon figured, surely they would share his excitement. But winning U.S. fans would not be as easy as that.<\/p>\n
At a time when stars such as Anthony were gaining fame in the pop world, Maslon struggled to gain ground even among U.S. salsa fanatics, who found the Cuban sound unfamiliar. At home, he collided with a double barrier that has blocked the growth of contemporary Cuban music for many years: conservative musical tastes and conservative politics. Still, Maslon had crossover dreams: going from cult status to mainstream in the U.S. Latin market.
\n Two other small Cuban music labels\u2013qbadisc and Havana Caliente\u2013also tried to crack the U.S. market during the 1990s. But those companies, both based in New York, stalled and stopped releasing new product. Now, industry observers are calling Maslon the last man standing.<\/p>\n
Growing up near Mankato, Minn., Maslon learned early to be independent. He spent much of his time alone on the family farm, where he used his imagination to entertain himself. Maslon\u2019s family moved to California when he was 11, and the boy soon got into collecting and trading old records. He\u2019d shop the record swap meets on weekends and ditch class during the week to scout skid-row thrift shops for records by old blues artists.<\/p>\n
At 16, he took a job on an assembly line, packing pepper in jumbo jars for restaurants.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was torture,\u201d remembers Maslon, who eventually earned a bachelor\u2019s in sociology from Immaculate Heart College. \u201cIt made me strive to think of another way to make a living.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a time, the teenager tried his hand as a musician, playing guitar with the Sylvers and the house band at Art Laboe\u2019s oldies club in Hollywood. Later, he fronted a rockabilly band as Jimmie Lee Maslon.<\/p>\n
But his first business success grew out of his passion for campy horror films, which he liked to watch at midnight screenings in Westwood.<\/p>\n
In the early \u201980s, he managed to wangle the rights to a 1963 cult favorite, \u201cBlood Feast\u201d directed by Herschel Gordon Lewis, a pioneer of gore. Later, Maslon sold the rights to cable television for four times what he had paid. He acquired more movie rights and also took a stab at producing films, starting with a \u201cBlood Feast\u201d sequel called \u201cBlood Diner.\u201d<\/p>\n
Maslon was finally having fun and making money. But he missed the music. In the late 1980s, he started making videos for acts such as the funky Blowfly on his own label, and later for the Cramps, the psycho-billy punk group.<\/p>\n
All of that experience\u2013his study of sociology, his feel for visuals and his penchant for going it alone\u2013would help him later undertake the challenge of bringing new Cuban music to the United States.<\/p>\n
The laws governing U.S trade with Cuba can be tricky. Most direct trade is not permitted, but certain exceptions are made for what is called informational materials, including books, films, posters and recordings.<\/p>\n
When Maslon started, he knew as much about the embargo as he knew about the rumba. In July 1998, he received a letter from a Treasury Department agency that had learned Maslon was making unauthorized trips to Cuba.<\/p>\n
The letter explained that U.S. citizens cannot spend money to go to Cuba without a license. Strangely, it\u2019s OK if somebody in a third country, including Cuba itself, pays the travel costs for an American\u2019s trip. So Maslon produced a letter from an executive of his Cuban distributor declaring that the company had financed the trip in question.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe law is so ambiguous,\u201d Maslon says, \u201cI started looking for loopholes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Today, Maslon adds, Ahi-Nama is the only U.S. record label authorized by the Cuban government to do business there. And Uncle Sam considers it legal, despite the skittish Customs officials who once threatened to confiscate his shipments at LAX.<\/p>\n
Legal obstacles were only one problem. Unlike Buena Vista\u2019s easily digestible retro sound, the funky approaches and rap attitude of Cuba\u2019s modern timba style were hard for straight salsa fans to swallow. Many complained that they couldn\u2019t dance to it.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s if they even got to hear it. In certain places, Maslon said, radio stations blackballed any music made by artists living in Cuba. To some in the anti-Castro exile community, supporting music from Havana amounted to treason.<\/p>\n
Maslon\u2019s advantage: Nobody expected music videos to come from Cuba.<\/p>\n
When he submitted his first videos to MTV\u2019s Latin music outlet in Miami, Maslon recalls, a nervous programmer warned about potential backlash: \u201cIf we get any threats, we\u2019ll pull it.\u201d<\/p>\n
So far so good. Ahi-Nama\u2019s flashy, energetic videos continue to get good exposure. Often filmed on location in Havana, they make the Cuban capital look much livelier than it did in the relentlessly depressing scenes from the Wim Wenders documentary about Buena Vista.<\/p>\n
Maslon acknowledges that Cuban music may have lost some of its creative steam recently as artists saw their Buena Vista colleagues getting rich on recycled chestnuts. Yet Maslon and George both believe the future of salsa will come from the island where it all started.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ve got to do something, because otherwise, you know what\u2019s going to happen? The music\u2019s going to stop in Cuba, because they\u2019ll realize it\u2019s not commercial,\u201d Maslon says.<\/p>\n
So what\u2019s the answer?<\/p>\n
\u201cPeople will buy what they can dance to,\u201d he concludes. \u201cBut if I had to compromise [the quality] to do that, I\u2019d rather go into another business.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Jimmy Maslon was raised a Minnesota country boy who didn\u2019t speak a speck of Spanish and barely heard a serious lick of Latin music until a few years ago. Today, this onetime R&B guitarist and horror-film fan owns the hottest … Continue reading