EPISODE 1: CELIA CRUZ

Celia Cruz (1925–2003) was a Cuban singer known for her significant contributions to Latin music, particularly salsa. She gained prominence as the lead vocalist of the Sonora Matancera orchestra before leaving Cuba after the revolution. Over her long career, she released numerous notable songs, including "La Vida es un Carnaval" and "Quimbara". Known for her phrase "¡Azúcar!" Cruz became a prominent figure in the Afro-Cuban music tradition and salsa genre. In this episode, we take a look at her eventful life, beginning with how she grew up as a child in pre-revolutionary Cuba.

Introduction

[Quiet salsa rhythms]

Narrator: The rhythms of Salsa appeal to almost everyone. Salsa rhythmicity, the energy, and the sensuality captivate anyone who listens. The roots of Salsa can be traced back to Cuba, from where these sounds spread across the world. However, in America, Salsa rose to prominence thanks to one woman - Celia Cruz. Born in Cuba and surrounded by music from a young age, Celia grew up to become a world-class star who won multiple Grammy Awards and became a pop culture icon known as the Queen of Salsa. Celia's influence is so widespread that today, it's hard to find many people who are hearing her name or her hits for the first time. But how did it all happen, that a girl from a low-class Cuban society reached global heights? What happened in Celia's life before her rise to fame? Let’s find out today!

The Barrio Santos Suárez

[Urban sounds, quiet salsa rhythms]

Narrator: Celia grew up in the Havana neighborhood of Santos Suárez. Growing up there in the 1930s would have been an experience steeped in cultural richness, music and community ties. The society was close-knit, with neighbors knowing each other well and social interactions playing a crucial role in daily life. Dr. María del Rosario Díaz, an anthropologist working at the Instituto Cubano de Antropologia, explains:

María del Rosario Díaz: Santos Suárez en general, es un barrio que creció a princípio del siglo 20. Incluso las calles de este barrio toman los nombres de muchos patriotas de independencia. Por tanto, es un barrio en aquel momento bastante reciente.

Translator: Santos Suárez, in general, is a neighborhood that grew at the beginning of the 20th century. [...] the streets in this neighborhood are named after many patriots of [the war of] independence. [...] it was a fairly recent neighborhood at that time.

[Urban sounds, quiet salsa rhythms]

Narrator: The 1930s were a vibrant period for Cuban culture, with music and dance being integral parts of daily life. The radio was a popular source of entertainment, and families would gather to listen to the latest broadcasts, including news, music, and serialized dramas.

In his biography of Celia Cruz, Eduardo Marceles writes that despite the hardships due to the Great Depression after 1929, she had very happy memories of her home and of her childhood. Celia remembers her father, tired from the day’s work, sitting in the in the patio of a so called solar, a type of communal housing, enjoying a Havana cigar and singing Caribbean songs like “Las calles de San Juan” and “¿Y tú que has hecho?”.

María del Rosario Díaz: Son como las casas de [...] comunes hasta cierto punto de fundamentalmente de gente con una posición al principio de la república de bajos ingresos, pero en Cuba como las viviendas son tan grandes hay muchos solares donde lo habitan – de un ingeniero hasta un no sé que. [...]

Son como [incomprensible] en el barrio super central que tiene una serie de habitaciones que se han [incomprensible] a pequeños apartamentos que inicialmente tenían un solo baño las personas ya cuando aprendieron de higiene personal lo que hicieron fue construir pequeños baños dentro de sus viviendas. Entonces hacer como pequeños apartamentitos, ¿no? Pero bueno eso es un solar.

Translator: These solares are like collective houses [...] inhabited by people with low income at the beginning of the republic, but as the houses are so big in Cuba, there are many solares where residents range from engineers to others. [...]

They are housings in the very central neighborhood with a series of rooms that have been devided into small apartments with initially only one bathroom. When people learned about personal hygiene, what they did was build small bathrooms inside their homes. So, they made small apartments, right? But well, that is a solar.

Narrator: Life in a solar was highly communal. People helped each other when sugar or milk was missing, but the interaction went far beyond that. Residents often shared not only living space but also daily activities and social interactions. The patio acted as a common area where people gathered, children played, and various social events took place.

María del Rosario Díaz: Que es una vida colectiva.

Translator: It is a collective life.

Narrator: And life there was not only about community, but also about culture, music and dance.

María del Rosario Díaz: Con esa vida que te digo, eh, prolifera en la parte cultural es la parte en el que nace el guaguancó como danza como ritmo la rumba [...] en esta cultura de solar. [Porque]

Las fiestas eran colectivas. Y entonces eh la rumba y el guaguancó son danzas son bailes que son urbanos o sea nacen en la ciudad. Y [...] fundamentalmente en La Habana y Matanzas. Entonces es muy posible que Celia si a ella permeado de toda esa cultura porque entonces ella comienza también sus inicios musicales como cantante.

Translator: With this life that I tell you about, eh, cultural life flourished, and this is where guaguancó was born as a dance and rhythm, the rumba was born [...] in this culture of solares. [Because]

The parties were collective. And so, eh, rumba and guaguancó are dances that are urban, meaning they were born in the city. And [...] fundamentally in Havana and Matanzas. So, it is very possible that Celia was influenced by all this culture because she also began her musical career as a singer.

Narrator: Celia Cruz's parents loved music, and Santos Suárez, her neighborhood, exuded a joyful spirit thriving with musicians. As in many other Havana neighborhoods, Santos Suárez had its own carnival group, Las Jornaleras. Every year at carnival time, the comparsas would turn up with dancers in colorful costumes and resounding drums, spreading carnival cheer and encouraging everyone to join in the festivities. Perhaps Celia Cruz was inspired by this and learned early on not to take life too seriously, preferring to celebrate it like a carnival.

[Humming the melody of “La vida es un carnaval”]

Celia’s Upbringing and Early Career[1]

[Quiet salsa rhythms]

Narrator: "I announced my arrival with a cry," Celia recalls, marking the beginning of a life destined for music and performance. Named after Saint Cecilia, the patron saint of music, Celia's path seemed preordained. "God had plans for me, that much was clear," she notes, reflecting on the significance of her name.

From a young age, Celia's grandmother foresaw her future in entertainment. She once told Celia's mother, “Ollita, do you see how this girl wakes up in the middle of the night only to wake up the rest of the house? That’s because she’s going to work at night. She’s going to be an entertainer. Just you wait and see.”

Celia’s childhood was filled with love and aspiration. She adored her mother and their modest home, always striving to make her father proud. Though she considered becoming a teacher and took her education seriously, her true passion lay in singing. Performing for her family’s visitors who gifted her white leather shoes ignited her lifelong love for fashion. "Those were great times, and I spent them singing," she fondly remembers.

The vibrant comparsas of Havana's Carnival awakened Celia's passion for music. The Afro-Cuban religion of Santeria also influenced her musically, though she clarifies that she does not identify as a Santera, despite common assumptions.

[Transition sound]

Narrator: As Celia’s passion for music grew, so did the opportunities that would set her on a path to stardom. But with those opportunities came challenges that would test her resolve and shape her future. So, how did she turn her passion into a career?

[Quiet salsa music]

Narrator: Celia's appreciation for music, which she describes as "Cuba’s greatest gift to the world," was nurtured at home. Both her mother and brother, Bárbaro, shared this talent, though the Cuban regime hindered Bárbaro’s potential. Her idol was the singer Paulina Álvarez, and performing with her later in life was a dream come true. Inspired by Álvarez, Celia adopted the use of claves and developed her own version of the exclamation "Azúcar!"

For some time in her childhood, Celia lived with her aunt, who she called Tía Ana. She encouraged her to sing boldly, and Celia discovered that, while her vocal talent came from her mother, her love for entertainment came from her aunt.

In 1947, Celia enrolled at Havana’s Escuela Normal de Maestros, which was the Teacher’s College, planning to become a teacher – but her cousin Serafín secretly signed her up for an amateur contest called La Hora del Té. And there, Celia actually won, continuing to advance through elimination rounds. These contests became a gateway to her singing career. Although she often won, sometimes she would also be eliminated, having to leave the stage to a loud gong. “It’s amazing; that happened years ago and I still haven’t forgotten what I learned. I’ll never, ever forget [the feeling of] being gonged,” Celia recounts.

Encouraged by her Tía Ana's advice, Celia added a unique flair to her performances that benefitted her throughout her career. And, despite her father's traditional views and his lack of support, Celia remained close to her mother and aunt, who encouraged her in her aspirations. As her father wanted all his children to learn a profession, Celia continued studying at the teachers' college, while also pursuing her musical career. At the graduation party in 1949 she perfumed a song, and one of her professors gave her the advice that solidified Celia's decision to pursue music. The teacher said: “Celia, God gave you a wonderful gift. With the voice you have, you can make a good living. If you pursue a singing career, you’ll be able to make in one day what it takes me one month to make. Don’t waste your time trying to become a teacher. You were put on earth to make people happy – by using your gift.”

[Transition sound]

​​​​​​​Narrator: With her talent undeniable and her path clear, how would Celia navigate the complexities of the music industry? The next phase of her journey would be marked by both triumphs and trials.

[Quiet salsa music]

​​​​​​​Narrator: Celia’s musical journey continued with numerous gigs at major radio stations. She often performed at CMQ, a prominent Cuban radio and television network, that played a significant role in the media landscape of Cuba during the mid-20th century. And her experience at CMQ was invaluable, as she always had to perform live on air.  She recalls that, “If you made a mistake, that’s how it was broadcast over the airwaves. Being nervous was just part of our lives.”

At CQM, she earned nicknames like “La Muñequita de Chocolate” and “El Cisne Negro,” which translates to The Chocolate Doll and The Black Swan. These nicknames are reflective of the pervasive racial stereotyping and exoticism that Afro-Descendant women often faced. While they might seem endearing or complimentary on the surface­ – which is also something she describes in her autobiography – they also reduced Celia to her racial and physical attributes, framing her identity in a way that reinforced existing prejudices. Such nicknames are a reminder of how Afro-Cuban women were frequently objectified and marginalized in entertainment and society at large. These labels highlight the intersection of racism and sexism, where Celia's talents were constantly viewed through the lens of her race and gender. Despite these challenges, Celia Cruz's ability to rise above these limitations and earn recognition for her artistry speaks to her extraordinary resilience and determination.

In 1950, Celia starred in “Sub Sub Ba Baé,” which was a Lucumí song that became the most successful Afro-Cuban production at the time, cementing her association with the genre Guaracha. By 1953, she was performing at the world-famous nightclub Tropicana with Las Mulatas de Fuego and recording songs in Venezuela.

Despite the challenges she had to face, Celia found joy in show business, acknowledging: “I still think it is a wonderful business. Although not an easy one, the business has more rewards than drawbacks. I don’t deny that it has a shady side, but like everything, it depends on the characters of the people you choose to surround yourself with.”

Although Celia had now earned a good reputation in show business, her father was still skeptical, as women in the entertainment industry were frowned upon. Celia remembers: “My father was ashamed of me and didn't want to tell anyone that I even existed.”

But a pivotal moment occurred in Celia's life that changed the relationship to her father entirely. While at work, one of his co-workers showed her father a newspaper and said, “Look, Simon, this girl has your last name! Is she related to you?” The article spoke only of Celia's talent, and in that moment, her father realized that she was not what he had feared she might become. He understood that despite the nightlife and the world that she was a part of, as Celia put it, she remained the “good girl” he and her mother had raised. On that evening, when her father returned home, they had a long, heartfelt conversation. He explained why he had been so opposed to her artistic career, and for the first time, Celia was able to understand his position. He told her he trusted her and from that moment on, he would never again deny she was his daughter. This profound conversation stayed with Celia, bringing tears to her eyes whenever she recalled it.

Celia’s big break came with an invitation to join the Sonora Matancera Orchestra, where she met her future husband, Pedro Knight. Despite some initial resistance from some fans and critics, who missed Marta Silva, the former lead singer, Celia's perseverance paid off. “If there are people who reject you, [you have to] love yourself even more!” her Tía Ana advised her. Celia took this to heart, always striving to excel despite the pressure.

[Transition sound]

​​​​​​​Narrator: Celia’s perseverance led to success, but her journey was far from over. As her fame grew, so did the challenges, and she would soon face decisions that would not only affect her career, but her personal live forever. 

[Quiet salsa music]

​​​​​​​Narrator: In 1950, Celia recorded her first hit single with the Sonora Matancera, “Can, Can, Maní Picasso,” which became a sensation. This success led to a prolific recording career, resulting in 74 albums with Sonora Matancera and the music label Seeco over fifteen years. “I thank Rogelio for the opportunity he gave me,” she reflects, appreciating the creative control and support she received by her manager Rogelio Martínez Díaz.

Celia's journey with Sonora Matancera was very close, and she felt like she had nine brothers who were “the perfect gentlemen.” She tells the story how they once saved her from a dangerous situation with a foreign general, as “suddenly, the Sonora’s car door opened, and all at once, out came nine talented black guys poised to protect me.” Some of them affectionately called her “herma,” short for hermana, meaning sister. Whenever she was touring without the Sonora, her cousin Nenita accompanied her for protection, because, as she explained, “a single girl could never be too careful on the road.”

Celia’s experiences, told in this ’lovely’ anecdote actually reflect the complex intersection of community cohesion and the harsh realities faced by African-American women in mid-20th century Cuba. The protective nature of her bandmates underscores the constant threat of violence and exploitation that women, especially women of color, faced. This protective stance was not just a civil gesture, but a necessary defense against a society rife with sexism and racism. Celia's need for a male-dominated support system or a female chaperone like her cousin Nenita illustrates the societal norms that limited a woman's autonomy and safety. Celia's journey through these challenges shows her resilience and solidarity within the Afro-Cuban community, where mutual protection was essential for survival in a prejudiced world.

But racial barriers were also prevalent in other areas throughout Latin America. “Blacks,” e.g., were not at all on television, Celia notes. And even though she recorded many jingles for name-brands, such as Bacardi rum, Coca-Cola, H. Upmann cigars, Guarina cheese, and Colonia 1800 cologne, she was usually paid almost nothing for these efforts. “In those days,” she recalls, “one did what one was told. I loved to sing, and any opportunity to do so was great to me.” Dubbed a “jingle pioneer,” Celia found that every time a producer tried to dub her voice using someone else's face – so that the brand would not be associated with Afro-Descendants – never worked, because the public simply demanded Celia’s presence in ads.

Throughout the 1950s, Celia’s music recordings flourished all over Latin America, notably with the megahit “Burundanga,” which also led to the first invitations to perform outside of Cuba. And while she became more and more successful, her mother started becoming ill, and Celia was thankful that she could now afford to build a beautiful house for her mother as a token of gratitude to her.

But as the political landscape in Cuba changed dramatically with Fidel Castro's rise to power in 1959, Celia and the Sonora had to seriously consider ways on how to preserve their international career. Their manager Rogelio was able to organize for them to leave for Mexico. Leaving her dying mother behind, it was only on the plane that Celia and the Sonora were informed that there would be no return to Cuba. She remembers: “My life, as I knew it, was gone.”

[Transition sound]

​​​​​​​Narrator: How does one continue to thrive and leave a legacy when everything they know has been taken away? For Celia, this marked the beginning of a new chapter, one that would solidify her place in music history.

Celia leaves Cuba

[Quiet salsa music]

Narrator: In 1960, Celia was forced to leave Cuba. On her way to Mexico, she was informed that this journey was only one-way. For Celia, it all felt like a nightmare she could have never imagined. But Cuba always stayed in Celia’s heart and her immigration experiences were reflected strongly in her songs. Her childhood laid a strong foundation for the princess who later grew into the Queen of Salsa.

[1] All quotes in this section are taken from the autobiography “Celia: My Life”, by Celia Cruz and Ana Cristina Reymundo, New York 2004.

Literature:

• Cruz, Celia, and Ana Cristina Reymundo: Celia: My Life. Harper Collins, 2005.
• Márceles Daconte, Eduardo. Azúcar! The Biography of Celia Cruz. Translated by Dolores Mercedes Koch, Reed Press, 2004.

Sources:

• Díaz, María del Rosario. Interview by Vanessa Ohlraun. 07 June 2024.

Sounds:

• Salsa 90 BPM by TheLastOneOnEarth -- freesound.org/s/698660/ -- License: Attribution 4.0
• Street party 40th anniversary motorcycle rumble and woop sirens and float with salsa band approach Saravena, Colombia 2016.flac by kyles -- freesound.org/s/405081/ -- License: Creative Commons 0
• Son Montuno by JuliusH via Pixabay
• Buena Suerte by FJRAC_Travel_Vlog via Pixabay