Daymé Arocena - Cubafonía

Pitchfork 76

At the top of her brow, underneath her headwrap, Daymé Arocena wears a small feather. She’d received a message once from a saint telling her that it would guide her so that she’d never lose her way. As an initiate of santería, or Regla de Ocha, the Havana-born jazz singer is well in tune with both her religious and musical practices, which are inextricably tied. In her latest project, Cubafonía, Arocena illuminates those ties, as well as those that connect different genres within and adjacent to Cuban popular music.

After her 2015 debut full-length, Nueva Era, and follow-up EP, One Takes, the now-24-year-old took some time to tour. Along the way, she came to realize just how much she missed home, which in turn inspired her sophomore album. Where on her first album, the songs are mostly jazz records with strong Afro-Cuban undercurrents, on Cubafonía, it often tilts the other way too, so that a track might be a rumba or a bolero, but with a distinctly jazz bent. She also makes it a point this time to work almost entirely with Cuban musicians. Leading them, she sounds more confident than ever. The result is a vibrant, bold record that is, at its heart, a love letter to her home country.

True to her roots, Arocena opens the album with a chant to Eleggua, the opener of roads. Otherworldly voices pierce through Ethiojazz-y horns, as she belts salutations to the orisha. Highlighting the influence of different African traditions in Cuban music, she follows up “Eleggua,” which is Yoruba (or Lucumí), with a rumba, which combines various West and Central African musical traditions. “La Rumba Me Llamo Yo” is a lively rumba guaguancó that tells the story of a woman whose mother warns her of a man she doesn't want near her. It ends in an all-out party: “What is it you want them to give you?” the chorus asks in Spanish. “Rumba, ven ven!” they answer. Daymé, for her part, scats her way through a clatter of voices and percussion, coming out the other side unscathed and triumphant.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, her orisha is Yemayá, goddess of the sea. Arocena’s voice, like her laughter, is wide and enveloping. She sings with a warm rasp reminiscent of Buika (as on “Lo Que Fue”), an emotional breadth that recalls Aretha, and an unwavering willingness to lay herself bare. In the first of a three-song run of ballads, “Cómo” is a smooth, ’80s-inspired pop song that sits somewhere between Sade and Selena. In a hazy swirl of jazz saxophone, violin tremolo, and twinkling chimes, the artist laments (in Spanish), “How do I live with my solitude? How do I begin this end?” The very next song over, “Todo Por Amor,” she is in love again—wholly, fearlessly, maybe a little foolishly. “Eres tu mi salvation, todo por tu amor,” she practically bleeds. The song is a bolero but with echoes of bachata, underscoring again the fluidity between different Afro-Caribbean music forms. Finally, on “Ángel,” a slow, minimalist tango, Arocena’s voice arcs and dips wordlessly, longing after something we cannot see.

As unafraid of pain or heartache as Daymé seems, so too is she unafraid of joy. “Negra Caridad” sounds like it could be the soundtrack to an old spaghetti western with elements of 1950s Benny Moré-era Cuban big band music and punchy vocals that recall La Lupe. Meanwhile, “Mambo Na’ Mà” elides the spirit of mambo with New Orleans swing. Horns creak and chug; Daymé cranks her voice like a jack-in-the-box before crying, “Mambo na’ má!” Besides being a good time, it’s also a reminder that Havana and New Orleans are colloquial sister cities with overlapping musical pasts and creole histories.

The album feels warm and full, thanks in part to the production. The texture changes, though, on the very last song—the stripped down “Valentine.” The track is a changüí, a folksy song from Guantánamo, influenced by nearby Haiti. Over the scrape of a güira and a smattering of acoustic instruments (marimbula, très, clarinet), the daughter of Yemayá coos, “Mon valentin, mi valentine, my valentine/In a moment, you gave freedom to my heart.” There is a sense of gratitude in her delivery—and perhaps some relief—to have wandered but finally returned to where her heart is freest, to her valentine, to Cuba.