As they play, one young person after another steps up, bows to the lead drummer in a show of respect and begins to dance.Ĭopyright © 2018 NPR. Like the passing wind, you took everything from me, and my love has died. UNIDENTIFIED GROUP: (Singing in Spanish).įLORIDO: It's all over, this artist sings. And they liked it, and they're still coming. It's always been a popular gathering, but in the days after Maria, attendance surged, especially among young people.įLORIDO: They'd find out through social media, Emerson says, and they'd say, hey, there's nothing else to do. Let's dance a little.įLORIDO: About 10 miles from Loiza, in the capital, San Juan, Alfredo Emerson has hosted a night of Bomba and Plena music most Mondays for the last two years. We have tools - we have culture to get us through this. But in those days when so many people were fleeing the island, Rivera saw Bomba - culture, identity, that emotional connection - as among the few things that might convince people to stay.įLORIDO: Our ancestors survived much worse, Rivera says she told people who considered leaving. The hurricane ripped holes in the center's roof, but Rivera resumed classes the following week. MARICRUZ RIVERA CLEMENTE: (Speaking in Spanish).įLORIDO: They'd suffered so much damage to their homes, Rivera says, but they still came, and that said a lot. Maricruz Rivera Clemente is its director, and she says that shortly after the hurricane, two women, the center's oldest participants, showed up to ask if the classes would go on. Here in Loiza, there is a cultural center that teaches Bomba. Oh, God, what'll become of me? If I couldn't dance Bomba, I'd rather die.
The dancer and the drummer are in conversation.įLORIDO: Marcos Penaloza Pica defines Bomba simply as the expression of freedom.įLORIDO: I'm living in sadness, he sings. The drummer is responding to the dancer's movements - the flick of a wrist, bouncing shoulders, gyrating hips. MARCOS PENALOZA PICA: (Speaking in Spanish).įLORIDO: We had no water, electricity, TV, radio, phone, nothing, Penaloza says, but we had our drums and our hands and our feet, and that's all we've ever needed to dance Bomba.įLORIDO: In most drum dances, the dancer follows the drummer's lead, but Bomba is different. Marcos Penaloza Pica is a musician from Loiza, a coastal community of windswept beaches and palm trees, home to descendants of the island's slaves, its cradle of black culture. Bomba and other traditional music helped people cope. And then, a verse.įLORIDO: I'm looking for a tree to give me shade, he sings, because this tree I've got doesn't shield me from the sun.Īt his workshop after the hurricane, Cruz says people felt such relief dancing to Yuba that they cried. It's called Yuba.įLORIDO: Our ancestors, our slaves, danced to these rhythms after a long day of work, Cruz says, to shed their sadness.įLORIDO: He demonstrates Yuba's basic step, left foot to the side while bringing his right fist to the chest, then his right foot to the side, left fist to his chest. In Bomba music, there is a rhythm to express just those emotions. Here's Cruz.įLORIDO: Cruz says that what stood out were words like anguish, sadness, desperation over having lost so much to the hurricane. And after the hurricane, he organized a little workshop and asked people to write down how they were feeling. It's also been true after Hurricane Maria. That was true for the island's African slaves who first started dancing Bomba centuries ago. And, Adrian, I understand that you have brought us a piece about Bomba.ĪDRIAN FLORIDO, BYLINE: Yeah, Puerto Rican Bomba music has always - it's always been a way for people who dance to it to sort of forget the troubles in their lives. Our colleague Adrian Florido is still here with us in studio. And we couldn't bring you to Puerto Rico without hearing a little music.
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