Culture club

Mixing it up with Los Hombres Calientes

by Jim Macnie

Over the last month or so I've been asking pals for a report on who kicked the most butt at this year's Jazz & Heritage Festival in New Orleans. A consensus cropped up immediately: Los Hombres Calientes. And the exuberance with which the votes were cast suggested that the opinions were staunch. The band is only a few years old, but it has made a sizable dent on the jazz scene. The New York Times cited its second album as one of the best of 2000; the group also earned itself a Contemporary Latin Jazz Album prize at the Billboard Latin Awards. And for the recent Vol. 3: New Congo Square (Basin Street), the New Orleans-based ensemble seduced a who's who of Caribbean kingpins to help in the creative process. Seems like everyone wants to get with Los Hombres.

The reasons behind that are simple: living history, cultural exchange, and rampant pleasure. Trumpeter Irvin Mayfield and percussionist Bill Summers are the heart of the Hombres (co-founder Jason Marsalis left last year), and their working aesthetic throws a wide net around all sorts of percussion music and Caribbean rhythms. They're an omni band, looking every way at once, and since their center point is New Orleans, that vista is indeed a rich one. Brass band music, reggae, salsa, and bossa nova all come into play on New Congo Square. And the dramatic concept of inclusion is one that is making older jazz templates seem somewhat myopic. When Mayfield blows his horn threw a percussion labyrinth led by Summers (a veteran of Herbie Hancock's Headhunters) and the devastating team of Horacio "El Negro" Hernandez and Ricky Sebastian, he has plenty of juice behind him. Inflections from the drummers shift the music toward specific styles -- funk or Afro-Cuban or swing -- and the Hombres use their obvious ebullience and fraternalism to help spark the musical mechanics. So obvious is that spark that they had a record contract a month after their first gig . They'll be part of the Newport Jazz Festival in August, but the chance to see them in a comparatively small room like the Greenwich Odeum shouldn't be missed. That's where you'll really hear why their romp and stomp is so coercive.

I recently spoke with Mayfield. Here's how it went.

Q: I've run into a mess of people who have enthused about your recent set at the New Orleans Jazz Fest. Tell me how you know when you're having a really great gig.

A: We played on the largest stage down there, right before the Wallflowers or someone like that, and for the most part our stuff is all acoustic music. Acoustic in front of 20,000 people? That's a thrill. It was a strong set, but it's hard to describe what takes it to that next level, you know? We just try to do it right. We don't allow no Frito Bandito stuff. Ha-ha! That's what you call it when Americans try to play Latin music but it ain't really happening. Frito Bandito. You gotta respect the clave man, and we do. You've got to know the rhythms. You've got to have fun. We've got heavy players. No Frito Bandito.

Q: You're back home in New Orleans after a two-year stint in Manhattan. What did New York teach you?

A: So many things happened to me while I was up there, I didn't even realize some of 'em until I was back here. My experience wasn't exactly normal. The first thing I did was move in with Wynton Marsalis -- so immediately I was introduced to professional musicians of a high caliber. John Lewis, "Sweets" Edison, Clark Terry. I got to see the meeting of Wynton Marsalis and Chucho Valdez. It was at Wynton's house; I was sitting on the sofa. Wynton gets up and shakes Chucho's hand and says, "Oh, my daddy's been talking 'bout you for years! Can you explain to me what makes Cuban music Cuban music?" And in a second Chucho was at the piano showing him the stuff. That's not firsthand information, that's finger to finger information.

Of course, that's not uncommon in New York. You're going to embrace various cultures. African, Brazilian -- hey, some cat from Israel is going to throw some heavy stuff at you in New York. That's what makes it great! And even if you're not interacting, you're watching everything up close. New York also helped me meet my peers, guys who right now are working around the country, developing this music, the people who'll be affecting jazz five years from now.

Q: Cultural cross-pollination seems to be a distinct part of jazz's future, a way of injecting vitality into older jazz designs. That's certainly what Los Hombres is about.

A: When I heard Chucho I felt something. Something that made me feel very connected to the rhythm he was playing. But I've always had a bit of interest in it. Terence Blanchard made a record with Ivan Lins and I said, "Damn, what is it about Brazilian stuff that makes me react so strong?" Then I looked into Bob Marley's music. Damn again.

Q: That kind of musical integration probably couldn't be born in any place but New Orleans. Speak a bit about the city's musical history.

A: When we were recording the new album, I was reading an article that talked about Caribbean music. It mentioned all the ports: Jamaica, Trinidad, Brazil, Dominican Republic, Haiti. But they left out New Orleans. People assume that because New Orleans is in the United States it's not part of that vibe. But it's the Caribbean's most northern port, historically speaking. Africans got dropped off in all these different places.

Q: It was a turnstile that saw people from all those other cultures coming through. The way Los Hombres incorporate all that brings a sense of scholarship to the music.

A: That's the great thing about working with Bill Summers. He not only knows where the music came from, but where the drums came from. We recorded this disc in five countries, and Bill works with musicians to learn from them. He says, "Please teach me, so we can bring respect to your culture." Of course, New Orleans has got its own individuality: The second line stuff and the Indian stuff. Blacks became American in New Orleans.

Q: Now we're getting to the record's concept: Congo Square.

A: It was the only place in America where the slaves retained the option to play their drums. Someone would come and play his music, another guy would join in. And everyone socialized through music. We're working the New Congo Square vibe. It's not just a place in New Orleans anymore, it's everywhere we go. The city's indigenous sounds are the great blood of America's music. We're not showing how we're different -- we're showing how we're all a part of something.

Q: The dance rhythms and socializing are central to the success of Los Hombres, right?

A: The reason people vibe on this record is because you can come to it in several ways. You want to research the rhythms, go ahead, they're deep. You want to learn about how the Cuban beats are integrated with jazz, sure it's there for investigation -- check it out. But if you don't want to know anything, you can just get lifted up and enjoy it all.

It's an ongoing struggle: how can we keep this music danceable and not lose its integrity. It's not totally answered yet. But we're close. We're digging it. People are digging it. And we haven't even scratched the surface yet. This project is like Harrison Ford in the Raiders of the Lost Ark. We rolled up in Cuba and instantly met players who were having a religious ceremony. And we found that you've got some simple, everyday cats playing some very serious rhythms. The musicianship was deep.

It's the same in New Orleans. Step in the Sixth Ward, Treme district, where Louis Armstrong did his thing, and all you have to do is ask: "I need a bass player," and here comes three bass players. "I need a snare drummer." Here come six drummers, and one or two of 'em are like seven years old. I'm not lying. Did you see Trombone Shorty play with Wynton at Lincoln Center a little while ago? The cat is like 13 or something! All I'm saying is that's what culture does. When music is everywhere, and used for so many things, it's really got extra power. I was doing an interview the other day, I looked across the street, and here comes 200 black people dancing in the street to a brass band. I said to myself, "Wow, New Orleans, I'm never leaving this place."

But back to the question. Someone asked us, why does the audience respond like they do? Is it a marketing strategy or something? Nope, just music. Drums. Bill Summers is playing congas with one hand, timbales with one hand and cowbell with his foot. Then he's got a contraption that lets him play three Bata drums at once. Then you've got Horacio Hernandez, one of the top five drummers in the world. [Traps drummer] Ricky Sebastian is unbelievable. [Conga player] Pedro Martinez will be with us, and he is the cat, a monster. So you can't help but react when these guys are in action.

Q: In a previous interview you spoke a bit about how it's almost crucial to be pals with your fellow musicians.

A: That's something I didn't learn in New York. Up there you don't even have to like each other -- it's just about getting the job done. But down here we've got a way of working, especially with a group like Los Hombres. You're not only getting a musical thing, but a social and spiritual thing, too. You get to meet us afterwards. We're around. And people can feel how we're into each other. Damn, Bill's 53, and I'm 23. He wants to be with me and accepts me as a peer. With all his experience? C'mon, that's fantastic. And by far he's the experimentalist of the group. Not me. So don't go believing stereotypes of young guys being the wild guys. Bill's the one, in every definition of the world. The audience can feel us on the edge of the cliff, absolutely.

Los Hombres Calientes will perform on Saturday, June 9 at 8 p.m. at the Greenwich Odeum, 59 Main Street, East Greenwich. Call 885-9119.