Aunt Gert deplanes from the DC-4, emerging into the smothering Cuban heat like a princess stepping from her carriage. She is heavily, and carefully made up, smart in her pillbox hat and glittering brooches. She is wearing industrial strength perfume, and despite the tropical locale, she is wearing fur! Her secret moneybelt is secure at her abdomen, packed with the cash she will surely lose at one of those mobster casinos. But for now, descending to the blazing macadam, all is possibility, allure, adventure!
This scene, and others like it, were etched into my brain during those languid days of Aunt Gert’s senescence, when I sat for hours at her bedside, regaled by her tales of pre-Castro decadence in Old Havana. Did she really dance the Tango in Habana Vieja? Did she truly share a bed with Hemingway on that fateful night of tropical storms and darkest murder? We’ll never know for sure and have only Aunt Gert’s failing memory and questionable storytelling to rely upon,
It was with these images of Old Havana in my mind that I quickly snatched Richard Hayman’s “Havana in Hi-Fi” from the dusty bin in the back of the Salvation Army store I frequent. I’ll be honest here, and confess that I was really going on the album cover alone, which features an extremely attractive, undulating, barefoot bongo player, radiant in her tropical dress, surrounded by drums, and clearly pounding out some extremely rhythmic and sexual beat. Additionally, the album cover advertised “Custom High Fidelity” brought to us by Mercury records, and so how could one go wrong?
Back at home, With a fresh Mojito in hand, I dropped the needle in the groove, settled into my La-Z-Boy, with headphones snugly in place, and was prepared to be transported to Old Havana. I even turned up the heat in our house and ran the vaporizer on high to better approximate the sultry atmosphere where Auntie Gert slurped oysters and rum with Papa Hemingway.
The album starts off enticingly enough, with a blast of trumpet and flurry of bongos, announcing the commencement of the “Rhapsodero”. Sadly, the early promise of horns and bongos slumped quickly into a 7 minute suite of treacly, string-laden melodies. My fantasies of Dirty Dancing and Hot Havana Nights devolved into a kind of insipid death march of swelling strings with only the occasional nod to autentico instrumentation.. As my disappointment mounted, I sadly recalled evenings spent with Aunt Gert back in Detroit, our family relaxing in her den where Gert and my Grandm Edna tuned into Lawrence Welk. In that respect, there couldn’t be a more fitting tribute to Gertie. Richard Hayman and his Orchestra have produced an album of latin-flavored champagne music that would make Lawrence W proud.
The second side, far from redeeming, settles further into a somnolent groove. Far from capturing the raucous excitement of Batista-era Cuba, soft, muted strings and gently plucked instruments suggest not hot rhythm, but early-to-bed sleepytime for me. Frankly, I had expected more from Richard Hayman, who is perhaps more famously know as the 18 year old harmonica virtuoso in Borrah Minevitsh’s Harmonica Rascals. No harmonica jams on this album, though I think we could have used some. Or at least we might have expected something as daring and edgy as his 1969 release, “Genuine Electric Latin Love Machine”. Alas, Havana in Hi-Fi, despite Mercury’s “Sound Margin Control”, fails to impress.
This scene, and others like it, were etched into my brain during those languid days of Aunt Gert’s senescence, when I sat for hours at her bedside, regaled by her tales of pre-Castro decadence in Old Havana. Did she really dance the Tango in Habana Vieja? Did she truly share a bed with Hemingway on that fateful night of tropical storms and darkest murder? We’ll never know for sure and have only Aunt Gert’s failing memory and questionable storytelling to rely upon,
It was with these images of Old Havana in my mind that I quickly snatched Richard Hayman’s “Havana in Hi-Fi” from the dusty bin in the back of the Salvation Army store I frequent. I’ll be honest here, and confess that I was really going on the album cover alone, which features an extremely attractive, undulating, barefoot bongo player, radiant in her tropical dress, surrounded by drums, and clearly pounding out some extremely rhythmic and sexual beat. Additionally, the album cover advertised “Custom High Fidelity” brought to us by Mercury records, and so how could one go wrong?
Back at home, With a fresh Mojito in hand, I dropped the needle in the groove, settled into my La-Z-Boy, with headphones snugly in place, and was prepared to be transported to Old Havana. I even turned up the heat in our house and ran the vaporizer on high to better approximate the sultry atmosphere where Auntie Gert slurped oysters and rum with Papa Hemingway.
The album starts off enticingly enough, with a blast of trumpet and flurry of bongos, announcing the commencement of the “Rhapsodero”. Sadly, the early promise of horns and bongos slumped quickly into a 7 minute suite of treacly, string-laden melodies. My fantasies of Dirty Dancing and Hot Havana Nights devolved into a kind of insipid death march of swelling strings with only the occasional nod to autentico instrumentation.. As my disappointment mounted, I sadly recalled evenings spent with Aunt Gert back in Detroit, our family relaxing in her den where Gert and my Grandm Edna tuned into Lawrence Welk. In that respect, there couldn’t be a more fitting tribute to Gertie. Richard Hayman and his Orchestra have produced an album of latin-flavored champagne music that would make Lawrence W proud.
The second side, far from redeeming, settles further into a somnolent groove. Far from capturing the raucous excitement of Batista-era Cuba, soft, muted strings and gently plucked instruments suggest not hot rhythm, but early-to-bed sleepytime for me. Frankly, I had expected more from Richard Hayman, who is perhaps more famously know as the 18 year old harmonica virtuoso in Borrah Minevitsh’s Harmonica Rascals. No harmonica jams on this album, though I think we could have used some. Or at least we might have expected something as daring and edgy as his 1969 release, “Genuine Electric Latin Love Machine”. Alas, Havana in Hi-Fi, despite Mercury’s “Sound Margin Control”, fails to impress.
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