The Giant Force of Ray Barretto
A reflection on "getting to know" Ray and programming his Sunday Profile plus the complete set playlist.
Let’s start with the good stuff right away. Below is the complete setlist I programmed for the Ray Barretto Sunday Profile on 4/14/24. It includes songs we had to cut for timing reasons and is 4 hours of his work chronologically. I hope you enjoy it! If anyone who missed the set is interested in a breakdown of some of these tracks, let me know. I’d be happy to do another post(s) about why I picked particular tracks and more on the record dates.
Researching Ray
When my friend and WKCR programmer, Stephen Park, asked if I wanted to do a Sunday Profile, the world was my oyster. I thought about whose discography and biography interested me, and I already had familiarity with. I also considered how the WKCR audience is a dedicated and well-listened bunch; I wanted to bring something unique, a reflection of my taste, and thoroughly researched to avoid embarrassing myself with incorrect information. I sent him a short list; one of those names was, of course, Ray Barretto. In my very libra way, I went back and forth in my mind, trying to decide if Ray was the best choice, but even after weighing other options and asking for opinions, I kept coming back to him.
I made it my mission to listen to as much of Ray’s discography as possible, to read whatever I could find, and to look through all the interviews on YouTube. It was more than a big task, but I crunched some numbers and figured out that I needed to listen to about two albums a day to make it through all his leader work. His Sideman work was another can of worms, but I did compile a Spotify playlist of every Sideman record from his lord discography on the streaming service. It is roughly in chronological order, with some of his Fania All-Star dates at the very end. My goal was to understand a timeline of his career and link my existing and new knowledge so I could understand what was happening and develop an overview of society and Ray’s career. What I quickly gathered was that Ray was a very busy man. Consistently doing leader and sideman studio work and performing live weekly. It was important to have a fluency so I could comfortably discuss dates, times, places, and people.
If you can’t tell, I was dedicated to being as well-versed as possible. There are a few reasons for this, but it all boils down to legacy. His and some of mine. I wanted to prove something to myself. I could program a great show that went far beyond the greatest hits. A show that demonstrated my ability to think critically about music, an artist, and the historical context. As I started to learn more about Ray’s life, music, and record dates, it became even more important for this to function as an act to honor him. I wanted the program to engage his legacy as a salsa pioneer and his contribution to jazz, which is undervalued despite his title of NEA Jazz Master. Offering listeners music that would excite them about Ray and encourage them to jump down the same rabbit hole I had.
Essentially, I wanted to put some respect on his name!
There are so many great artists in a similar situation whose impact is significant, but their history goes on untold. It begs the question, who upkeeps our legacy when we’re gone, and how do we maintain a healthy relationship with artists when we have a hand in shaping it? I felt that responsibility fall onto my shoulders, and it was something I was honored to carry, even just for a five-hour radio set.
As I continued my research, I began to crave more and more context. How did Ray’s music and personhood function in the larger narrative of the music world, and more specifically, jazz? Ray Barretto has recorded with some of the greatest jazz musicians the world will ever know and collaborated with some of the most significant drummers. Yet his name never came up in my jazz education.
I ended up doing a little bit of an experiment. I’m lucky to have friendships with excellent musicians who are all extremely talented and well listened, especially regarding the jazz canon. I called six people and asked, “Does the name Ray Barretto mean anything to you?” I hoped the question didn’t trigger the part of a musician’s brain that tells protective white lies when an unfamiliar artist comes up. I assured them if it didn’t ring a bell, that was okay. Only two people gave me a definitive yes. I got one, “the name sounds familiar,” and the rest were no’s. Despite the mixed response, everyone was eager to learn more and point me in the direction of elders who could talk to me about Ray and help to give me the context of where he stands in the jazz continuum.
This is where the balancing act of writer, programmer, and thinker comes into play. I woke up every day for two months thinking about Ray Barretto and feeling his company abstractly through music and interviews. Despite knowing I wouldn’t find all the answers to my questions, I wondered about him and felt so much excitement. If I was given the chance to talk about Ray, I took it. I inundated Stephen and other friends who knew about the upcoming show with songs, video clips, and pictures. I wanted to know what inspired specific albums. What it was like to play with Art Taylor. Who his favorite jazz band leaders were. How tall he was. I wanted to know Ray as a person just as well as I was beginning to understand him as a musician while remaining as realistic as possible.
With Ray, I couldn’t help but project a little, idealize, and look for the things that connected us. I wrote about a similar feeling last year when thinking about my grandmother and the relationship we have with those we admire when they’re gone. This is, of course, different with Ray (who I’ve been addressing informally throughout this piece since he weirdly feels like a friend) and in the scenario of programming a show about him for an audience. There is a greater sense of responsibility to honesty and truth, especially since it could be the first introduction for a listener and the lack of organized sources about his life. I think this curiosity is what makes my writing and programming more human. To see him as more than just his music to investigate the world that he had to navigate and attempt to understand the nuances of being a Nuyorican musician in the latter half of the 20th century.
I had a few crucial sources that were necessary to my mapping of Ray’s life and career timeline. A wonderful 2003 interview with Ray from YouTube, which was conducted by Aroura Flores, where he gives an overview of his career. A biography entitled Giant Force, written by Robert Téllez and translated to English by Ronald P.S. Vazquez. Articles from the Fania website, and most importantly, a conversation with Vince Cherico, Ray’s drummer for the last 11 years of his life.
My conversation with Vince helped give a lot of the context I was looking for and validated some of my conspires about Ray’s absences from the dominant jazz discourse. I could share my excitement, which had been building up for weeks, and see if some of my hypotheses based on all of my listening were accurate. Based on his records, I assumed Ray was a selfless band leader, not one for soloing, and someone who knew what talent to feature. Some of this was right, Ray was about the music. According to Vince, he was serious and very much motivated by the music he was making. That sounds like an entry-level requirement for a musician, but it isn’t always the case. Even after months of listening, being able to talk to Vince tied together the experience of programming the show. We spoke a week or so out from the program, and I was incredibly nervous. Everyone feels awkward talking to someone they’ve never met, but asking questions about someone who is now deceased and has a larger influence on someone else’s life and career can always be nerve-wracking. My perception of Ray was either going to be shattered, validated, or enhanced.
There were so many great tidbits I got from our conversation. Ray was indeed tall. He wasn’t one for soloing. He knew what he wanted from his band. He was in a unique liminal space between Latin and jazz that many musicians couldn’t occupy. Vince’s first exposure to Ray’s music was the 1979 album “Rican-Struction,” which is a masterpiece of epic proportion, featuring intricate arrangments and insane bass lines from Sal Cuevas. My more than hour-long phone call with Vince was a type of validation listeners don’t often get and one thing I love about the jazz world. You can find people who worked with so many greats who are interested in talking to you, and for that, I am so grateful.
The whole process of listening to Ray’s music, learning about him, and getting to talk about him was incredibly exciting, and sitting behind a microphone and broadcasting the results of two months of work was so fulfilling. After compiling handwritten notes, spreadsheets of his discography, and a 4-hour long setlist, I was ready to point out all of the little nuances in each recording I wanted the world to know. I wanted people to enjoy the ride with me, and it was so validating to have KCR listeners call in with comments about Ray and their memories of him. I was especially flattered when someone asked where they could hear more of me and when John DiMartino, the pianist of Ray’s group New World Spirit from 1995-2000, reached out after the fact to say I did a good job.
Spending that Sunday afternoon at KCR was so special. It is only in spaces like KCR that people can continue doing the work of uplifting the legacy of musicians who aren’t given the mainstream spotlight. That’s what connects KCR, Ray, and I. The music. We’re all doing it for the love of the music and the indescribable joy it brings.
Further Reading
Ray Barretto’s NEA Jazz Master Article.
Ray Barretto’s Fania Discography features via Fania’s website
Thank you for sharing this reflection. I really enjoyed listening to the set, and I would appreciate a breakdown of the tracks. I'd love to hear more about why you picked particular tracks and details on the record dates.