Diario las Américas Newspaper, January 27, 1957, Page 22

SOW Dressed in black, tall solemn, almost tragic, the feared and famous music critic of one of Madrid’s principal newspapers advanced slowly across the lobby of a luxurious hotel in the Span- ish capital. In the middle of this richly draped hall, sparkling with crystal chandeliers, the white teeth and round, dark face of someone guffawing and talking in a loud voice with a warm Caribbean ac- sent stood out clearly. The circle Ignacio Villa. celebrated Cuban singer BY RAUL MASS fael Alberti wrote in one of his books: “To Bola the real charm, the charm of Cuba,” and Manuel de Falla gave him an autographed score of El Amor Brujo. “Have you ever thought of the secret of just why your voice awak- ens emotion?” “I have no voice, chico. The one I have is my speaking voice, which is bad enough,’ he answered laugh- ing. More seriously, he added, “Perhaps it’s because I say what is While Bola warms up for this PAU concert, artist José Bermudez sketches him for this month’s Americas cover, of newspapermen opened to make way for the majestic gentleman, wro looked around disagreeably and asked pedantically, “What kind of voice do you have — tenor, baritone?” The happy face hard- ened and the eyes gleamed cyni- cally: “I have the voice of a per- son, a human being.” The gay laughter of Ignacio Villa, the fabu- lous “Bola de Nieve” (“Snowball”) broke out once more, while the pompous critic withdrew. The same evening the Spanish public gave a long standing ovation to this very Cuban poet, composer, pianist, and singer with the “voice of a hu- man being.” Bola de Nieve chuckle@ again as he recalled the incident the night of his arrival in Washington, where, before a full house at the Pan American Union, he gave a concert that he considered one of the most important in his career, “After twenty-five years of suc- cess,” I asked, “why do you at- tach so much importance to this performance?” “Because, chico, I am opening a new chapter with it. From now on I’m going to cut down more and more on night-club and theater va- riety shows and give more con- certs. Years ago Paco Aguilar (the great Spanish lute player) told me, ‘The Latin Americans insist on presenting you as a variety-show performer. You are a concert art- ist, not a cabaret musician.” Ignacio Villa is starting this new stage of his career with firm deter- mination. Friendly hands are showing him the way, among them those of some great Spaniards, who are entitled to severity of judg- ment, since it is a case of an artist who speaks their language. Andrés Segovia, the classical guitarist, was deeply touched when he heard him and declared: “When we listen to Bola it is as if we were witnessing the joint birth of the words and music he interprets.” The poet Ra- within the song. The truth. The core; what one believes in com- pletely.The only thing that com- mands respect in the world is truth.” Even foreigners who do not un- derstand the words are moved when they hear him do “Cancién de Cuna para Despertar a un Ne- Reprinted from AMERICAS, monthly magazine published by the Pan American Union is English, Spanish and Portu- guese, grito (Cradle Song to Waken a Little Negro),” whose words were written for him by the Cuban poet Nicolas Guillén. A few years ago he played one night at Café So- ciety in New York, a night club frequer‘2d by artists and intelect- uals. As he said the last verses of “Drumi, Mobila,” his children’s lul- laby, which appears in Emilio Bal- lagas’ Antologia ~: la Poesia Ne- gra, Paul Robeson came over and introduced himself . “No other singer,” he said with tears in his eyes, “has stirred me as much as you. Now I’m going to sing for you!” And he intoned spirituals and U. S. folk songs for the Cuban and a few friends until dawn. “What if the public, as so often happens, doesn’t accept your ‘truth’?” “I don’t make concessions to the so-called ‘popular taste’! If they do not like what I sing, I persist un- til they do like it, and if they still refuse, I go elsewhere until I find some one who does like it, because that’s ‘my truth.” Ignacio Vilia has “his head and his heart in the air of the world,” as the poet says, and his feet wherever those who want to hear his .voice and his truth call him, but his roots are in the soil of Gua- nabacoa, the small colonial town across the bay from Havana where he was born in 1911, lives, and wants to die — in the patio of his home and the memory of his mo- ther, Inés Villa. We spoke of her as if she were still waiting for him. at the end of his voyage. Who- ever knew her can never forget her. She was all happiness and charm — when she cooked the Cu- ban specialties with her master : hand, when she presided with seig- norial authority over the table spread for friends and the friends of friends (the door of her house was always open), or when she gave the signal to start the rumba. She would stand majestically erect in the center of the patio and begin swaying to the rhythm of the drums. The clear voice of her daughter Berta tossed into the air the words of the famous song that was born in Inés Villa’s pa- tio: Sun, sun, sun, Sun-sun, damba a6 Sun, sun, sun, Sun-sun, damba a6 Pajaro lindo de la madruga, Pajaro lindo de la madruga. Turning back to the present, I asked Bola what he planned to do next. “Cut a record in Méxieo and fill some remaining contracts as a per- former of my old phase in theaters and night clubs. In the future, I’m thinking of appearing as a soloist with a group of Cuban instruments and full orchestra, interpreting works of contemporary Cuban composers. Later, I want to com- pose and stage a ballet and give concerts.” His father wanted Bola de Nieve BSD DEH ppb bt biti Sono, Bola de Nieve’s laughter is irrepressible “PAG. 10 a a SUNDAY, JANUARY 27, 100 l Pid RA bi SP wniieiniournaccepetondoals ste i Pe SER inane tei eas acta ei est hn iin Pi SPR ERR te Ria Mita SNE RS a AREAS IRs Ni