Pa’ la calle
CABARET GUANIMAR, AN open-air night-club on the outskirts of Havana, is heaving with bodies, lights and sound. A low cement wall separates the kinetic energy inside from this otherwise mundane thoroughfare in Guanabo, a small coastal town on the eastern shore. The drive here from the city centre is long and dark; our 1950s diesel car the only light on a dusty road. But there’s a reason so many have made the pilgrimage. Tonight, Cuba’s most infamous reggaeton duo, Chacal y Yakarta, will grace the stage.
Beyond security guards and the long line outside, the club pulses with flashing neon, smoke machines and the muffled of sound-checks as a DJ plays innocuous reggaeton beats barely audible from the street. Chacal, Yakarta and the band sneak in through a secret backdoor and climb the rickety wooden stairs to a small office perched above the crowd. The venue is a state-run venture, meaning low budgets and plundered resources. The band’s “backstage” is a mouldy room of chipped blue paint furnished with nothing but two metal desks.
