It was in Old San Juan’s Bombonera restaurant in 1977 when I spotted the traditional straw hat and signature daisheke on the man sitting at the counter. C. Curet Alonso was holding a notepad and tape recorder when I sat beside him. He was reserved, diffident and guarded until we began to talk about Ismael Rivera’s “Esto Sí Es Lo Mío.” That’s when a glint appeared in his eyes and a smile crossed his face. We bonded talking about Maelo, the plena and the bomba, poverty, race, politics, religion and music.

Curet defined a revolutionary period in Latin music. His compositions brought out the best in the performer.
Masterworks included Héctor Lavoe’s “Periódico de Ayer” or “Juanito Alimaña,” Cheo Feliciano’s “Anacaona,” Pete El Conde’s “La Abolición,” Andy Montañez’s “El Eco del Tambor,” Celia Cruz’s “Isadora” and La Lupe’s “La Tirana.”

Curet’s name was ubiquitous, gracing hundreds of album credits by many of the top Latin music artists of the ‘60s, ‘70s, ‘80s and ‘90s. He penned more than 2,000 songs, spawning and jump-starting the artistic careers of many - from La Lupe and Cheo Feliciano to Frankie Ruiz. He was the most sought after composer in tropical music - Curet’s songs were guaranteed hits, revered as classic today.

“You had to take a number and wait on line,” Rubén Blades told the L.A. Times when Curet passed away. “His songs could revive any career, so there was always a fight to get new material from Tite,” recalled the Panamanian singer/songwriter whose interpretation of Curet’s “Plantación Adentro” also hit the top of the charts.

Curet helped father the nascent salsa movement that was marking time in clave through the streets of Puerto Rico and the Latin New York. His words inspired hope and faith, solace and joy during a time of social upheaval. Through more than 2,000 tunes, Curet became the musical narrator of current events and national pride, romance and religion. He reflected the face of a community that was in dire need of answers.

His talent for composing extended beyond the borders of the Caribbean - dipping into Mexico, Venezuela, Paraguay, Spain and Brazil. He credits the latter for receiving his best musical training from the “sorcerers of el semitono" (the half tone). His merengue for Los Hijos del Rey “Yo Me Dominicaniso” made much noise, and Tony Croatto’s version of Curet’s “Cucubano,” became a hit, later recorded by Menudo. From Chucho Avellanet to Nelson Ned, Tite Curet Alonso has been a pivotal figure in the repertoire of many Latin superstars.

This compilation brings to light the music of one of Puerto Rico’s most important composers of the 20th Century after a fourteen-year absence. This 30-tune double CD set, featuring some of Curet’s most beloved works, is a worthy addition to anyone’s collection. His songs were unavailable since 1995 due to a separate performance rights society contract that Curet signed, building an unnecessary layer of bureaucracy between the radio stations, publishing rights organizations and composers.

Notes music writer Jaime Torres Torres of El Nuevo Dia: “An entire generation was deprived of the genius of this notable and creative songwriter."

This compilation reflects several of the composer’s core themes. Curet was most proud of his writing skills, in particular his journalistic ability, often pointing to his scant use of adjectives in crafting a hit number. Tite Curet wrote for newspapers and magazines, hosted radio shows, and later wrote screenplays for stage and television, as well as children’s songs and hymns.

He studied to be a pharmacist, but through an uncle who had a print press found journalism insetad - writing columns and essays that he later pointed to as fodder for his musical muse. Curet worked almost all his life for the U.S. Postal Service, never relying entirely on the music business, even at the height of his popularity. He was proud that way. A proud Afro-Boricua negro, he wrote his roots on paper and abandoned his heart to song.

His was a hard life. He was born in the pueblo of Guayama, Puerto Rico on February 26, 1926. Curet’s father taught Spanish and played in the municipal band of Simón “Pin” Madera. Couples and singles paraded in plazas across from churches and government steeples where gazebos kept musicians out of the direct sunlight.

However, his parents divorced taking the young Curet to Barrio Obrero. Those mean streets around the hoods of Tokio, El Fangito, Tras Talleres and Puerta de Tierra were the last forts of proletariat resistance while breeding some of the Island’s biggest talents. Tito Rodríguez, who later recorded Curet’s hit “Tiemblas,” lived down the block from the fledging songwriter - as did bandleader Rafael Cortijo, featured on “Se Escapó Un León,” singer Gilberto Monroig, and the internationally renowned composer Rafael Hernández.

A seasoned man in a time of resistance to societal norms, Curet later witnessed the worldwide rage against Vietnam and the tsunami of civil and social change heralded by the ‘60s and ‘70s.

This intense, historical climate shaped Curet’s life and work.

Curet studied music as an adult. When asked for a song, he’d study the voice, tone and timbre of the singer, highlighting the phrasing, diction and enunciation. His verses were measured and restrained while bursting with assertive irony, wit and conflict. His study of music theory and solfegio helped him come up with melodies, lyrical meters and musical arrangements that augmented the work of arrangers. Artists who retained him were also subject to his scrutiny, part of the magic and power included in the creative process of the song.

Curet’s mother was a seamstress, but early on was also a voice for women's rights. Curet was able to write for women with a sensibility and feminine perspective that changed the tone of love songs - from wrist cutting torch songs to empowering tunes of self-reliance.

“La Tirana” is no shrinking violet song about "I’ll love you no matter how bad you treat me." This is a woman putting her pantalones on and saying something along the lines of “when you left me, I hit the jackpot." Originally written for a male singer, it was turned around into an empowering act of unapologetic aggression by Lupe Victoria Yolí. The 1968 hit sparked Curet’s commercial career and recharged La Lupe’s stardom. “Puro Teatro” followed. Curet's first break had happened in 1965, with Joe Quijano’s interpretation of “Efectivamente.”

His sympathetic admiration for singer Cheo Feliciano led to Curet’s pivotal role as a producer on the singer’s return as a solo artist. The subsequent 1971 Fania recording produced five hits, including the standard “Anacaona.”

Through Cheo, Curet told the folk tale of the valiant “Anacaona,” a taíno queen from the Dominican Republic who speaks of a long awaited struggle for her elusive freedom from slavery. Knowing this would be a passionate metaphor for Cheo’s own dependence, Curet writes “Anacaona” in the singer’s own style - thus making the number his. Pianist Larry Harlow performs one of the finest solos of his career, accompanied by Orestes Vilató on timbales. The great Louie Ramírez takes a fluid vibes solo, joined by Bobby Valentín on bass, Johnny Pacheco’s rhythmic conga drive and Johnny Rodríguez’s forceful cowbell for a laid-back yet aggressively swinging, history making session.

Richie Viera, who grew up in his father’s record store, recalls the many hours that Tite Curet spent in a backroom where he would write his newspaper column and songs: “Everyday he would come in with a big bag of plantain, alcapurrias or bacalaítos. He’d bring enough for everyone before sitting in the back office at an old typewriter. I’d watch him write as a line of one song would inspire the beginning of another. He would throw his head back and start to sway.”

Africanized nationalistic dignity is a recurring theme for Curet, who wrote provocatively on the struggles of a mulatto culture trying to progress and thrive within an American structure. Pete 'El Conde' Rodríguez said it best in “La Abolición”: the abolition of slavery does not mean freedom.

With Ismael Rivera’s 1975 hit “Caras Lindas,” Curet parades the multi-colored faces of the various tribes brought over to the Island. He notes their pain in verses that cut across social class, race and gender: Las caras lindas de mi raza prieta/Tienen de llanto, de pena y dolor.

Rivera makes “Caras Lindas” an anthem, phrasing verses in his rhythmic vocal style accompanied by an arrangement with blues riffs on the trombones.

Curet combats the social issues of his time with lyrical laments within a dance format. Once, his friends Rafael Viera and Franklin Hernández introduced singer and musician Billy Concepción to Curet in a restaurant. Concepción was blacklisted by the music industry and couldn’t find work. A father of six, he recounts the overwhelming feeling of having the world on his shoulders. Curet immediately took his pen and wrote “Lamento de Concepción” on a napkin. Concepción eleva la vista al cielo/Va gritando, hay niños que mantener - expressing the universal feeling of impotence at not being able to support his family.

Billy Concepción left Puerto Rico for New York, rescued by Cortijo, who took him on tour. Roberto Roena’s take on this tune has a deceiving, funky swing - sandwiched between pastoral samba passages that betray the tragic nature of this tale.

“Galera Tres” is a tale of injustice behind the justice system. A young Ismael Miranda demonstrates his street credibility on this protest song against prison violence. “Galera Tres” appeared first in a Marvin Santiago recording without Curet’s name. The composer credited Santiago’s wife, enabling her to receive royalties while Marvin was incarcerated.

Curet wrote many songs celebrating life, drums and music. “Evelio y la Rumba” is also included here, joining other songs such as “El Primer Montuno,” performed by the Andy Harlow band. “La Esencia del Guaguancó” as played by the Willie Rosario orchestra rejoices in this Cuban rhythm.

Curet’s religious compositions embrace “Tengo El Idde” (I have protection), with Celia Cruz and Johnny Pacheco warning haters about their spiritual shield. Curet’s words reflect the sacred rituals of the poor communities.

In matters of the heart, Curet can sound jilted, as in Héctor Lavoe's “Periódico de Ayer,” or vengeful - like in Bobby Valentín's “Aquella Mujer.” Even "Piraña" rages against yet another woman - reviled, and yet desired. Just as quickly as he condemns the female sex, Curet writes the lusty “Las Mujeres Son De Azúcar,” recorded by Sonora Ponceña.

Blanca Rosa Gil belts out her love song of strength in “Fue Por Mi Bien” with such passion that you almost feel sorry for the guy she’s breaking up with. The lush and languid arrangement behind Blanca’s cry for friendship to replace lost love puts the composer in the female psyche of platonic reconciliation. Sophy’s upbeat take of “Amor y Tentación” is flirty, coy, and free-spirited.

In his later years, Tite Curet Alonso left Puerto Rico to be with family in Baltimore, Maryland. On August 5, 2003 he died of a heart attack. He was 77. The Institute of Puerto Rican Culture gave him a hero’s wake. He was buried in the Santa María Magdalena de Pazzis cemetery in San Juan. Rubén Blades suspended his farewell tour so that he could attend the funeral. Cheo Feliciano, one of his closest friends, served as one of the many pallbearers.

Some people believe that, just like Puerto Rico's native tree frog (el coquí), Tite Curet Alonso died when he could no longer feel the warmth of his beloved little island.

Compiled by Nelson Abreu. Written by Aurora Flores, writer & bandleader of Zon del Barrio. Edited by Ernesto Lechner.


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