MAYRA CARIDAD VALDES at the Rivoli, November 10. Tickets: $20. Attendance: 150. Rating: NNN
in the alcove leading to the Rivoli’s back room, where the first of two shows by Cuban jazz belter Mayra Caridad Valdes was about to start, a beefy security mug was directing traffic. “No tickets available,” he bellowed repeatedly as people scurried for the few remaining chairs. By 8:30 pm the joint was packed to the walls and the majority of the 150 in attendance stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the rear.
Unfortunately, their close proximity to the bar seemed to give many the idea that they could gab loudly with their friends (“Wow, did you hear what that woman on piano just played? Wait, it’s a man!”), while others spent the entire night fidgeting, hoping to spot the one empty seat that everyone else had missed.
Onstage, Valdes’s band were already charging Yoruba-style through the opening jam, with percussionist Yaroldy Abreu bashing bata to summon the star of the show. Then, right on cue, the former Irakere vocalist strutted forth with arms raised, chanting invocations to Chango and Obatala.
It was shaping up to be a thrilling night of hardcore Afro-Cuban jazz, but suddenly Valdes geared down to bolero time for a soft and schmaltzy take on Besame Mucho in which saxophonist Irving Acao got all Kenny G gooey on his solo.
Once Valdes was through pandering, she resumed her mission to prove that her rep as Havana’s answer to Ella Fitzgerald wasn’t empty hype by scatting her ass off whenever possible.
Quickly sizing up how easily the crowd was impressed by sheer velocity, she cranked up the speed on each successive wordless rip. But what could’ve been a brilliant, show-stopping display of stunning vocal dexterity, had Valdes chosen her eruptions more carefully, quickly became a tiresome gimmick.
You could almost predict the exact moment in each tune when the bee-da-dee-ba-doo-didi-dahing would kick in. And it was no longer something to look forward to — it just made you wish she’d sing the darn song straight for a change.
The closing blast through her signature dance jam, Yemaya, almost made up for these indiscretions, but not quite.
