Milanes Thrills in Overdue L.A. Debut

Let’s imagine that you didn’t know who Pablo Milanes was.

Let’s say that you just happened to stumble into the Conga Room Thursday night and by sheer chance witnessed the first Los Angeles appearance ever by the veteran Cuban troubadour.

Watching this plain-looking, rotund, middle-aged man sitting on a stool, with thick glasses and a timid grin on his face, you would never have guessed that he is one of the most prodigiously talented singer-songwriters in the history of Latin music, a man whose brilliant and extensive body of work can easily be compared to those of John Lennon, Bob Dylan or Bruce Springsteen.

You wouldn’t have guessed, that is, until he opened his mouth and started singing, and the capacity audience started chanting along with every word and screaming his name with almost religious fervor.

Indeed, there’s more to Pablo Milanes than meets the eye.

Milanes was one of the key figures of the nueva trova, a musical movement that flourished in Cuba during the ‘70s, using songs both as political weapons and instruments of deep personal exploration.

Together with countryman Silvio Rodriguez, the singer expanded the lexicon of Latin pop, employing metaphors and symbolism with joyful abandon and creating a harmonious marriage of poignant lyrics and a melange of musical styles.

All these elements were present at the Conga Room, where the 58-year-old Milanes performed two sets that clocked at a little more than 90 minutes each.

It would have been easy for Milanes and his superlative sextet of multi-instrumentalists to satisfy the sold-out crowd by feeding it a hefty serving of the old hits--the songs that the audience was there for in the first place. Surprisingly, he did everything but that.

His latest albums are as captivating and innovative as his classic recordings of 25 years ago, and Milanes devoted most of the show to lesser-known material from the last few years.

Beginning with the contemplative “Vengo Naciendo,” he delivered superior versions of tunes from his last two albums, “Despertar” and “Los Dias de Gloria.”

If anything, these numbers, with their echoes of Cuban folklore, smoky boleros, Brazilian tropicalia and even mainstream pop idioms, proved that Milanes has lost none of his omnivorous musical appetite.

This was not the type of Cuban music fans of the Buena Vista Social Club have come to expect.

The Afro-Cuban tinge is occasionally present in Milanes’ sonic adventures, as in the frisky “Deborah Winski” and the clave-punctuated “En Saco Roto.”

On the other hand, the serene “Despertar” boasted a baroque-like instrumental bridge, while the torrid saxophone solo of “Si Ella Me Faltara Alguna Vez” made you think of a Phil Collins ballad.

Milanes ended the concert with four oldies, including the hymn-like “Yolanda” (a love poem to his former wife) and the heart-wrenching “El Breve Espacio En Que Tu No Estas.”

At the center of it all was the singer’s indelible voice, whose thick yet delicate timbre brings to mind the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and his ability to create poetry out of the simplest words. “Hay una risa al final de cada llanto,” he sang during a particularly revealing moment--”There’s laughter at the end of every crying spell.”

Watching Milanes at work, you couldn’t help but feel optimistic about the power of music to inspire and uplift even the most jaded souls.