His Fusion Is Fresh

Andres Cabas has been to the gym only once in his life. But on that day, the young singer got a workout he’ll never forget.

It happened almost four years ago in his hometown of Bogota, the Colombian capital. Cabas was still a virtual nobody in his native country, a breeding ground for an acclaimed crop of international stars such as Shakira, Juanes and Carlos Vives.

Barely out of his teens, Cabas had already lost hope of attaining pop stardom himself. The aspiring performer with the funny, frizzy hair had made a demo of his songs and passed it around to record labels in Colombia, leaving his dreams in the hands of front-desk receptionists.

When he got no response, Cabas became depressed. What’s the use of creating music from the heart if no one listens?

The idea of going to the gym came from his friends. They said the workout would counteract his doldrums. His body, long and lean as a tube, didn’t need the exercise. But it would help restore his disillusioned soul.

The dejected singer dragged himself down to the gimnasio, where he struck up a conversation with a fellow exerciser. It turned out to be Camilo Pumbo, an influential DJ, television host, music connoisseur and mentor to young talent. Pumbo wanted to hear the kid’s music.

“I went running all the way back to my house to get the demo and ran back to the gym to give it to him,” recalls Cabas during an interview in Los Angeles the day after the announcement last month of his nomination for a Latin Grammy as best new artist. “That was the extent of my workout, and I never went to the gym again.”

Pumbo invited Cabas to appear on his TV show “Esta Noche Si” (Yes, Tonight), where he impressed the host so much that Pumbo became the young artist’s manager, offering the rest of the world a glimpse of the talent he had discovered.

The fresh music and uplifting spirit of that demo are contained in Cabas’ exceptional eponymous debut album, released earlier this year in the U.S. on EMI Latin. His sound is a natural fusion of aggressive rock guitars, jazz tonal touches and the traditional coastal rhythms of Barranquilla, the Caribbean port city where he was born.

Although the Caribbean is brimming with fusions, the Cabas brand stands out for its boldness. It’s an inspired, harmonious blend of extreme elements--strident electric guitars with nostalgically romantic melodies and obscure, undiluted folk forms. He uses not just the well-known cumbia, but also the porro, fandango and the humble bullerengue, a song form developed by women who were social outcasts, the concubines and unwed mothers banned from the religious festivals for St. John and St. Peter.

In the Latin music industry, artists often water down their identities to reach international audiences. But Cabas is not afraid to be himself. His songs are like a collection of personal letters with a compelling point of view. They are full of humor, sharp satire, a torrid sensuality and an irrepressible optimism in the face of his nation’s terrifying social unrest.

“I think my record is a record that transports you,” says Cabas over lunch at a Miracle Mile restaurant across from his label’s offices on Wilshire Boulevard. “At least, I feel transported by the music I make, and I feel that people who hear it let themselves be transported too.”

To where?

“To the real Colombia,” Cabas says.

Cabas does not look like the TV stereotype of a Colombian. His skin is far more pale than the glowing, milky chocolate complexion in his album cover photo. He wears tight, hip-hugging jeans with bell-bottoms, a ‘70s throwback that seems to be popular with Colombian musicians. (Juanes, the singer-songwriter who swept last year’s Latin Grammy nominations, had that retro look before his recent pop star make-over.)

His features are ethnically ambiguous, like those composite drawings of a face containing elements of all races. But his look is slightly comical, especially with that unruly head of electrified hair, a cross between Don King and Carrot Top.

Cabas may be instantly recognizable now in Colombia, where his album became a bestseller and everybody’s singing his hits, “Mi Bombon” and “Ana Maria.” But in Los Angeles, he’s still a virtual nobody who’s not even allowed to pose for pictures in the lobby of the building where his label is housed. A young Latina security guard puts an end to the newspaper photo shoot as if she was evicting a vagrant. You can’t imagine her doing that if Enrique Iglesias had been there. (Cabas’ CD has sold less than 5,000 units in the U.S., according to Nielsen SoundScan.)

The singer takes it in stride and finishes posing outside. His main concern is appearing in the picture wearing a Strokes T-shirt. He worries, for a second, that maybe his label wouldn’t appreciate the plug for a band on a different record company.

Cabas has an enormous appetite for music of all kinds. During lunch--he orders a medley of colorful vegetables that he obviously relishes and repeatedly praises--the 24-year-old cites an array of eclectic influences, from jazz pianist Oscar Peterson to alt-rockers Jane’s Addiction.

Growing up in the ‘80s, he and his friends were “like a cult” of fans who thrived on finding good music and hating anything commercial. When Cabas was flunking math, he got a tutor who introduced him to even more great bands. Instead of studying algebra, student and teacher would listen to cassettes of the Cure and Pink Floyd.

Today, Cabas raves about the White Stripes and the Vines, two critically acclaimed new rock bands. He likes the way their music comes across so directly, Cabas says, free of over-production and studio tinkering that get between the artist and the listener.

Sometimes, he says, you can think a song to death. He still prefers the early, raw renditions of two songs from his new album, the demo versions of “Tu Boca” (Your Mouth), which has caused a controversy for its video’s lesbian kissing scene, and “Colombia Tierra Querida” (Colombia, Beloved Land).

Asked why he favors the originals, Cabas, who has been speaking in Spanish, instantly replies in English.

“Because I believe in first takes.”

As a child, Cabas loved to play piano so much that he whiled away the hours at the keyboard. He wasn’t like the other kids who had to be forced to practice.

When young Cabas misbehaved, his punishment was no more piano.

His father, Eduardo Cabas, was a well-known musician, DJ and composer from Barranquilla. When young Cabas was still a toddler, the family moved from the tropical coast to the Andean capital, where his father took a job as producer and arranger for the Philips record label, working with Claudia de Colombia and others.

Young Cabas’ childhood was immersed in music. His maternal grandmother, Alicia Rosales, developed a series of books to teach children to read through song, he recalls. During family gatherings, everybody sang traditional boleros and danced cumbias.

There came a time when the budding rocker considered his parents’ music old-fashioned, the universal teenage lament. But Cabas never forgot how music would light up his living room.

“It helps to witness those scenes while you’re growing up,” he says. “Because at those moments, I could see how songs made my family feel so emotional. I could see the effect music can have.”

Cabas went on to study classical piano at the Pontificia Universidad Javeriana, a Catholic university in Bogota. He also played with the school’s jazz ensemble under the direction of Antonio Arnedo, who was experimenting with fusions of Colombian folklore with modern music.

Later, he toured with a band called Maria Sabina, which set the verses of Colombian poets to traditional rhythms. Cabas always lingered with the percussionists, asking questions about the complex patterns and their history.

“Colombian music has an astounding nostalgia but is very festive at the same time,” he says. “That combination is like a magnet that keeps pulling us back, like an umbilical chord that keeps us tied to our origins.”

The artist bristles when he thinks of the stereotypes people have of his country. They think everybody wears a bulletproof vest and is somehow involved with drugs.

The Colombia he loves is never in the news. It’s a place of wonderful folk traditions and festivals, where groups of graceful singers dance through the night holding candles and greet the dawn with a chorus of harmonious voices.

It’s a place where music gives him goose bumps.

Margott Morales, 22, a bright-eyed Mexican American, got a touch of that magic when she heard a Cabas tune on the radio recently. The Cal State Long Beach business student drove from Wilmington with her mother to see the young artist perform at a Tower Records store in Anaheim, the Friday night after the Latin Grammy announcements.

“I just love the whole CD,” said Morales, who plays mariachi violin and loves to dance salsa. “I liked his music because it has a lot of classical tones to it. And he’s so down to earth.”

Before returning home to Colombia and a tour that would take him to Mexico, Chile, Argentina and Spain, Cabas performed for perhaps a dozen fans at the Tower store. He played piano and gave a new twist to songs that must be like oldies to him by now.

Afterward, he signed autographs, adding a drawing he had created as a personal logo. It’s a stick man made with thick brush strokes, the arms and legs extending down like roots reaching for the ground.

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Agustin Gurza is a Times staff writer.