New sound machines

Behind the wheel of his bright red Ferrari Modena, Fabio “Estefano” Salgado is having a flash of road rage under a ferocious Florida sun. The hot record producer and songwriter is trying to weave past an indecisive driver in a beat-up Corvette that is drifting toward the side of the road.

Salgado shifts gears to pull ahead. But the Corvette suddenly moves back into his path, forcing him to hit the brakes. Steaming, Salgado honks the horn, his curly hair dangling over the bandanna across his forehead, a stream of expletives sizzling over the roar of the engine.

The Corvette freezes and lets the Ferrari by. Smart move. These days, it’s futile to try to get in the way of the brash, big-talking Colombian, one of the most sought-after producers in the Latin record industry.

Salgado -- who goes by the stage name he used in the ‘90s singing duo Donato y Estefano -- is still revved up as he races to his Midnight Blue Studios in North Miami Beach. That’s where his company recorded the smash 2000 album by Mexican pop singer Paulina Rubio, salvaging her sagging career and nurturing her crossover aspirations. Nobody can stop him now, says the agitated musician, who was named BMI’s top Latin songwriter in 2000 and 2002 for garnering the most airplay.

His competitors may try to throw roadblocks in his path, says Salgado, who’s working on tracks for Ricky Martin’s new Spanish-language album. But some day soon, he boasts, he’s going to have the whole market to himself. Then everybody will be kissing his feet, he says, though he puts it more crudely in Spanish.

But Salgado’s goal of dominating Miami’s Latin music scene is becoming increasingly unattainable in a rapidly changing market. Neither the city nor the industry is what it was when Salgado came to town 10 years ago, empty-handed and hungry for success.

Back then, when people thought of Latin music in this tropical seaport, only one name came to mind -- Emilio Estefan Jr. Along with his wife, singer Gloria Estefan, the enterprising Cuban American went from heading a local salsa-meets-disco band called Miami Sound Machine to building a musical conglomerate that seemed to monopolize the business.

Officials from the White House and the recording academy turned to Estefan as the spokesman of Latin music in the United States. Almost every aspiring songwriter and producer wound up knocking at the door of Estefan Enterprises in trendy South Beach. By the time the rest of the country became aware of the so-called Latin explosion in 1999, the year of Martin’s “Livin’ La Vida Loca,” Estefan’s staff had worked with every big name in the business, including Ricky and Shakira.

Today in Miami’s Latin music business, however, the era of one-man rule is over. A new generation of independent producers has emerged in the past few years, competing for market share with Estefan’s Miami Motown. They are the city’s new sound machines -- a mushrooming creative force bringing an array of styles and approaches to the recording process.

Some, like Salgado and fellow Colombian Kike Santander, are defectors from the Estefan camp who have built rival hit-making organizations with their own staffs of producers and songwriters. Others, like Cuban American Lester Mendez, who recently worked with Shakira and Carlos Santana, have carved independent paths to success.

“There’s a new sound coming out of Miami,” says manager Fernan Martinez, an industry veteran who represents Salgado as well as Colombian pop-rock star Juanes. “Producers have been desperately looking for another formula, something more contemporary, a little more rockish.”

The proliferation of Latin producers, including veterans Rudy Perez (Christina Aguilera) and Desmond Child (co-author of Martin’s “Vida Loca” and “The Cup of Life”) has helped fuel Miami’s recording studio renaissance. But most important, their emergence means alternatives for developing and established artists.

Singer-songwriter Jorge Moreno, named this year’s best new artist at the Latin Grammys, said he sought out young Miami producers such as Mendez and A.T. Molina to get a fresh fusion of sounds.

“I didn’t want to be in the machine,” he says. “I have my own way of thinking how the production should go, and I wanted to do my own thing.”

Santander, Salgado and Mendez are riding the crest of the latest Latin music wave. Santander leans to the traditional pop of artists such as young Spanish discovery David Bisbal. Salgado’s Latin pop sound is more upbeat and danceable, in the style of his new albums for Mexican pop rivals Thalia and Rubio. And Mendez is in a world of his own, cool and bicultural like Shakira.

“It’s the best thing that could happen,” Santander says. “Everybody wins by having better and more producers, because the quality of the music improves. And the public wins because it’s good to hear on the radio things that sound different.”

Splintering of the empire

Not long ago, Santander and Salgado were busy making hits for the Estefans. They had no sooner arrived in this country, by separate paths, than they handed Gloria Estefan the best Spanish-language work of her career.

The first song Salgado wrote for her was the nostalgic, rousing title cut to her 1993 smash album “Mi Tierra.” And Santander, who holds a medical degree from the Universidad del Valle del Cauca in his hometown of Cali, co-produced Gloria’s 1995 Grammy-winning album, “Abriendo Puertas.”

The title, which means “opening doors,” would prove prophetic for the budding career of the former ad jingle writer, then 34, who wrote every cut on the festive, folk-tinged album. Before the end of the decade, Santander would go on to work with the top names in Latin music, all under the Estefan umbrella. He helped expand the style of Mexican singer Alejandro Fernandez from mariachi to pop and composed and produced tracks for Thalia and actress-singer Jennifer Lopez.

Today, the hallway of Santander’s modern, glass-and-metal offices in South Beach is covered with plaques acknowledging the popularity of his songs, including the huge hit “Azul” by Mexico’s Christian Castro. Santander, who recently produced two Carlos Santana tracks, was also named BMI’s Latin songwriter of the year, tied with Salgado and others in 2000 and 2001.

Santander is known for his formal personal style and conservative pop sound. But during an interview on the eve of his recent honeymoon, he appeared relaxed, dressed in a cream-colored linen shirt, Dockers and tan sandals.

He says he learned much from his years with Estefan Enterprises, especially Estefan’s team approach of bringing studios, producers, songwriters and executives under one production roof.

“He offered everything in one package, including a record label, which is my next step,” says Santander, who plays piano, guitar and accordion.

Santander also learned the value of PR -- of “creating a brand, because Emilio Estefan is a brand, and I am doing the same with my name.”

Ironically, it was Estefan’s knack for capturing the media spotlight that contributed to Santander’s much-publicized conflict with his former employer. Two years ago, he sued Estefan, claiming he was not getting the public credit nor the compensation he deserved.

Estefan denied the allegations and countersued. The bitter dispute was settled out of court, and Santander now says the relationship is amicable. Still, the lawsuit highlighted a hidden rift: It was the first time an insider had so publicly challenged the Estefan empire.

“It’s like suddenly the bubble burst,” says Santander, who won this year’s Latin Grammy for producer of the year. “Now, he’s one more player among many. Nobody can monopolize something as big as Latin music. It’s too vibrant, it moves too much to try to pretend that somebody could control this.”

Estefan’s response: There’s room for everybody.

The 25-year industry veteran acknowledges that his share of the Latin Top 10 may have slipped in recent years, but he still has more work than he can handle. His 16 producers and 42 songwriters are keeping his eight recording studios humming around the clock. Despite the recession, “this was a good year for me,” he says, citing the success of works by Colombian singer-songwriter Carlos Vives and Shakira’s smash crossover album, “Laundry Service,” for which he was executive producer.

“I think I’m doing great,” Estefan says. “I have no complaints.”

Far from expressing concern about talent leaving his organization, Estefan says he’s proud that former proteges are doing so well.

“I’m the happiest I could be right now that I helped other people’s dreams come true.”

Rags to riches

Salgado does not deny that he owes his first big break in the U.S. to his former employer. Before joining Estefan as a songwriter, Salgado says, he was living poor in New York. Now he lives in an elegantly appointed Miami Beach home, with a dragon in a fountain greeting visitors out front and Jet Skis parked on his backyard patio on glistening Biscayne Bay. Salgado is not bashful about showing off his collection of luxury Swiss watches, including a $200,000, diamond-encrusted Frank Mueller that has no minute hand.

“I came here searching for the dream, to make music,” says Salgado, a guitarist. “The American dream.”

Making dreams come true takes hard work, he says. The night before the interview, he had stayed up until dawn preparing new material for Alexandre Pires, the first pop singer from Brazil to cross into the Spanish-language market since Roberto Carlos in the 1970s. Still, Salgado seemed to have energy to spare, speaking rapidly about the business, his success, his taste for minimalist, Japanese-style furnishings.

Later, seated behind a console at his cramped studios, he excitedly previews a slick and catchy dance track he wrote for Puerto Rican merengue singer Gisselle. It appears on her new album, which his company produced. He bounces and sings along like an enthusiastic music fan, the child of average folks who listened to radio and bought records.

“This really does sound modern,” he concludes. “Takes her out of that Nuyorican milieu they had her in.”

Salgado worries that Latin producers are stuck in formulas. They need to evolve and stay fresh lest they lose fans to the mainstream English market.

“Why do people turn to other music? Because maybe we don’t give them what they want,” says Salgado, who admires the classic songwriting craft of Spaniard Manuel Alejandro. “Let’s make good songs with lovely lyrics, darn it. Let’s stop making garbage and stupidities just so we can brag that we are the biggest and best in the world.

“We have to make good music so that the public can believe in us again.”

The Lester Mendez sound

Crafting a contemporary sound is the specialty of Lester Mendez. But public relations is not. You won’t find a Lester Mendez Web page. Rarely will you even read a Lester Mendez interview.

The slightly built, baby-faced musician shrinks from the limelight. During a recent interview, he kept folding and unfolding his arms, clearly unaccustomed to being the focus of attention.

His facilities are funky, not fancy, located in a hidden Coconut Grove cottage on a quiet street with no sidewalks. There’s a kind of carefree, hippie atmosphere, here, with overgrown vegetation and fading paint. It’s a world away from the flash of South Beach.

“It’s not about glitz,” says the soft-spoken Mendez. “It’s more about vibe.”

His is a cool, laid-back vibe that instantly resonated with Shakira. The first time they met, in the mid-’90s, he says the Colombian singer kicked off her shoes and started talking about the British bands she loved back in Barranquilla -- Blur, Depeche Mode, the Cure.

Mendez, born in Cuba and raised in Miami, had grown up with the same groups. “Yeah, it was cool,” he recalls of the meeting. “She’d remember the bass line from [Blur’s] ‘Girls and Boys’ and I’d say, ‘Yeah, I love that!’ And I’d bring out the CD, and we’d listen to it.”

That connection, facilitated by Estefan, turned out to be a gold mine. Before the pair parted that day, they had written their first song -- “Octavo Dia” (Eighth Day), a defiant social protest included on Shakira’s multi-platinum 1998 album, “theseDonde Estan Los Ladrones?,” which Mendez co-produced.

That album established Shakira as a star in Latin America and launched Mendez’s career too. Until then, the creative keyboardist had been a moderately successful Miami studio musician, touring with Spanish crooner Julio Iglesias and recording with rock guitarist Jimmy Page. Today, he’s being courted by renowned record executive Clive Davis, who asked Mendez to collaborate on Carlos Santana’s recent “Shaman” album as producer and arranger.

The mop-topped producer has also worked with heartthrob Enrique Iglesias. Most recently, he’s been working on songs with pop singer Jewel, putting a Mendez groove under Jewel’s storytelling English lyrics.

Unlike his colleagues, Mendez did not come up through the ranks in Miami’s tightknit music industry.

“I always felt I had to find my niche, do stuff that’s true to me, the kind of music I like,” says Mendez, who’s now experimenting with new twists to old Afro-Cuban jazz. “I always felt that’s how it was going to happen for me -- finding my own path.”

In a sign of where the industry is headed, he went his own way.