Ray Barretto, 76; Conga Player Noted in Worlds of Salsa and Latin Jazz

Ray Barretto, the towering Puerto Rican percussionist who straddled the occasionally conflicting worlds of salsa and Latin jazz during a career that spanned more than half a century, died Friday. He was 76.

Barretto, who had asthma, was hospitalized last month in New Jersey, where it was discovered he had suffered a heart attack. He was also treated for pneumonia and later underwent quadruple bypass surgery. His condition suddenly worsened because of unspecified complications, according to longtime friend and family spokesman George Rivera, who declined to state a cause of death.

“He fought to the bitter end,” Rivera said. “There was never any doubt in his mind that he was going to play again. If he could survive, he was going to play, because that was his mission in life.”

Best known for his 1963 novelty hit “El Watusi,” Barretto was remembered Friday by friends and fellow musicians as a private and often quiet man with a gentle heart and as a meticulous, disciplined professional. Those were traits that would help him navigate the two music worlds he inhabited -- the tumultuous salsa scene, where he was a star, and the more serene jazz scene, where he assumed the role of supportive and unobtrusive sideman to some of the best jazz musicians of his time.

“As far as a gentleman, a class act, a person that was reliable beyond belief, prepared and punctual and all of that, there was nobody like him,” said Grammy-winning producer Harvey Averne, who produced Barretto’s first album for Fania Records, “Acid,” in 1967. “That was the time in the ‘60s when we were all crazy, but Ray Barretto was Mr. Clean. He never drank, he never did nothing. That may have led people to think he was boring.”

He may have made a slow and hulking figure, but Barretto provided a spark for the salsa explosion of the 1970s, leading one of the tightest dance bands of the day and becoming one of the most recognizable members of the salsa super group the Fania All Stars. What he lacked in flashiness, he made up for in musicianship, steadiness and hard work.

At a now infamous Fania All Stars concert at Yankee Stadium in the mid-1970s, Barretto’s manhandling of the conga drum drove crowds wild and caused a near-riot that shut down the show. It occurred in the middle of “Congo Bongo,” a percussion duel with Mongo Santamaria, the Cuban conguero whom Barretto had earlier replaced in Tito Puente’s band.

“When Ray stood up and started banging the drum on the floor of the stage -- boom, boom, boom -- the whole place went nuts,” said Alex Masucci, a producer at Fania. “People went wild. They charged the field and just poured over the stage, and they wound up stealing the piano.”

That conga slam was possibly Barretto’s only showy move, one that became a trademark perhaps because not too many other players were tall enough to try it.

“He was known for his power,” said UC Irvine professor Raul Fernandez, author of “Latin Jazz: The Perfect Combination/La Combinacion Perfecta.” “When it comes to dexterity or great technique, he acknowledged that he was not a virtuoso of the conga drum. But it was his hard-driving power and full tones that made his mark, the kind of conga drum you not only heard but felt through your body.”

That strength became a symbol for the salsa movement, fueled partly by the drive for Latino political power and identity in the United States. Barretto captured the spirit of the time on a 1973 album cover where he is shown shedding horned-rimmed glasses like Clark Kent and exposing a Superman suit under his shirt.

The socially symbolic title: “Indestructible.”

It was one of nearly two dozen albums he recorded for Fania from the late 1960s until the mid-’80s, collaborating with stars such as Ruben Blades and Celia Cruz. Sadly, Barretto became discouraged with what he saw as the unfair treatment of musicians in the Latin scene. He turned to jazz for professional respect, sometimes alienating his salsa fans who felt abandoned.

“To segue into jazz required a real dexterity and musicianship,” said John Burk, executive vice president of Concord Music Group, which released three of Barretto’s jazz albums in the 1990s. “It’s not easy to play congas in a jazz context. To break away and still be very musical and true to the tradition was a gift of his.”

Barretto was born in Brooklyn, N.Y., in 1929 and was raised by his mother in Spanish Harlem. He joined the Army at 17 and discovered his musical calling while stationed in Germany. That’s where he first heard the seminal Latin jazz composition “Manteca,” performed by Dizzy Gillespie and Chano Pozo, the Cuban conguero who remained a lifelong influence.

With no congas available to play at the time, Rivera said, Barretto would strip the strings off a banjo and use the skins to play percussion.

Back in New York, he had a fateful encounter with the legendary saxophonist Charlie “Bird” Parker, who had watched him play from the sidelines at the Apollo Bar. As Barretto was preparing to leave, Parker stopped him.

“As Bird was walking on stage, he put his hand on my shoulder and he said, ‘You stay!’ ” Barretto once told an interviewer. “I spent a week jamming with Bird, and I was in heaven for seven nights. He could have had my services until I died.”

That night, Barretto was also spotted by a producer who invited him the next day to sit in on a studio session with pianist Red Garland. To Barretto’s surprise, the tune that would become his first recording was the one that inspired his career: “Manteca.”

He was soon one of the most sought-after session percussionists, recording with rock acts such as the Bee Gees and the Rolling Stones and a raft of jazz artists, including Cannonball Adderley, Freddie Hubbard, Cal Tjader, Gillespie and Wes Montgomery.

Barretto’s latest album, “Time Was -- Time Is,” released in September, was nominated for a Grammy as best Latin jazz album.

Just before being hospitalized last month, the artist was honored as one of the National Endowment for the Arts’ Jazz Masters of 2006, the nation’s highest jazz honor.

He is survived by his wife of 28 years, Annette “Brandy” Rivera; children Raun, Ray Jr., Kelly and Christopher; and four grandchildren.