Cuban comet

By chance, my first night in Havana in 1987 was the night the clubs went dark to mark the death of Enrique Jorrin, the inventor of the cha-cha-cha, whose rhythmic brainstorm had gone global. My grandparents used to dance cha-cha-cha at Latin nights at the Grand Hotel in Leicester in the 1950s.

Rubén Gonzalez, Jorrin’s pianist, thought that his death spelled ‘the end of the old music’ and went into retirement, his piano destroyed by termites in the tropical humidity. Another contemporary who didn’t quite make his mark was Ibrahim Ferrer — he’d been in a moderately successful band Los Bucucos.

Ibrahim retired at about the same time, for similar reasons to Rubén — the work had dried up. Ibrahim, however, clung to what a santero (a local Afro-Cuban priest) had told him; that at the end of his life he would become celebrated. That seemed hopelessly far-fetched — he hit hard times and could be seen selling lottery tickets in the streets, and even shining shoes.