The Battle for Top Billing

Latin Beat Magazine, March, 2001 by Max Salazar

A PAGE FROM THE PAST

Latin New York magazine was a few months old in 1973, when the original version of this article was published. Top billing in the entertainment business has always existed, since the New York Latin music industry was born, back in 1930.

"Top Billing" is synonymous with success. It's a status symbol. Latin bandleaders who get top billing receive "top dollar." To the bandleader who gets it, it means that his name stands alone at the top center of an advertising poster in large, bold black letters above other names, following the order of their supposed importance, and as the eyes work down from name to name, the fees for individual performances diminish. This practice has become a sore point with a number of bandleaders, as on a great number of occasions they didn't like where their names were situated, resulting in ill feelings toward bandleaders and promoters of the events. The quest for top billing is tearing the Latin music world apart, generating hostile feelings toward fellow musicians, petty jealousies, evil cabals, machinations and derogatory gossip (which most of time is not based on true facts. Reportedly, it's also responsible for outstanding talents to wither away to limbo or seek another type of employment to sustain themselves. Talents such as Bobby Valentín, Joe Quijano, Joe Loco and Willie Rosario have had to move to Puerto Rico in order to obtain work for their orchestras. José Fajardo, one of the greatest flautists of all time, had to relocate to Miami. Willie Bobo, one of the greatest drummers in Latin music, settled in Los Angeles because, as he was known to say, "I'd rather be a big fish in a big pond than a fish in no pond."

Accomplished bandleaders like Ray Rodríguez (brother of Bobby Rodríguez of La Compañia fame), Pete Rodríguez, Kako, the Lebrón Brothers, Joey & Willie Pastrana, Orlando Marín, Pete Terrace and Héctor Rivera, all seasoned and very talented musicians, have been relegated to memories because they weren't with the "In People." New York City is very fortunate to have two of the greatest Latin orchestras: La Sonora Matancera and the Machito band. If it weren't for these two orchestras, the sound of salsa may not have reached the height of popularity that it now enjoys. Yet these two great institutions are not receiving the reverential respect they merit. You rarely see their names on the big dance posters. If these charges are true, what is it that makes bandleaders want top billing so bad that they chance ruining their careers, ruining other musicians' livelihoods and perhaps someday destroying their profession. One answer may be that they really deserve it, they're in demand at the moment, and they sell more records than their contemporaries, and according to musical parlance, "they're hot." Another answer may be that there are some who don't deserve it and may want the coveted top line of a marquee or poster simply to survive or to satisfy their ego, as motivated by their envy of others of perhaps just outright selfishness.

Bandleaders, I have learned, are not the only ones infected with this damnable disease. The "self importance" bug bites people from all walks of life and professions. The history of people suffering from delusions of grandeur is hundreds of years old. A century ago, any person caught standing above the person of an Egyptian Pharaoh was slain. During the chivalrous era of the 12th century, knights sitting on the side of an oblong table were offended. A round table was ordered designed by King Arthur of Great Britain to make all the knights feel equally important. Although the feeling of self-importance in 1973 is the same as that in the 12th century, a round table today is a poor substitution for the top dollar that Top Billing affords.

For the last eleven years (1961-1972), Latin music lovers and dancers have been deprived of an enjoyable evening because certain bandleaders have not appeared for scheduled performances because their names were placed in ads in an order not to their liking.

Even to this day, when the price of admission to a special or concert costs $10 per person, a number of bandleaders have said, "Damn the public, I'm not going to play if that guy's name is above mine," and, "I won't play if his name is next to mine." No one bandleader is responsible for this type of behavior. On one occasion, a conguero/bandleader who got the top line of the poster refused to play a dance because the name of another conguero/bandleader on the same bill was printed below in the same style of block letter, and the same width and size.

In 1968, when a spectacular dance was held at the St. George Hotel in Brooklyn, a well-known pianist/bandleader cancelled his appearance because a well-known conguero bandleader's name (who had the hit Bang Bang at the time) was identified above his name on the pertinent ad. The dance promoter tried to appease the disgruntled bandleader by proposing to print an equal amount of ads, with the disgruntled leader getting top billing. This overture failed because "the harm had already been done." The harm was not defined. It's a good thing that eight attractions were on hand to play at this marathon dance otherwise many of those who were attracted to the dance by both leaders and paid a high price to see them may have rioted. A glib, fast talking promoter once prevented an angry crowd of people from wrecking a Bronx ballroom, the Hunts Point Palace, during the pachanga craze era, when Eddie Palmieri (unknown at the time) substituted for his brother Charlie, whose charanga was ablaze at the time.