For those of us who follow the Way of the sub, the most challenging sub situations often involve unfamiliar music styles. Music from other cultures can be especially tricky, as it often involves concepts out of our own spheres of knowledge. While I grew up surrounded by the sounds of Afro-Cuban music in New York City, I had never played an entire night of it until I got called to fill in with Descarga, a well-established local salsa group.

Afro-Cuban music is rhythmically very different from anything in the Anglo universe. You don’t have to be born in Cuba to play this music properly—you just have to learn to hit the groove and hold it while several drummers are playing cross rhythms all around you. A lot of Afro-Cuban music is based on two clave rhythms, the “3-2” son clave (Ex. 1), and the “2-3” son clave (Ex. 2). The rhythms of the clave (that’s CLAH-vay) underscore everything, and the bass lines often skirt around them, matching in some places, filling in the holes in others.

I had the tape and charts a week in advance, so I spent plenty of time preparing. The charts were fairly accurate, if a little sloppy. The copy-of-a-copy tape put many of the keys “in the cracks,” so I had to tune to the tape. For some extra background and practice, I cracked open The Latin Bass Book by Oscar Stagnaro [Sher Music]. This tome of valuable information helped me get a better sense of how the groove fits together. The trick with Latin music in general is that it is felt in a 2/4 feel. Even if it is written in 4/4, the big pulse is the half-note—this makes the quarter-notes you’re reading sound like eighths, and the eighths sound like 16ths. Once you get the hang of this, it’s easier to relax into the feel.

The charts comprised different repeated sections, each with its own unique tumbao bass line. Ex. 3 is the first section of one tune I played; it repeats until the cue to move to the next section (Ex. 4). Ex. 5 is a tricky unison line played toward the end of the chart. I moved up the neck and started with the F at the A string’s 8th fret; it allowed me to stay in position, although it created some tricky fingerings. Program the two different clave rhythms into your drum machine and play these lines over them.

The night of the gig was hectic—the band hit at 9 pm, and I had to rush straight from my “happy hour” jazz trio gig. Oh yeah—and I had just gotten married that afternoon. (“I swear, baby, this is the only time I’ll ever have two gigs on our honeymoon!”) Rare woman that she is, my wife not only went to both gigs, but she actually enjoyed them.

The room was a gymnasium-like space with terrible acoustics for bass, so I brought a small rig: a 1x12 cabinet, a small, powerful head, and an EQ/preamp pedal. The cab could easily dish out enough sound without being overpowering onstage, and the EQ helped me de-emphasize certain frequencies that set the room off like a bomb. I soon discovered that using the palm-muted/thumb technique cut the decay enough so my notes didn’t fill up the room with muddy sludge, and it did a great job of simulating the Ampeg Baby Bass sound used on many classic Afro-Cuban records.

I had brought my 5-string from the earlier gig, and playing way up on the B string worked great, as it gave the notes a lot of “bass energy.” I set up where the regular guy usually sat (next to the conga player), tuned up, and was ready for the downbeat … umm … upbeat … whatever.

Descarga has played this gig for many years and attracts a large dance crowd. The people get dressed to the nines and put on quite a show, and while I had to keep my nose in the charts and my eyes open for cues, it was hard resisting the temptation to people-watch.

The gig was going well, but in most of the arrangements, there is a point where the clave switches from 3-2 to 2-3 by skipping a measure. Regular Descarga bassist Mark Usvolk refers to this spot as the “3-2/2-3 switcherooni.” It’s a tricky moment—the bass line stays the same, but everything around it shifts, and there was one time when I almost lost it. For a few bars it felt like I was at the helm of a huge sailing ship, fighting with all my might against a raging storm. Everyone on the bandstand was leaning against the wind to keep the ship afloat; even the dancers felt that moment of turmoil. Luckily I pulled it together before the groove capsized, and no one drowned. For the most part the gig was technically simple; there were one or two spots that had tricky syncopated unison lines (Ex. 5, for instance). On the long vamp sections I was able to relax, take my eyes off the charts, and watch the dancers—that’s where the groove really becomes visible. I could see how much fun it would be if I didn’t have to stay buried in the charts.

I was exhausted by the end of the night—holding that unfamiliar groove all evening was a lot of work, I had to really concentrate so I wouldn’t play “cruzado,” or across the clave. I was glad I brought such a small rig to the gig—I packed up quickly and began my honeymoon.