Salsa & Afropop Find Unity In Rhythm

At the very beginning of the evening on the New Haven Green on Friday night, percussionist Nino Ciampa asked a fundamental question: what is salsa? ​“Salsa is flavor and spice,” he said. ​“Salsa is Latin soul. The essence of salsa is ritmo — rhythm — and it started in Africa and the Caribbean with the conga, skin on wood.”

The conga in the Hartt Salsa All-Stars began, laying down a steady percolating groove that, it turned out, did not let up for nearly three hours. For one of the final nights of this year’s International Festival of Arts and Ideas, the All-Stars and Grammy-winning artist Dobet Gnahoré, from Côte d’Ivoire, luxuriated in the power of African and Afro-Caribbean rhythms to create joy and connection.

By way of introduction, one by one, the Hartt Salsa All-Stars percussionists fell in, allowing the audience to hear the ways their rhythms interlocked. The meshing of rhythms, Ciampa deftly pointed out, was also the meshing of cultures, of African and Caribbean indigenous influences. He then introduced ​“el corazón” of the style, the bass; ​“from Europe,” the piano, ​“from the jazz of New York, the saxophones,” and the brass. The music was now complete, and ready for vocals, which the All-Stars were more than ready to provide.

Ciampa’s introduction was a thorough reminder that the origins of salsa stretch back more than a century, into the Caribbean. The All-Stars’ choice of repertoire, in turn, solidified the point that the sound of modern salsa was codified more recently, from the 1950s to the 1970s in New York City. The group paid homage to Celia Cruz, Willie Colon, Hector Lavoe, and to Marc Anthony from the next generation of salseros. At the same time, they ably made the case for why this 60-year-old musical style shows no signs of aging.

People began dancing in the crowd soon after the All-Stars began playing, partnering up and winding their way among those seated around them, or swerving up and down the sidewalk. The Hartt All-Stars — comprised of conservatory students at the Hartt School of Music — nailed the contrasting elements that make salsa hum, the sense of the rhythm as tight yet relaxed, the throbbing bass as pushing but easy, the bubbling piano against the screaming brass, and the vocals winding their way through it all, urgent and effortless.

The All-Stars were an extremely apt opener for Dobet Gnahoré, who, backed by a trio of guitar, bass, and drums, proceeded to unleash a torrent of relentless Afropop on a crowd that was by now primed to dance to it for as long as they could. Her backing band was a powerhouse, with throbbing, acrobatic bass, driving and intricate drums, and lacy yet muscular guitar. But Gnahoré left no doubt as to her centralness to the music. Her strong voice pierced the night air; when she danced, she set the stage on fire; and she fleshed out the sound of the group time and again with an array of percussion, from congas and shakers to toms and talking drums.

People were dancing immediately and didn’t stop. As the band’s set continued, the rhythms only got deeper, fiercer, and more complex, without ever losing a mounting sense of propulsion. Where the All-Stars drew their rhythmic power from the density that a band of that size is capable of, Gnahoré and her group made people move by creating the space between the notes and beats to make every rhythm elastic, full of push and pull, tension and release, from one second to the next. Each song built from the last, gathering intensity, until a large group of people had formed in front of the stage, swirling and swaying.

“That song is for my country,” Gnahoré announced toward the end of the set. ​“I’m so happy and proud to be an African woman.” But she was more interested in connecting with the crowd. ​“My friends, I want to hear your voice!” She got a hefty scream in response.

“Africa!” she sang.

“Africa!” the crowd sang back. With ease, they fell into a melodic and rhythmic call and response. Almost immediately, all those voices were singing together, as one.