Silvio arrived at exactly 7 p.m., at the agreed-upon time. This punctuality, so rare in Cuba, was the first gesture of the evening. He was dressed in Silvio’s style: jeans, a dark blue T-shirt with a small Cuban flag embroidered on the left side — where the heart beats — and a black cap with the word “Aprendiz.” He appeared with one of his two inseparable companions: the camera (his guitar was already waiting for him on stage).
The audience burst out shouting. They didn’t welcome him: they named him with ovations, applause and shouts that multiplied on the steps of the University of Havana. Silvio waved, gave a knowing smile, raised his camera and snapped a picture of the sea of people waiting for him. He then hugged his guitar and began the journey.
The weather seemed to be in agreement. After days of heavy rain that had made us worry about the concert, it was clearing up at that hour. Orange colors painted the horizon where the sea meets, on the seawall. It was the first time in days that the sun had been seen like that, like a warm watercolor blessing the event.
The first chords evoked José Martí: “There is a mass of essential truths that fit on the wing of a hummingbird, and they are, nevertheless, the key to public peace, spiritual elevation and national greatness,” the singer-songwriter read. Words from the text “Maestros ambulantes” (Wandering Masters), the same one from which Silvio drew the inspiration for “Ala de colibrí” (Hummingbird Wing).
The concert opened with that song. And it wasn’t a coincidence: it’s a song that embraces diversity, brokenness and resilience. An exact metaphor for today’s Cuba, even though it’s a song from twenty years ago.
After that opening, I threw myself into the crowd. I wanted to take photos from below, to experience the concert through the eyes of the people. What I saw was a diverse wave: twenty-somethings singing songs from when they weren’t even born, forty-somethings like me who absorbed the poetry of the New Song Movement thanks to our parents, and sixty-somethings who heard those songs when they were just released.
Three generations linked by the same verses. We haven’t seen that in Cuba for a long time.
Around me were kisses, hugs, tears and applause. All spontaneous and self-prompted. In the midst of that crowd, I heard Silvio dedicate the concert to “Pepín, the worker.” That was the name of José Antonio Medina, that endearing character, photographer and stage manager, teller of a thousand anecdotes, generous to the end, who died in 2024. His smiling photo appeared on the screen. A fitting tribute to one of those essential invisible figures.
The repertoire was a journey through the decades: after “Hummingbird Wing” came “America,” “Sueño con serpientes” (I Dream of Snakes), “Virgen de Occidente” (Virgin of the West), “Viene la cosa” (The Thing Is Coming), “Para no botar el sofá” (So as Not to Throw Away the Baby Water with the Tub), “Nuestro después” (Our Afterwards), “La bondad y su reverso” (Goodness and Its Reverse), “Cassiopea” and “Tonada del albedrío” (Ballad of Free Will).
It’s worth stopping to look at the band that accompanies the singer-songwriter. The virtuosity is remarkable: Emilio Vega on vibraphone, Jorge Aragón on piano, Niurka González on flute and clarinet, Jorge Reyes on double bass, Rachid López on guitar, Maykel Elizarde on tres, Oliver Valdés on drums, and Malva Rodríguez on backing vocals and piano. They do not accompany, but rather are accomplices. We will cover each of these musicians in future installments throughout this tour with Silvio, which we will be covering on OnCuba.
While listening to the songs in this first part, I wondered how it is possible that after so many years Silvio continues to write songs that touch deep chords and reflect so much the collective feeling.
I think the key is that he doesn’t live in a bubble. He suffers the same power outages and water shortages, the same migrations of friends and loved ones as anyone in Cuba. His reality isn’t far removed from that of the people. And, beyond the everyday, his songs speak of the universal, of what all generations face.
In that first part of the concert, I confirmed an intuition: just as “Ojalá” (I Hope So), “La era” and “Historia de las sillas” (Story of the Chairs) were the anthems of other generations, today “Para no botar el sofá” is becoming a new classic for young Cubans.
I confirmed this when I heard the applause erupt at the most critical verses, while, a few feet away, the country’s president, ministers, and officials stood a few feet away. Direct verses that ran freely between those who governed and those governed.
There was a moment of profound emotion when Silvio remembered three brothers of the New Song Movement who are no longer with us. He sang “Créeme” (Believe Me) by Vicente Feliú, “Te perdono” (I Forgive You) by Noel Nicola and “Yolanda” by Pablo Milanés.
The audience accompanied him with faltering voices. It wasn’t just a tribute: it was bringing them back, even if only for a few minutes.
Another heartfelt moment came with poetry. Silvio recited “Halt!” by Luis Rogelio “Wichy” Nogueras, to express his solidarity with Palestine. His daughter Malva covered his shoulders with a keffiyeh as the verses echoed.
On the steps, under the Havana sky, those words were a wake-up call.
The repertoire continued with “Más porvenir” (More Future), “Eva,” “Escaramujo” (Wild Rose) and “Quién Fuera” (Who Would Be). Then came “La era está pariendo un corazón” (The Age is Giving Birth to a Heart), “Ángel para un final” (Angel for an End) and the encores: “El necio” (The Fool), a previously unreleased guaracha titled “Cualquiera que nace en Cuba” (Anyone Born in Cuba), which got everyone dancing, the essential “Ojalá” and, as a finale, “Venga la esperanza” (Give Way to Hope).
There were also surprises in the middle of the concert. The audience kept requesting songs like someone with an endless list of offers and Silvio, smiling, deviated for a moment from the initial plan of the twenty or so songs chosen. Then the chords of “La maza” rang out, and the concert had another of those magical moments.
“Those who are far away feel close,” said Silvio before saying goodbye, addressing those at the top of the hill, near the Alma Mater and the rectorate. It also went out to many who couldn’t be on the steps, to those who weren’t even in Cuba and followed the concert via live broadcasts made with cell phones held high. The metaphor became a reality.
This was Silvio’s fifth concert on the steps of the University of Havana. The first, with Pablo Milanés in 1984, drew more than 40,000 people and was broadcast on television.
He returned in 1985 with Afrocuba and Santiago Feliú. In 1997, during the World Youth Festival, he shared the stage with Sara González, Amaury Pérez and Vicente Feliú, among others. The fourth time was twenty years ago, on a nature tour, under a downpour that didn’t stop him.
Now he’s returning to kick off a new adventure: a Latin American tour that will take him to Chile, Argentina, Uruguay, Peru and Colombia. Twelve concerts in five countries that were sold out in hours. The performances promise to be a phenomenon in the Southern Cone.
What we experienced on the steps during the concert by Silvio and his colleagues was a true collective soothing for the soul. Cuba is going through very difficult times: crisis, migration, hopelessness.
However, the night of September 19th will remain etched like a balm on the memories of those of us who were there and those who, from various latitudes, also sighed.
We continue the tour. Next stop: Santiago, Chile.
