|Photo | Ryan Dickie|
Helado Negro and I come from very different places. He grew up in South Florida, the son of immigrants from Ecuador, where his life was infused with various Latin American cultures. He spent his days surrounded by pounding bass beats from passing cars, boom boxes bouncing down the block, and late-night parties.
I, the son of a humble shoe-man from small-town North Carolina, was surrounded by people who either loved classic country music, modern country music, or gangster-rap, oddly enough. I spent my days fishing in a backwater creek with my maternal grandfather, who I affectionately called “Paw-Paw.”
Helado Negro’s music is the perfect illustration of the transcendental power of music — bridging great-cultural divides, seemingly effortlessly, by making me automatically want to get out of this comfy-chair and shake what my mama failed to give me.
And while I will refrain on the grounds of being the odd guy dancing alone in front of his home-office window — I shall dance on Friday, September 6th, when he takes the stage at CAM Raleigh during the Hopscotch Music Festival.
Oh, I will I dance…