I’m often accused by my friends as being a dinosaur when it comes to music, but I’ve long sinced cared what people think about my musical tastes. Whether it be The Sandals, or surf (classic or retro), or exotica, or Gregorian chant, doo wop, or my “tropical breezes” mix that covers virtually anything from mellow Jimmy Buffet to island steel drum, reggae, and guajira, my tastes are what they are and I’m not planning on changing any time soon.

Ever since watching Andy Garcia’s ode to pre-Castro Cuba, The Lost City, I find myself enthralled with the music of ’50s Cuba – there’s something about it that touches me on a different level. Maybe it’s because it’s music that will never be heard again. Maybe it’s because it’s music from the very same period I was born and grew up in, although in an entirely different culture.

Still, there was always something magical and mystical about Cuba that I have never been able to put my finger on. I remember distinctly being enthralled hearing The Sandpipers’ “Guantanamera” when I was ten or eleven, so maybe that had something to do with it. I remember on one of our earlier cruises seeing Cuba so near (enough to warrant the attention of a Cuban patrol boat) and yet so remote, its mountains shrouded in the distant haze.

Anyways, all I’m trying to say is that for this coming summer I plan on being totally into the sounds of the Buena Vista Social Club and Cachao. It may not be exciting or new wave, but it’s what music is supposed to be, but (at least to these ears) has long since being – something to bring color and joy to one’s ears. Happy, sentimental, and, more than anything else, easy on the ears.