GThe contrast is overwhelming, and the weather makes it even more impressive, if possible. It's not just raining, it's pouring over San Lorenzo de El Escorial. The gray and imposing sobriety of Imperial Madrid hides a small tropical oasis that few know about. It is behind the monastery, atop a hill. If one leans out and stretches their neck, from the warm rooms of the villa with a garden, one can see its Renaissance stone walls. There are places that sound even in silence. The home of the Gladys Palmera Foundation has the radio off today, and yet, upon entering, it is almost impossible not to move your hips.
The walls are immaculate white, but it's just a trick to not take away any protagonism from the colorful items hanging on them. There are hundreds of historical posters, authentic remnants of an era and a culture. Stepping into the Gladys Palmera Foundation is like traveling back in time to the 60s and 70s when the diversity of exiles shaped the Latin identity in the US, but it is also delving into a passion, that of philanthropist Alejandra Fierro Eleta, who, unintentionally at first, turned her home into the largest specialized discographic and documentary archive of Afro-Latin American and Caribbean music.
The records are the crown jewel of a collection that spares no fetishes, from the tie of the king of feeling José Antonio Méndez to Josephine Baker's colorful shoes, passing through Celia Cruz's sequin dress but also including casino chips, ashtrays, and matchboxes, silent witnesses of the nightlife in Latin clubs. The collection boasts 55,000 vinyl records, 25,000 CDs, and 5,000 phonograph records from 1899 to the 1950s.
Today, all that musical collection extends through a bright living room on the ground floor, as well as in a garage refurbished to alleviate the lack of space in the main building, but in the past, it occupied the top floor of the house, an attic equipped with a constant air conditioning system to counteract the inclement weather of an increasingly capricious time. "Alejandra's room and bathroom were right below, and she feared being crushed by her passion," recalls, amused, Tommy Meini, curator and head of the Gladys Palmera Collection, who, along with the Chilean Andrea Pacheco, curates Latina, Woman, music and glamour, their largest exhibition to date, which will showcase over 500 pieces at Casa de América between April 4 and July 5.
We talked about the contrast of that tropical oasis in the grayness of Imperial Madrid, but Tommy Meini's figure as the guardian of a Caribbean passion is no less exotic. Born in Arles, in the French Provence that so inspired Van Gogh, he spent all his pocket money on records from a young age. He entered the University in Marseille as a great music lover hooked on punk, New York's no wave, California's intellectual rock, and left with his veins filled with Cuban rhythms he had heard on the radio. The obsession drove him to cross the pond and immerse himself deeply in Latin culture, and that shared passion attracted an eccentric collector who called herself Gladys Palmera like a magnet. For a decade now, he has been responsible for maintaining and expanding her collection, which "is very much alive."
He has just returned from Chile and proudly shows his latest acquisition, a very rare record by Dr. Mortis and his Cumbiancheros Zombies from 1977, whose cover reads, in yellow on violet: Cumbias that are death, and which is the soundtrack of a legendary Chilean comic character that rose to fame as a radio novella and from there, made it to television. It's hard for him to choose just one crown jewel, but he finally opts for a vinyl that from the cover alone makes it clear why it's not like the others. A stamp crosses out the name of the Cuban pianist Ivette Hernández, who succeeded in exile in France: "Traitor to the Cuban revolution". "I found it in an antique shop, randomly pulling out records from a shelf. I was about to leave, a bit frustrated because I hadn't found anything I liked, and I glanced at that last copy: Wow!" recalls Meini. "Sometimes it's the artists who want to be here".
"The collection is very much alive, sometimes it's the artists who want to be here"
Gladys Palmera was practically born at the same time as Alejandra Fierro Eleta in the 1950s, although that second personality would not emerge until later. The daughter of a Panamanian mother and an Asturian father, descendant of a wealthy industrial family, her childhood summers in Mallorca sounded like Cuban boleros by Olguita Guillot or Mexican ones by Elvira Ríos. At 18, she unintentionally began her vinyl collection. "I spent six months in Panama, where I have a lot of family, and I remember perfectly that my first record, as it could not be otherwise, was Metiendo mano by our beloved Rubén Blades," she recounts in a video where she presents her anthology.
When the young Alejandra had amassed over 12,000 vinyl records and 20,000 CDs, she decided that it had to be shared with the world, and what better way than through radio. When she presented her newfound DJ vocation to her father, he replied, "Do what you want, but not in my name." So, she would be called Gladys Palmera. In 1999, after going through several stations, she took the studio home and founded her own radio, which she named after herself and now broadcasts online from that attic that was once a disco. The project earned her the Ondas Award in 2015.
The future of the tropical oasis in the middle of the Madrid mountains that we visit today is uncertain, now that its founder is starting to think about her legacy. EL MUNDO has learned that the Gladys Palmera Foundation is negotiating with the Ministry of Culture to donate its collection in exchange for building a Latin music museum in Madrid. Although that is just one option, and its managers prefer not to go into details until there is certainty: "We want the collection to remain intact, not to be divided," says its curator. "Our mission is to leave a legacy for future generations, that will be our reward."
For now, the first major public opening of the Gladys Palmera Collection will take the form of one of Alejandra Fierro Eleta's great fetishes, which she directly refers to in English: latin divas. "My taste for latin divas I think is based on romanticism, on the packaging that permeates women in their performances. What is pure blood in the veins. Perhaps it sounds feminist, and maybe there is a bit of that," the collector admits looking at the camera.
"History tends to be cyclical, and today we are experiencing again empowerment through sexualization"
To study the representation of Latin women in the music industry over the years, the curators have carried out a task that could almost be called archaeological, and in it, they have found new study approaches: "One day we were selecting posters, and at one point we asked ourselves: Are we becoming too Almodóvar? The influence that Latin music iconography has had on contemporary artists is undeniable," explains Andrea Pacheco.
For her, in fact, without Josephine Baker or Celia Cruz there would be no Shakira or Karol G. "Historically, the artist could be feminine but the look has always been masculine", she explains, and tells how it was impossible for her to find creative women behind any album cover: "There would be some in the studios, but the final result was always signed by a man".
"Since the 60s and 70s, two simultaneous phenomena have been taking place: the image of the Latin woman is becoming hypersexualized, but at the same time the feminist empowerment of the Western world is taking place", she says, and points out that the biggest challenge has been not to fall into a moralizing vision in front of the always so sexy covers: 'In any case, they made the decision to be there, with more or less clothes'. And here come the modern Latin divas: "History tends to be cyclical and today we live again the empowerment through sexualization. All these women, from Josephine Baker to Chavela Vargas, are the reason why two Colombian artists can become international stars. The difference now is that Shakira or Karol G control their careers completely."
The Latin woman has taken her revenge, and the key to her success is hidden in a small tropical oasis in the Sierra de Madrid.