Hey, here’s something a friend of mine wrote tonight: “Three years ago I was playing in a band that toured Cuba under the embargo. The tensions between the band were insane. These gigs were some of the hottest and loudest shows I have ever played. There’s probably an entire novel worth of stories that could be written about this tour (tour bus crash, injuries, fights, getting detained by the police on suspicion of theft for hours, walking for miles around Havana, and so on, and so on). Coming back to the U.S., we land in Tampa and all flights are cancelled due to an incoming hurricane. What do we do? Rent two cars and drive 10 hours straight through a goddamn hurricane to get back to New Orleans. Terrifying. Been thinking a lot about this tour and my time playing. Next time, with a better band name.”
I was along for that ride, and you probably could write a book about it. Americans are not well-loved in Cuba, and I lost my wallet during that drive through the hurricane, but I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. I took this photo of the band at the Museum of the Revolution in Havana.