Bonito y Sabroso

Pure joy has a specific sound, and this is close to it. The mambo here is buoyant and bright, driven by brass that punches and sings by turns, a percussion section that seems to multiply the available rhythmic information without ever losing the pocket, and a piano that skips through the changes with infectious ease. Moré's vocal is playful rather than ardent — he is celebrating rather than longing, describing rather than confessing. The song is about pleasure itself: beautiful things, good things, life lived with appetite and appreciation. His delivery has a teasing quality, a lightness of touch that complements the arrangement's own good humor. The interplay between vocalist and orchestra is almost conversational, the ensemble responding to his phrases like an audience that already knows the punchline. There is enormous craft underneath the apparent casualness — the arrangements of this period were architecturally complex pieces of work that demanded tremendous musicianship from every player — but the craft is worn lightly, in service of a feeling rather than on display for its own sake. This is the mambo era in its most celebratory register, music made to fill the largest halls and move the most bodies. You reach for this on a summer afternoon, windows down, or at the beginning of a party before anyone has had time to develop self-consciousness. It is music that actively argues for feeling good.