Robi Draco Rosa AKA Draco Rosa AKA Draco AKA Robi Rosa AKA...

Robert Edward Rosa Suárez is perhaps the most important Puerto Rican singer you've never heard of. 

During my mission in Puerto Rico, the local teenagers (upon accurately deducing that all us young white kids were all probably Rock fans), would, in excited, reverential awe, share with us Robi Draco Rosa's cult-classic, 1996's Vagabundo (which I've fanboyed about previously here).  Its heavy guitar, exquisite musicianship, brooding fear of death, and perfect balance between Rock and Latin, was like nothing we'd heard before or since.  It quickly became a favorite among all the missionaries (especially the Anglo ones), such that when Rosa's long-belated followup Mad Love was released near the end of my mission, you can bet we all snatched that one up, too...

...even though at first glance, maybe we should have feared it as some sort of sell-out album; for as one can obviously see from the cover's clean haircut, pretty-boy face, and English-language music, Mad Love seemed an obvious, self-conscious attempt to mimic Ricky Martin's look and success.

And with good reason: Rosa is who produced and co-wrote some of Ricky Martin's greatest hits, of all people (including the "Living La Vida Loca" and "She Bangs," among other weary tracks that still linger on Adult Contemporary stations to this day).  What's more, both Rosa and Martin were in the same Latino boy-band Menudo back in the late-80s (where he went by the more boyish "Robi Rosa").  In fact, Rosa was a major mover and shaker in helping engineer the Latin Pop "revolution" (in the absolute loosest sense of the word) of the late '90s.  Was maybe this pretty-boy the real Rosa all along?  Was our beloved Vagabundo less a defiant turning-away from conformity and fame than a mere one-off aberration, one that exploited a cash-in counter-culture image as carefully calculated as any other Pop image?

The truth, as always, is far more complicated, beginning with the fact that Mad Love is first and foremost a really good album (though you still admittedly have to skip that awful opener "Dancing in the Rain").  There is nothing shallow or trivial about these love songs, but are all sustained, deep-sea dives into the vagaries of love-lost, the passions that can course through your veins, the turbulence that romance can wrack upon your soul.  The musicianship is complex, the production multi-layered, the singing soulful, the lyrics intelligent, the melodies infectious.  If the cover looked like yet another belated post-Ricky Martin cash-in, well, the music quickly belied it; though it won some Latin Grammys and sold well in Europe, it was ignored stateside--and no wonder, for these were not actually Pop songs, they were too passionate for radio.  Even when Rosa compromises, he is uncompromising.

For about a solid decade, Vagabundo and Mad Love were all I owned and needed of Rosa, not daring to hear anything else he'd recorded before or since; so indelibly were those two beloved albums associated with my mission, that I refused to allow anything else by Rosa to over-write my memories so profoundly associated with those 2 discs.  Moreover, there was simply so much other music in this wondrously-wide world to explore; Rosa simply faded from my mind.

But then, a decade from my homecoming passed, and on that milestone, I found my mind turning back more earnestly to Puerto Rico than it had in years.  Suddenly, I felt this profound need to reconnect with my Isla del Encanto; this involved calling people there I hadn't talked to in forever, and digitally scanning my old mission photos as an excuse to examine them anew--as well as finding out what happened to my old friend Robi Draco Rosa.

First, I learned that perhaps Vagabundo was not some experimental aberration after all, for post-Mad Love, Rosa broke all ties with Sony, shortened his name to the more menacing sounding Draco Rosa, and self-released Vino (also known in some territories as El teatro del absurdo) on his own indie-label, in an obvious attempt to recapture the magic of Vagabundo, where his heart had apparently been all along.  I was intrigued, and downloaded away.

To get out of the way: Vino does not recapture the magic of Vagabundo.  Though that's not for want of trying.  The dark tone and heavy guitars are reproduced well enough, and it has its moments of genius, but it's simply not the same.  This is not to imply that Vino is a failure, not by any stretch; "Todo Marcha Bien" alone is worth the price of admission, as is his piano cover of Bob Dylan's "One Too Many Mornings" (Vino's only English song), and the brooding Spanish "Aleluya" might almost convince you that maybe the world did in fact need yet another Leonard Cohen cover. Vino is still Rosa, who is constitutionally incapable of sucking. Like pizza, even when Rosa is bad, he's still good. I admire and recommend Vino. But part of the magic of Vagabundo was drawn from just how totally ambitious and daring it was, how new it was, what with its refusal to draw from familiar wells.  But Vino going back to the same ol' well, even Vagabundo's, does not spark the same ambition and inspiration and courage.

But give Rosa credit--he apparently realized the same thing, for only a year later, he shortened his name yet again, this time to just Draco, and did something radically different once more.  Most intriguingly, he accomplished the totally unexpected by doing the most familiar--he returned to Sony and did a traditional Puerto Rican album, singing songs in the style of Son, Bolero, and Salsa.  It is a lover letter to his native Puerto Rico.  It is probably his most adult album--for it is also his most soulful.  Just give "Esto es Vida" a listen, and feel the joy swell in your soul.  As I marked the decennial of my return from Puerto Rico, it was just what I needed. 

Unlike Vino, Amor Vincit Omnia (Latin for "love conquers all") finds Draco in a much better place, apparently at peace with the world and himself.  And perhaps it had nothing to do with drugs or alcohol or the trappings of fame or what have you, but simply that he finally found something new to inspire him. 

And just in time, too, because then he had a cancer scare.  Right now, he's making a full recovery, but a man takes stock of his after an event like that; and so, at the behest of his many musical friends, he released Vida just last year, a duets album.  Although Draco was never popular state-side, in case there was any doubt about his standing among Latino musicians, it features such luminaries as Ricky Martin, Shakira, Juanes, Jose Feliciano, and Mana, among many others. 

They cover songs from Vagabundo, Mad Love, Amor Vincit Omnia, (though only one from Vino), and even a song from his chillaxed, pre-Vagabundo solo album Frio.  This album is essentially a victory lap for Draco Rosa, as well as validation for anyone like me who's ever loved him while wondering if anyone else--Anglo or Latino--did as well.  And maybe this goes for all duets albums, but, well, Rosa just sounds so much less lonely on this album, as compared to others.  He's no longer a stay vagabond wondering the world, a solitary man in mad love--on Amor Omnia Vincit, he let down his guard just enough to sing "no tengo nada sin mis amigos" [I have nothing without my friends], and on Vida, he at last proves that he really did have friends all along.  The curse is lifted.

A note on his first solo album Frio, from 1994.  It was his first post-Menudo record, and thus it is fair to ask if there is even a hint on it of what was to come.  Short answer: yes.  Now, Sony still clearly had a lot of say in the direction Frio should take at this early juncture, and they pushed it decisively in the direction of easy listening.  There's even some latent, cheesy 80s synth on a few tracks, which, even if you've never listened to 80s Latin Pop before, you can sort of intuitively tell is exactly how it all sounded.

But even with these strictures, Robi Draco Rosa at this young age already makes clear the direction he wants to take musically.  "Cruzando Puertas" may not feel out of place on Adult Contemporary, but there's also an insistent melancholy and anxiety on it that would set the template for all his music to come.  Just the fact that it is called Frio (Cold) tells you what this warm-blooded Latino was already feeling.  The album is a subtle warning shot of what was shortly to come to pass.

Overall, Robi Draco Rosa is a singularity. He was a major force behind Latin Pop music while also distinctly apart from it.  He helped launch Ricky Martin's career even as he walked away from something similar for himself.  And what's better, he never stopped being himself, in all his iterations.  There's just something so relieving, so refreshing, about being around people (even if only in through their music) who are nothing but themselves, in everything they do.  If for that reason alone, I'm glad I caught up with him.