The 1959 Cuban Revolution often evokes dramatic images, such as the pensive face of iconic guerrilla fighter Ernesto “Che” Guevara, but what sounds come to mind? Musicologist Marysol Quevedo convincingly shows that, if the Cuban Revolution had a soundtrack, it would (perhaps surprisingly) feature classical music, including compositions created with “innovative (i.e., avant-garde and experimental) techniques” (116). In her new book, Quevedo traces how these aesthetic preferences crystalized in the two decades before 1959 and how Cuban classical composers linked their pre-existing artistic priorities to new revolutionary projects through 1991. This timeline allows her to argue for continuity (rather than change) as classical musicians retained impressive agency over their art despite the “repressive totalitarian state” that emerged after 1959 (5). Continuities and composers’ agency hinged upon crucial global networks that Cuban classical musicians forged with counterparts around the world. Thus, even though the book focuses on classical musicians from Cuba, the narrative supersedes insular borders. Quevedo examines the relationship between national priorities and international influences, as globally connected Cuban musicians used their experiences training or performing abroad to develop what they dubbed authentically Cuban (and after 1959, revolutionary) art.

A major strength of the book lies in Quevedo’s expert use of diverse methodologies and her elegant integration of the conclusions generated by these different approaches. Namely, the book features highly technical analysis of musical compositions as well as close readings of archival collections, periodicals, and printed materials. This combination results in a balance of musicological and historical insights in each chronologically organized chapter—the first on classical musicians during 1940s Pan-Americanism; the second on the tumultuous 1950s, when left-leaning Cuban composers clashed with the military dictator Fulgencio Batista; the third on the experimental 1960s after the regime change; the fourth on compositions during the repressive 1970s; the fifth on flourishing electroacoustic music and postmodern aesthetics during the more open 1980s; and an epilogue on classical music, on the island and increasingly in the diaspora, in the midst of economic and political crises after the Soviet Union fell in 1991 through to the coronavirus pandemic (COVID-19). The author guides the reader through major political developments in pre- and postrevolutionary Cuba while also showing how Cuban classical musicians innovated unique sounds and framed them to fit contemporary political priorities. For instance, in chapter 3 on the experimental 1960s, Quevedo examines a scandalous October 1969 concert, featuring cutting edge works by Carlos Fariñas, Juan Blanco, and Leo Brouwer that played with the spatial placement of musicians, controlled indeterminacy, and, in the case of Brouwer, a happening with audience participation. Quevedo provides an accessible explanation of the global techniques and trends these artists deployed while simultaneously reflecting Cuban national and political cultures through humor (Cuban choteo) and revolutionary rebelliousness. This ensures that readers without musical expertise can get a great deal out of every page, even when Quevedo dives into more technical musicological analysis.

No book can do everything, and Quevedo helpfully flags that her monograph privileges leading classical composers (who were white men) in Havana. While understanding the need for choices, I found that there were missed opportunities to discuss how classical composers framed the whiteness and/or masculinity of their art. In chapter 1, for instance, we learn that Alejo Carpentier hailed the “virile beauty” of Julián Orbón’s work (53) and that Argeliers León incorporated elements from the popular musical forms of guajira and contradanza to imbue his music “with Cubanness, but one that was more ‘civilized,’ more ‘modern’ than that associated with purely Afro-Cuban elements” (63). These mentions and others beg for the gender and racial analysis that Quevedo avoids. Discussions of race and gender need not be circumscribed to discussing Black, “mulato,” or women composers, but could have factored into discussions of the mostly white male protagonists of the book.

Even this quibble offers a true testament to the excellence of this book, since I wanted more time with the historical figures and more of the abundant, well-written insights from the author, not less. This book will be of great interest to students and scholars of musicology in Latin America and the socialist world, cultural diplomacy during the Cold War, and histories of Cuba and the 1959 Cuban Revolution.