Just sit still, and listen!

One of the most exciting things I have ever done was to make a live stereo recording of the coquí songs at night, in the wild, up on the mountains of Naranjito. Actually it was almost an afterthought. I was leaving Puerto Rico in a few days and this time I was going to another country, Mexico, and I may never come back! So, on those final days on my farm in the middle of the island, I took the late hours of the day to ponder upon the unfathomable mysteries of what I would miss the most of my blessed, beatific island.

I suppose it was then that the coquies decided to make their harmonious entrance.

At first a few adventurous souls dared to break through the gloomy silence with their experimental half-songs. Here and there I heard them start about: "Coh...Coh...Coh..." but almost as if spontaneously realizing that there was no point in holding back, they would suddenly let lose with a proudly resounding: “Coh, Co-KEE-KEE-KEE!”

Then another and another, and suddenly, what seemed like a hundred-million of them filled the night with their amazing acoustic resonance. All around me, wave upon wave of fabulous coquí harmonies crashing upon every conceivable surface in a relentless, continuous mélange of polychromatic sounds; the sonorous equivalent of ocean waves, breaking upon the shore.

It was, as always, an overwhelming, enrapturing experience. I allowed myself to be lifted above my worries, and carried upon their songs to a wondrous place where all that was not right was simply drowned in acoustic splendor. And the waves washed over me, cleansing and soothing...fear was gone, so was doubt, only beauty remained.

Yes, this! This, I would miss the most!

The Zoom H2 "Handy" Recorder

I forced myself out of my enraptured contemplations, and hunted down my audio gear. Half an hour later I was trudging through the mountainside, in pitch darkness, and carrying about thirty pounds of battery-operated technology. That night I sat in the total darkness, in absolute stillness, and recorded about 90 minutes worth of awesome analog stereo treasure.

It was an exciting thing to do, but not as much as what came later. With the imminent birth of my daughter it became painfully clear to me that she would not know the coquí songs at night, every night, as I had known them. It was a peculiar miracle known only to those fortunate enough to have been born and lived their first few years in the island of Puerto Rico. Nowhere else was there a comparable experience. Indeed many are the outsiders who consider us acoustically damaged for thinking such “noise” to be pleasant or even beautiful. As an audiophile I can at least understand such thinking, but also as an audiophile I can appreciate the value of an acoustic identity that tied me to a certain land. I had the means to spare my daughter the horrid fate of not having that. I could play for her, every night, the recorded coquies of Naranjito, and someday, when she sees her father’s land, and hears the sound of it’s night, her heart will remember the warmth and love of her early years, the time to sleep, to rest, the time for peace, the night falls, the coquí sings, all is well, good night, daddy.

Did I say exciting? It was exhilarating! It took months of listening to every millisecond of that 90-minute plus recording and filter out every little flaw and imperfection, (This I was doing for my little girl!), until at last I had an acceptable, continuous, recording; as flawless as it was possible to make at the time and with the equipment on hand. I digitized and burned the first CD and played it for my daughter during the very first nights of her life.

Oh, man! What a rush!

Since then I have sold many copies of that CD to expatriated Puerto Ricans and their friends and loved ones literally all over the world, (Except Antarctica, hm...). Back then I was the first, and my recording was a novelty. Now I have a few imitators, but mine is the only “natural” recording of coquí songs, the only one that comes close to what it is really like to be in Puerto Rico. This is, after all, the reason I made that recording in the first place.

“Close,” yes, but I have always felt it could be “Closer.”

The thought was always in my mind: That I could do much better, much, much better. With the proper equipment and a carefully planned approach, I could make a recording of coquí songs that would place you acoustically right in their midst. Even if no one else cared for it, I wanted it! So I made my plans and bided my time, and then, on Saturday 31st, 2009, I carried about 30 pounds of lounge chairs and a hearty, home-made coffee supply, and about 8 ounces of battery-operated technology, (the tripod, extension cables and headphones all together weighed about three pounds.) And found an isolated spot in the middle of the forest, between the mountains of a remote region of Naranjito, (actually about a three minute walk from where I made the 1998 recording), and sat still in total darkness and listened, and let myself be intoxicated once more by the grandeur of it.

It was wonderful, but it was ruined. Somewhere in the distance, a party was going on, and the incessant rhythmic thumping was loud enough, even at this distance and even buffered by the surrounding forest, to be picked up by the sensitive microphones.

I am not too disappointed, though, eventually the horrid thumping stopped, and I was able to record almost an hour’s worth of the coquí songs I wanted. Not enough to make a new CD, but enough for me to make a sample to test my theory. Enough to know that it can be done! Two days later, I sat in front of my computer and plunged into the same spot I had acoustically occupied last Saturday.

It was wonderful!

I will go back, perhaps on a weekday, where the likelihood of ragaeton parties is minimal, and attempt to record the pure coquí songs I need. I will continue to do that until I succeed. Then anyone in the world can know what it is like, at least in one very special way, to be Puerto Rican.