One day I went to the movies with my grandmother.

I was, like, four, and we saw a funeral procession.

My grandmother stopped.

I asked her, "Why did you stop?"

She said that you have to stop for a funeral procession.

Then I asked her, "What's that?"

"A procession going to the cemetery."

"They're following a dead person."

I didn't know what dying was.

"What does 'dead' mean?"

"When we stop existing, stop living, we die."

I'd never heard of that before.

I thought we were here forever.

And I asked my grandmother, "Are you going to die someday, Grandma?"

She looked at me and said, "Yes."

"And so are you."

"So are you."

RUBÉN BLADES IS NOT MY NAME Copa Airlines welcomes all our passengers of flight 0142 to San Juan, Puerto Rico.

We're going to start questions with Rosalina Marrera from Primera Hora.

First of all, are you really saying goodbye to the music world?

I have... I've said this before and I'll say it again.

He who has more past than future should better organi.. That's how it is.

I can't do this anymore, because it takes time away from other things.

And there's other things I'd like to do while I feel healthy... and still have opportunities.

I already said what I had to say... and it's out there for anyone who wants to listen to it in the future.

Come early.

We'll have about 15,000 people.

-In the upper level too?

-The whole place.

-It's sold out.

-They opened up a new section.

-You have the spotlight there.

-I went up, you can see well from there.

1,100 comments about the press conference.

-1,100 comments!

-See you tomorrow, okay?

Thanks.

I'm a very private person.

I really don't understand how part of me became so public.

Finally!

I definitely think I needed approval or applause to feel better about myself.

More than approval, it was a way of proving that I was right, that I could compete with anyone and win.

So, to do that, I had to do that in public.

So I did.

I competed, I won.

And now... I can't get away.

-Thanks, thank you, Rubén.

-Mm-hmm.

Hail Mary, full of grace.

The Lord is with you.

Blessed art thou amongst women, blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

I've got three CDs.

Could you sign them for me?

Sure.

For my brothers, they're watching from upstairs.

We'll have the golf cart ready to get you to the other stage.

My son has a camera, let's take a picture now that you're dressed up.

Go ahead, go, go.

Do it before the show starts.

We're ready over here.

Who else do you know that writes songs... plays instruments... has a law degree from Harvard, has made over 30 movies, and has run for the presidency of a country?

A lot of people talk about Rubén the composer, the lawyer... the politician... but they forget he's a great singer.

Rubén Blades?

He was born with rhythm.

You know, I think he's known as the thinking man's salsa.

Which, um, is actually true.

He has a great intellect and a seriousness about him.

He's just a musical guy.

You know, I mean, you can't break it down... any more than that.

He's got a great gift, you know.

And he's got a great heart.

You know, it comes-- really comes through.

You can feel that.

The first time I ever remember singing was with some friends from the neighborhood.

We would look for a building where we could sneak inside.

Because we needed an echo, so we could sound like they did on the records.

That's where we went.

None of this was here.

When we lived here, there weren't any window bars, nothing.

Everything's changed.

Please, stay with us until we leave.

"Do not make noise or play loud music."

-That's for you.

-Yeah.

We would come up here, right here... These songs... Songs in English and Spanish.

♪ When somebody loves you ♪ ♪ It's no good unless they love you ♪ ♪ All the way ♪ ♪ Through the good old-- lean years ♪ ♪ And for all the in-between years ♪ ♪ Come what may ♪ ♪ Who knows where the road will lead us ♪ ♪ Only a fool would say ♪ ♪ But if you let me love you ♪ ♪ It's for sure I'm gonna love you ♪ ♪ All the way ♪ ♪ All ♪ ♪ The way ♪ My critic!

In Panama, the situation as I remember it in the 1950s, growing up, rock and roll.

Remember, the war ended in '45.

The Americans were heroes.

They'd beaten the Nazis.

It was a period of huge economic growth.

It was a role model for us!

The movies were a model.

The music was a model.

The American soldier's uniform was the uniform we saw in the movies, killing the bad guys.

The United States had a perfect image.

They were inside the Panama Canal Zone.

We didn't understand what was going on.

All we knew was the heroes were here.

On January 9, 1964, students from the National Institute... went to the Panamanian territory of the Canal Zone, which was managed by the Americans, to raise the Panamanian flag alongside the American one, as was legally required.

The flag was taken down by a mob of people from the Zone backed by the US police, and there was a spontaneous reaction from the Panamanians.

The Canal Zone authorities sent in the army.

On our side, 21 people were killed and 500 wounded.

They were mostly unarmed.

It was a disappointment, and it politicized me, immediately radicalized me, I was no longer willing to accept that things were as they seemed from the movies or the music.

I said to myself, "This is not 'the good neighbor.'"

And that was the first song I wrote, "9 de Enero."

This here is the first place where I played.

This used to be the Club Union.

I performed in there for the first time.

That's where I sang "Guaracha y Bembé."

It was a group called "Papi Arosemena's Latino Band."

And when I started singing, the crowd stood up and came forward.

How did you feel at that moment?

Afraid!

I was afraid!

My grandmother and my dad always lived around here.

They lived in Colón, and then they moved here.

My grandma and my uncle lived on this side, just here.

Can you take a photo of us together?

Just one.

-Pleasure to meet you.

-The pleasure's mine.

That's not the problem.

The problem is I take one and then everyone comes along.

-Sure, sure.

-That's the problem.

-Here you go.

-Okay.

Wait, take another, like this, they won't even know who I am.

Thank you, you're very kind.

I think the place was here.

It burned down.

-The place where you were born?

-Uh-huh.

Over there.

Rubén, you're the best!

Thank you, you're very kind.

We're from Argentina, you're the best, Rubén.

Thank you very much.

It means a lot.

We love you, sorry to be so star-struck!

No problem, no problem!

I lived on the corner.

13th Street.

This was our street.

How old were you when you lived here?

I was born there, and we came here.

There was an almond tree there.

I'd go there with my grandma.

To see the Pacific.

This is it.

These two balconies.

These two places.

I don't know who lives here now.

-What's up, brother?

-Hey, Rubén!

I've invented a mythical place called Hispania.

On that continent, in that place... there's a city.

And in that city there are neighborhoods.

And in those neighborhoods there are characters.

So I've created these characters who live within a fiction that started back in '69.

I don't know my characters completely.

Because I've only described parts of their lives.

But there are many connections between them, and I've been discovering them lately.

You're the first ones ever to film in here.

I don't let anyone in here.

You're the first and last.

This, for example, is from the 1800s.

It's a forerunner of today's comics.

This one is the first-ever Casper.

When did you start collecting?

When I was a kid, in Panama.

I started little by little, swapping some, some were gifts.

My mom threw them all away.

She said there was too much junk at home.

When I come into this room... I'm transported back to when I was 10 or 15 years old.

I feel like a kid again.

It gives me peace.

I come in here, and forget about all the pressure.

I have fun in here, I spend time here, labeling things, looking, remembering, imagining things.

This place is like a retreat for me.

Pedro Navaja is like a comic.

When I say, "At the corner of the old neighborhood, I saw him passing by."

You see a guy walking, and in the background you see a passageway or something like that.

You see old buildings.

You see a street corner.

With one glance, you get the first line of the song.

"He walks with a tough guy's swagger."

That could be a guy moving like this.

That's the second line.

You don't need a frame for each line.

With two or three frames, you have the first verse of the song.

Look, here's a salsa show.

This was at Madison Square Garden.

With Celia Cruz, El Gran Combo, Willie, Ismael Miranda, Los Hijos del Rey and Héctor Lavoe.

They used that photo like crazy... I didn't have many photos.

I don't like photos.

This is one of the albums, I have no idea how it survived.

From 1982.

This is for "Maestra Vida, Part II."

I know the one from "Siembra" is around here, I don't know where.

This is with Celia Cruz, may she rest in peace.

There was glass here, but it's broken.

This was at the Nuevo Panamá Stadium, in '79.

Celia Cruz, Willie and me.

Fania Records was the epicenter of all things salsa.

It was "the place."

All the world's salsa stars were on that label.

In New York, there was Willie Colon, Ray Barreto, Pacheco, El Conde, Héctor Lavoe.

The orchestras were there.

I called to see if they'd take me on as a writer.

They said, "No, we don't need that."

I was about to hang up, and it occurred to me to ask, "Are there any jobs available, anything at all?

There must be something..." I thought, if I go to New York... I'll find an in with somebody, somehow.

And we became famous.

The guys from Fania became famous.

So I became a very good producer.

And a very prolific producer for Fania.

And I was given an office in-- in-- in the main office at 888 Seventh Avenue.

And next door to me was the mail room.

And who was working in the mail room?

A little young Panamanian guy named Rubén Blades.

And I didn't know who Rubén was.

But I would sit in my office and hear him play guitar and write songs.

And I said, "Well, this kid is good."

But Jerry would send them, "Ah, go get this here.

"Bring this to the post office, lick these stamps.

Take this over over here.

Deliver that over here."

And that's what he... But he hung out, he hung out with Tito Puente, and he hung out with-- with Pacheco, and he hung out with all the great musicians and composers of that time.

And salsa was just starting to heat up.

My dad spent a lot of time with me, he'd sit next to me, playing the "baqueteo" beat.

What they call the baqueteo.

The foundation.

"This is the foundation," he said.

Don't raise your hand.

Because if you release the pressure, the sound is different.

When we'd finished, I wanted to play, like I always did.

You want to go out and play.

"So what do I do now?"

And my dad says, "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"That's up to you now."

"How's it up to me?"

"This is the foundation."

"Now... let's see what you can do with it."

One day, Ray Barreto's orchestra split up, and his singer, an excellent singer, Tito Allen, one of the best singers I've ever heard, left.

So Barreto needed a singer.

And someone, it might have been Richie Ray, Bobby Cruz, or Roberto Roena, said "Hey, that guy in the mail room sings, and he writes."

Barreto came to see me.

I played him a couple of songs.

And he couldn't understand what I was doing there.

Then they told him, "This guy's a lawyer."

"So what's he doing there?"

Barreto gave me an audition.

That's how I started out.

That's the Garden.

This was the first place where I played in New York.

As a professional.

The first time I sang in a show.

I was still working in the mail room at Fania.

And that was the first place where I played.

With the Ray Barreto Orchestra at Madison Square Garden.

19,000 people.

I started singing, and I forgot the words.

This place is like a temple.

My grandma said to me, "You have an important mission on this planet."

"You are destined for great things," she said.

She probably said other stuff, but I wasn't paying attention.

But I remember her saying that I had to get an education and do the things that I'd been born to do.

He knows what out-- what's awaiting for... The same neighborhood, old neighborhood.

With the same corner.

With the same, uh, trash cans... Rubén, let me ask you, Why make this documentary?

Why is it important to you?

To me?

I'll be honest.

As I told everyone, I have more past than future.

You see what happened to Prince?

He died at the age of 57, without a will.

How is it possible that he didn't make a will?

You don't do it because you don't want to talk about it.

You don't want to talk about death.

You don't want to have insurance.

I've made my will.

This here is part of my legacy.

Saying things that are important to say.

Because if I don't say them and clarify them now... other people will try to interpret them.

And it won't be the same.

Keeping photos is like testimony of time past.

Photos show you how you're getting old.

I really liked these glasses, and I lost them.

My mom played the piano, but there was no money for a piano and nowhere to put.. What a great photo.

Come on.

Good work.

And one more on the other side.

Come on, bubba.

I understand the age thing.

And I understand that as you get older, you start to get used to a different role.

A different position.

Good work.

My problem is that, in my mind, I don't feel old.

But I have to understand that I'm not a little kid, -I'm not young anymore.

-Boom.

That's why I feel the need to keep moving... Boom.

...in other directions, to do other things.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Hector was a guy... when he was well and healthy... Hector had a unique sense of humor.

He had this Puerto Rican sense of humor.

That spark.

That knack for irony, for observation.

You could see that in Hector's improvisations, when he came up with stuff.

He was very noble.

What was your relationship with him like?

There was always... I imagine, there was rivalry... that was unavoidable.

This was a very competitive business.

We competed with each other.

If you bought one of our records, you didn't buy theirs.

That's how it was.

Plus, there are a lot of alpha males around here.

What we're doing is showing "I'm better than you."

Although it wasn't said, you don't want to be less than someone else.

One thing that was always present was respect.

I don't remember... When he was well and healthy... I was really upset when he died.

He died very young.

One, two, three, four.

When's the sound check?

-Tomorrow.

-Tomorrow?

What time?

Tomorrow at seven.

I'll confirm during the day.

-Okay.

Tomorrow?

-Tomorrow.

Huh?

One, two, three!

All right, boys, tomorrow then.

Hey, eat.

Eat!

-Tomorrow... -Oh, tomorrow.

-How long are you here?

-I'm going on the 27th.

What impressed me the most about Rubén... First, it was his approach to life.

He also showed... that he had things to do.

He wasn't someone who, while we were all partying, partying and celebrating, doing the things we did.

Rubén wasn't into that.

Rubén's mind was elsewhere.

Rubén's biggest contribution, a new twist for Latin American music, was when the stories he told started to have a very strong social dimension.

He started to become a storyteller for our society, telling us what was going on.

You could see all his influence as a musician when he made music.

But he had a style of his own.

And he sang about things that nobody else would sing about.

Probably no one dared to do that at the time.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

The Capitol Theater is proud to present Fania recording artists Willie Colón and Rubén Blades!

Willie Colón gave me the chance to record those songs, "Pablo Pueblo," "Plástico," "Pedro Navaja."

They were songs with social content.

Willie was very clear on that, he understood how it was.

It was a big gamble.

And, in his own way, he took a big risk.

Because Willie Colón was already a star.

Just like Héctor Lavoe.

Those guys were the top record sellers at Fania.

Without a doubt.

Until then, most salsa recordings were about escapism.

The point was to make dance music.

Not music that would make you think.

Not music that had any political content.

My lyrics introduced insight, analysis, thoughtfulness, and the contradiction created an interesting tension.

What gave us the opportunity and what turned me into a star, which I didn't think would happen, was the number of people outside of New York... I'm talking about Venezuela, Peru, Colombia, Puerto Rico, Mexico... all those places that had a large population that suddenly said, "This is it!"

And in that moment, we exploded.

We were like The Beatles.

Come on!

When we had to do arrangements for the songs, Perico Ortiz did it for "Plástico" and "Pedro Navaja."

I said to Perico, "Luis, make it aggressive... but let it flow."

It's telling a story.

And then I sing, "But in the middle of all that plastic, we also see the faces of the people who fight, who work, who believe in their country," because I couldn't just say that everyone's plastic, that's not true.

The notion of Latin America didn't really exist here in New York.

So when we were finishing the song, it occurred to me to call out to all the countries.

To show our union and strength.

As a group.

That's a constant in my songs.

Wherever we played that song, people would hear the name of their country and feel empowered.

It's always been like that.

Everywhere we go.

When people hear the name of their country, they feel they're a part of Latin America.

-Panama!

-Here.

-Puerto Rico!

-Here.

-Dominican Republic!

-Here.

-Mexico!

-Here.

-Cuba.

-Here.

-Colombia.

-Here.

-Nicaragua!

-Here.

-Peru.

-Here.

-Bolivia.

-Here.

-Ecuador.

-Here.

-Latin America united.

-Here.

I'm a New Yorker by adoption, like most people here, I enjoy walking a lot.

Soaking up the city.

All the things that are here.

The people.

As a writer, all that stimulates me.

Gabriel García Marquez once called me at home.

The first thing he said was, "You're the most popular unknown person I know."

I said, "Hang on," and went to get a pencil.

I said, "That's what I'll call my autobiography, if I ever write it.

Great title.

But why do you say that?"

He said, "Because people don't have their facts about you straight.

"Maybe they know you wrote 'Pedro Navaja,' but they've never seen you.

"Maybe they know you wrote it, and they know what you look like, "but they don't know your name."

"Or they know your name but don't know you wrote 'Pedro Navaja.'

"Or they know that you're an actor but not that you're a singer.

"Or they know you're a singer but not that you're an actor.

"Or they know you're a singer and an actor, but don't know that you have a law degree."

There's always something.

The name sounds familiar, yes.

"Oh!

Yes."

But who's that...?

Hold it!

Put those guns down.

I think we better slow down here.

Tell these people to back off!

I'm taking 'em in.

No, you're not.

Like the Beatles!

♪ Ooh ooh ♪ You know.

♪ I know she will love me♪ ♪ Bam bam bam bam bam ♪ Don't do this.

It's different.

You don't need the trouble, you don't need the money.

You know, can give it-- Tepito exists because it resists.

That's really good.

The first movie I made was with director Fred Williamson, a former football player.

Actually it was a surprise, something that came up.

That first movie was produced by Jerry Masucci, the owner of Fania, Jerry Masucci, may he rest in peace.

He decided he was going to make a movie and hired Willie Colon and me.

I agreed out of curiosity more than anything, and then I saw it and said to myself, "I'm never doing this again."

It was very boring, repeating stuff all the time.

I was more used to singing and getting it over with.

And when I saw myself on screen, I said, "Meh.

Yeah.

I've done that now."

"At least I've had the experience of acting in a film."

But a career in that?

No.

Frankly I don't know how I ended up making so many.

Here you get to meet people you've seen in the movies.

Like working with Nicholson, working with Redford, Danny Glover-- people you know, who you've seen.

Diane Keaton.

Robert De Niro.

Extraordinary people.

I never thought I'd have the chance to work with those people.

And, yes, I do respect them.

That also happened to me in the music world.

Tito Puente, Celia Cruz, Machito.

Mario Bauza.

You know, people who I say... I worked with them.

And always with respect.

It wasn't like I thought I was their equal.

They were better.

They are better.

I always had respect for those people.

But being with them and having them treat you with that familiarity, that affection... that was extraordinary.

I remember, uh... I would go to some of his shows, and the women literally threw themselves onto him.

I mean, physically.

I mean, they would just be like, "whck," you know.

Right in front of me.

And... I was a little taken aback by that.

And, um, but I'm not one of these people, like, starting to punch somebody and, like, "Get away from my man," or any... I'm not, you know... I mean, I under-- I realized he is who he is.

I mean, it was, this is... part of my process of discovering who Rubén was early on.

But, yeah, I have to say... that on the other hand, like, sometimes when he comes home from a tour, uh... I kind of have to get him back down on earth again.

You know, you're home now, you gotta take out the garbage.

You gotta wash the dishes.

You know, let's make the bed.

You know, you know, kind of get him back to earth again, you know.

But he likes that, he likes that.

The line "The sidewalk of 8 and 2," from "Buscando Guayaba"... is actually 82nd Street.

Right here.

I moved from 86th to 82nd Street, and I lived with Paula in this place.

The apartment's still there.

She still lives there.

I've always had weaknesses.

But I always had eyes for women.

I came here to New York when I was 25 years old.

I felt like Pinocchio in Candy Land.

Women from all over the world live here.

And they're all interesting.

She doesn't necessarily need to have... She doesn't need a fantastic body.

It can also be her personality.

But it doesn't matter, you're always looking.

That's what the song's about.

I know people who are happily married.

Or maybe they're really good actors.

But I've always found it very hard to do.

Whoo!

International breaking news!

Ladies and gentlemen, we get reports on the surfacing of an alleged son of, believe it or not, Panamanian salsa singer Rubén Blades.

Oh, come on.

He's 37 years old, and he demands a DNA test.

It's the same face, as you can see in the pictures.

Like two peas in a pod.

He looks exactly like Rubén Blades.

I called straightaway the same lawyer I had on the case with Willie Colon, and I said, "Please, find this person for me, we have to do this."

She contacted Joseph and the mother straight away.

And we arranged to do the test.

The first meeting that we had was, uh, was good.

You know, um... you know, he was-- He was, um, in shock.

You know what I mean?

But, uh, no, it turned out-- it turned out pretty good, you know.

That's where, you know, we decided to move forward, you know what I mean?

And, uh, and not so much backtrack.

You know what I mean?

'Cause there's, you know, there's all kinds of... with like, you know, with, you know, inside my family and everything like that, there's very strong feelings sometimes, you know what I mean?

So when it comes down to backtracking, I don't want to backtrack.

You know, let's just move forward and, uh, and... Just, you know, for the sake of everybody, especially my daughter, uh, his granddaughter and everything, you know.

And I'm so happy that she got to, uh... that he and she got to be in each other's lives as well.

You know what I mean?

So that's really important to me.

It was difficult for me at first.

Because when his son surfaced, um... yeah, there was a part of me that... I wanted to give him that son.

You know, that was difficult at first.

Um... And I, again, I had to really... wrap my head around that one, too.

It wasn't easy.

Um... But he was... this is something that happened 36, 37 years ago.

It was nothing... that happened personally to me.

I mean, it didn't involve me.

It was something that happened a long time ago.

And... it happened, um... And I had a choice either to be upset or angry about it, or embrace this-- this son.

I didn't do anything the right way.

Not a thing.

In everything else I've been very careful to do things right.

But in this case I didn't.

And that, for me, it's like a white blemish on a black background.

Or like a black blemish on a white background.

That's where I put my focus on.

The rest doesn't matter.

It's that thing.

One, two, one, two, three, four.

Oh, yeah.

Welcome!

Pleased to meet you.

Oh, yeah.

Oh, yeah.

-You look like my mother.

-Huh?

You look like my mother.

Oh.

I told her, "Look, maybe we still have time to..." I missed out on so much.

Charlie!

I would've loved to be part of that.

But maybe we still have time to become friends.

-...at the end.

-That's what I'm saying.

Let's go.

Now.

Okay, so, where do you want me to put the new things?

Um... I'll clear some space here at the table.

Okay.

And these are all coming to us directly from him?

Yes, yes.

These were the copies of "Maestra Vida"... the first part and the second part, that he gave to Paula in 1980.

"Paula C., can you believe it's out?

Thank you for the support.

Love always, Rubén."

The handwritten "El Cantante" on a napkin.

There's the part B and part C. I don't know why it's two different colors.

Then handwritten "Pedro Navaja" on this falling-apart piece of paper.

Including a doodle.

So this would be the-- yeah, the typed-up lyrics for "Amor y control."

And all kinds of notes, phone numbers.

This is... what I find often.

Just, I love this.

I mean, I just love this, um... -That's a sketch?

-Yeah.

His-- his I.D., Pan-- student I.D.

And... So the-- the thesis, it's in... This is part one, that's part-- the second.

It's in two different folders.

But he dedicates it to his grandmother and his parents.

-"And to Vinicius de Moraes..." -Yeah.

-"...who I don't know personally."

This song we're going to sing now, everyone said it was too long, that it was depressing, that it was impossible for it to get any radio airplay.

This is the story of Pedro Navaja.

It always surprises me when they know all the lyrics... to the songs, and not just that, but also that they survived the passage of time.

I think that, as I always suspected, people would embrace the song because it's a story.

People learned it when it came out in '78, but they're still singing it!

♪ Life gives you surprises ♪ ♪ The surprises life gives you ♪ Hi, how are you?

Do you remember me?

Alexis, from Venezuela.

-Yeah, how are you?

-Oh, God, are they with you?

These people are making a documentary about me.

How are you?

How's it going?

Rubén, nice meeting you.

-And how is everything?

-Fine.

Keeping busy, you?

When are you going to write something?

More?

Go to my website.

Have you written anything else about Venezuela?

Go to my website.

I've read everything you've written.

The letter to Maduro and everything?

-The letter... -The argument with him?

Yes.

You're the only person... I keep writing.

You're the bridge between the opposition and the government.

-I wish!

-You're the bridge.

This is where Fania was.

This building was home to the biggest company in the history of salsa, or Latin American music at that time.

But memories are always bittersweet with these people.

On one hand, there's no denying it.

Fania gave us all the chance to put ourselves out there.

The negative side was that they gave us the chance, but at the same time they enslaved us.

They didn't give us the respect we deserved.

My relationship with them went from joy to disappointment, to seeing them in court.

I sued them twice, on two separate occasions, to get back my music, my copyright, my songs.

They kept the records because I didn't have the masters.

But I did get my music back.

It cost me time and a lot of money, but I did it and now it's mine.

This is where I would walk along... with a mail cart about this big.

Full of records.

I'd go up there, it was the hill of pain.

I wrote a song called "The Hill of Pain," but I never recorded it.

And I'd come out with it here.

Out here to the street.

Here, with the cart.

Down the street.

The whole way.

I feel Panama with me every day.

You can hear it in my voice.

I don't have to make an effort to remember, to feel it.

It's with me wherever I am.

I don't feel homesick.

Panama is such a big part of me, in so many different ways... that I never forget my country, and I don't have to remember it.

Can you hear it?

Can you hear it?

No.

Well, that's a sound sculpture.

A lot of people don't realize it exists because the sound of the sound sculpture blends in with the sounds of New York.

And you can only tell it was there if, for some reason, everything else went silent.

I found it one day when I was coming out of a recording session... at 3:00 a.m.

It had snowed, and there was no one around, no cars, nothin.. So I heard it.

And I was so intrigued that I cleared away the snow.

And later I came back to listen to it again.

I picked up my recorder, the one you saw at my place, and came back to record the sound.

I gave it to Jon Fausty, the sound engineer of my record, and I sang "G.D.B.D."

over that sound.

Let me listen... Ooh.

Rene?

Where are you?

I'm here with a crew, all friends, all good people.

How are you doing?

How are you?

Hey, the guitar guy came?

-Oh, you're recording?

-Yes, yes, the guitar guy?

Yes, yes, he's around.

Omar?

What are you doing?

What about you, Omar?

Explain.

Interview, on the spot!

You guys know each other from before?

Well, yes... The next record, when the salsa thing stops, I'm not going to call myself Rubén Blades anymore.

Otherwise, they're just going to ask me for more of the same.

I'm going to be 70 and still singing "Pedro Navaja."

There's nothing wrong with that, I'm grateful and all, but I also want to do other stuff, too.

Obviously Rubén has been a big influence.

I'm not just saying that because he's here, we're also friends, almost family.

We see each other a lot.

I was talking about it with some friends here.

I grew up listening to Rubén's music.

I listened to different kinds of music, but I mostly listened to Rubén.

I would listen to it when I cleaned the house.

Whenever I hear Rubén's music, I remember I have to clean the house.

What makes Rubén's music so special is how accessible it is.

It's intelligent.

It tells you stories.

And it's accessible for all social classes.

Not just the rich or the poor, or those who had the chance to study or not.

-Tite Curet did that too.

-Mm-hmm.

For me, that's a fundamental part of the lyrics.

It's very easy to be obscure so no one will understand you.

And to be cool.

And it's also easy to be really simple.

But it's hard to do something with substance, that communicates, that's accessible, that everyone can understand.

And can be interpreted in so many ways.

I never did anything to win awards.

When my first record came out, the first song I did, there were still 15 dictatorships here.

It's a song about a guy who's killed by the military.

That's not a good career move, you don't do that to sell records.

To sell records, you talk about love.

When you don't have political, social, and economic power, yeah, the number one violence that is committed against us is that the people who have power tell our stories.

I know, as a writer, I know that growing up, I'm surrounded by, uh... Rubén's songs, his characters, his political conscience.

That certainly encouraged and helped me think about the kinds of stories we have to tell.

Everything is political, you know.

At a time when, um... the news media, the media is under attack, and the truth itself is under attack, it's more and more important that artists speak the truth.

Or say, speak truth to power.

Say, "You're lying."

I wrote this song back then, and I'm still singing it, whenever it's necessary, wherever it's necessary.

Especially when there are people like Donald Trump in this world.

I wrote "Tiburón" when I was angry, very upset... at what was happening in Central America.

The US intervention in Central America, backing dictators.

Because that was Reagan's policy at the time, US policy.

It made me so angry that I wrote that song, "Tiburón."

They did horrific things there.

This photo is one of my favorites.

With Joe Cuba's original sextet.

Cheo Feliciano, Jimmy Sabater, Joe Cuba.

Everyone.

Nick Jimenez... Compay Tomas... And the bass player, whose name I always forget.

This photo is interesting.

This is James Taylor, this is me... Billy Joel... Paul Simon, Bruce Springsteen, Lou Reed.

We were doing doo-wop backup vocals for Dion singing "Runaround Sue."

With my beloved Paco de Lucia and Al Di Meola... in Hong Kong.

Ismael Rivera.

The wizard of Borinquen.

This is a friend from Panama, Carlos Kuntz, Ismael Rivera and me.

Dizzy Gillespie.

With the great Tite Curet Alonso.

This number really reminds me of the Corso Club.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is Marty Arret, and this is the Corso Club, And now, with you tonight, Tito Puente and his orchestra and the exciting sounds of... And I don't know what.

Then all the people would come out, at the Corso Club, you know, you would see these incredible dancers.

Look... They're killing it, really going for it.

The Canal was returned to Panama in 1999.

When the treaty came to an end and the USA was forced to return all the land and all the areas that were part of the old Canal Zone.

It was US colony inside Panama, that split the country in two.

Singing "Patria" on the day that our territory was finally returned... was perhaps the greatest experience I've ever had in all my music career.

This-- Bill Paxton died yesterday.

Good guy.

I worked with him on "Predator 2."

I write when something bothers me.

I used to write more.

I've written over 200 songs.

You know... One day you feel that you've said all you have to say.

And another thing is that now I write articles.

My articles used to be my songs.

I wrote "Pablo Pueblo" when I was a student.

On the days when I used to think, "I have 25 cents, I can either buy a big bottle of beer or take the bus home.

I can't do both."

My friends, the people who know me in Panama, know that's true.

So it was back then that I wrote "Pablo Pueblo."

But then I worked hard, I recorded "Pablo Pueblo," and that song, and others, got me some attention.

And I realize there's a contradiction there.

I'm writing about this person's difficulties, an honorable, honest person, who works every day, but has no way to fix his problems, and I'm making money out of that.

I'm living a thousand times better than Pablo Pueblo, who, in fact, is my mom, my dad, my grandma, and all my neighbors.

Or most of them.

So how do you put that contradiction right?

By devoting yourself to public service of some kind.

And that was one of the reasons why I participated in the creation of the Papa Egoró Movement.

It was one of the reasons I did five years' public service in Panama.

Some people say, "You don't live in Panama!

You come here and tell us what to do."

No.

I don't spend all my time in Panama, that's true.

But I am Panamanian, and I carry Panama inside me, and in my maracas every time I do my work.

The ones who live in Panama 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year; they're the ones who've stolen your life, destroyed your dreams and those of your children.

Rubén Blades could run for president.

What do you think?

I think it's a very good idea.

He knows the secrets of Panama.

He knows how people suffer.

-I think it's wrong.

-Why?

Because I'd like him to keep on being a singer.

But he's also got a law degree, he knows the law.

-Mm-hmm.

-I think he's a good person.

He ran for the presidency in 1994 and came third.

Then he was Minister of Tourism from 2004 to 2009.

I'm not saying yes or no, but I'm considering it.

Period.

But you don't know when, whenever you like... No, no.

When the conditions are right.

-Welcome, how are you doing?

-It's great seeing you again.

We met in Las Vegas a while back.

-Pleased to meet you.

-Delighted.

Josefina.

My wife.

-This is your number one fan.

-No, no, thank you.

I'm glad that you played and it went well.

He's got a very powerful story, about a song of yours.

I was living on the street, in my car, for three months.

My dad is a salsa lover, and he said to me, "I'll send you a Rubén Blades CD, the song 'Amor y Control' will change your life."

And I listened to the song, and it turned me around.

It gave me incredible strength that... I went back to Puerto Rico, my family helped me, I started singing.

And things went well.

I said "Someday I'll tell him that one of his songs changed my life."

It makes me happy.

The first time I ever heard a recording of mine, I was at a beach in Santa Clara.

It was about one in the morning.

We had gathered around a bonfire, everyone left, and I stayed behind with a radio, enjoying the breeze, watching the stars.

And, all of a sudden, I hear "Descarga Caliente," a song from my first album... "From Panama to New York."

I had never heard myself on the radio.

And I heard this coming all the way from Colombia, on a very a poor, fuzzy radio signal.

I was alone.

I didn't have anyone to share it with.

No witnesses.

When I sing, I'm in my happy place.

A place where... I'm returning to the purest spot in my soul.

I return to the place, where the best things are, and where the best angels of my character live, that's where I go.

I've done a lot because I thought I was going to die young.

I grew up with the idea of my own mortality.

My mom was very important, because I saw how she handled death, with such dignity.

But another thing that helped me not to be afraid, is that I feel I've been able to do a lot of the things I wanted to.

You're afraid of death, in part, when you feel frustrated, incomplete.

In the end, you leave with what you have.

The only thing you take with you is your integrity, what you've done.

If I can inspire someone the way others inspired me... then I had a purpose in this world.

I hope to leave it better than I found it, at least.

And to set an example that's useful, something positive.

I think that the career of a singer never ends.

You can decide one day not to perform on stage anymore, but your career goes on, because you carry on singing, you carry on singing for your loved ones.

Or maybe... I put on a show, and I invite a friend... Maybe Gilberto, Ismael Miranda, or Rubén... And they'll come, even if they've decided not to sing in public anymore.

But a singer's career never ends.

Until God our Father blows out the candle... as happened to our friend Cheo Feliciano.

And even so, you can still hear him.

A singer's career never ends.

I go to church on Sundays.

I go and give thanks.

All the time.

I give thanks for all my family.

I give thanks for my friends.

For my mom, my grandmother, my grandfather, all the friends who have died.

For all the women who have loved me.

For all the people who have supported the Papa Egoró Movement.

For Panama.

I pray for everyone.

Hey, we'll say farewell when I return.