@ David:
Definitely some quinto phrasing inserted into the segundo part. Cool. The two parts typically sound opposite sides of the clave, so it is a natural hybrid.
-David
With all due respect, but even I am doing that constantly - when I play a 2- or 3-conga set in a band context. I even play the same figures. And I don't believe I'm the only one. I got it mainly from listening to Irakere's Jorge Alfonso.
Also, thinking in fixed territories for each drum part is one of those transitional entry concepts that make perfect sense in a teaching situation, but must be modified in "real" performance. Even your own transcriptions show that both salidor and segundo can play anywhere (as long as it makes sense, musically). And we all know that the quinto may be all over the place.
This might rather be a thread on its own; but I feel that the so-called standard "quinto ride" should not be seen as binding, either. It may come in handy as a default "waiting pattern", or as a starting motif for any percussion solo. But it can also tie you up, or always launch you in the same direction; that's what I have experienced myself, repeatedly. I have often watched Barry's "Rumba in Atarés" videos on YouTube lately, and seeing Mario play the quinto was a revelation to me - and a liberation. (Is this still the same Mario Jáuregui who has studied with Pablo Roche? Does this guy never get old?) I remember I played with that concept before learning about a quinto ride (but not as well as Mario, of course). I suspect that the quinto ride has been a product of musical analysis, finding its principal application in the teaching circuit, but falling flat in real life. I may be exaggerating here. But I definitely think that we have to open up the categories a bit.
@ RR: "Open categories" applies to "traditional" vs "modern" as well. As you said, it's subjective; but it is relative, too.
I am a confessing traditionalist. Now, the general image of a traditionalist is one of some stubborn, backward zombie who feeds on the dead and dusty remnants of the past. But that's not traditionalism; that might be described as artistic necrophily, an immature or undeveloped stage of creativity. For me, traditionalism implies evolution, because if there was ever one thing that is truly traditional, then it's the strife to move forward and to shape one's art after one's own ideas. The only thing about traditionalism is that you know where you come from in order to know where you are going to. This would be my definition of a traditionalist.
One and the same musician may play differently from year to year, even from day to day. When we listen to the "Rapsodía Rumbera" record, we hear some of the same old warhorses who have played the Rumba since it was recorded for the first time; yet it sounds so modern! A young hothead might automatically hold back a bit when congregating with elder drummers, and if he's musical, it goes together perfectly.
On a less relevant level: If I consciously chose to play less on the segundo
today, then I would probably do so because I like it better, not because everything must be like it was yesterday. Then it would automatically be the most "modern", or contemporary thing you could possibly hear, because I play it
now, and I play it live, and I know why. I don't like the conversational battlefields that we can see in modern talk shows, where everybody interrupts anyone else; there is no discussion culture! By the same token, if I am the quintero, and I hear a constant chatter from the other drums that keeps me from pursuing my own flow of ideas, I'd rather get up and have a beer until the guys shut up. Let the people dance to
that!
Thomas