"Malo Cantidad," the title track of his second album, is representative of what Carlos Manuel’s music is all about: ‘son’ with Caribbean zouk reggae touches flowing over an identifiable tropical rhythm. But these are just words. There is only one way to begin deciphering Carlos Manuel’s music---look at his eyes, especially on the "Malo Cantidad" video. Those are the eyes of someone who is into fun and mischief, as many of his lyrics indicate. And the music, as opposed to the usual Afro Cuban in crescendo that explodes with the call and response soneo, gets right down to business. Carlos Manuel’s music is an explosion in itself. And although he may have a bit of the devil in him, as the music’s chief songwriter, he’s got the "creator" in him, too.

"I place a lot of weight on the chorus and the response," he says, "as my audience want to dance and get into it quickly unlike older ‘son’ music, which has slower introductions. We drive hard, we cut to the fast section quickly. That’s how the band and I test a song – when the dancing gets crazy, it’s working. The new generation loves it."

And no wonder! ---Carlos gets the best from the three great genres of Cuban music (the classic, the post-revolutionary vanguard and the post-Cold war alternative scene) and takes it to new, unprecedented heights. But, even though Nueva Trova took lyrical magic and musical freedom to new levels of creativity, that movement lacked dancefloor energy. On the other hand, the nueva generación of raperos only make indirect references to the more traditional soneros. Carlos Manuel has the best of both worlds, plus an original, in-your-face approach that has turned him into the personification of the New Cuban Sound.

Besides Nueva Trova, Carlos Manuel grew up with sounds related to what people call "salsa," but now his sound is an unclassifiable cocktail of genres. This is not your usual straight "son" or salsa dancing album. It’s more tuned to despelote trends (also known as sandunguera and tembleque as chorused in "Malo Cantidad," referring to "shivering" the lower body. To see Carlos Manuel live in a nightclub is the Ultimate, Concentrated club experience: rhythm, music, rum and beautiful bodies. If they like despelote, you can’t blame them: wherever Carlos Manuel plays, stunning female-and male-bodies rotate their pelvises like magimixes, shaking their booty while leaning back as if in the throws of ecstasy. Carlos and His Clan pound out their music with enough force to send the audience and his four dancers into a loud, passionate, bold nirvana.

But being a sex idol and dance king is not Carlos’ immediate background. Indeed, he was a key member of the nueva trova group Mayohuacán, with whom he had a huge hit with Pedro Luis Ferrer’s song "Carapacho pa’ la jicotea," about a tortoise who, while slow, has many other talents to offer (more innuendo). On a more subtle note, Carlos is a huge fan of poet-singers like Pablo Milanés and Silvio Rodríguez. He spent 1996 on the road with jazz pioneers and giants Irakere, led by the formidable Chucho Valdes, putting in weeks at Ronnie Scott’s in London and another in Birmingham as well as a tour including the Hollywood Playboy Festival.

"I then spent all the money I’d saved buying second hand instruments for the band I then got together. I got a Roland synth from a guy in the street and then a PF2000 piano the same way. We had to, as we say, seguir luchando (keep on struggling). We got an audience pretty quickly, became a massive success… and got better instruments!"

But the best instrument is his voice, which is as unpredictable as his eyes. He has an unusual ability to effortlessly reach low and high notes, never coming across as a technician, but as what he is: just a guy who likes to seduce and who happens to be a great singer. His pitch is so personal and his tempo so perfect, that he personifies the frontman any dance band dreams of. No wonder he excelled with the jazzier-and more demanding-format of Irakere. Add to that his talent as a songwriter (a rare ability among pop singers in any language), and you have the most exciting name to come out of Latin America in years.

Many songs on the Malo Cantidad album are full of double entendres, in classic Cuban syle. A prime example is "Melón," which plays with meanings around the fruit and breasts (and is another of the many slang words for the dollar), and passing quotes from other contemporary songs. "Malo Cantidad," the song, has in its final section a reference to "La Bruja" (The Witch), the controversial song by José Luis Cortés of NG La Banda. The song talks about one of the consequences of the gigantic increase in tourism to the island---the preference of certain Cuban women for foreign men. "Envidia" (Jealousy) is about a guy who falls in love with someone under age, only to find out, when she finally grows up, that she has another boyfriend waiting for her. The song playfully uses the first line from Celia Cruz’s version of Infantes-Liriano’s "El no te quiere na’ " (He doesn’t care for you at all) as one chorus riff. And "Ni frío ni calor" (Indifferent) incorporates the soca of "Matilda," a sort of Caribbean calypso.

"Vamos a entretenernos" (Let’s Have Some Fun), has more playful double-entendre references, which for him are in part a tribute to classic trovador songwriters and singers Faustino Oramas ("El Guayabero") and Nico Saquito ("I’ll take your dress off/ if you remove my shoes") and to the mega-classic "Mambo, qué rico mambo." The chorus of "Acabando", as with that of the rock-framed "Melón," is full of timba rhythms. [Marcelo LeCours - 2000]

"I feel great," says Carlos Manuel. "I’m very happy with my people, with myself, and with my band. I never expected things to happen so quickly. Everything is happening to make my dream come true: To be able to sing all over the world."