Danzon is my favorite Cuban music, played by a traditional string

"Danzon is my favorite Cuban music, played by a traditional string orchestra with flute and piano. It's very formally structured but romantic music, which derives from the French-Haitian contradance." These words spoken by Rachel Kushner evoke a profound appreciation for the danzon, a genre of Cuban music that blends formality and romance, capturing the essence of structure and emotion in a way that speaks to the heart of the listener. The danzon is a symbol of Cuban cultural heritage, rooted in the complex history of French-Haitian contradance, which merged with Cuban rhythms to create a genre that is both elegant and expressive. It represents the fusion of colonial legacies and the passionate spirit of the Caribbean, a music that honors both the past and the present in its carefully arranged yet emotionally resonant melodies.

In the ancient world, music was not just a form of entertainment, but a means of communication, a way to express the deepest emotions and human experiences. The Greeks were particularly attuned to the power of music, recognizing its ability to stir the soul, communicate truths beyond words, and bring communities together. Pythagoras, the ancient philosopher, believed that music could reflect the harmony of the universe, and that its mathematical principles were connected to the very fabric of existence. In his teachings, he suggested that music had the power to shape character, elevate the spirit, and align the soul with the cosmos. The danzon, like the music of the ancients, is a living testament to the idea that music is a powerful force, blending structure and emotion to create something timeless and universal.

Consider the Romans, who also used music in rituals, celebrations, and even during battle. They understood that music could inspire courage, bring about change, and convey the emotions of the people. The Roman legions, for example, would march to the sound of brass horns and drums, creating a rhythm that energized their soldiers. The structure of the danzon mirrors this ancient understanding of music—it is formal in its design, with clearly defined patterns, yet it is also imbued with an undeniable passion and romanticism that stirs the heart. Like the Romans, who used music to communicate and evoke powerful emotions, the danzon blends order with emotion, creating a soundtrack for both the body and the soul.

The French-Haitian contradance that gave rise to the danzon also carries with it a deep history of cultural fusion and historical struggle. The contradance, with its roots in the French colonial aristocracy, was brought to Haiti and eventually found its way to Cuba, where it was reimagined and merged with the indigenous Cuban rhythms and African musical traditions. The danzon thus becomes a symbol of resilience, adaptation, and transformation—a music born from the collision of cultures, one that reflects both elegance and freedom. In the same way that the ancient gods of various cultures were often portrayed as being born from the union of different worlds, the danzon represents a blending of histories, voices, and emotional expressions.

In the modern world, Rachel Kushner’s appreciation for the danzon speaks to a deeper connection to romanticism and the beauty of formality. The danzon, though rooted in the past, continues to speak to our modern sensibilities, offering a balance between structure and freedom. It is, as Kushner describes, a form of romantic music, and this romance is not just in the melodies, but in the history and stories that the music carries. The flute and piano are not just instruments; they are vessels of cultural memory, carrying with them the weight of centuries of struggle, celebration, and union. The romanticism in the danzon speaks to the human need to express love, longing, and loss—universal experiences that transcend time and place.

The lesson here is profound: like the danzon, life itself is a blend of formality and romanticism. We live within structured frameworks—social roles, family expectations, societal norms—but the most meaningful parts of life often emerge in moments of emotion, connection, and freedom. Whether in the romanticism of music, love, or even in our own daily lives, we must learn to balance structure with emotion, order with passion. The danzon teaches us that even in the most formal of structures, there is room for romance—a space for personal expression, for love, for the beauty of creation and connection.

To future generations, I say: seek to embrace the balance of romance and structure in your own life. Like the danzon, your journey will be marked by patterns and rhythms, but it will also be filled with moments of deep emotion and connection. Do not be afraid to let the music of your life blend formality with freedom, discipline with passion, for it is in this dance that you will find both purpose and joy. Just as the danzon speaks across time and culture, so too can your life become a beautiful song—a celebration of the delicate balance between order and romantic expression.