By Jay Sweet
originally published in New Jersey Jazz Society (www.njjs.org) November 2025, Volume 53, Issue 10
Cuban American saxophonist, clarinetist, and composer Paquito D’Rivera is a legend—a man whose personality is as effervescent as his music, and one who took great risks in life to create the music he felt most deeply connected to. The 77-year-old master will be honored as the newest recipient of the Giants of Jazz Award on November 29, 2025, at the South Orange Performing Arts Center. The evening will include performances by Eric Alexander, Don Braden, Roberta Gambarini, Jeb Patton, Rufus Reid, Steve Davis, Freddie Hendrix, Yotam Silberstein, and others—a lineup that reads like a who’s who of jazz.
In conversation with Mr. D’Rivera about his thoughts on receiving this high honor, he shared,
“Well, it’s a surprise for me, and I’m very honored to receive this recognition—to be mentioned on the same page as Kenny Barron and my very dear friend Claudio Roditi, whom we still miss so much. I do wonder whose idea this was, but I’m truly thankful—and very happy that my dear friend John Lee is involved in all of this. It will be a wonderful opportunity to have fun, make music together, and remember the people who’ve been so important in our careers. It’s always good to be together with our colleagues once in a while. These are people you often only see in airports or passing through different places, so it’s healthy and heartwarming to gather and reconnect.”
Although he remains humble, the recognition is most definitely deserved after a playing career that has lasted over seven decades. D’Rivera reflects on his remarkable journey.
“My father was a classical saxophone player. In the early 1940s, he imported books from the French School of the Saxophone—the Paris Conservatory. So from a very early age, I was exposed to all kinds of music. The first jazz recording I remember was Benny Goodman Live at Carnegie Hall, the 1938 concert. For some reason, my father used to play that record back-to-back with Benny Goodman’s rendition of the Mozart Clarinet Concerto. So, growing up, I was constantly hearing everything—from Duke Ellington and Benny Goodman’s big band music to Mozart and the classics. As a child, I didn’t really understand the difference between one kind of music and another. To me, it was all just great music. My father used to say there are only two kinds of music: good music and the other kind. And I was fortunate to be surrounded by the good kind all the time.”
“My father gave me my first saxophone—a soprano sax—which he ordered from the Selmer Company. He gave it to me and then presented it to me in public when I was just six years old. So yes, that was quite a while ago! This year actually marks seventy years of playing music. That’s a lot of years, huh?”
“I grew up around the famed Tropicana Club. Since I was a kid, I spent time there—sitting in on rehearsals, watching the shows, and eventually playing there myself from time to time. I have very sweet memories of the Tropicana; it was such a magical place, full of energy, elegance, and incredible music.”
His early exposure led to more formal training when he attended the Alejandro García Caturla Conservatory, where he studied clarinet and saxophone.
“The conservatory offered a strictly classical education. But after hearing that Benny Goodman LP, I became fascinated by jazz—I just didn’t understand how it worked yet. So my father took me to visit some of his friends who were improvisers. The first thing they told me was, ‘Transcribe the solos of the musicians you like.’ So I started doing exactly that. I loved Benny Goodman—but also Harry James, Lionel Hampton, and especially Teddy Wilson, a pianist I still adore to this day. Then came Charlie Parker, Dave Brubeck with Paul Desmond, Gigi Gryce, and so many others. Everyone who wants to learn how to improvise begins by transcribing, and then you start to develop your own solos.”
“Of course, you also need to study harmony—that’s essential. Pianists and guitarists often pick it up naturally, but for us wind players, we usually have to sit down at the keyboard to really understand it. Improvising is such great fun—but you have to learn the rules first, so you can break them later!”
Around the same time, he began performing with the Cuban National Symphony Orchestra, beginning at just seventeen years old.
“They used to call me quite often—especially whenever they programmed Ravel’s Boléro. There’s a soprano saxophone part in that piece, and for some reason, they discovered that I played the soprano—which, in those days, wasn’t a very popular instrument. Not many people were playing soprano sax back then, so I often got the call to play that solo. It’s actually a very tricky solo—and the soprano can be a very unpredictable instrument. When you’re trying to play perfectly in tune, you never quite know what’s going to happen with the soprano!”
In the early 1970’s D’Rivera and legendary Cuban pianist Chucho Valdés went on to form the Orquesta Cubana de Música Moderna, a large group that incorporated jazz, which eventually led to the more scaled-down Irakere, an innovative latin fusion group that once included the legendary trumpeter Arturo Sandoval and gained international attention.
“Orquesta Cubana de Música Moderna—from that orchestra came Irakere. It all started because the big orchestra was just too large to move around—impossible to take anywhere. So Chucho Valdés and Oscar Valdés, the singer and percussionist, decided to form a smaller group that could combine jazz, stage music, and dance music—for dance parties and concerts.
They called me and said, ‘We want to form this group, but we should stay away from using the word jazz.’ In those days, in communist Cuba, jazz was practically a four-letter word. I said, ‘But that’s what we play—jazz!’ And they replied, ‘Yes, but don’t mention it.’ So that’s how Irakere was born. I never really knew where they got the name—Irakere—but it sounded powerful, and I believe it means ‘jungle’ in some African dialect. It had a strong, exotic ring to it.
“You see, dictators tend to fear jazz music. It represents freedom and independence—everything they can’t control. Musicians, by nature, don’t really care about politics; we do our own thing, we have our own little ‘mafia’ of creativity. But that sense of independence makes authoritarian regimes uncomfortable. Hitler hated jazz, Stalin hated it, Khrushchev too—and of course, the Castro government didn’t like the word jazz either.
“So for a time, things were difficult for us. I wrote about it in my book My Sax Life—there’s a whole chapter called ‘Jazz,’ where I describe those struggles. The same thing happened in places like Czechoslovakia—wherever there’s repression, jazz becomes a problem because it stands for freedom.”
“Eventually, though, we managed to get away with it. Under the name Irakere, we became the first group in Cuba to blend jazz, dance music, and classical influences all at once. It was very well received, though at first people were a little intimidated. They didn’t quite know what to make of us—it was supposed to be a dance band, but instead of dancing, people would just stand there watching us play! That kind of reaction had only happened before with Benny Moré. He was a phenomenal singer—a show all by himself. He fronted a true jazz big band: five saxophones, five brass, and a rhythm section. He called it La Tribu—The Tribe. Like Irakere, his audiences would sometimes stop dancing just to listen and watch in amazement.”
Despite his success in Cuba, D’Rivera increasingly grew irritated by the personal and artistic oppression that surrounded communist Cuba and made the very bold decision to leave the group and the country.
“Well, what really happened is that I left my country—that’s why I left Irakere. During a tour in Europe, I asked for political asylum. At the very first stop, without telling anyone, I defected. And that was the end of my time with Irakere.
Years before, I met Che Guevara—back in the 1970s. Everyone wanted to meet him in those days, and I was still very young, around sixteen. There was some kind of party going on, and I said, ‘I want to meet the Comandante.’ So they took me to him. I said, ‘Comandante, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’ And he asked, ‘What are you? What do you do for a living?’ I said, ‘I’m a musician.’ And he replied, ‘No, no—I mean, what’s your work?’ That’s when I realized we were not speaking the same language—spiritually, I mean. From that moment, I thought, ‘Ah… I think I’m in the wrong place.’ Che never liked jazz, and in general, the high-ranking people of the Cuban Revolution didn’t care much for artists—especially not those who were too independent or creative.”
“It was a very difficult decision to leave Cuba. I was married to a woman I loved, and we had a five-year-old son. After I left, I didn’t see them for ten years. My marriage didn’t survive—it was destroyed. And of course, I completely missed my son’s childhood. At that moment, though, it was the only way. There was no other escape from that system. Today people can go in and out more easily, but back then, that simply wasn’t possible. I won’t go back. I’m an American citizen now, but to visit Cuba, you have to apply for a Cuban passport. Then, if they decide to grant it, they put a Cuban visa on that same passport—which makes no sense. And even then, you never know: they might let you in, but not let you leave. That’s what worries me most.”
Despite the risks, the saxophonist quickly found work outside his home country.
“About a year before I left—in 1977—I met Dizzy Gillespie in Havana. He came as part of a jazz cruise, and when I arrived in the U.S., he helped me a lot. So did Mario Bauzá—wonderful people. I had also recorded with Irakere for CBS about a year before defecting, so when I came here, I managed to get my own contract with CBS Records. I recorded more than ten albums with them. Bruce Lundvall was the president of CBS at the time—he really supported me. So, that’s how I started my career here.
I had always dreamed of being a musician in New York City—and when I finally arrived, I felt like a fish in water. My parents had already been living here since 1968, so I knew the city. New York always amazed me—the energy, the musicians, the constant activity. Some people say New York is an aggressive place, but I don’t think so. It’s a very friendly city—it’s just that New Yorkers are… well, New Yorkers!”
After recording dozens of albums as a leader, sideman, and with the group Caribbean Jazz Project, D’Rivera continues to produce music at the highest level. His most recent effort, La Fleur de Cayenne, with the newly launched Madrid–New York Connection, continues his lifelong dialogue between tradition and innovation.
“I travel to Spain quite often too. I have several musician friends there, and I’ve been planning to record with them. One of them is Pepe Rivero, the pianist on my new album, and another is Sebastián Laverde, who plays vibraphone and marimba—instruments I absolutely love. I first fell in love with them listening to Lionel Hampton play with the Goodman orchestra.”
“In the 1990s, I actually had the pleasure of sharing the stage with Lionel Hampton himself—and also with another vibraphonist I admired deeply, the late Dave Samuels. Now, with Sebastián in Valencia, I’ve found a new collaborator who brings that same spirit.”
“The new album is called La Fleur de Cayenne—which means The Cayenne Flower—named after a little flower my father used to grow in our garden when I was a kid. It’s a project we’re very proud of.”
In closing, D’Rivera reflected on his plans and longevity.
“My dream was always to be a musician, and I accomplished that. That’s all I ever wanted—to play music. And also to write—I enjoy writing, and I’ve written a couple of books. I’m a Gemini, so maybe that helps—I’m lucky enough to do different things.. I love variety—doing different kinds of things every day keeps me alive and inspired. I’m traveling a lot—and soon I’ll be part of the Jazz Cruise, which I always enjoy. I’m also involved in a number of different projects. One of them is a proposal to write a cello concerto
“ Writing, though—that’s a completely different animal! You really have to set aside time and space for it, because once you start, it can take over your whole mind. It’s dangerous for your endurance as a performer, you know? When you’re deep in the writing process, you kind of lose track of time—you get pulled into that world and don’t know how to get out. But it’s so much fun. That’s the problem—it’s a good problem, but still a problem! I always know when I’m in writing mode, because everything else in life seems to fade away until the music on the page feels just right.”