Final

For decades, this singer-songwriter has ploughed a lonely furrow, working latterly from his home studio in a Havana suburb. His lyrics have, on occasion, attracted the displeasure of the authorities, resulting in a loss of performance opportunities: a case in point was the humorous ‘Inseminación Artificial,’ commenting on one of Castro's big beef-rearing campaigns, which the bearded one reportedly received with his usual self-deprecating tolerance: Ferrer didn’t, thankfully, end up in a labour camp.

Ferrer's self-produced records have lately had a more nostalgic atmosphere. On this latest, the simple guitar, percussion and female chorus accompanying Ferrer's relaxed, nasal voice is augmented by touches of keyboard and string section. The lyrics are mainly reflective love songs in ballad format, enlivened with passages of friskier son and guaracha styles. For all the obvious artistic integrity and high compositional quality, this album isn’t exactly exciting, and one can see why Ferrer's reputation is greater as a songwriter than performer.