Rey "Conga" Diaz Brought Distinct Sabor to Miami Bands

| O – S – | – O S – | O – S – | B – O S |

Hit the drum with an open tone (O), rest (–), slap (S), rest, rest, open tone, slap, rest. Repeat the first two measures, add a bass tone (B), rest, open tone, and slap. This straightforward tumbao rhythm does no justice to the musical legacy that Rey "Conga" Diaz leaves behind. But in the same way this rhythm is the backbone of many Latin music styles, Diaz was the backbone of many a South Florida band.

Diaz, a revered percussionist who brought a distinct jolt of flavor and tasteful smoothness to countless bands, died on December 29 after a prolonged, diabetes-related illness and a hip replacement.

"I've had the pleasure and honor of playing and collaborating with many greats during my more than 25 years in professional music," Michel Mut shared in a heartfelt writeup. "By far, one of the most talented, eccentric, and genuinely original characters was Diaz."

Mut, cofounder and bassist of the award-winning Latin fusion band Electric Piquete, tells New Times that Diaz was the Zelig of the Miami music scene, alluding to the 1983 Woody Allen film about a human chameleon who seamlessly integrated himself into any social or cultural group he encountered.

"We used to joke that Rey would join a band at its outset, then the band would go on to have success only after he left," he says, pointing to acts like Suénalo Sound System, Conjunto Progreso, and his own band. "In hindsight, it's clear now that we all became better bands because of Rey."

Diaz provided percussion and set the tone for dozens of varied bands he either cofounded or joined in their early days, including funksters Rudy, King Conga, the Weeds, Conjunto Progreso, Suénalo, the Mighty Iguanas, and psychedelic world beat mashers the Baboons where he opened each gig with the incantation, "¡La luna más triste! ¡La última luna!"

"The final moonrise. We can still hear you, Rey, summoning rhythms and spirits. For over 30 years, your wild and wonderful energy launched countless unforgettable performances, each beginning with your never-the-same-twice ritual," wrote former Baboon bandmates, vocalist Majica Napoli and drummer Mano Pila on the band's Facebook page.

Diaz was born in Havana on December 29, 1960, and emigrated to Costa Rica about a year later, where his father was studying accounting. Within months, the Diaz clan relocated to Miami in 1962, where young Rey was raised between Hialeah and Little Havana. He attended James H. Bright Elementary School and Hialeah Senior High, where he had the opportunity to travel to France on a school trip.

When he was 12 years old, his favorite relative, Tío Lazaro, gifted him a conga, doing what uncs and tíos have been doing since time immemorial, changing lives and wrecking futures — at least in the eyes of other relatives.

According to Elda, his mother, he took pre-med courses in Costa Rica since his father wanted him to have something more solid than music. His work life consisted of stints with Dynamic Cablevision, media wholesalers Jerry Bassin Inc. (now known as Alliance Entertainment), a trophy company, and as a hearse driver for a funeral home.

He also organized annual camping and canoeing trips to Peace River in Arcadia, Florida, to foster camaraderie among friends and fellow musicians. According to Mut, the group, which once numbered more than 100 paddlers, was known to the proprietors of the Canoe Outpost there as the "Conga Rey" group.

Musicians from South Florida's scene have flooded his socials with remembrances of Diaz's influence and impacts.

"The first time I ever met him is when Al's Not Well and the Baboons were part of a Battle of the Bands at the University of Miami," says Kala Droid, former vocalist and percussionist for Al's Not Well and Music Is a Weapon. "We clicked right away and ended up sharing the stage many times. He was a great musician and one of the nicest guys in the scene."

Others like Los Angeles-based multi-instrumentalist Fernando Perdomo and Tony Laurencio of Afrobeta and Suénalo have praised how many bands would have simply not existed without Diaz.

"He's a sort of a Hispanic Big Fish fantastical storyteller," says Ferny Coipel of Humbert fame. "From his days as a mortuary embalmer to his body removal service company, Diaz Removal Service, with the slogan 'It's better to know me than need me,' his stories would lead you through a maze of events that left you questioning their validity. But really, it didn't matter because it was Rey."

Coipel points to two things that encapsulated Diaz's spirit and musical generosity. His spirit overpowered his prowess in a good way, allowing him to adapt and nail his parts regardless of any confusion that may have come his way. His love for his friends and their families was palpable as well. When visiting him in the hospital and watching him waste away, Diaz always gave him words of kindness to deliver to his family.

"I find it very appropriate that Rey's viewing and burial is on Three Kings Day," he adds. "He would probably say, 'Yeah, man. My viewing is gonna be huge, so huge, and on el Día de los Reyes. All of Hialeah will be there. You should go!'"

In a profile for Florida's Jam Magazine, Diaz famously said it was better to be hated than forgotten. But Diaz never really had to worry about being hated or forgotten.

"Rey was surrounded by a wonderful circle of friends that made his life happier and fun," Elda, his mother, tells New Times. "I am so appreciative of all of you for being in his life."

If South Florida can be condensed into one being for the sake of this coda, it appreciates him being in it and enriching its life.