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El Camino, the excellent debut album by the Coffee Makers, is improbable for several reasons. First, it has deep roots in 60s Jamaica, but the band is from Medellín, Colombia. If you consider Colombia a tropical country, think again: the vast majority of its population live in relatively big cities settled on the Andean cordillera. It's not that Colombia doesn't have a long and rich tropical music tradition (cumbias, porros, vallenatos and even salsa), but with the exception of San Andrés (an island closer to Jamaica than to Colombia), the presence and influence of West Indian music in the country has been very scarce.

Second, Medellín's music scene is now filled with lots of crappy ska-punk bands, which play fast but can't find a reason for it. This group is a rara avis here; they don't walk the easy road and for their first album they've created a set of songs where rhythm, not speed, is the driving force. The Coffee Makers are accomplished musicians who love first-wave Jamaican ska, rocksteady, dub, reggae and Afro-Cuban music.

Third, it's almost a miracle that the Coffee Makers are still together. In their eight-year history, these guys have had more line-ups than Fleetwood Mac, to the point that today there's only one founder member playing, drummer Andrés Arango, a piece of luck as he's the composer of the album's best material. The numerous changes of personnel and their impact on the group's style, along with the lack of interest from local labels in new music, have held the group back from recording until now. The Colombian musical market barely exists, so releasing an album here is a major event.

On to the music. El Camino opens with the best track of the album, 'Las calles de Medellín', an instrumental song in a stunning ska rhythm where the trombone and the sax start a battle ended only by the intervention of a powerful trumpet solo. The song is charged with a threatening but never exploding violence, like the streets which give it its name. The second track, 'Por qué'? pays homage to 60s ska, in a traditional rhythm accompanied by a vocal trio.

The album then gets softer, navigating rocksteady waters until it arrives at another key song, 'Sábado en la noche', a perfect, unclassifiable dance song. Is this salsa? Is this mambo? Is this ska? You don't want to know, you only want to take your woman out to dance after an exhausting week of hard work. The lyrics are a celebration of poor working people, exploited by their bosses but happier than them because they really know how to dance, because they have el sabor.

In the final stretch of the album, dub is king. 'Caminandub' is a dub version of the album's title track which surpasses the original. The same is true of the dub version of 'Linda mujer', which closes the session with a festive but peaceful atmosphere perfect for that Sunday afternoon.

A great album, full of new and original songs with Jamaican roots. The production is impeccable and, like almost everything in Colombia, the disc is cheap. Problem is, it's hard to find, even in Medellín. Since Los Coffee are signed to a microscopic label with practically no distribution, you can buy the record only at their concerts and in two small music shops downtown. Of course, they want to sell it, so if you're interested, visit their site at www.loscoffee.com or, more easily, drop me an email; we'll work it out somehow.