GRACIAS, BORROS!

ANDRÉ BORROS, DRUMSTICKS


October 1974. 9am, London Heathrow.





Twenty one year old Borros arrived from Havana with nothing more than some borrowed leather underwear, a camera obscura, a beard trimmer, and, of course, his drumsticks.
Having no contacts whatsoever and with only rudimentary English at his disposal, Borros, spent much of that winter living in Hyde Park, until fate blew his way in the shape of Chas Chandler, the one-time “Animals” bass player. Chandler had been exercising his French Poodles when he’d spotted Borros in the bushes. He instantly recognised the beat that the half-freezing drummer tapped on an old Oak tree stump to keep his blood pumping in the sub-zero conditions. Chandler had seen the wicked drummer 3 years earlier, in a jazz club in Seattle, the very night the club was raided and Borros was deported for hitting an unholy beat in the heartland of the holier than thou.


In his early years, André would earn a crust and cigar butt playing his way through the Havana samba scene – then hitting on the roads with various rhythm `n` blues bands. It’s impossible to know if Borros’ mojo was born of real fever for the dirty beat or from shear desperation of his circumstances – but one thing for certain was his mojo was working: and there was a deal with the devil that had to be paid.


And so a young life full of destitution was blown away one icy morning in London. Borros moved into a small flat next to the “Animals” legend and fixed a Hendrix poster to his wall under the watchful gaze of none other than Bob Dylan. Chas Chandler was not the one for restraining Borros’ excesses, although he’d remarked that if anybody was going to hell an innocent, it was this kid. Three years filled with Class-A debauchery only lead to introspection that brought sorrows, pain and indeed homesickness. One day he wrote a short letter to Chandler, telling him about his state of mind. And that was the end of the Big Smoke for Borros: back to his roots – back to CUBA. The down in London all cried a tear for losing its greatest drummer: all except Keith Moon.