¿YQuéTúQuieresQueTeDen?
Adalberto Álvarez y su Son
Mi Linda Habanera
Where the orishas dance in son cubano: Adalberto's sacred invitation to the ceremony.
Desde el Africa vinieron
Y entre nosotros quedaron
Todos aquellos guerreros
Que a mi cultura pasaron
Obatala las Mercedes
Ochun es la Caridad
Santa Barbara es Chango
La regla es Yemaya
Va a empezar la ceremonia
Vamos a hacer calidad
La casa esta repleta
Ya no caben mas
Y todos se preguntan que dira Elegua
El abre los caminos esa es la verdad
Vamos a darle coco a ver que nos da
La gente sale, la gente viene y todos piden los que les conviene
Voy a pedir lo bueno para mi mama, y para mi familia la tranquilidad
Que todo el mundo en esta tierra, se porte bien y se acabe la guerra
Hay gente que te dice que no creen en nada, y van a consultarse por la madrugada
No tengas pena pide pati, no pidas cosas malas que te vas a arrepentir!
Y que tu quieres que te de?
Dime
Que es lo que tu quieres que te de
Pidele a Chango para que te sientas bien
Desde el Africa vinieron y entre nosotros quedaron
Por eso pidele a tu santo, pidele a tu santo otra vez
Voy a pedir pa ti (por si acaso) lo mismo que tu pa' mi
Si yo se que nos queremos, como no lo voy a hacer asi
De corazon lo siento, yo pedire para ti lo mejor, lo mejor
Y te repito que yo pedire
Y para amarte el camino por siempre mi vida encontrare
Lo mismo
Y que tu quieres pa' mi?
Desde el Africa vinieron
Y entre nosotros quedaron
Todos aquellos guerreros
Que a mi cultura pasaron
Obatala las Mercedes
Ochun es la Caridad
Santa Barbara es Chango
La regla es Yemaya
Va a empezar la ceremonia
Vamos a hacer calidad
La casa esta repleta
Ya no caben mas
Y todos se preguntan que dira Elegua
El abre los caminos esa es la verdad
Vamos a darle coco a ver que nos da
La gente sale, la gente viene y todos piden los que les conviene
Voy a pedir lo bueno para mi mama, y para mi familia la tranquilidad
Que todo el mundo en esta tierra, se porte bien y se acabe la guerra
Hay gente que te dice que no creen en nada, y van a consultarse por la madrugada
No tengas pena pide pati, no pidas cosas malas que te vas a arrepentir!
Y que tu quieres que te de?
Dime
Que es lo que tu quieres que te de
Pidele a Chango para que te sientas bien
Desde el Africa vinieron y entre nosotros quedaron
Por eso pidele a tu santo, pidele a tu santo otra vez
Voy a pedir pa ti (por si acaso) lo mismo que tu pa' mi
Si yo se que nos queremos, como no lo voy a hacer asi
De corazon lo siento, yo pedire para ti lo mejor, lo mejor
Y te repito que yo pedire
Y para amarte el camino por siempre mi vida encontrare
Lo mismo
Y que tu quieres pa' mi?
“Where the orishas dance in son cubano: Adalberto's sacred invitation to the ceremony.”
By the mid-1990s, Adalberto Álvarez had already earned the title "El Caballero del Son" — the Gentleman of Son — a moniker that spoke not only to his impeccable musicianship but to his courtly devotion to Cuba's most foundational popular music form.
Born in Camagüey in 1948 and raised in a household steeped in Afro-Cuban musical traditions, Álvarez had spent decades refining a sound that honored the deep roots of son while pushing it into modern, danceable territory.
When he entered the studio to record "Mi Linda Habanera" in the late 1990s, he was at the height of his creative powers, leading one of the tightest ensembles on the island.
"¿Y Qué Tú Quieres Que Te Den?" emerged from this period as something rare: a song that could fill a dance floor while simultaneously opening a window into the spiritual architecture of Afro-Cuban religious life.
Musically, the track is a masterclass in controlled energy.
Sitting at a measured 120 BPM in the bright, open key of C major, it resists the temptation to overwhelm, instead building its power through layered percussion, interlocking piano montunos, and the warm, conversational brass arrangements that defined Álvarez's ensemble.
The tumbadoras and bongó lock into a groove that nods to the sacred batá drums of Yoruba ceremony without directly quoting them — a subtle but deliberate choice that mirrors the song's thematic negotiation between the sacred and the secular.
The horn section punches with precision, never overstaying its welcome, while the coro — the call-and-response chorus — rises with an almost congregational fervor.
The production is clean but never sterile, capturing the live-room energy of musicians who had been playing together for years, breathing as one organism.
Lyrically, the song is a guided tour through the syncretic spiritual world of Regla de Ocha, commonly known as Santería.
Álvarez opens with a historical invocation — "Desde el Africa vinieron / Y entre nosotros quedaron" — acknowledging the enslaved Africans who carried their Yoruba cosmology across the Atlantic and wove it into the fabric of Cuban identity.
He then maps the syncretism with elegant economy: Obatalá becomes Our Lady of Mercy, Ochún is the Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre, Changó wears the mask of Santa Bárbara, and Yemayá presides over the Regla.
The ceremony begins, the house is packed, and all eyes turn to Elegguá, the orisha who opens the roads.
The emotional arc moves from communal ritual to deeply personal petition — asking for blessings for one's mother, peace for one's family, an end to war.
There is a sly, knowing humor too: "Hay gente que te dice que no creen en nada / y van a consultarse por la madrugada" — those who claim to believe in nothing still sneak off to consult the orishas at dawn.
The song arrived at a moment when Cuba was navigating the Special Period's devastating economic crisis, and the island's Afro-Cuban religious traditions were experiencing a complex renaissance — simultaneously commodified for tourism and reclaimed as sources of genuine spiritual sustenance and cultural pride.
Álvarez, by centering Santería not as exotic spectacle but as lived, communal practice, offered a counter-narrative to both state atheism and foreign fetishization.
The track became a staple of Cuban radio and dance halls, beloved for its infectious groove and its unapologetic celebration of African-derived spirituality.
It resonated across the Latin American diaspora, finding audiences in Miami, New York, Caracas, and beyond — wherever communities maintained their own relationships with the orishas.
Critics praised Álvarez for achieving what few could: making music that was intellectually rich, spiritually grounded, and irresistibly danceable all at once.
The legacy of "¿Y Qué Tú Quieres Que Te Den?" extends far beyond its initial release.
It stands as one of the definitive musical statements on Afro-Cuban syncretism, a song that treats religious practice with neither reverence so solemn it becomes inert nor irreverence so casual it becomes disrespectful.
Álvarez found the exact register — warm, inviting, communal — that mirrors the actual experience of attending a ceremony: the crowded house, the anticipation, the personal prayers whispered amid collective celebration.
In Adalberto Álvarez's vast catalog, this track occupies a singular position as both a cultural document and a timeless piece of dance music.
After his passing in September 2021, the song took on new dimensions of meaning — a reminder that the roads Elegguá opens are walked by the living and the dead alike, and that the son, Cuba's eternal heartbeat, carries the prayers of generations within its rhythm.
