By: Tele Figueroa
April 3, 2026
I am an almost unconditional lover of music. Since I was a child, I’ve been an attentive listener and a “connoisseur” of sound. It always amazed me how much calm and pleasure it brought me; without a doubt, that remains the reason why I feel so happy when I listen to it. In previous stories, I’ve mentioned how my older brother, Wil (RIP), influenced me—not just to listen, but to go deeper: to understand everything surrounding a musical gem, from the author and the inspiration behind the composition to finding the best performer and arrangement.
An interesting detail is my marked preference for music performed by women, though I certainly enjoy many male performers and groups to the fullest. Perhaps the “spark” was ignited by the immense pleasure of walking into a “Pub,” usually in New York, and hearing those magnificent renditions of ballads, blues, jazz, classic rock, pop, and country. Even though I was only 17 or 18, I was sometimes allowed in as long as I was with an adult. This type of show didn’t exist in my Puerto Rico back then, except in the exclusive night clubs of the big hotels—and you can imagine the cost. I am not rich in money; I am only rich in my great family and great friends.
While drafting this anecdote, I remembered how I used to answer questions from my closest friends regarding this preference. I made sure they understood me, and many eventually confessed that my explanations rang true. It wasn’t meant as an offense, but rather an effective use of the Spanish language, which is so rich in expression. Among friends, a “vete pal carajo” (get lost/go to hell) can vary wildly depending on the direction of the conversation; it could be a joke, a “no way,” or a genuine expression of disbelief.
That’s exactly what happened when a group of Ponce High School friends started asking: “Hey Tele, are you a Gringo or a Boricua now?” “Did you stop loving our music that fast?” “You’re just putting on airs—get back to reality.” “You’ve been to NY twice and you already forgot Spanish?”
How was I supposed to answer that at 19 or 20 years old? I remember defending my tastes with tooth and nail because they were mine and no one else’s. I explained and explained, yet I felt I couldn’t convince them. I know at least three of them understood right away, but the rest kept pushing. Taking advantage of a slip-up when their questions turned a bit too personal, I told them:
“My friends, I’ve answered sincerely and tried to clear your doubts. But I have a question for you, and I want you to answer as clearly as possible, without beating around the bush: What do you care?” (Or more bluntly: “What’s it to you?”)
There were a few seconds of silence. They looked at each other, and finally, one spoke up: “Tele, man, you didn’t have to get mad.”
For a moment, I thought I had overexposed myself—that I’d be kicked out of the circle and lose the trust we had built over the years. I thought the truth would be what pulled me away from my group. “Oh… so this was all a joke to you guys?” I asked. “Yeah, man, we were just joking,” almost all of them replied.
That’s when I delivered the final blow: “Well, if you say it was a joke and my explanation didn’t get through to you, then my ‘vete pal carajo’ and telling you that it’s none of your business isn’t a joke or a lie. Now, what I said is more real than ever.”
Case closed.
I don’t know if I should have used a different approach at that age, but I’ve always believed that things addressed in time can be fixed. From then on, I gained more respect from that group and others. I showed who I am, how sincere I can be, and what kind of person they were dealing with. I think they realized then that Tele was someone they could truly trust.
PS: I think if that happened to me now, there would be very few “screws” or buttons left to readjust. Maybe just a “fine-tune” or a “Zero beat” of a few cycles, as we say in radio. I’d have more RF filters in place and I’d check the MUF frequently before transmitting. Oh, and I wouldn’t forget to keep an eye on the SWR! 😂😂😂
By: Tele Figueroa
Hablemos, Tele 
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