"Chan Chan" (Buena Vista Social Club)

Back in 1996, guitarist Ry Cooder traveled to Cuba and recorded with a group of musicians who'd been part of the burgeoning pre-revolution club scene of the 1930s-50s.  
Before I go on, I should clarify that by "club," I don't mean dancehall, per se.  Rather, there were social clubs in Cuba, dating back to the island nation's colonial days, that generally were centered around profession and race.  (So, for example, there might have been a cigar makers' social club for Cubans of African descent.)  At these clubs, members would socialize, make business connections, and also enjoy live music and dancing.
That's where the musicians on Cooder's recording come in.
After the revolution, organizations like the Buena Vista Social Club, which was an actual club in a suburb of Havana, were disbanded by the government, meaning musicians who'd made a living creating music at these venues suddenly found themselves out of a job.  Along with that, the types of Cuban music that were performed in these clubs no longer had a stage, which caused them to fall by the wayside.
Nevertheless, the musicians were still out there, still carrying the songs and musical traditions with them and even writing new music.  That's what Cooder was able to capture when he recorded with this collective of musicians, who ultimately adopted the name of the long-defunct Buena Vista Social Club.
"Chan Chan" is the song that kicks off the 1997 album and is, in many ways, its heart and soul.  Composed by musician Compay Segundo, who contributes vocals, guitar, and percussion to the album, "Chan Chan" is an example of son--a traditional Cuban musical form that combines the Spanish cancíon (basically a lyrical ballad) with African rhythms.  Essentially, son tells a story while giving your feet something to move to.  
In this case, "Chan Chan" is the story of two characters from Cuban folklore: the peasant farmer Chan Chan and his wife Juanica.  The newlyweds are clearing land and hauling sand to build their new home, and...how shall I put this delicately?  Chan Chan is having a difficult time focusing on his work because he's too busy watching Juanica's bottom bouncing as she helps sift the sand.  
The liner notes of the album also point out that the repeated verse De Alto Cedro voy para Marcané [I'm going from Alto Cedro to Marcané] / Luego a Cueto voy para Mayarí [Then from Cueto, I'm going to Mayarí] is kind of a shout-out to rural towns near the northeastern coast of Cuba--the idea being that Chan Chan is traveling through these villages on his way to join Juanica.
To me, the intoxicating thing about this recording is that you can hear the melting pot of Cuba come through, loud and clear: the African-feel drums, the jazz-influenced trumpet, the countrified/Spanish-tinged acoustic guitar--it all blends into something universal that's bigger than the sum of its parts and bigger than any political ideology.