Eddie Palmieri—the Bronx-born pianist whose trombone-driven bands redefined New York salsa and powered dance floors for six decades—died on August 6, 2025, after an extended illness. He was 88 and passed at his home in Hackensack, New Jersey.

Born in Spanish Harlem to Puerto Rican parents, Palmieri came up playing timbales before settling into the piano chair. In 1961 he formed La Perfecta and flipped the city’s charanga sound on its head by replacing violins and trumpets with a thunderous two-trombone front line—a heavier, punchier palette that became a new blueprint for salseros. The band’s early lineup famously featured trombonist Barry Rogers and vocalist Ismael Quintana, and its innovations rippled across New York’s Latin scene.

For dancers, Palmieri’s records were—and still are—pure jet fuel. “Azúcar Pa’ Ti” (1965) stretched the dance format with a long, hypnotic montuno that DJs and social dancers ride for shines; the track was later added to the Library of Congress’ National Recording Registry. “Justicia” (1969) packed social fire into a hard-swinging groove, while “Vámonos Pa’l Monte” (1971)—with its breakdowns, moñas, and call-and-response—remains a guaranteed floor-lifter in any salsa room.

Palmieri bridged barrios and genres. His project Harlem River Drive fused Latin rhythm with funk and soul years before “cross-over” was a marketing term, and it helped cement his reputation as a fearless arranger and bandleader who kept one ear on the clave and the other on the cutting edge.

The industry eventually had to catch up. In 1976, the Grammys introduced “Best Latin Recording,” and Palmieri’s 1974 album The Sun of Latin Music won the inaugural award—making him the first Latin artist to take home a Grammy in that category. Over his career he earned eight Grammy Awards and fourteen nominations.

Even as the world hailed him as a salsa icon, Palmieri bristled at the label, insisting the music deserved its proper names—Afro-Cuban and Afro-Caribbean—rather than a catch-all “sauce.” That purist respect for rhythm, fused with a jazz explorer’s curiosity, is exactly what gave his bands their irresistible swing for partner work and their wide-open spaces for footwork.

Honors stacked up—NEA Jazz Master among them—but for social dancers and salseros, Palmieri’s legacy lives where it started: on crowded floors when the horns punch, the coro answers, and the piano drops a montuno that makes you forget to sit down. Cue up “Azúcar Pa’ Ti,” “Justicia,” or “Vámonos Pa’l Monte” tonight and you’ll feel why.

Editor’s note: Key sources included AP, Legacy, GRAMMY.com, the NEA, Fania Records, and Pitchfork reporting on Palmieri’s life and passing.