Caetano Veloso had some great Tropicialia-era records, but the ones I keep returning to are the two early '70s records he recorded while in exile in the UK. Loose limbed, stripped back, improvisatory folk rock. These are long, long songs, stretched out and I can listen to them playing forever. I appreciate the space – there's just one or two percussionists (could be one guy, but he'd be damn good), a wonderfully busy stand-up bass player, Caetano playing acoustic in the background, sometimes a lead guitarist and Caetano singing.
There's a sad edge to it – he sings about homesickness, about the family he left behind, but it's also loose and free, he's lost in the moment. You can hear him fly back home inside his mind. Until the music fades out. Maybe that's why they play'em so long.
I knew this music was for me, so I was looking for more and I swiftly ended up on the (back then) fashionable Tropicalia end of the spectrum. Even though many of the same artists appear on this next record (Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, Tom Zé, Gal Costa), it's five years earlier (1968) and it's a different sound world. A carnivalesk psychedelia in thrall to Sgt Pepper's. Much of this was down to Rogerio Duprat, musical conductor on all of these artists' records of the time and also the instigator of this era-defining manifesto record:
The Sgt Pepper's influence crept in down to the artwork, as you can see. This is music that never settles down, but jumps from section to section, from rhythm to rhythm, backing band to orchestra to musique concrète at the drop of a hat. And still damn groovy!
Love the long intro on this one! One of the sexiest duets ever, even if they are actually singing about butter and gasoline.
Caetano is often called the Bob Dylan of Brazil, and Gilberto Gil its Bob Marley, so it's kind of surprising they teamed up to write the Brazilian 'Louie, Louie'. A gloriously dumb, sharp as a needle, all atittude anthem. This is kinda like Richard Berry's version of 'Louie, Louie'. It needed that little Kingsmen-like something extra.
Before I start, I'd like to apologize to Portuguese speakers everywhere. I will mangle the language (accents a specialty)!
I've been listening to Brazilian records lately, preparing for this overview, and I've got to tell you, it's weird listening to concentrated sunshine when it's cold and nearing winter. Then again, Christmas in Brazil is at the height of summer... - and I know, I know, sorry for springing one of those clichés on you in the opening paragraph. 'Brazilian music sounds like sunshine.' But it does, it really does.
Brazil's an enormous country, and they take their music seriously, so where to start? Of course I started out thinking about some musical history and all that – but for once in my life, sod academicism. Truth is, I don't have a clue about the musical evolution, geographical scenes, socio-political meaning. Just some hunches and rumours, and I'd like to keep it that way. That's one of the things I appreciate about Brazilian records – in marked contrast to most US/UK-music. Even if I haven't heard an artist yet, I've read something. I know who came before them and after them. I usually have a pretty good grasp of what it will sound like before I hear it, even if I'm going to like it or not – I can predict with some accuracy. It's hard to get surprised. Now I know it's a quality that's not intrinsically musical, but not knowing much of anything about the Brazilian music scene guarantees I get surprised more often than not.
So, long story short, I'll focus on a couple of records I stumbled onto that surprised me, and some that altered that way I listen to music. The start is where it started for me, the first Brazilian record I heard.
I still recall the exact circumstances. I was working at the world music/secondhand record store and in charge of in-store music. One day the owner told me world music was more than British folk music. So I put on the Buena Vista Social Club – sounds kinda old, right? Ali Farka Touré – too dusty. Then I picked up David Byrne's compilation of '70s Brazilian pop. I put it on, and hell, this is the first track.
I was sold in 15 seconds – the riff, the phasing, then the rhythm fall in and the bass. I didn't know what it was, but I knew this was a portal to somewhere I wanted to go. The track is just an amazing record – the call and response vocals, the authority of the singer. I could never take 'Sympathy for the devil' seriously again after this. When you've got time – I don't want to bother you with this the first couple of hundred times you're listening to this – check out how intricate the rhythm is. When the other instruments drop out – except for this high synth part echoing – an extra beat of handclaps drops in and it's just the best groove ever. At the end, Jorge goes into this spoken part and then breaks into an amazing scat. What a record!
There's much more on this compilation. Byrne selected a very specific perspective on Brazilian pop – kinda stripped back, lots of acoustic guitars, groovy but melodic, kinda folksy. To me, that's been the heartland ever since, even though it's not an accurate picture, but it is how it is. Another one that knocked me out is 'Equatorial' by Lô Borgers, the best son-of-'Let it be' ballad I know, but I'll write more about Lô later. I'll add the great one-two punch that closes the comp: Milton Nascimento's 'Anima' and Caetano Veloso's 'Terra' (I see what you did there, David).
I know it's kind of a mystical description, but I can only say that 'Anima' always sounded to me like the spirit on the water. The sound of tuned percussion – I mean, the main riff is beautiful enough, there's a solo part that takes me straight to heaven. The song is build up out of these rhythmic/melodic cells which move ever sideways. I can't fully describe it in words.
And that's followed by 'Terra', which is as near as anyone's ever gotten to Dylan's 'Gates of Eden' in my book. With the sitar from 'Norwegian wood'. And I don't even understand a word he sings (a couple but still...). It just transports me.
