I felt just like George in Seinfled eating his Kung-Po Chicken while being asked if he had anything to do with the Yankee’s stolen equipment. I really am a journalist honest. At least these words were started to seem more truthful, but only because Brazilian Music Obsessive isn’t actually a job title. I was on the 9th floor of an apartment block in Vila Madalena, a neighbourhood that reveals it’s hippy roots in the names of the roads (Sunflower, Harmony and Wizard are some of my favourites) yet due to the inflation this is hippy as it gets. I was meeting Lulina for an interview. This was EXACTLY what I was doing. Normally I try and walk some fine line where it feels just like a conversation while secretly I am getting all the answers I want. Not this time. We sat down. I tried to make some small talk then realised I had no idea how to speak Portuguese. It was at that point I realised she was sitting there silently staring at me and that there was a flood of sweat pouring from my forehead. It was quite mild on the street that night. Not in her apartment. The heat was incredible! I smiled at her but this only made things more awkward. So, I got my dictaphone out. I figured I could buy some time, twiddling the nobs. It worked. We talked for over half an hour. The sweating stopped at the 10-minute mark. Twice I tried to ask her questions, where despite the words feeling good in my mouth before I spoke them, once they returned to my ears I realised they had no similarity to any known language. It felt like I was giving her questions in the form of those picture puzzles that are broken into eight pieces, and she had to slide them back into place, before she could answer them. It turns out she’s quite good at doing those puzzles, and a lovely lady besides. It seems such a shame she has to work as a publicist’s agent when I’m sure she would be producing unbelievable music like this on a much more regular basis if that were not the case.