On the Road to Find Out

Never has Brazilian music been as funky as this. The colour and hustle of Rio de Janeiro’s streets sits alongside the tight funk of James Brown and Fela Kuti on an album increasingly being thought of as Jorge Ben’s crowning achievement. The glittering guitar work, insistent vocals and bursting melodies are the same as he’s always used but there’s a power to the band that wasn’t completely there before and a rawness which would soon be lost in the eighties.

Opening track “Ponta De Laca Africano (Umbabaraúma)” starts the album with one of the densest grooves Ben has ever concocted. It also continues one of Ben’s main lyrical themes, that of football. Umbabaraúma is the name given to dribbling the ball past the opponents. It’s almost startling when you see the English translation of lyrics as the song is built like a chant. Here’s one of the verses:

Play ball play ball ball player
Play ball I want to play ball ball player
Jump, jump, fall, get up, go up and get down
Run, kick, find a hole, thrill and give thanks
See how the whole city empties out
On this beautiful afternoon to watch you play

Another two songs take football as their main theme on this disc; “Meus Filhos, Meu Tesouro” and “Camisa 10 da Gavea”. It’s one of his enduring qualities that Ben has always stayed clear of songs with political intent, choosing instead to write about themes from which any Brazilian can find joy. That he’s held in the same regard as heavyweight songwriters such as Chico Buarque and Caetano Veloso is testament to how good these songs actually are.

This album includes two particular songs which have gone on to become stoned-on classics. “Taj Mahal”, which had featured as an improvisational jam on his collaboration with Gilberto Gil from the previous year, was here reinvented as a disco-funk tour-de-force. Some people see this as the step that Ben made away from Samba Funk and towards Samba Disco. It is definitely true that later albums would be far more disco’d up, but this should in no way detract from this track. It is impossible to sit still as the beat kicks in on this number, before the hushed words ‘Taj Mahal’ get the ball rolling and both an irresisitible verse and chorus leave no moment of rest for the song’s entirety.

“Xica da Silva” is another song which has gone on to become a staple, appearing in different guises on future Ben albums. It also brings up one of the other themes of the album, it’s African roots. I’ve tried to find out more about this record and where the African influence comes from but have failed to find anything substantial. Has Ben been to Africa? Were African musicians used on the record? After many listens I would have to suggest that the African influence comes more from the African influence within Brazil, a country which bought more slaves than any other. Xica da Silva, more commonly written as Chica da Silva or Francisca da Silva, is the name of an African slave who managed to work up the class ladder by marrying one of the wealthiest colonialists in Brazil. In some ways her story is very controversial as she kept slaves once she became wealthy but Ben chooses to concentrate on the paradigm of her being a black slave treated like loyalty, and with such a slinky, soulful groove this was perhaps the better choice.

Although I’ve alluded to James Brown and Fela Kuti these are just some touchstones in terms of understanding this album because it seems to have it’s own unique flavour. On first listen I was quite adamant that I’d never heard anything like it. Even other Ben records written around this time don’t seem to quite grasp the raw funkiness of this, a funkiness which does undeniably make you think of Fela Kuti rather than any of Ben’s Brazilian contemporaries, but then at the same time the album is undeniably Brazilian. From the songs about football to the Afro-Brazilian drums and rippling samba he learnt in Rio it has to be Brazilian, but then songs such as “Cavaleiro do Cavalo Imaculado” seem to come out of nowhere and you get lost once more in this album.

It has to go down as one of the greatest Brazilian albums of all time. I have no doubt about that despite only so far having a limited exposure to Brazilian music. There is put simply just some music which breaches all boundaries and exists on its own pedastal. Africa Brasil has to be one of these albums.

In 1989 David Byrne released Brazil Classics Vol.1: Beleza Tropical, a collection of classic MPB (Brazilian Popular Music) songs. “Ponta de Laca Africano” was the opening track and made a lot of people in America investigate more of Ben’s work, and especially Africa Brasil. This video of the song was produced when that CD was released:

The past few weeks have been spent furiously listening to music from the Pernambuco province of Brazil. The result… this compilation:

Musica de Massa! New Sounds of Pernambuco

It’s been getting some good attention in Brazil and might even sneak a mention in a Sao Paulo newspaper, but we shall see. I’ll keep you all up-to-date.

It’s now been a couple of months since I got back from Sao Paulo but I am still working on material from my time there, and this has manifested itself in a number of ways.

The most exciting result from my time in Sao Paulo is the article I wrote for The Wire, which has been published in the May edition of The Wire. You can read that article here. However, as well as featuring in the print edition I also collected a number of mp3s for their website. You can listen to those mp3s here.

Even more exciting though is the compilation I made for Sounds and Colours, which was released today. This features 18 tracks by artists from Sao Paulo, highlighting the truly eclectic, amazing mix happening in the city at the moment. The compilation is entitled Nossa, Cara! New Sounds of Sao Paulo and can be listened to and downloaded from here.

I have also published a few interviews with singers from Sao Paulo, for both Sounds and Colours and JungleDrums. These were with Juliana R, Lulina, Blubell and Tulipa.

I’ve still got a few more articles to post too so keep your eyes peeled!

I wanted to leave you with a video from Criolo. He’s a rapper from the Grajaú neighbourhood of Sao Paulo and has just released Nó Na Orelha (you can download it for free from here), one of the best hip-hop albums I’ve ever heard! Here’s his video for “Nao Existe Amor Em SP (Love Doesn’t Exist in Sao Paulo)”:

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.

So, after two failed attempts at arriving at film premiere-style arrangements it seems that music really is my thing. The last three nights have heralded three concerts, all of which I actually managed to find and found before they had finished. First up was the double bill of Lulina and Dudu Tsuda.

Dudu was a bit of a strange cat. He had one of those wispy beards, like he’d taken an uppercut from an angry candy floss, that only Asian people seem to get away with. His music was an interesting melange of general avant-gardeness that never really went anywhere. I got the impression that he was some kind of conceptual mastermind, and I was most definitely not in on it. Here he is performing “Le Jour que Erik Satie a Rencontré Stereo Lab,” which in name alone speaks volumes:

I’m not really sure why I started off with my least favourite video, that didn’t make much sense. Anyway, we shall persevere. Lulina was great! Most definitely in a Jeffrey Lewis vein. I’d been listening to her last two albums and they are good without being great, however live she is spot-on. Track after track of pure pop gold, coupled I’m sure with ascerbic wit which I struggled to really get to grips with. This is “Balada de Paulista,” i.e. ballad of a Sao Paulo-dweller.

Friday night was all about Karina Buhr, whose “Eu Mentí Pra Voce” has been one of my favourite records over the last six months. Dressed in a gold-sequinned catsuit she danced around the stage, grinding whenever an opportunity arose, writhed on the floor in an attempt to disrupt the guitarrist, turned her mic stage into a weapon and set loose on the audience. She was ridiculously good, especially considering she was being backed up by some of the best musicians in Brazil (including Edgar Scandurra and Fernando Catatau) and those great songs off her debut album. This is her performing “Telkphonen,” a strange percussive kraut-rock piece that never gives up on the intrigue.

Tonight I went to see Cerebro Eletronico, an interesting band who have been getting a lot of hype in Sao Paulo, featuring highly in many of the Best of 2010 polls. Without being particularly innovative they are a band that seems at ease producing track after track of 80s New Wave full of funky synths and rousing choruses. This is “Pareco Moderno” which is probably one of my favourites.

Tropicália is a style of music from Brazil, beginning in the late 60s, when a bunch of art students, writers and local musicians, inspired by the work of modern artists such as Helio Oiticica and progressive theatre (especially Oswald de Andrade‘s O Rei da Vela), decided the time was right for a new musical framework. It was a manifesto written by Oswald de Andrade that would have the biggest effect. Manifesto Antropófago (Cannibal Manifesto), published in 1928, states that Brazil is at its best when it is cannibalising other cultures, taking in their music, art and literature and producing something that is, well, better.

This young group, comprising musicians Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, Tom Zé, Rogerio Duprat, Os Mutantes (Arnaldo Baptista, Sergio Dias and Rita Lee) and writers Torquato Neto and Capinan, took the manifesto at its word. They mixed popular Brazilian rhythms such as samba and bossa nova (which was an incredibly liberal form at the time) and Northeastern Brazilian rhythms, which is where many of the group were from, with Western pop and rock ‘n’ roll (The Beatles’ Sgt. Peppers‘ was a big influence), concrete poetry and a sense that anything was possible.

This was typified by Os Mutantes, who through their ingenious home-made amps and effects had created a sound that was unlike anything else. Early performances of the music were at talent contest and pop music competitions (very popular in Brazil) where Veloso and Gil would perform, backed by Os Mutantes and other musicians, such as Pepeu Gomes who would later become a key member of Os Novos Baianos.

The movement really became tangible with the release of Tropicalia: Ou Panis et Circencis in 1968, featuring the entire collective. It was a dynamic mixture of great front-men and women, songwriting that played with form and references in a way Brazil had never encountered before, a collective style and philosophy that made it easy for Brazilian youth to make a connection, and music that really followed no rules. In Veloso and Gil there were two musicians with great love for Brazil’s traditional music forms (who were also prepared to play with those forms), the enthusiasm of Os Mutantes and Tom Zé, always capable of mixing the avant garde with pop in song form, but most important of all was the contribution of Rogerio Duprat.

Duprat was a classically trained composer, well-versed in Europe’s avant garde tendencies. His arrangements add a gravitas and identity to the style of music. All of the classic tropicalia albums carry his trademark. As well as Tropicalia: Ou Panis Et Circencis, he wrote arrangements for Caetano Veloso’s first self-titled album in 1968 (informally known as Tropicalia), Gilberto Gil’s first two self-titled albums (known as Frevo Rasgado (1968) and Cérebro Eletrônico (1969)), the first three Os Mutantes albums (Os Mutantes in 1968, Mutantes in 1969 and Divina Comedia Ou Ando Meio Desligado in 1970) and Gal Costa‘s unbelievably good two albums from 1969; Cinema Olympia and Não Identificado – they are by far the most experimental of the lot.

Later Os Mutantes albums, as well as a good Rita Lee solo album Build Up, carried on the style. Jorge Ben even had a very Tropicalia-twinged effort with his eponymously-titled 1969 effort. However, the movement was largely over. Both Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil were asked to leave the country in 1969 by the Brazilian government. They both then spent a number of years in London where they became more aware of folk, rock and reggae music. By the early 70s many of the early collective had dispersed into solo projects, theatre productions and all manner of activities. This, along with the retiring Rogerio Duprat meant that Tropicalia had lost its sound, becoming what is today modern Brazilian pop music, or MPB as it is known in Brazil.

And I think I should leave it there. I only wanted to write an introduction for this video clip, the first part of the BBC’s excellent documentary on Brazilian music; Brasil, Brasil: Tropicalia Revolution. You should be able to find all seven parts in total if you go looking for them on Youtube.

See this post for more information on the tropicalia movement.