Marinês e Sua Gente – Nordeste Valente (1976)

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Marinês e Sua Gente
Nordeste Valente
1976 CBS 104333

 01. Nordeste valente (João Silva – J. B. de Aquino)
02. Casa de marimbondo (Djalma Leonardo – Antonio Barros)
03. Carimbó de vovó sinhá (Naldo Aguiar)
04. Flor de croatá (João Silva – Raymundo Evangelista)
05. Sou o estopim (Antonio Barros)
06. Grilo na moringa (G. de San – José Gomes Filho)
07. No laço do carimbô (Naldo Aguiar)
08. Você me machucou (Kim de Oly – André Araujo)
09. Mestre mundo (Julinho – Luiz Bandeira)
10. Nosso amor está morrendo (Antonio Barros)
11. Maracá de menino (Assizão)
12. Como vai passando (Cecéu – Ademar Caetano)

———————

Here’s a thoroughly pleasant album by forró singer Marinês, the Queen of Xaxado, because I’ve been remiss in commemorating the Festas Juninas this year.  It probably won’t knock your socks off or anything, but the arrangements and playing are very tight and a make for fun listening.  There are also no less than three tracks of carimbó here, a style that is northern rather than northeastern, proving again that Nordestinos embrace good dance music no matter where it’s from.  And also that the carimbó was getting super popular in the second half of the 70s.

What keeps this record from rising above merely average is the sparsity of stand-out compositions on it, a failing of a lot of records in this genre from the time.  I mean, the first song is kind of an earworm.  I’ve always liked that word, “earworm.”  For me it always seemed like an earworm ought to be a sinister psychic phenomenon from the world of Dune.  You are stranded somewhere on Arrakis with a song you can’t get out of your head.  You start tapping your foot involuntarily, and within seconds a gigantic spice-crazed sandworm has appeared from the ground and swallowed you. My point is that earworms can kill you.  As further evidence I present “Sou o estopim” – I am the fuse – which is clearly intended to manipulate the listener, Manchurian Candidate-style, into blowing up a government building with homemade explosives.

Actually the latter song was written by Antônio Barros, composer of a ton of forró and a performer in his own right along with partner Cecéu, who also has a credit on the final song of this record.  Look, I don’t want to compare all songwriters of forró or baião to Zé Dantas or Humberto Teixeira, because that would be like comparing every English pop band to The Beatles.  It’s not fair.  I also don’t know nearly enough about Antônio Barros to make bold claims, but there is something formulaic in his writing that just doesn’t do it for me.  It’s sort of the “hook school of songwriting” that pushes all the buttons you are supposed to push to make a catchy memorable song, but still ends up producing something that is essentially forgettable as soon as the next catchy song comes around and pushes it out of your ear canal.  He’s got song credits all over the place, including Jackson do Pandeiro’s albums from the 1970s that nobody remembers.

I feel the opposite way about the track featured here from João Silva (and Ronaldo Evangelista), “Flor de Croatá.”  It has a beautiful melody, one that works at different tempos with equal effect.  Check out these two very different versions, the one from this album and another from Jacinto Silva

 

Good, innit?

Well, enjoy the Festas Juninas if you have one in your area.  If not, and don’t have any trendy Euro-American faux forró bands playing in a gentrified neighborhood near you, at least you can put on this record.  It’s fun for a least a spin or two.

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Luiz Gonzaga – Volta Pra Curtir (2001)

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Luiz Gonzaga – Volta pra curtir (ao vivo)
BMG / RCA 2001

Recorded live at the Teatro Tereza Rachel
March, 1972

Luiz Gonzaga – vocals, accordion, triangle
Dominguinhos – accordion
Maria Helena – vocals, triangle, cabaça
Toinho – Triangle
Renato Piau – guitar
Porfírio Costa – bass
Raimundinho – reco-reco / guiro
Ivanildo Leite – surdo drum / sabumba, percussion

01 Boiadeiro (Klecius Caldas – Armando Cavalcante)
Cigarro de paia (Armando cavalcante, Klecius Caldas)

02 Moda da mula preta (Raul Torres)
Lorota boa (Luiz Gonzaga, Humberto Teixeira)

03 Siri jogando bola (Luiz Gonzaga – Zé Dantas)
Macapá (Luiz Gonzaga, Humberto Teixeira)

04 Qui nem giló (Luiz Gonzaga – Humberto Teixeira)
Oiá eu aqui de novo (Antonio Barros)

05 Asa branca (Luiz Gonzaga – Humberto Teixeira)
A volta da asa branca (Luiz Gonzaga, Humberto Teixeira)

06 Assum preto (Luiz Gonzaga – Humberto Teixeira)
Ana Rosa (Humberto Teixeira)

07 Hora do adeus (Luiz Queiroga – Onildo Ameida)

08 Estrada de Canindé (Luiz Gonzaga – Humberto Teixeira)
Respeita Januário (Luiz Gonzaga, Humberto Teixeira)

09 Numa sala de reboco (José Marcolino – Luiz Gonzaga)
O cheiro da Carolina (Amorim Roxo, Zé Gonzaga)
O xote das meninas (Luiz Gonzaga, Zé Dantas)

10 Adeus, Rio (Luiz Gonzaga – Zé Dantas)
Aquilo bom (Garotas do Leblon) (Luiz Gonzaga, Severino Ramos)

11 No meu pé de serra (Luiz Gonzaga – Humberto Teixeira)
Baião (Luiz Gonzaga, Humberto Teixeira)

12 Pau de arara (Guio de Moraes – Luiz Gonzaga)
Juazeiro (Luiz Gonzaga, Humberto Teixeira)

13 Derramaro o gai (Luiz Gonzaga – Zé Dantas)
Imbalança (Luiz Gonzaga, Zé Dantas)

14 A feira de Caruaru (Onildo Ameida)

15 Olha a pisada (Luiz Gonzaga – Zé Dantas)
Boiadeiro (Armando Cavalcante, Klecius Caldas)

VIVA SÄO JOÄO!

Leap through a bonfire, dance a quadrilha, have a mock marriage, eat lots of food made out of corn and enjoy the kids dressed up in cute little ‘matuto’ costumes of country
people in peasant blouses and rustic clothes. Little girls with freckles painted on and boys with fake mustaches.

I think it is safe to say that there is no symbol more iconic or more strongly associated with São João than the King of Baião, Luiz Gonzaga!
Every one of his records had some reference to it, and he made quite a few LPs entirely devoted to Festas Juninas or São João, and literally
everywhere you go in the month of June in the Nordeste you will hear his compositions being played by all kinds of bands of varying competence, and in all kinds of
styles.  Last year was his centenary so celebrations were even more Gonzaga-centric.  But I expect this guy’s legacy will last for another hundred years, easily.

Gonzaga recorded a ton of hugely-popular 78s in the 1940s and 50s, and while he never stopped recording or performing, his popularity dipped
for a while in the 60s as bossa nova, jovem guarda, and Tropicália saturated the music market.  But he got a boost from the recognition of
the Tropicalístas who recorded a number of his compositions and soon he was back on top.  This live record, released after his death, is pretty
cool.  The notes from Sérgio Cabral claim this was the first time Gonzaga played in the Zona Sul in his entire life; I find this highly doubtful given his earlier fame.  It would probably be more accurate and plausible to say that he had not played in Rio’s south zone for a decade or so.   Notable for having protege Dominguinhos in the band as well as an
electric guitar (a rarity for Gonzaga), they run through a whole bunch of highlights in his oeuvre.  But the concert was a month-long run at a
posh Copacabana theatre, after his “rediscovery,”  and the music lacks some of the urgency and energy you might expect from a live recording.
Granted that Gonzaga was already a bit older than in his heyday, but I can’t help thinking some of it is about the fact that he’s playing for a
seated audience of polite middle-class people.  Without the dancing and drinking and convivial revelry that has always been part of forró pé de
serra
, it loses a little something.  So I usually reach for earlier recordings when I want to crank up the Rei de Baião, but this show is
kind of a good greatest-hits retrospective, with Gonzaga telling stories during the songs, and the arrangements are cool.  This must have been
recorded for television but I don’t know for certain.  It’s a good document and a fun listen even if it’s not on my top-shelf choices of the great Seu Luiz.

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Zé Paraíba – De São Paulo ao Ceará (1974)

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Zé Paraíba – De São Paulo ao Ceará
1974 Beverly (81.269)


01 – De São Paulo ao Ceará (Renato Leite)
02 – Bagunceiro (Zé Paraíba)
03 – São João na roça (Luiz Gonzaga – Zé Dantas)
04 – Teimoso (Renato Leite)
05 – Sarrabuiado (Zé Paraíba)
06 – Remoido bom (Oscar Teodoro)
07 – Fumaçando (Zé Paraíba)
08 – Revendo Brasília (Renato Leite)
09 – Forró no Juazeiro (Renato Leite)
10 – Xodó de 8 baixos (Zé Paraíba)
11 – Remelexo (Renato Leite)
12 – Reboliço (Zé Paraíba)


Vinyl -> Sansui XP-99 with Denon DL-160 capsule >
 Sansui G-7500 receiver> Zoom H4N at 24-bit 96khz -> Click Repair -> individual clicks and pops removed in Adobe Audition 3.0 -> Dithering and resampling (for 16 bit only) in iZotope Rx Advanced


This is an instrumental album of forró pé de serra by hotshot accordionist Zé Paraíba, who has recorded dozens of albums. But this one presents the listener with a particularly provocative album cover. It provokes questions and more questions the longer a person stares at it. Who is he talking to on the telephone? Is he receiving a call or making a call? Don’t be ridiculous, it’s Zé Paraíba, you don’t call him — he calls you! Well then, what is the call about? Did he find a lost dog, the one uncomfortably cradled in his lap? Is he calling the cleaners to find out if his other shirt is ready to pick up? “Which one?! The one with the rhinos and giraffes on it, of course. Yes, the one with the sarapatel stains. It’s still not ready? Vai tomar no cú, seu safado!” Zé Paraíba is always getting in arguments with dry cleaners and tailors. It is up to you, the audience, to decide who reigns victorious, but if you encounter Zé Paraíba on the street I suggest you compliment his clothing.

This record came from my friend Tchêras’ collection and was transferred at his house at one of our extended sessions of conversation and music. This is a good record for conversation, especially if you are lucky enough to have a friend as solid as Tchêras, with whom I can hang out with for hours and never get bored, without the need for any alcoholic lubrication. And without the engaging conversation, a record like De São Paulo ao Ceará usually necessitates a drink or two, because twelve tracks of instrumental forró is an awful damn lot. I recommend invoking your inner DJ and pulling out a few tracks for your mix tape, party, or rug-cutting session, because LP’s like this are not necessarily meant to be listened to from start to finish. In fact while editing some of the blemishes out of the vinyl, I began thinking about how João Donato started out as an accordion player and hated it. He once said that if there is music in hell, it would be an orchestra comprised entirely of accordions, and where no one is allowed to sing. (Actually I am not sure if he ever said that, I may be making that up.)  

But with that caveat, this is in fact solid pé de serra, or “traditional” forró,” and at any São João party worthy of the name you will find an instrumental ensemble like this, although the presence here of guitar and cavaquinho is often optional. In cities in the northeastern interior, pé de serra might still be an integral part of São João but it is also frequently segregated onto a separate stage from the more popular electrified forró estilizado (modified or stylized forró) of groups with classy names like Garota Safada. Now, on principle I make an effort not to dismiss entire genres or subgenres of music base on classist or elitist biases. It is all too common a sight to find a middle class member of the university set preaching about the real popular culture and how those uneducated and poor people in the small town just don’t know what’s good for them and go on listening to that brash, vulgar and impossibly-loud forró estiliazado, “music of low quality” (the phrase is música de baixa qualidade, with ‘quality’ having a distinctly classist ring). The paternalistic attitudes behind those kind of sentiments need to be questioned. That being said, I am still trying to find some redeeming musical qualities and examples of ‘forró estiliazdo’ because I generally find it to be god-awful and unappealing, although the best bands are definitely capable of coming up with a catchy tune now and then. So catchy that they are blasted out of car trunks on every street corner from São João until Carnaval, inescapable soundtracks that you hear in your sleep in spite of yourself, like an infernal accordion orchestra except substituted with synthesizers equipped with accordion and brass patches, requiring deep hypnosis to yield a cure.

Putting aside the elitist paternalism of the universitários regarding “the masses” and what they should be listening to, there are legitimate concerns about preserving the old-school pé de serra. In the first place, it is not as if there needs to be an either-or choice: although there might be some who regard it as “old fashioned”, and in my experience many cannot identify an old song with its composer or singer like a generation or two before them, most of the audience that goes to an electric, stylized forró show would also dance to a good traditional pé de serra band if given the opportunity. And therein lies the crux of the issue – opportunity. There is a lot of money to be made off of the slick electric forró bands mounted on the backs of huge sound trucks (trios eléctricos) and typically adorned with scantily-clad dancing females. There is not so much money in pé de serra. In the world of big events, the more traditional styles often depend on state subsidies and arts funding to maintain visibility, although on the local level you can find neighborhoods or church parishes pooling their money to hire a local forró band to play for a family-oriented São João.  I have never gone to commemorate São João in the city of Caruarú, where it holds a record in the Guinness Book for the largest outdoor celebration or concert, because I think I’ve become slightly agoraphobic over the years (a very un-Brazilian trait, mind you).  But the tension between “traditional” and “modern / stylized” forró has been a hot topic there over the last decade.  Elsewhere in Pernambuco, some of the most “traditional” music during São João can be found in Recife at places like Sítio Trindade and the Pátio de São Pedro, free performances that would not be possible without the robust system of cultural subsidies in place there, while in the small towns of the interior – the “source” of much of this cultura popular – the municipal governments are swayed by kickbacks and corporate sponsorship money to allow these gigantic trios eléctricos to set up in their town and rattle windows with their trucks loaded with subwoofers. For whatever reason, in Pernambuco the majority of these touring groups come from Ceará and the music they play is heavily influenced by styles made popular in Bahia like axê and calypso. When you talk to local musicians or music fans over the age of 30 in these small towns, you are likely to hear someone express that their traditional celebrations (like São João) are being “colonized” by this stuff coming from outside their borders, and that there is a need to preserve their raízes or roots. However the flipside of this argument is that these trio eléctrico bands have adopted remarkably successful business models that allow them to exist as self-managed entities. Although some do get quite a bit of radio airplay in the interior, and exposure on television, these styles are by and large not dependent at all on record sales (their fans are more likely to buy pirated copies of their albums on the street), but subsist by relentless touring. The more traditional acts, as well as innovative / artsy / hybrid artists that cater to the university crowd, have depended largely on the aforementioned arts funding and state subsidies to stay visible, and as a result have often suffered from meager renumeration or payments that show up so late as to be leave a lot of people hungry. (It is common for artists to be left waiting up to six months to a year to receive payment for one of the city- or state-sponsored presentation during Carnaval.) So in a sort of ironic twist, more and more independent “high-brow” bands and artists are beginning to look toward corporate partnership to fund mini-tours. This seems to be often presented as some kind of novel idea about ‘sustainable’ art but the more candid artists will likely admit that this model was pioneered by these “low class” bands years ago, instead of being left suckling at the teat of the benevolent state, a situation that can be just as unstable as the free market when you consider how much depends on the patronage systems of local political bosses.

I’ve strayed a long way from Zé Paraíba, his zoological shirt, and mysterious phone call. But I guess the digression can still be relevant, because back in 1974, only a few years into the “Disco É Cultura” incentives that the military regime put into the phonographic industry, this kind of good-time party music was still of relatively little consequence in the cultural hierarchy. Although forró pé de serra had briefly been so fashionable in the 1940s and 50s as to become a new kind of ‘national music’ embraced as widely as samba, it was overtaken in the marketplace by the bossa nova craze and went through a period of relative obscurity. Northeastern composers and a handful of ‘traditional’ singers had become de rigeur again starting with the ‘engaged’ musical theater Show Opinão and later with the Tropicalistas trotting out tunes from Luiz Gonzaga, the king of baião, and Jackson do Pandeiro (the king of rhythm!) whose careers underwent a second wind. Samba giants like Clara Nunes or Elza Soares included forró and baião in their repertoires. Some forró artists began to play in the upper-middle class Zona Sul of Rio for the first time of their lives, where they performed in theaters rather than dance halls, in big “shows” that employed directors and set designers. (This close relationship with the theater, particularly with MPB from the 60s onward, merits a whole other blog post or maybe a book.) Other singers like Ary Lobo or Marinês had more modest careers in this era. The unique Dominguinhos, a student of Gonzaga’s and his natural heir on the accordion, featured prominently on some of the biggest-selling albums of top-shelf MPB in the seventies, but the records released under his own name only garnered a cult following. Forró had become another tonal shading in the palette of Brazilian musicians and composers, a fonte or well to be dipped into for inspiration, but rarely an end in itself. Then there were the regional conjuntos like Trio Nordestino and their fans who never really went away, and virtuosos like Zé Paraíba, always ready to drop into the nearest São João party and play for a receptive public. As much as I like to champion the idea of a symbiosis between the acts of listening and dancing, this type of instrumental forró is really better suited for getting up and moving than for sitting down and critically listening. Most likely, Zé Paraíba’s records were an appendage to his live performances, a physical souvenir to help spread the word for the next time he played in your town. This album may not rock your world, but it will move your feet. Or torso if you are into chair-dancing.    

Luiz Gonzaga – Quadrilhas e marchinhas juninas (1965)

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QUADRILHAS E MARCHINHAS JUNINAS
Luiz Gonzaga
1965 RCA
This vinyl rip from a 1973 RCA Dynaflex repress
(107.0152)

1 Pot-pourri Instrumental:
Fim de festa (Zito Borborema)
Polca fogueteira (Luiz Gonzaga)
Lascando o cano (Luiz Gonzaga – Zé Dantas)
Pagode russo (Luiz Gonzaga)
Fogueira de São João (Luiz Gonzaga – Carmelina Albuquerque)

2 Olha pro céu (Instrumental)
(José Fernandes, Luiz Gonzaga)
3 São João na roça (Instrumental)
(Luiz Gonzaga, Zé Dantas)
4 Fogo sem fuzil
(José Marcolino, Luiz Gonzaga)
5 Quero chá
(José Marcolino, Luiz Gonzaga)
6 Matuto de opinião
(Gonzaguinha, Luiz Gonzaga)
7 Boi bumbá
(Gonzaguinha, Luiz Gonzaga)
8 O maior tocador
(Luiz Guimarães)
9 Piriri
(Ary Rangel, João Silva)

Vinyl -> Pro-Ject RM-5SE turntable (with Sumiko Blue Point 2 cartridge, Speedbox power supply); Creek Audio OBH-15; M-Audio Audiophile 192 Soundcard ; Adobe Audition at 32-bit float 192khz; Click Repair light settings; individual clicks and pops taken out with Adobe Audition 3.0 – resampled (and dithered for 16-bit) using iZotope RX Advanced. Tags done with Foobar 2000 and Tag&Rename.

 _____________________

Well I had hoped to get this post done yesterday but it just didn’t happen. Yesterday was the official day of São Pedro but since today is the very last day of June, I am barely saved from being a day late and a dollar short. There are still festas juninas going on the northeast, and if you are at one you obviously don’t need this LP, but for everyone else you can entertain yourself with Luiz Gonzaga. Gonzagão must have made a dozen São João-themed LPs in his lifetime (including a “volume two” to compliment this particular record a decade later, which I’ve never seen). The first side of the LP is entirely instrumental, including a medley that rips through tunes both familiar and arcane from his catalog. Gonzaga’s playing never fails to stun but if instrumental forró is not your thing, you might find yourself checking your watch as you wait for the second half. Side Two features six short and sweet vocal tracks. Although none of these probably make it on a ‘best of’ collection (I’m not sure about the CD boxset, which one of these days I will invest in), but I had heard at least a couple of them somewhere before picking up this album. Boi Bumbá and Piriri are Gonzaga at his finest, the latter being a fantastic São João song with a chorus that will stick in your head for hours.

The former track, Boi Bumbá, has a great extended verse/bridge section where the singers divide up cow and deliberate on which parts go to whom. This is actually a vocal duet, trading off with another singer, whose identity is unknown to me. I could try to find this out by reading a biography on Gonzaga, but I am basically lazy and do not know how to read. So I will appeal to any blog followers here for information – does anybody know? It is a double mystery in that the song also has a writing credit (along with preceding track `Matuto de opinão’) given to a Luiz Gonzaga Junior. My first reaction to seeing this was — this CAN’T be Gonzaguinha, the adopted son of Gonzagão who had his own brilliant recording career in the 70s. Well, checking on his birth date, I discovered that he actually would have been twenty years old by 1965, so technically it is possible. But Gonzaguinha’s own work would totally eschew the kind of rustic regionalisms that form the backbone of his father’s repertoire in favor of jagged social commentary and political engagement, having over 50 of his compositions censored by the military government. Even though his recording career had yet to begin in 65, as far as I know he was involved with the student movement of the time and I just can’t imagine him having anything to do with these two tracks. So, it must be a coincidence, right? Or maybe not. Anyone with clues please leave them in the comments here.

I felt so badly about the mediocre O Cavaquinho no Forró album earlier this week having been the only ‘celebration’ for São João or the festas juninas on the blog this year, that I thought I would make it up to you by getting this post up just under the wire. Please accept my peace offering.

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Pra onde vai a barrigueira?
Vai pra Miguel Pereira
E a vassoura do rabo?
Vai pro Zé Nabo
De que é o osso da pá?
De Joãozinho da Fornemá
E a carne que tem na nuca?
É de seu Manuca
De quem é o quarto trazeiro?
De seu Joaquim marceneiro
E o osso alicate?
De Maria Badulate
Pra quem dou a tripa fina?
Dê para a Sabina
Pra quem mando este bofe?
Pro Doutor Orlofe
E a capado filé?
Mande para o Zezé
Pra quem vou mandar o pé?
Para o Mário Tiburé
Pra quem dou o filé miõn?
Para o doutor Calmon
E o osso da suã?
Dê para o doutor Borjan
Não é belo nem doutor
Mas é bom trabalhador
Mas é véio macho, sim sinhor
É véio macho, sim sinhor
É bom pra trabaiá
Rói suã até suar
Ê boi, ê boi
Ê boi do mangangá..

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Jackson do Pandeiro – O Cabra da Peste (1966) (REPOST)

Hi there folks. Today, by request, I resurrect an old dead post from June of 2010, enjoy!

jackson
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Jackson do Pandeiro
“O Cabra da Peste”

Original release: 1966, “Jackson do Pandeiro – O Cabra da Peste”, Continental, PPL 12265)

Censored release: 1969

reissue: 1978, “Jackson do Pandeiro – O Cabra da Peste – Edição Limitada”, Popular/GE/Continental, 146411047)

This pressing, Warner/Continental CD, 2001 (092741523-2)

01. Capoeira mata um (Alvaro Castilho – De Castro) Balanço
02. Tá roendo (Figueirôa – Maruim) Samba
03. A ordem é samba (Jackson do Pandeiro – Severino Ramos) Samba
04. Pinicapau (Codó) Baião
05. Forró quentinho (Almira Castilho) Forró
06. Bodocongó (HUmberto Teixeira – Cicero Nunes) Baião
07. Secretária do diabo (Osvaldo Oliveira – Reinaldo Costa) Forró
08. Vou sambalançar (Antonio Barros – Jackson do Pandeiro) Samba
09. Alegria do vaqueiro (Zé Katraca) Baião
10. Forró do Biá (Luiz Moreno – Jeronimo) Forró
11. Papai vai de trem (Ivo Martins – Jackson do Pandeiro) Baião

DELETED TRACK between tracks 10 and 11 above, Polícia Feminina (Severino Ramos – José Pereira) Forró

What a confusing release history this album has had, which utter lack of any information whatsoever on the CD reissue fails to clear up. This is what I was I have been able to piece together for you: “O Cabra da Peste” was released in 1966 (sometimes listed as 1963, which I originally fell for but was thankfully corrected about), censored and re-released without the song “Polícia Feminina” in 1969, then reissued again in limited edition in 1978, from which I suspect this album cover at the top was taken. I am not sure what is meant by the text under the photo, “rerecording with a new cover,” unless they consider the removal of one track to be a rerecording. Or perhaps by 78 they decided to put “Polícia Feminina” (a fairly innocuous and silly song about having your heart locked up in prison, etc) back on the album…. Whatever the case may be, the CD issue is still missing the track. The recording is in mono, so we can at least be glad they didn’t use a version “electronically rechannelled for stereo”…

Jackson do Pandeiro recorded a ton of hit songs that are very important for Brazilian popular music. None of those are on here. (You might, however, want to visit the previous post of O Rei do Ritmo on this site..). I read one review of this album, in Portuguese, that criticized the song selection as being the weakest of any album from Jackson’s career.. Well, if that’s true, I am still pretty impressed by this record and it only shows just how much of a genius this guy to give these tunes so much life. It’s a solid set of forró, samba, and samba de coco. And although there might not be anything that immediately has you singing along like many of his better-known releases, there are some real stand-out cuts here. “Capoeira mata um” totally kicks off right. “A ordém é samba” written by Jackson and and Severino Ramos, and “Bodocongó″ by Humberto Teixeira e Cícero Nunes are catchy tunes and hot performances, showing just how easily Jackson could interpret a variety of styles and have it still come out like, well, Jackson do Pandeiro. One difference between material from this era and his earlier 1950s successes can be found in the suingue (or, swing) of the rhythm section — the influence of bossa nova is felt in the way the drummer lays down some jazzed-out chops on even the forró numbers. While this might not be the place to start for people new to Jackson do Pandeiro, this a fine album on its own. It makes me happy.

Jackson do Pandeiro – A Cabra da Peste (1963) 320 kbs
Jackson do Pandeiro – A Cabra da Peste (1963) FLAC LOSSLESS

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João do Vale – MPB Especial 1973

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A MÚSICA BRASILEIRA DESTE SÉCULO POR SEUS AUTORES E INTÉRPRETES
João do Vale – MPB Especial 1973
Released 2000 SESC – SP (JCB-0709-023)

1 O canto da ema
(Alventino Cavalcante, Ayres Viana, João do Vale)
2 É de dois, dois
(Jesus Santana, João do Vale)
3 Algodão
(Luiz Gonzaga, Zé Dantas)
4 Minha história
(Raymundo Evangelista, João do Vale)
5 Cesário Pinto
(Zé Gonzaga)
6 Estrela miúda
(Luiz Vieira, João do Vale)
7 Maria Filó (o danado do trem)
(Luiz Vieira, João do Vale)
8 Sanharó-Tambo
(Luiz Guimarães, João do Vale)
9 Segredo do sertanejo (Uricuri)
(José Cândido, João do Vale)
10 Quatro fia feme
(Ary Monteiro, João do Vale)
11 Peba na pimenta
(Adelino Rivera, José Batista, João do Vale)
12 Pisa na fulô
(Silveira Júnior, Ernesto Pires, João do Vale)
13 Sina de caboclo
(J.B. de Aquino, João do Vale)
14 Filho de peixe, peixinho é
(Ernesto Pires, João do Vale)
15 A voz do povo
(Luiz Vieira, João do Vale)
16 Lavadeira e o lavrador
(João do Vale)
17 Orós II
(Oséas Lopes, João do Vale)
18 Carcará
(José Cândido, João do Vale)

This is for the FANS, man. Actually the disc is both priceless and also a disappointment: João do Vale, like many people featured on the MPB Especial and Ensaio programs, was more of a composer than a recording artist — aside from the album “Opinão” with Nara Leão and Zé Keti, I am only aware of one other album under his own name, recorded in the 1980s, which as I recall is only so-so. Thus, when seeing that this program existed it was one of those eye-popping moments of ‘Oh wow, I gotta hear this’… The review below in Portuguese pretty much says everything I would have said, so I just translated for you below. (By the way, I think it is really cool that Clique Music happens to have reviews of so many of the volumes in this collection…). The only thing I would add to it is that it’s “relaxed” quality is perhaps understated – the musical portions of it come across as totally imprompto and unrehearsed, as if João eschewed any notion of preparing beforehand and just came into the studio expecting the musicians to keep up. Eduardo Gudin was sort of a house musician for this program, and there are several cases where João begins singing a capella and Gudin and percussionist Carlinhos come in slowly as the song goes on, as if they are picking up the chord progression and rhythm just by listening and following along.

———review in Portuguese found at Clique Music —————-

Dorival Caymmi disse certa vez que a música de João do Vale tinha cheiro de barro, um traço selvagem e autêntico, qualidades só encontradas em compositores genuinamente populares como ele próprio. No Programa MPB Especial (Ensaio), reproduzido nesta coleção Sesc São Paulo, João do Vale nunca esteve tão relaxado e próximo da definição traçada pelo velho Caymmi. Normalmente tímido (tinha de tomar generosas doses de cachaça para se soltar nos shows), o compositor maranhense desfila com desenvoltura um repertório de clássicos, dos forrós erotizados O Canto da Ema e Pisa na Fulô a canções de protesto, caso de Sina de Caboclo, Segredo do Sertanejo (Uricuri) e Carcará, seu maior sucesso, eternizado na voz de Maria Bethânia. Faltaram grandes canções, como Na Asa do Vento e Pé do Lageiro, e um acordeão para acompanhar o violão de Eduardo Gudin e a percussão de Carlinhos. Afinal, forrós como Pisa na Fulô e O Canto da Ema sem sanfona é a mesma coisa que João Gilberto sem violão ou Jimi Hendrix sem guitarra. Mas isso não tira o brilho do disco. Só as histórias contadas por João já valem o programa. O compositor lembra que foi trabalhar como ajudante de pedreiro no Rio de Janeiro na mesma época em que Marlene estourou nas rádios com uma canção sua, Estrela Miúda. Enquanto colocava massa entre os tijolos, ouvia a música ser tocada nas rádios de toda a vizinhança. Um dia, não resistiu e resolveu contar aos companheiros de obra que o autor daquele sucesso era ninguém menos que ele mesmo. Recebeu um olhar torto da turma e ainda foi ridicularizado: “Conversa, neguinho, tu tá delirando. Coloca mais massa aí sô!” (Tom Cardoso)

—————-
translation:
Dorival Caymmi once said that the music of João do Vale had the scent of clay, a trace of the untamed and the authentic, qualities encountered only in genuinely “popular” composers like him. In the Programa MPB Especial (Ensaio) reproduced in this SESC São Paulo collection, João do Vale was never as relaxed or closer to the definition outlined by the old Caymmi. Normally shy (he had to drink generous shots of cachaça in order to get out on stage), the composer from Maranhão proudly displays a repertoire of classics, of sexy forró like “O Canto de Ema” and “Pisa na Fulô” to protest songs such as “Sina de Caboclo”, “Segredo do Sertanejo (Uricuri)” and “Carcará”, his biggest hit immortalized in the voice of Maria Bethânia. The program lacks some major songs, like “Na Asa do Vento” and “Pé do Lageiro”, as well as an accordion to accompany the acoustic guitar of Eduardo Gudin and the percussion of Carlinhos. In the end, hearing forrós like “Pisa na Fulô” and “O Canto da Ema” without sanfona / accordion is the same thing as João Gilberto or Jimi Hendrix without guitars. But this doesn’t detract from the allure of the disc. Just the stories alone told by João make the program worth it. The composer recalls going to work as an assistant bricklayer in Rio de Janeiro around the same time that Marlene exploded on the radios with his song “Estrela Miúda.” While spreading mortar between the bricks, he heard the song being played on radios all around the neighborhood. One day, he couldn’t resist any longer and decided to tell his work mates that the author of that hit song was none other than himself. He received disbelieving, sidelong glances from the bunch of them and was ridiculed: “Bullshit, neguinho, you’re delirious. Bring more cement over here, already!…” (Tom Cardoso, translated by Ameribucano, Flabbergast)

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