Eduardo Araújo – A Onde É Boogaloo (1969) [Tim Maia]

A ONDA É BOOGALOO
Eduardo Araújo  (1969)
1969 Odeon (MOFB 3584)

1 Longe de você (The same old song)
(Robinson, Vrs. Tim Maia)
2 Tenho que ter todo seu amor (Got to have a hundred)
(Wilson Pickett, Vrs. Tim Maia)
3 Boogaloo na Broadway (Boogaloo down Broadway)
(J.James, Vrs. Tim Maia)
4 Rua maluca (Funky street)
(Simms, A.Conley, Vrs. Tim Maia)
5 Pressentimento
(Chil Deberto, Eduardo Araújo)
6 Dançando boogaloo (Gota a thing going)
(W.King, Vrs. Tim Maia)
7 Você
(Tim Maia)
8 Baby, baby sim baby (Since you’ve been gone) (Sweet sweet baby)
(Franklin, White, Vrs. Tim Maia)
9 Embrulhe esta marmita
(Chil Deberto, Eduardo Araújo)
10 Vamos recomeçar (Come back baby)
(Ray Charles, Vrs. Tim Maia)
11 Melhor que se dane
(Chil Deberto, Eduardo Araújo)
12 A mulher (Cold sweat)
(J. Brown, Ellis, Vrs. Tim Maia)

I sought out this album because it is a footnote — albeit an important one – in the career of Tim Maia. It marks a turning point in Tim’s story, and features some musicians that Tim would incorporate into his own band in the coming years. After years of struggling, having formed The Sputniks (where he famously fired Roberto Carlos), having moved to New York City, having been deported from the US, having returned to Brazil – everything started coming together for him in 1969. After quite some time trying to get his old friend-nemesis-former-bandmate Roberto Carlos to record one of his songs, O Rei finally aquiesced and recorded “Não vou ficar” on his 1969 soul-influenced album, and Tim found some work arranging and producing new material for another old friend of the “Clube do Rock”, Eduardo Araújo. This gave Maia some badly-needed cash and also name-recognition: Araújo would even score a hit with the song “Você”, leading Tim to return the favor by recording one of Araújo’s compositions in 1971. And indeed while Araújo also wrote songs (two of them are here, with a writing partner by the super-cool name of Chil Deberto, which sounds unintentionally cooler in English than in Portuguese..), the album is dominated by Tim Maia’s arrangments (which he shares with Walter Arouca Barros and José Ferreira Godinho Filho). And one really loud organ in the mix. Tim arranged and wrote new lyrics for a whole mess of North American soul classics, reflecting his time ‘at the source’, living the good old U.S.A. The results are actually better than I expected when I first heard about this album. Songs by Smokey Robinson, Wilson Pickett, James Brown, Aretha Franklin and Ray Charles are given new treatments. It’s not all gold but it makes for interesting listening. The most intriguing of these are the ones where Maia choses to slow the original tunes down, making them sound heavier — “99 and 1/2” from Wilson Picket, “(Baby Baby) Since You’ve Been Gone” from Aretha Franklin, and James Brown’s “Cold Sweat” highlight both Tim’s ambition and his budding genius. It’s also worth pointing out the evolution of his recording technique – you can hear an inkling of the drum sound he was working towards in these tunes, but he hasn’t quite gotten it to his satisfaction yet. Of the backing band – Waldir on trumpet and Capacete on bass – would become parts of Tim’s early band.

It is a bit unjust that this album was reissued at a time when a huge chunk of Tim’s own catalog was still out of print – fact that has only been rectified within the last year. And, with all due respect, I’m not particularly interested in seeking out any of Araújo’s other albums, although if I come across more of the early titles I probably will out of curiosity. In a rather odd twist, he is now busy making BRAZILIAN COUNTRY ROCK and RAISING HORSES!

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partial credits:

“Os Bons”
Waldir – trumpet and arrangments
Casé – alto sax
Garôto – vibraphone
Mauro – trumpet
Zezinho – piano and organ
Capacete – bass guitar

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password: vibes

Hyldon – Nossa História de Amor (1977)

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HYLDON
Nossa História de Amor
Released 1977 on CBS 137994
Reissued in 2001 on CD by Sony/CBS (2-495860)
Remastered by Ricardo Soares under supervision of Charles Gavin

1 Eu gostaria de saber (Hyldon)
2 Conselhos (Hyldon)
3 Eu sou um anjo (Hyldon)
4 O gavião solitário (Hyldon)
5 Porque vivo só (Tereza, Alex Malheiros, Hyldon)
6 Nossa história de amor (Hyldon)
7 Estão dizendo por aí (Hyldon)
8 Solange (Hyldon)
9 Amor platônico (Hyldon)
10 Rainha de Copacabana (Hyldon)

Arrangements by Walter Branco

Special participation of Ed Lincoln on organ, tracks 1 and 5 (also flute arrangements for 5)
and Domiguinhos on accordion on track 6

I wrote a very lengthy review of Hyldon’s first album that you can find HERE… A lot of the adjectives and descriptions apply just as easily to this record. I suggest you take a look at that one, get some of the background about him and what I think of the dude, and listen to it along with this one. This album lacks the breathtaking sweep of that debut but is a solid album of strummy-folk-soul music Brazilian style. Comparisons to Terry Callier and Jon Lucien or Bill Withers might apply more if Hyldon’s voice was a little less shrill. And he is definitely less funky on this record. But his sense of orchestrations and building a vibe still reminds me of those guys a bit.

This is actually Hyldon’t third album.. His second LP, “Deus, A Natureza, e A Música” is also great, and easily the weirdest thing in his catalog. It expands a bit on the psychedelic undertones of his debut and takes more risks with the orchestrations and ideas. In fact it might have been that risk that inspired Hyldon to go back sometime in the last 10 years and prepare it for a CD release by RECORDING A BUNCH OF IT and replacing the original tracks, and totally remixing. May I respectfully ask, sir — WHAT THE FUCK?? I thought we were passed that phase of musical cannibalism in the digital era.. But, indeed, the only CD pressing of that album to date has drums that sound like they were recorded and mixed in the 1990s instead of 1976 (and in spite of having been recorded post-2000, I believe). I happen to own the vinyl of the same album, which wasn’t so easy to come by, and I can say that they are like listening to two entirely different albums. For this reason I will actually REFUSE to rip and share it here. I don’t care how much you ask me to do it or if you offer me money, I just won’t poison the well with that CD. I have planned to do a vinyl rip of my copy for a long time, but in spite of being very clean has one skip on it which I am going to have to try and fix somehow…

In any case, although I love that second album, it can be accused of over-reaching itself in its ambition. This album is probably more of a solid and satisfying listen overall. A well-balanced record and the mastering is pretty decent (and nice of Gavin to include technical notes on the equipment used – Manley Compressors, woo-hoo!) All of the songs are good and some will have you singing along after only a listen or two. As long as you don’t compare it to the sonic orgasm of “Na Rua, Na Chuva, Na Fazenda”, which will always be his best album that he could never surpass, this is a top-notch record and ought to appeal to a broad range of music-lovers regardless of language or cultural difference.

A whole truckload of people played on this album, too many to name. See the simple single-fold booklet for the complete list.

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Roberto Carlos – Roberto Carlos (1969)

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Roberto Carlos – “Roberto Carlos”
Released December 1969 on CBS (1-37645)
Reissue on CD mid-1990s

1. As flores do jardim da nossa casa (3:11)
2. Aceito seu coração (3:40)
3. Nada vai me convencer (2:50)
4. Do outro lado da cidade (3:42)
5. Quero ter você perto de mim (3:07)
6. O diamante cor-de-rosa (3:19)
7. Não vou ficar (3:00)
8. As curvas da estrada de Santos (3:33)
9. Sua estupidez (4:55)
10. Oh! meu imenso amor (2:05)
11. Não adianta (3:49)
12. Nada tenho a perder (2:48)

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This album deserves a better write up than I can give it. The cause for this situation is that I have listened to it twice today and I am all broken up, emocionado.

I will admit it. As an ignorant outsider, I didn’t “get” the obsession with Roberto Carlos at first. He seemed like an uglier Brazilian version of Julio Iglesias (as my friend Celia put it… I added the ugly part). Really, an analogy to Elvis Presley might be apt as well: both are known as the “King” and both starred in a lot of silly films aimed at teenagers, even if Roberto’s films were modeled more on The Beatles cinematic misadventures.

But then I discovered the records from this period in question which have since become very precious to me. By the late 60s, Roberto Carlos had come a long way from ‘Splish Splash’, which is a fun record, actually, but utterly derivative. In the 1970s he would become the king of romantic ballads in Brazil, but here we are in December of 1969 on the cusp of change… wait, wait, what do we have here, that music journalist cliché of the “transitional album”?? Well, maybe or maybe not. But the fact is that the songwriting and performances on this record are a lot more mature than the early burst of Jovem Guarda albums, and yet they haven’t arrived at the rather drippy sentimentalism and over-production that would start to characterize his work as he continued at his unending (até hoje) labor of selling tons of records and selling out huge stadiums where women of all ages through their undergarments on stage.

This album has more than a few of the best songs of the guy’s career, and particularly some of the best writing from Roberto and his brother Erasmo. The opening cut “As Flores do Jardim de Nossa Casa” is a masterpiece, and an example of one of the facets of pop music that have always intrigued me the most: if you put these lyrics down on a piece of paper, of flowers dying from the absence of your lost love, they might come across to many people as complete drivel. But put those same words to this melody and this more-than-perfect arrangement and orchestration and they become pure fucking poetry. The first time I ever heard this song was the moment I finally “got” Roberto Carlos. This is it. This is why they call him O Rei.

With the exception of the ungainly and irritating “Oh! meu imenso amor”, everything else here is wonderful. The record is dominated by its ballads but never manages to feel “slow” by grace of Roberto’s ability to hold an audience. The song “Quero ter você perto de mim” begins with him singing a capella for half of the first verse before each instrument comes in slowly, one at a time, building Roberto’s melancholic castle of saudades. Listening to it, I can imagine the musicians, engineers, producers all huddled around the control room listening to an earlier take of the song where they all begin together, and Roberto abruptly interrupting the playback. “No. Stop the tape. This isn’t the way this song should sound. Let’s go back and do it one more time. Like this…” Of course this is a total fantasy of an idle mind since I have now listened to this album THREE times today while going about my daily business. But, you know, it *could* have happened that way.

This tune is followed by an oddly cathartic slow instrumental tune, written by Erasmo and Roberto but sounding like it was found discarded in Ennio Morricone’s front lawn. Its beautiful and lyrical and wordless. And, in an example of perfect album sequencing, it is followed by heavy funk of “Não Vou Ficar,” written by none other than Tim Maia and here injected with all the pent-up energy of a person who’s suffered all the heartbreaks detailed in the last six songs. We even get Roberto giving a few soul-music “ahh! uhhh!” shouts during a brief drum-and-bass break. (The song “Nada Vai Me Convencer”, from earlier in the record, is oddly reminiscent of this tune but without half of its charm.) As I said in the post on Tim Maia’s 1971 record, people fight about whose version is better. They are both damn good, I can’t say any longer. I am biased differently today, because I have listened to this record THREE TIMES. Oh, and Tim basically had to threaten Roberto with a kidnapping to convince him to finally answer his calls and record one of his songs. Perhaps a bit of magoãs after being fired from the Sputniks…

“As curvas da estrada de Santos” finds a middle ground between the slower melancholic tunes and the “I’ve had enough of you” swagger of ‘Não vou ficar’, but definitely lean toward the latter. A Ciéncia de Cornologia começa aqui, minha gente, nesse disco.

Next is “Sua estupidez” which surely ranks pretty high in the list of ‘greatest songs ever written.’ It has something of the spirit of Dylan’s “Idiot Wind” (to come five years later, obviously) but much less acidic and bitter, simpler and more direct and tender in its message. Nothing I can say about it would do anything than detract from that simplicity. Just listen to it. If you don’t understand the lyrics, the music should still grab you.

The song probably should have gone at the end of the album. At least, I don’t have anything left to say about the rest the remaining three songs after listening to “Sua estupidez”. I already mentioned that I find “Oh! meu imenso amor” abrasive. “Não adianta” is actually a really great tune, that oddly enough opens with the same chord progression as “Everybody’s Talkin'” of Fred Neil/Harry Nilsson fame. Then the closer, “Nada Tenho a Perder” pulls back a notch on the quality/intensity level, perfectly fine song but nothing too special about it. Maybe it was intentional, this sort of running-out-steam rather than going-out-with-a-bang. Because it sort of makes you want to play the album over again. Like, three or four more times.

If nothing else, this album is proof that Roberto Carlos had moved from the art of making hit singles, to the art of the Long Playing record, or LP. I have recently decided that is what this blog has its roots in — the pleasures found in the almost-lost art of listening to the LP…

(LINKS REMOVED)

the key to your dreams is found in the commentaries. if you read them and leave them, the blog fairy will bless you.

Tim Maia – Tim Maia (1972) {Polydor} REPOST

This is a repost from an old entry made in 2008, by request. In the first few months I was not posting FLACs at all and this em pee tree set is also higher quality. Unfortunately there is nothing I can do about the ugly art scans since my copy is currently locked in my vault in the Kayman Islands.

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I heard a rumor that there is a Tim Maia boxset in the works. That will be a welcome thing since most of his classic discography is stupidly out of print. However I will make you a bet (‘o que você quer apostar?’) about one thing: They will fuck up the sound. I know a lot of you don’t give a flying rats ass about mastering techniques and audio engineering but I will give you a little experiment to try at home with the kids. Put this album on, this original Polydor/Polygram pressing from the early 90s, and crank it up REALLY LOUD. Tim would have liked that. Notice anything? Notice how everything is still crisp and clear and doesn’t distort? Notice how the music has something called *dynamic range*, valleys and peaks? Take a good look and note the number or notch on your volume knob or fader and keep track of it. Now put in any CD mastered in the last ten years — new album, reissue of an old album, doesn’t matter so long as it was issued in the last 10 years or so. Put the volume to the same place as this Tim Maia album. Notice anything? Sounds like shit, doesn’t it? End of lesson.

This pressing sounds unfuckingbelievably good. It even sounds good on an iPod.

This isn’t just audio psychobabble either, because the PRODUCTION on this album is really amazing. If you had any doubt that the studios in São Paulo and Rio during the late 60s and early 70s were producing albums that sounded just as good or better than anything coming out of England or the United States, just listen to this early Tim Maia stuff. The whole LP is consistent production-wise but the track ‘Pelo amor de Deus’ has to be singled out here. They double-tracked the drums to make them sound even heavier on a album that has a pretty heavy drum sound to begin with. And in the last verse, Tim’s vocals is pulled down in the mix and drenched with plate reverb, making it seem like he is being carried away from us down a long dark hallway while the drums get LOUDER. (I don’t think they actually *do* get louder, rather it’s an aural illusionist’s trick by making Tim magically disappear… No mean feat, being a big guy and all that.)

As much cult-status as the Racional records have on account of being, a) mind-blowing and fantastic, b) extremely rare until finally reissued only a few years ago, circulating mostly as a bootleg, and c) freakishly weird and messed up (in a good way, like UFO cults and Scientology before it went all Hollywood) — those records really require an appreciation of his earlier work to get their full effect, in my unhumble opinion.

The opening cut “Idade” blisters with 60s soul tones and just enough Jovem Guarda swagger to make this still unappealing to many a navel-gazing Tropicalista fan of 1972. You can see him ripping through it in the video above. (Too bad there’s no shots of the band on this, as they actually are playing live and not faking it). The second track is even more wonderfully alienated, singing in ENGLISH and a lot more Motown than MPB. And damn perfect English too, demonstrating Tim’s long devotion to playing his anglophone soul and rock record collection until the grooves were so thin you could see through the vinyl. Wonderful flute solo by Isidoro Longano followed by a short sax solo from Antonio Arruda here. For the last minute or so the band just rocks the arrangement. Did I mention Tim produced this album himself? The arrangements are very well thought-out on every track, and since they are uncredited I will also assume Tim had a hand in those until I get around to reading Nelson Motta’s biography. The next track, “O que você quer apostar?” is as a gritty a funk soul number as anything Wilson Pickett could kick out up in the northern hemisphere, with nice lyrics for a mulher mentirosa. “Canário do reino” is another baião-flavored forró and I’m pretty sure Tim is trying to capitalize on the success of the hit he had by covering João do Vale’s “Coroné Antonio Bento” a year or so earlier. This track doesn’t work nearly as well as that one, and while it’s still good it’s also the weakest cut we’ve heard thus far. “Já era tempo de você” is the happiest swinging-big-band-with-a-small-band song of disenchantment I can think of, a friendly way to tell someone they already had their chance and you’ve moved on with your life.

Back to English again with “Where Is My Other Half” with Tim singing plaintively over gently strummed acoustic guitar (steel string and not nylon, I might add) and then the band kicks in with heavy drums for the end as Tim wonders over and over again why she left him. I think Tim is following a formula here he learned from his U.S. soul records – the first half is the uptempo dance party, the second half is for dimming the lights and making out with your lady (or man). “O que me importa” is Tim and company being as soulful as they can be, this time with vibraphone, again blowing me away with their ability to arrange all the instrumentation and capture it all so well in the mix. It also sets a template for basically every song Hyldon would write.. “Lamento” is quite honestly kind of tedious and sounds an awful lot like “Where Is My Other Half”. Unfortunately this cut is followed by an attempt at a blues number, “Sofre,” that reminds me why the blues is a quintessentially North American black art form. In fact I am suffering listening to it right now as I write this. It just kind of falls flat, but I’ll give Tim credit for asserting his blackness. Most other Brazilian acts attempting blues at this time were prog-rockers with wanky guitar solos that went on far too long. It is also interesting to note that Tim would later reuse the formula of the opening rap a decade later with the huge hit song “Me dê motivo”, including opening it up with “é engraçado” (it’s funny..), and oddly enough the vocal line from “Lamento” also reappears in that tune. A good way for Tim to recycle some of his good ideas that didn’t quite work the first time around, and “Me dê motivo” is a much better song than either of these. “Razão de sambar” is a minute and half of jazz-samba. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD the next song is amazing — “Pelo amor de deus”, well, I already ranted on about it but let me reiterate again how great it is. “These are the songs,” is a piece of Latin lounge, in English again, that is a nice way to end the album and assert his unique musical identity. Elis Regina would later record a lame version of this song with Tim guesting on vocals.

Even with the weak points on this record, it is still thoroughly essential listening. Valeu, Tim!

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LINKS REMOVED BY CORPORATE SCUMBAGS who are going to sell you a shitty
compilation made for gringos in October.  Hey, where do you think most
of your buyers will have heard this music for the first time??  Blogs,
maybe?  Fuck you AmeriKKKa.

Tim Maia – Tim Maia (1972)

This is an old post disguised as a new post (as you surmise from the verb tense used related to the box set). It was written in May. I have not written anything new for it. Except that last sentence where I wrote that I wasn’t going to write anything new — and this one too. Otherwise this is the same post, with a difference in that it actually has a purpose now at the bottom of the page. By request.

I heard a rumor that there is a Tim Maia boxset in the works. That will be a welcome thing since most of his classic discography is stupidly out of print. However I will make you a bet (‘o que você quer apostar?’) about one thing: They will fuck up the sound. I know a lot of you don’t give a flying rats ass about mastering techniques and audio engineering but I will give you a little experiment to try at home with the kids. Put this album on, this original Polydor/Polygram pressing from the early 90s, and crank it up REALLY LOUD. Tim would have liked that. Notice anything? Notice how everything is still crisp and clear and doesn’t distort? Notice how the music has something called *dynamic range*, valleys and peaks? Take a good look and note the number or notch on your volume knob or fader and keep track of it. Now put in any CD mastered in the last ten years — new album, reissue of an old album, doesn’t matter so long as it was issued in the last 10 years or so. Put the volume to the same place as this Tim Maia album. Notice anything? Sounds like shit, doesn’t it? End of lesson.

This pressing sounds unfuckingbelievably good. It even sounds good on an iPod.

This isn’t just audio psychobabble either, because the PRODUCTION on this album is really amazing. If you had any doubt that the studios in São Paulo and Rio during the late 60s and early 70s were producing albums that sounded just as good or better than anything coming out of England or the United States, just listen to this early Tim Maia stuff. The whole LP is consistent production-wise but the track ‘Pelo amor de Deus’ has to be singled out here. They double-tracked the drums to make them sound even heavier on a album that has a pretty heavy drum sound to begin with. And in the last verse, Tim’s vocals is pulled down in the mix and drenched with plate reverb, making it seem like he is being carried away from us down a long dark hallway while the drums get LOUDER. (I don’t think they actually *do* get louder, rather it’s an aural illusionist’s trick by making Tim magically disappear… No mean feat, being a big guy and all that.)

As much cult-status as the Racional records have on account of being, a) mind-blowing and fantastic, b) extremely rare until finally reissued only a few years ago, circulating mostly as a bootleg, and c) freakishly weird and messed up (in a good way, like UFO cults and Scientology before it went all Hollywood) — those records really require an appreciation of his earlier work to get their full effect, in my unhumble opinion.

The opening cut “Idade” blisters with 60s soul tones and just enough Jovem Guarda swagger to make this still unappealing to many a navel-gazing Tropicalista fan of 1972. You can see him ripping through it in the video above. (Too bad there’s no shots of the band on this, as they actually are playing live and not faking it). The second track is even more wonderfully alienated, singing in ENGLISH and a lot more Motown than MPB. And damn perfect English too, demonstrating Tim’s long devotion to playing his anglophone soul and rock record collection until the grooves were so thin you could see through the vinyl. Wonderful flute solo by Isidoro Longano followed by a short sax solo from Antonio Arruda here. For the last minute or so the band just rocks the arrangement. Did I mention Tim produced this album himself? The arrangements are very well thought-out on every track, and since they are uncredited I will also assume Tim had a hand in those until I get around to reading Nelson Motta’s biography. The next track, “O que você quer apostar?” is as a gritty a funk soul number as anything Wilson Pickett could kick out up in the northern hemisphere, with nice lyrics for a mulher mentirosa. “Canário do reino” is another baião-flavored forró and I’m pretty sure Tim is trying to capitalize on the success of the hit he had by covering João do Vale’s “Coroné Antonio Bento” a year or so earlier. This track doesn’t work nearly as well as that one, and while it’s still good it’s also the weakest cut we’ve heard thus far. “Já era tempo de você” is the happiest swinging-big-band-with-a-small-band song of disenchantment I can think of, a friendly way to tell someone they already had their chance and you’ve moved on with your life.

Back to English again with “Where Is My Other Half” with Tim singing plaintively over gently strummed acoustic guitar (steel string and not nylon, I might add) and then the band kicks in with heavy drums for the end as Tim wonders over and over again why she left him. I think Tim is following a formula here he learned from his U.S. soul records – the first half is the uptempo dance party, the second half is for dimming the lights and making out with your lady (or man). “O que me importa” is Tim and company being as soulful as they can be, this time with vibraphone, again blowing me away with their ability to arrange all the instrumentation and capture it all so well in the mix. It also sets a template for basically every song Hyldon would write.. “Lamento” is quite honestly kind of tedious and sounds an awful lot like “Where Is My Other Half”. Unfortunately this cut is followed by an attempt at a blues number, “Sofre,” that reminds me why the blues is a quintessentially North American black art form. In fact I am suffering listening to it right now as I write this. It just kind of falls flat, but I’ll give Tim credit for asserting his blackness. Most other Brazilian acts attempting blues at this time were prog-rockers with wanky guitar solos that went on far too long. It is also interesting to note that Tim would later reuse the formula of the opening rap a decade later with the huge hit song “Me dê motivo”, including opening it up with “é engraçado” (it’s funny..), and oddly enough the vocal line from “Lamento” also reappears in that tune. A good way for Tim to recycle some of his good ideas that didn’t quite work the first time around, and “Me dê motivo” is a much better song than either of these. “Razão de sambar” is a minute and half of jazz-samba. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD the next song is amazing — “Pelo amor de deus”, well, I already ranted on about it but let me reiterate again how great it is. “These are the songs,” is a piece of Latin lounge, in English again, that is a nice way to end the album and assert his unique musical identity. Elis Regina would later record a lame version of this song with Tim guesting on vocals.

Even with the weak points on this record, it is still thoroughly essential listening. Valeu, Tim!

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LINKS REMOVED BY CORPORATE SCUMBAGS who are going to sell you a shitty
compilation made for gringos in October.  Hey, where do you think most
of your buyers will have heard this music for the first time??  Blogs,
maybe?  Fuck you AmeriKKKa.