Pastoril do Faceta (1973)

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PASTORIL DO FACETA
1978 WEA Records (BR 83.003)
Original release 1973
possibly on the Rozenblitz label?

01 – Chamada do Velho Faceta
02 – Apresentacao do Velho Faceta – Os 25 Bichos
03 – Marimbondo Miudinho
04 – E Mais Embaixo
05 – Cuidado Cantor!
06 – O Casamento da Filha de Seu Faceta
07 – Brinquedinho de Taioba
08 – A Pulga
09 – Bacurinha
10 – A Nossa Mestre Tem o Pe de Ouro
11 – Despedida do Velho Faceta

Accordion – Zé Cupido
Other musicians uncredited

Liner notes by Hermilo Borba Filho

Vinyl -> Pro-Ject RM-5SE turntable (with Sumiko Blue Point 2 cartridge, Speedbox power supply) > Creek Audio OBH-15 -> M-Audio Audiophile 2496 Soundcard -> Adobe Audition 3.0 at 24-bits 96khz -> Click Repair light settings, some isolated clicks removed using Audition -> dithered and resampled using iZotope RX Advanced. Tags done with Foobar 2000

Ever since my narrow escape from John Wayne Gacy’s ice-cream truck in the 1970s, I have had a phobia of anything that mixes clownes with music. So it took me a while, many months if the truth must be told, of having this album sitting in my house propped up against a stack of other records, with its delirious clown face staring up at me, before I could bring myself to play it. I kept hiding it from myself, putting it far back in the stacks of records, burying it behind beat-up, unplayable copies of Roberto Carlos and Reginaldo Rossi albums, but still I knew it was there the whole time. Just waiting for me, daring me, to play it.

Well I finally got over my phobia and played it, and found it not to be very menacing at all. I should have done so sooner though, since in terms of this blog the only time worth posting this album is during the Christmas holidays. The phenomenon of Pastoril is linked to the `Ciclo Natalino` in the northeast of Brazil. But it’s not too late to have a listen.

On the back cover of this LP are some notes from dramatist/intellectual/literary critic Hermilo Borba Filho. Here is my loose translation of the final paragraph:

“Since we cannot save and protect, as human beings, these musicians, these choregraphers, these dancers and ballarinas, these actores, these singers, these poets – at least we can try to save their art by way of an honest representation or “script.” A strange thing is going to happen: the spectacle will die but the music and the verses will live. This is going to occur with Bumba-meu-Boi, with Mamulengo, Pastoril, Fandango, with Côco, Reisado, Chegança, Taieira, the Bambelo, with Ciranda, Maracatu, Caboclinhos, and Cavalhada. And thus here is one of the ways to provide some financial help and subsidies for the composers: the phonographic disc.”
— Hermilo Borba Filho 1973

As we can see, in this as in many things, Hermilo Borba Filho is full of crap. Most if not all of these traditions he mentions are alive and well and continue to be practiced in various pockets of the interior of northeast Brazil and in presentations found in the larger cities. Surely some of them have undergone a process of “folkloricization” over time, that type of ossification brought about by a curious mixture of a genuine desire to preserve the essence of a cultural practice combined with the tendency to want to freeze it in time like a fly caught in amber. But regardless of their character and how they have changed or developed over time, one thing is certain about this laundry list of popular cultural forms that Hermilo Borba lays out for us: they have *not* disappeared. This urge to preserve, or “salvage”, the cultural practices of ‘simpler’ people threatened by the relentless assault of modernity and mass culture was of course a central drive behind such academic disciplines/exercises as anthropology and folklore studies for a great deal of the twentieth century. Implicit in its assertions is that the people who have created and developed these artforms are incapable of either maintaining their own traditions or (gods forbid!) adapting them creatively into new contexts, without the helpful paternal guiding hand of better-educated elites.

Returning to the music in this post: if Pastoril HAD disappeared, and all we had left to show for it was this LP (you know, for those Martian archeologists that will descend on us one day to find out what humanity was all about) — well, this would be a pretty sad representation indeed. Essentially what we have before us here is the musical soundtrack that might accompany the figure of O Velho — the clown, jester, or harlequin of this dramatic ‘popular theatre’ that takes place in around the 25th of December. I present it here mostly for those who are more interested in such things than I myself am, for the sake of curiosity or nostalgia or research or all of the above. As Brazilians say, ‘this is not my beach’ (não é minha praia), and aside from my phobia of singing clowns I am just not terribly interested in Pastoril. I probably should be, and there is a fair amount of interesting stuff written debating its origins, just how ‘sacred’ or ‘profane’ its pratice is or has been, and of course whether or not singing clowns should even be allowed in public in the twenty-first century. One thing only that I am sure of, and that is that there is a lot more to Pastoril than what you will here on the two sides of this vinyl LP. Here is the a piece written by anthropologist Waldemer Valente in the 1970s that does a good job of encapsulating it all (but note again the tendency for doom-ridden sooth-saying about its eventual disappearance)
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O Pastoril integra o ciclo das festas natalinas do Nordeste, particularmente, em Pernambuco, Paraíba, Rio Grande do Norte e Alagoas. É um dos quatro principais espetáculos populares nordestinos, sendo os outros o Bumba-meu-boi, o Mamulengo e o Fandango.

De tais espetáculos, participa o povo ativamente, com suas estimulantes interferências não se comportando apenas como passivo espectador, a exemplo do que acontece com os espetáculos eruditos. Muitas destas interferências, servindo de deixa para inteligentes e engraçadas improvisações, imprimindo ao espetáculo formas diferentes e inesperadas de movimento e animação.

A comunicação entre palco – geralmente um coreto – e platéia – esta, quase sempre ocupando grandes espaços abertos – entre personagens e espectadores, não se faz somente sob influência que a peça, por seu enredo e por sua interpretação, possa exercer sobre a assistência. Nem simplesmente – aqui admitindo teatro erudito bem educado – através dos aplausos convencionais, quase sempre sob forma de palmas. Palmas que às vezes revelam apenas educação ou incentivo.

No Pastoril, os espectadores, representados pelo povo, a comunicação com os personagens faz-se franca e informalmente, não só com palmas, mas com vaias e assobios, com dedos rasgando as bocas, piadas e ditos, apelidos e descomposturas.

Tudo isto enriquece o espetáculo de novos elementos de atração, dando-lhes nova motivação, reativando-o, recriando-o pela substituição de elementos socialmente menos válidos, por outros mais atuantes e mais condizentes com o gosto e os interesses momentâneos da comunidade para a qual ele exibe. Deste modo, revitaliza-se o espetáculo, permanecendo sempre dinâmico e atualizado, alimentando no espírito do povo e no dos próprios personagens um conteúdo emocional que tem no imprevisto e no suspense sua principal tônica.

Nos começos, o auto natalino, que deve ter surgido na terceira década do século XIII, em Grecio, sua primeira apresentação teatral não passava do drama hierático do nascimento de Jesus, com bailados e cantos especiais, evocando a cena da Natividade.

Com o correr do tempo, os autos baseados na temática natalina se separam em duas direções: uns, seguindo a linha hierática, receberam o nome de Presépios ou Lapinha, outros, de Pastoris.

Em Pernambuco, o primeiro Presépio surgiu nos fins do século XVI, em cerimônia realizada, no Convento de São Francisco, em Olinda.

Com as pastorinhas cantando loas, tomou o Presépio não só forma animada, mas dramática, ao lado da pura representação estática de gente e de bichos.

A dramatização do tema, agindo em função didática, permitiu fácil compreensão do episódio na Natividade. A cena para da, evocativa do nascimento de Jesus, movimenta-se, ganha vida, sai do seu mutismo, com a incorporação de recursos, não apenas visuais, também sonoros.

O Presépio, representado em conventos, igrejas ou casas de família, reunia mocinhas e meninas, cantando canções que lembram o nascimento de Cristo.

As canções, obedecendo a uma seqüência de atos que se chamam jornadas, são entoadas com o maior respeito e ar piedoso pelas meninas e jovens de pastorinhas.

O Pastoril, embora não deixasse de evocar a Natividade, caracteriza-se pelo ar profano. Por certa licenciosidade e até pelo exagero pornográfico, como aconteceu nos Pastoris antigos do Recife.

As pastoras, na forma profana do auto natalino, eram geralmente mulheres de reputação duvidosa, sendo mesmo conhecidas prostitutas, usando roupas escandalosas para a época, caracterizadas pelos decotes arrojados, pondo à mostra os seios, e os vestidos curtíssimos, muito acima dos joelhos.

Do Pastoril faz parte uma figura curiosa: O Velho. Cabia ao Velho, com suas largas calças, seus paletós alambasados, seus folgadíssimos colarinhos, seus ditos, suas piadas, suas anedotas, suas canções obsenas, animar o espetáculo, mexendo com as pastoras, que formavam dois grupos, chamados de cordões: o cordão encarnado e o cordão azul. Também tirava o Velho pilhérias com os espectadores, inclusive, recebendo dinheiro para dar os famosos “bailes”, – descomposturas – em pessoas indicadas como alvo. “Bailes”, que, muitas vezes, terminavam, terminavam, nos pastoris antigos dos arrabaldes do Recife, em charivari, ao qual não faltava a presença de punhais e pistolas.

O Velho também se encarregava de comandar os “leilões”, ofertando rosas e cravos, que recebiam lances cada vez maiores, em benefícios das pastoras, que tinham seus afeiçoados e torcedores.

Nos Presépios atuais, como nos Pastoris, encontram-se ainda os dois cordões. O Encarnado, no qual figuram a Mestra, a 1ª do Encarnado e a 2ª do Encarnado, e o Azul, com a Contra-Mestra, a 1ª do Azul e a 2ª do Azul.

Entre os dois cordões, como elemento neutro, moderando a exaltação dos torcedores e simpatizantes, baila a Diana, com seu vestido metade encarnado, metade azul.

Foram famosos no Recife, até começos da década de 30, os pastoris do Velho Bahu, que funcionava aos sábados, ora na Torre, ora na ilha do Leite, também, os dos velhos Catotas, Canela-de-Aço e Herotides.

Hoje, os pastoris desapareceram do Recife. Só nos arrabaldes mais distantes ou em algumas cidades do interior, eles são vistos. Mesmo assim, sem as características que marcavam os velhos pastoris do Recife, não deixando, no entanto, de cantar as jornadas do começo e do fim: a do Boa Noite e da despedida. O que vemos hoje são presépios ou lapinhas.

Presépio tradicional do Recife, exibindo-se em grande sítio do Zumbi, era dos irmãos Valença, infelizmente há vários anos sem funcionar.

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So, there are most likely better musical documentations of Pastoril out there, or even more useful – filmic representations — but I see this album in the used record stalls on the streets so often that I had to finally check it out. At least I finally got up to the courage to play it.

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Lonnie Liston Smith and The Cosmic Echoes – Cosmic Funk (1974)

Lonnie Liston Smith & The Cosmic Echoes
“Cosmic Funk”
Released 1974

Flying Dutchman Records (BDL 1-0591)
1 Cosmic Funk Smith 5:39
2 Footprints Shorter 6:11
3 Beautiful Woman Smith 6:58
4 Sais (Egypt) Mtume 8:16
5 Peaceful Ones Smith 5:03
6 Naima Coltrane 4:01Produced by Bob Thiele
Engineered by Bob SimpsonElectric bass – Al Anderson
Congas, Percussion – Lawrence Killian
Drums – Art Gore
Percussion – Andrew Cyrille , Doug Hammond , Ron Bridgewater
Acoustic and electric pianos, percussion – Lonnie Liston Smith
Soprano saxaphone, Flute, Percussion – George Barron
Vocals, Piano, Flute – Donald Smith

You will have to escuse me if I don’t give this album the presentation and descrption it really deserves. I have wanted to post about here for a long, long time. But for anyone else who is celebrating Christmas alone, as I currently am, I feel an urgent impulse to put this album out there. While all of Lonnie Liston Smith’s records with the Cosmic Echoes may have carried more or less the same variations of messages about peace and love, nothing comes close to the eruption of the first cut off this one that gave the album its name, which introduces Lonnie’s brother Donald Smith on vocals

CITIZENS OF THE WORLD
IT’S TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME for WORLD PEACE!

followed by a long hair-raising scream to let you know he really means this.

This song is one of the heaviest slabs of spiritual/soul jazz funkiness out there. The track, along with much of the rest of the album, combines creative use of electronics in some seriously psychedelic flourishes along with free and post-bop jazz explorations. While his next album, “Expansions”, may get the lion’s share of attention for this former Pharoah Sanders sideman, I find this album to be every bit its equal and in fact I seem to come back to it more often. Beyond the first cut, the rest of the album is a real treat too, with first-rate original compositions along inspired readings of Wayne Shorter’s “Footprints” and, unafraid of taking the risk, a vocal version of Coltrane’s “Naima.”

 

password: vibes

Burnier e Cartier – Fotos Pra Capa do LP (1976)

Burnier & Cartier
“Fotos para capa do LP”
Released 1976 on EMI/ODEON

1 Minha mãe não sabe de mim (Claudio Cartier, Octávio Burnier, Wrigg)
2 D. João (Octávio Burnier, Reinaldo Pimenta)
3 Recreio (Octávio Burnier, Wrigg)
4 Elogio da loucura (Octávio Burnier, Wrigg, Strunck)
5 À beira de nada (Octávio Burnier, Wrigg)
6 Catarina Canguru (Claudio Cartier, Paulo Azevedo)
7 Dia ferido (Claudio Cartier, Octávio Burnier)
8 Lenda das amazonas (Octávio Burnier, Wrigg)
9 Ecoline (Claudio Cartier)
10 Sítio azul (Claudio Cartier)
11 Pedra pintada (Octávio Burnier)

Here is a nice and warm record that I first heard about through the blogosphere, through our friend JThyme’s blog I do believe, who in turn got turned on to them via Loronix if I’m not mistaken. Burnier & Cartier were a duo from Rio de Janeiro who recorded three albums between 1974 and 1978 and then seem to have dropped out of music. Octávio Bonfá Burnier (son of Luiz Bonfá) and Claudio Cartier had actually been composing together since 1968, and their first album, for RCA-Victor in 1974, featured musicians like Novelli, Bebeto, Paulo Mouro, and Chico Batera. As far as I can tell, none of this people played on THIS album.

The duo were signed to Odeon records at the recommendation of Milton Nascimento, and thus we see a couple former collaborators of Milton on the album — drummer Paulinho Braga and Luiz Alves on bass, both of whom would record a whole bunch of people (many of them very famous) during the 1970s and beyond.

Before I even knew this, the album reminded me a bit of the Clube da Esquina collective, but still different enough to have its own identity. All the songs have two acoustic guitars as the base of their arrangement, and their sound blends jazz-rock, mellow psychedelia, classical music, folk-rock, and some artsy, progressive baroque string arrangements. Um, I guess this might make them “fusion”? I dunno. Don’t be frightened. But in fact the last ten minutes of the album (composed of three overlapping tracks) is entirely instrumental (which has a certain Egberto Gismonti quality to it, although probably less adventurous).

In spite of having a name like a French-Canadian fur-trapping company, and looking like a Brazilian version of Seals & Crofts, these guys made some incredibly intriguing music. Although completely accessible, there is something tenaciously un-commercial about their sound that perhaps explains why these albums are very hard to find. I am not certain if the first one is on CD (I found a copy a long time ago on a well-known blog). THIS title is one of the shoddier reissues on the 100 Anos de Odeon series, in terms of packaging — the good news is that the sound is actually very warm and nice. But not only is the album title not listed on the CD tray (leading it to be replicated in lots of published discographies as simply ‘Burnier & Cartier’ which is partly why I left it like this in the folder name), but the back tray card actually states that the album was released in 1968 (in the booklet, it is correctly stated to be from 1976). So much for giving such a beautiful album the care and attention it deserves when all a label like EMI cares about is its bottom-line. Good to know they were paying attention…

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John Fahey – The New Possibility: John Fahey's Guitar Soli Christmas Album (1968)

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“The New Possibility: John Fahey’s Guitar Soli Christmas Album”

Released 1968 on Takoma Records C-1020
Reissue 1986 Takoma Records CDP 727-20
Distributed by Allegiance Records
Japanese disc pressing

John Fahey – Guitar

CD Mastering by Michael Boshears

1. Joy to the World
2. What Child Is This?
3. Medley- Hark, the Herald Angels Sing, O Come All Ye Faithful
4. We Three Kings of Orient Are
5. Auld Lang Syne
6. The Bells of St. Mary’s
7. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen Fantasy
8. Go I Will Send Thee
9. Good King Wenceslas
10. The First Noel
11. It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
12. Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming
13. Silent Night, Holy Night
14. Christ’s Saints of God Fantasy

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I am on principle oppossed to the very idea of “Christmas music” records. It does not even stem from my firm self-identification as an agnostic pantheist that I feel such strong opposition. It is purely out of my allegiance to the idea of good music, or — if you must — music snobbery. Holiday music just tends to bring out the worst in everybody. I don’t even have to use the new Bob Dylan record as an example, because everyone knows that album was recorded as a Dadist satire resulting from a bar bet Dylan lost to Allen Ginsburg in New York in 1963 and he is only just now getting around to honoring it. No, with very few exceptions, “Christmas music” is one of the stronger arguments for atheism out there.

Not so with John Fahey’s wonderful “The New Possibility” recorded in 1968. Committed to tape with more pathos than piety, this record emerges as a sober meditation amidst a string of more irreverent, experimental, and chaotic work that Fahey was engaged in while acting as self-appointed curator and deconstructionist of the entire musical canon that would someday be termed ‘Americana.’ In this auditory journey he proves himself equally adept at plumbing the depths of European as well as (North) American folk musics in selecting his Yuletide favorites. Fahey’s guitar playing is not at its best here (in fact his slide playing on ‘Silent Night’ ranks among his most sloppy and careless) but the oneness of intent with which he carries it all off makes technique unimportant. Fahey put out a few other Christmas albums after this, all of them more polished, but this one is by far the most compelling. It’s just him, his guitar, and a wallop of plate reverb. If you listen close you can hear some pretty drastic tape splices but if they don’t bother me that much, then chances are they won’t bother you either.

There are some obvious choices here in the repertoire — Joy to the World, Aud Lang Syn, The First Noel – but all are given new life in Fahey’s hands. The less obvious choices are especially a delight – William Dix’s hymn “What Child Is This?”, more familiar to our ears as “Greensleeves” being one of them. Other fine performances are “Go I Will Send Thee”, a blues rendition of a black spiritual, and “Lo, How A Rose E’re Blooming”, which might well be my favorite song on the whole record, a sixteenth-century German song (Es ist ein Ros entsprungen) that found its way into the Anglophone songbook in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Also of note is his slow finger-picked version of “The Bells of Saint Mary’s”, which according to legend inspired yet another version of the song played with mallets on white mice that charted as a hit single during the Christmas season of 1969 (reaching #13 in the UK, #27 in the US, and #1 in Japan).

Fahey simply can’t restrain himself from some experimentation, and he stretches out on “Christ’s Saints of God Fantasy”, a loose and freeflowing adaptation of a J.C. Hopkins tune that, oddly enough, has a copyrighted interpretation on file from Madeline Peyroux although I am not sure if she ever recorded it.

An interesting oddity about this 1986 CD pressing — the inlay card has the last two songs out of order, listing ‘Silent Night’ as the closing track. In fact Silent Night is the logical choice to end the album, and it appears to have been so with all vinyl pressings (I am not sure about subsequent CD reissues). The track order is printed correctly on the disc itself (by which I mean, correctly as the music contained on it plays). You might want to do some rearranging in you music player of choice and put Silent Night back where it belongs, at the end of the record….

Original cover
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Tim Maia – Tim Maia (1973) (24-96 vinyl)

This post inaugurates a Tim Maia project that will hopefully inaugurate a separate Tim Maia page that will be a repository for all things Tim. In the meantime I want to register that this is in some ways a PROTEST for the disgraceful boxset that has just been issued by Universal records (shamelessly called ‘Tim Maia Universal’) that gives his hardcore fans absolutely NOTHING. No rarities or unreleased tracks, no material that was not released on Universal (which excludes at the very least three very important records), and I will bet you $20 that they also butchered the audio in the mastering by making everything as loud as everything else. It is a travesty that an artist as important — and as popular — as Tim Maia could have the majority of his catalog fall out of print for so long, only to be reissued in such a careless format in what is simply a money-making venture in time for the holidays. I had been hearing about this boxset being in the works for over a year now, and I had hoped that my doubts and reservations would be proven wrong. They weren’t. As with the Jorge Ben box, it is better than NOT having the music in print, but they could have done a lot better. (For Jorge Ben, we at least got 2 discs of hard to find and unreleased material). I am going to end up buying the damn thing anyway, because I am what it is called “a completist” about these things and am therefore cursed. But I ain’t going to like it.

With no further ado, here is…

TIM MAIA

Tim Maia”

Released 1973 on Polydor (2451 041)

1 Réu confesso (Tim Maia)

2 Compadre (Tim Maia)

3 Over again (Tim Maia)

4 Até que enfim encontrei você (Tim Maia)

5 O balanço (Tim Maia)

6 New love (Roger Bruno, Tim Maia)

7 Do your thing, behave yourself (Tim Maia)

8 Gostava tanto de você (Édson Trindade)

9 Música no ar (Tim Maia)

10 A paz do meu mundo é você (Mita)

11 Preciso ser amado (Tim Maia)

12 Amores (Tim Maia)


Vinyl -> Pro-Ject RM-5SE turntable (with Sumiko Blue Point 2 cartridge, Speedbox power supply) > Creek Audio OBH-15 -> M-Audio Audiophile 2496 Soundcard -> Adobe Audition 3.0 at 24-bits 96khz -> Click Repair light settings, some isolated clicks removed using Audition -> dithered and resampled using iZotope RX Advanced. Tags done with Foobar 2000

Musician credits:

Drums – Myro

Bass – Barbosa

Piano – Cidinho

Organ – Pedrinho

Lead electric guitar – Paulinho

Acoustic guitar – Tim

Twelve-string guitar – Neco

Conga and tumba – Ronaldo

Gonzá and tamborine – Roberto

Cow bell – MitaTrumpets – Waldir Barros, José C. Amorim

Tenor sax – Aurélio Marcos

Baritone sax – Maurilho Faria

Trombone – Edmundo Maciel

French horns – Znedek Suab, Carlos GomesVocals- Paulo Smith, Sheila Smith, Gracinha, Edinho, Genival (Cassiano), Amaro, Tim

Arrangements – Tim Maia (arranjos de base), horns and strings – Waldir A. Barros

Produced by Tim Maia

Recording engineer – Ari Carvalhaes

Assistant engineers: João, Paulinho, Luiz Cláudio, Jayro Gaulberto

Mixed by Ari Carvalhaes and Tim Maia

Rehearsed at SEROMA Studios and recorded at Phonogram Studios, Rio

This is Tim Maia’s fourth album, and it really seems as if the guy had the Midas touch, simply could not make a bad record. His third album (also self-titled) was a bit of a drop-off in consistency, although by no means a weak effort. This record, though, is a masterpiece from start to finish. It opens with “Réu confesso” which unsurprisingly was the huge hit of the summer when it was released. Written for a girlfriend with whom Tim had just separated. This song was his attempt to get her back. It didn’t work, but it ended up being one of the biggest hits of his career. The other huge hit off this album was “Gostava tanto de você”, written by Édson Trindade. Both are heavy-hitting soul classics. “Compadre”, with its loping but heavy beat, warm vocals, lyrics of friendship, and strummy acoustic guitar (left channel) balanced against a quietly-mixed Hammond organ (right channel) is yet another perfect track. “Over Again”, sung in English, would fit well alongside any of the soul hits on the US airwaves in 1973. “Até quem enfim encontrei você” is another uptempo, breezy love song, not all that different from ‘Réu confesso’ to be honest but I am not complaining. The melody is distinct and it may have been another hit for him.

The album has some lovely soul ballads: “New Love”, once again in English; “A paz de meu mundo é você” which has a church hymnal quality to the melody and chord progression; and the austere solo guitar-and-voice “Preciso ser amado” are all excellent, although I would like to hear an alternate take of the latter as it seems to lack a little bit of the emotion Tim usually puts into his voice. There are a few all-out funk soul workouts on this record — “O balanço” with its punchy horns and wah-wah guitar are contrasted by Tim’s mellow (nearly slurred) vocals and the drummer laying on the ride cymbal. The clean-tone of the rhythm guitar is delicious too, making this tune sort of my special ‘secret’ favorite among the more obvious things to love here; “Do Your Thing, Behave Yourself” begins as another mid-tempo melodic swinging piece with uplifting vocals about taking it easy and remembering that unhappiness doesn’t last forever, if you just do your thing and so on, and then what is a great song becomes even greater as it goes out on a rocking crescendo that should remind us that Tim had once been a leather-jacket wearing Jovem Guarda rock rebel. The albums closes on a solid funk instrumental, “Amores”, with some nice fuzzy guitar lines. I remember the first time I heard it, I kept waiting for the vocals to kick in, as it sounds like one long build-up to a vocal number. Perhaps the band used this jam to warm up the crowd before Tim got out on stage (when he decided to finally come out on stage..). In the context of an LP, it has the effect of making me want to flip the record over and listen to the whole thing again, which is just fine by me. “Gostava tanto de você”, as has already been said, was the other huge hit off this album, and for good reason. Kicking off with a very-sample-worthy snare drum and tom-tom intro and then ripping into a gorgeous arrangement with horns, strings, and timbales giving a triumphal lift to what are bittersweet lyrics. There are rumors and urban legends about what the lyric is about, most of them having been invented on the internet, and Nelson Motta does nothing to clarify the matter as he simply doesn’t mention the content at all.

In fact Nelson Motta spends almost no time at all talking about this album in his sloppy biography of Tim, “Vale Tudo,” merely mentioning that the two singles off it were a huge success and then going on to give us more details about what Tim had for lunch. It is unfortunate, because I for one would like more insight into the creative process in the studio, what the vibe was like, and so on. Tim was notoriously picky about sound — something which Motta does in fact devote a bit of time writing about – and this album is mixed unbelievably perfectly, it is as if he finally managed the auditory orgasm he had been building towards in his first three records. This is also something like the pinnacle of the first phase of Tim’s career — after this album, things would become a lot more complicated. In fact, exactly as the album was being released, Tim got out of his contract with Polydor and was only in communication with them to collect his royalties. He had been courted by RCA-Victor, and he had his sights set on putting out a double album.

It has been said (somewhere, not by me), that there is a mysterious curse surrounding the creation of double albums. They are usually the mark of hubris and overindulgence, and it seems something usually bad happens — The Beatles began their process of splitting up during The White Album being one famous example, but there are plenty of others. Often the results are artistically very gratifying but frequently the whole process is very taxing on the mental health of those involved and often the results end up financially a disaster. Such was the case with Tim Maia, who ended up turning his double album project into a work of religious proselytization for the Cultura Racional sect. But that story is for another post. Let this album, then, mark the `end of the innocence` for Tim Maia, and what a joyous sound it is.

24bit

Chico Buarque – MPB Especial TV Cultura 1973 (2010)

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Chico Buarque
MPB Especial
produced by TV Cultura 1973
Released on DVD via Biscioto Fino 2010
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Este MPB Especial foi gravado em 1973, poucos anos depois do retorno de Chico Buarque do auto-exílio na Itália, ainda na Ditadura Militar. E, por meio de um relato sobre sua produção artística da época, registrou-se um documento significativo não somente para a compreensão da obra do autor, mas também por expor faces e nuances de seu processo de criação.
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Tatuagem
Meu Refrão – Citação
Amanhã Ninguém Sabe – Citação
Deus Lhe Pague
Desalento
Ela Desatinou / Construção – Citação
Samba De Orly
Ilmo Sr. Ciro Monteiro – Citação
Hino Do Politheama
Cuidado Com A Outra
Bom Conselho
Cotidiano
Caçada
Soneto – Citação
Olê, Olá
Boi Voador Não Pode – Citação
Flor Da Idade

What a wonderful surprise and delight when I walked into my favorite record/bookstore and saw this DVD on the shelf. It is a brand new release of an old classic program — MPB Especial on TV Cultura, the program where you never hear the questions, just the answers. I don’t know why they did it that way, and it kind of drives me insane, but that was their “thing” and there is nothing we can do about it now… In fact the result in the case of this particular program is that we get to watch Chico smoke a lot of cigarettes while he listens to the long-winded questions of the interviewer that the audience never hears…

This interview/performance sees Chico at a fascinating point in his career. Recently returned from his self-imposed exile in Europe, he is recently or currently involved in some of his most important albums — the pivotal masterwork, Construção (1971), the soundtrack for Caça Dieges’s film ‘Quando o Carnaval Chegar’ (1972), and the album Chico Canta (1973) which would contain a great deal of songs from the theatrical piece ‘Calabar’ written with Ruy Guerra, and which would have been its soundtrack album. “Calabar” was banned by the military government from opening as a theatre piece — and not only that, but it was prohibited to TELL anybody that it had been censured and banned!! At the time of this filming, Chico is still working on the play with Guerra and none of the bad stuff as happened yet… Or, perhaps I am wrong and it has — three of the songs that suffered the most from censorship, “Cala Boca Bárbara”, “Anna de Amisterdam” e “Vence na Vida Quem Diz Sim” (these last two were treated like Milton Nascimento had done with Milagre dos Peixas — removing the lyrics entirely and making them into instrumentals..) — do not appear at all in this interview. Of course, they could have been edited out subsequently to the filming. In between these two albums Chico had also issued collaborative efforts for the soundtrack to the Carlos Diegues film “Quando o Carnaval Chegar” and a live album shared with Caetano Veloso.

Some of the more revelatory things about the interview is the fact that, a) Chico doesn”t remember a lot of his own songs.. In something that might be called the stance of a ‘true artist’, he focuses all his energy on a piece until it is done being written and recorded, and then he lets it go and moves on to the next thing. The result here is seeing him start playing a lot of tunes (at the request of the invisible interviewer) and stopping saying, ‘I don’t remember the rest” or “I don’t remember anything.” I find this fascinating because, unlike, say, Alice Cooper being too drunk to remember his own songs, this is Chico f’ing Buarque, the sober intellectual, and his fans probably remember these songs better than he does. Other wonderful moments are b) listening to him talk about the writing process, and the fact that he didn’t write lyrics before the music — which is contrary to what I had always thought about him. In fact he claims he *can’t* write the words until the music is there — and I am not sure if I believe him about this! He is also asked to give an opinion about his friend and partner Vinicius de Moraes, to which he gives kind of a hilarious response beginning with “A gente não tem opinão do Vinicius…”, which along with what follows amounts to saying in English, “You don’t have an’opinion’ about Vinicius. Vinicius just IS.” He goes on to talk about their ‘confused but beautiful’ relationship, having known each other via Vinicius’ friendship with his father, famed historian and intellectual Sergio Buarque de Hollanda (whose book ‘Raizes do Brazil’ is still required reading, by the way). Later, we learn that c) Chico spent a fair amount of his time in Italy bored out of his mind and occupying his time by designing imaginary cities and inventing a board game based on Monopoly but involving football (soccer).

More reflections about the bizarre format of the invisible and unheard interviewer… It appears that the working method of TV Cultura was to have the interviewer in another room and giving his questions via a feedback monitor speaker, probably placed on the ground or on a wall. This is deduced by the fact that Chico frequently can’t hear the questions very well and has to ask them to be repeated (O que??), something that I have noticed in other interviews for this program. I guess they didn’t want anybody else in the camera shot, or disturbing the intimate performances? There is also a really beautiful woman hanging around inside the room taking photos of him, so perhaps he simply gets distracted. Also the absence of the questions can really and truly be frustrating — towards the end of the program the subject matter seems to veer from Chico’s opinions on God, literature, and Ruy Barbosa, with little for us (the audience) to hang onto in terms of a thread of continuity. I have a new theory about this weird way of presenting the material: because of the fact that everything had to be passed before draconic Brazilian censors during the dictatorship — song lyrics, television scripts, jouranlistm — perhaps TV Cultura was deliberately protecting itself by making the QUESTIONS unavailable? Thus, since it was anybody’s guess what Chico was responding to, there is no chance for a censor to say “You can’t ask that question.” … This is pure speculation on my part, perhaps someone who actually knows things can fill me in.

The musical performances and part-performances are wonderful, charming, and make me understand how even heterosexual men would make an exception for Chico. The guy is just too cool and beautiful. At one point he is asked (something?) about Nelson Cavaquinho, who had apparently claimed to be Chico’s godfather (in jest or symbolically, it seems), and Chico refuses to single out any favorite composition from Nelson, saying he loves them all, and then begins to play “Cuidado com a outra” only to stumble after the second phrase and end it. He says to the camera, smiling, “vou aprender… na próxima vez vou aprender as músicas para tocar no seu programa” (L’ll learn it. Next time, I’ll learn the songs to play on your show..” Who else but Chico Buarque could say this and not appear aloof or arrogant but rather candid and utterly sincere? “Show business” or even “performing” were never what it was all about for this guy. Shortly therafter, he rips into an incredible reading of one of his most evocative songs, “Cotidiano” from the album Construção. Hearing him play it here, just violão and voice, once again leaves me with only clichés to describe my reaction: goosebumps. A tingling down my spine to hear such a perfect matching of word, timbre, voice, and guitar, all of it acting together in complete unity, a unity inclusive of the dissonant guitar chords that he drops in the progression belying the ‘normality’ of life during the ‘Brazilian Miracle’ of the early 70s…

As proven by at least two recent boxsets which include DVDs and also Chico’s massive multi-DVD project from a few years ago, there is a lot of video available about Chico Buarque. And it is only fitting — he is the most important living songwriter in Brazil, period. But the ‘vintage’ of this performance, and the fact of it only being released now after so many years, makes this a must for any fan of Chico, and for historians or scholars of Brazilian intellectual history, music, or popular culture.

MKV file (playable in any media player worth its salt) missing the main menus but including subtitles in Portuguese and English

*note: this file seems to make some media players freak out. I highly recommend VLC Media Player, the open-source Swiss Army Nice of video, which plays it fine. Meanwhile, another format is on its way here, stay tuned

Full DVD in ISO format: part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4

note: you MUST have all 3 files present on the same drive in order to unzip these

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