Category: Psychedelic

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Novos Baianos – É Ferro na Boneca (1970)

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OS NOVOS BAIANOS
“É Ferro na Boneca”
RGE (XRLP-5.340)

1. “Ferro na boneca” – 2:02
2. “Eu de Adjetivos” – 3:01
3. “Outro mambo, outro mundo” – 2:45
4. “Colégio de Aplicação” – 4:11
5. “A Casca de banana que eu Pisei” – 2:20
6. “Dona Nita e Dona Helena” – 2:30
7. “Se eu quiser eu compro Flores” – 3:17
8. “E o samba me traiu” – 2:05
9. “Baby Consuelo” – 2:02
10. “Tangolete” – 2;21
11. “Curto de véu e Grinalda” – 2:28
12. “Juventude Sexta e Sábado” – 2:54
13. “De Vera” – 2:50

Novos Baianos

* Pepeu Gomes – guitarra
* Paulinho Boca de Cantor – vocal, percussão
* Baby Consuelo – vocal, percussão
* Moraes Moreira – violão, vocal, letras

with supporting band “* A Cor do Som” (Jorginho Gomes, Dadi)
* Luiz Galvão – letras
———————————-

This is a very heavily Tropicália-laden album from Novos Baianos (at this point in time called Os Novos Bahianos), and pretty extremely different from what they would become known for in their masterpiece follow-up, ‘Acabou Chorare’. In fact when I compare it to their next few albums I find I don’t think this is really that good.. The song “Tangolete” is almost the only thing here that sounds like it would have fit on their next couple records, and this is only a *maybe* and definitely not with the arrangement used here. But if it was from anyone else I would say its a pretty good Brazilian psych-rock album with some good arrangements and interesting instrumentation. Collectors of obscure ‘world’ psychedelia should love this. Fans more familiar with their transformation after their “encounters” with João Gilberto will doubtless like it but maybe more as a footnote to their other work. In other words, this is a historically important album but mileage may vary depending on how groovy you are or whether or not you need regrooving.

The title track leading off this album is pure Tropicália and would fit comfortably in between any of the tracks on Caetano’s first or Gal Costa’s first two albums. The track is, just as the title would imply, a lusophile mambo with some overwrought singing. The horn arrangments by H.L. Fietta really jump out and call your attention on this track. Both because they are some first-rate horn arrangements, and also because you might have noticed at this point that you will never again hear a Novos Baianos album with orchestration that is so prominent, with hippy-jazz flutes and real-jazz saxophones peppering the mix like day-glo axeita de dendê. Same with the following cut, Colégia de Aplicação. “A Casca de Banana que eu Pisei” is a fairly straight forward baião about slipping on banana peels, not much to say here. The tune “Baby Consuelo” is just plain annoying, but of course you may feel differently. Once again, the track “Tangolete” has something of the cadence of later compositions by Morais Morreira, but you might notice there is no *band* here as far as the Baianos are concerned — the arrangement is entirely made up of the orchestra and a lone bandoneón played by… somebody. The fact that this is the most memorable song on this album highlights the main problem I have with it — Most of these songs just kind of drift in one ear and out the other. Even if you find yourself digging it, you will be hard pressed to remember any of the melodies afterwards, which is a strong contrast to all of their later work. In spite of the hyperbolic liner notes from Augusto de Campos which assert that these songs are “100% in the rhythm of our musical revolution,” this is the sound of a band finding its footing on its first full-length recording, and there were a lot more memorable releases coming out of Brazil in 1970 to overshadow this one. Still, it is well worth giving it a listen and having around. The closing song, “De Vera” is a good ‘un that rocks the groove with some nice echoplexed, distorted, wah-wah guitar that works well to distract from the trite lyrics from Gavão. It’s a good closing to the short chapter of this phase of the Baianos story.

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Arnaldo Baptista – Loki? (1974)

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1 Será que eu vou virar bolor?
2 Uma pessoa só (Mutantes)
3 Não estou nem aí
4 Vou me afundar na lingerie
5 Honky tonky (Patrulha do Espaço)
6 Cê tá pensando que eu sou loki?
7 Desculpe
8 Navegar de novo
9 Te amo podes crer
10 É fácil

All songs by Arnaldo Baptista except “Uma pessoa só” by Mutantes.

Recording in 16-tracks at Eldorado Studio (SP)
Produced by: Menescal/Mazola
Audio technician: Marcus Vinicius
Album cover by Aldo Luis, photo by Leila

Featuring: Dinho, Liminha, Rogério Duprat, Rita Lee, Rafa, and Arnaldo Baptista

The world of popular music is full of mythic figures whose eccentric reputations unfairly obscure and overshadow their actual contributions. Arnaldo Baptista is one such figure. In my younger days when I had just discovered them and was gripped by Os Mutantes “fever” (Mutant Mania?), I sought out this record with high expectations, knowing only that it was Arnaldo’s “nervous breakdown album” after which he took a long, um, “rest” and a break from the public eye. I admit I was slightly put off by the fugly album jacket design but I kept hope alive.

I brought it home full of eagerness, put it on the stereo expecting “The Madcap Laughs” and instead I got “The Madman Across the Water.” This is not a slam or a dis, as I will defend early Elton John and challenge anyone who wants to argue about it to a duel. Not a duel to the death with pistols or sabres, mind you, but maybe with a fencing foil. But still, Sir Elton doesn’t even rank in the realm of ‘loony’ tortured souls. So I was rather shocked to find myself listening to a subdued album of piano-driven rock music (hell, there isn’t any guitar on the whole record until the very end), rather than the Brazilian equivalent of “Oar,” “Easter Everywhere” or the aforementioned “Madcap.” What “Loki?” offers us is a piece of reflective pop music, a fragmented narrative of a life in the midst of post-psychedelic fragmentation of identity and doubt, of struggling with the ambiguities of celebrity and modernity, a “concept album” whose concept continually eludes the listener. For sure, the album is peppered with oddball, beguiling lyrics in praise of fruits and vegetables (“xuxu beleza, tomate maravilha”), lingerie, or an unexplained aversion to Alice Cooper, and his vocal delivery occasionally bursts into an odd Screamin’ Jay Hawkins warble, but for the most part Baptista’s stream-of-consciousness tales bring us a mix of the quotidian and the transcendent moments that made up a life lived to the limits of mental, spiritual, and physical exhaustion. For my money Baptista was the driving force behind Mutantes — I have never been terribly impressed with Rita Lee’s solo work, even the first two albums that Baptista produced. For me, those records are listenable largely by way of Arnaldo’s involvement; In fact her record “Hoje é o primeiro dia do resto da sua vida” is sort of a counterpart to this one.

But “Loki?” is far more tranquil and pensive; it’s occasional prog-rock flourishes never become cloying or annoying. Some of the songs flow one into the other in true rock-opera fashion. Mileage may vary, however, for the non-Portuguese speaker, as the music here is very much driven by the lyrics. Some of the tunes are self-referential to themselves; in other words, conjuring phrases and images already dealt with in other places on the album. I particular love his occasional use of an English lyric thrown in seemingly at random that matches perfectly the rest of what is going on musically and discursively. There are metaphysical musings – We are all one and the same person, I am the Alpha and Omega, and so on. “Uma Pessoa Só” is graced by the lush arrangements of Rogério Duprat, cradling Baptista’s explorations into the inner cosmos. And then there are moments of raw, confessional tenderness and intimacy — “Desculpe” and “Te amo podes crer” are both too plaintive and profound, too human and eternal, to suffer any hackneyed translations at my hands. My favorite song in the whole bunch is “Navegar de novo” which mixes reminiscence of going to the cinema with his girl, lamenting that the car he bought six months ago is already out of fashion, the tough impersonality of São Paulo; with musings about humanity, the speed of light, the conquest of space, of Brazil as being still a child, and, um, urban planning (I think..) Rita Lee sings backup on “Não estou nem aí.” The album ends with two minutes of an open-tuning 12-string solo guitar piece whose only lyrics, “I love myself like I love you. It’s easy. It’s easy,” his hushed voice mixed into the left channel as if he is whispering in your ear, before he ends the tune banging out guitar chords that rock out more than anything else on the record, giving way to a heavily-flanged fade out. The end. Like one of his more obvious anglophone parallels, one Roger Barrett, the album leaves me with the persistent feeling that there was (is) much more to the man than the “loony” tales and stories, the idiosyncratic behavior, the health problems. Don’t let the legend and the myth distract you from what this album is – a beautiful swan-song.

Additional info contributed by blog friend CK:

I love this album, which I bought back in the days of vinyl records. I’d
like to comment on the so-called Rita albums produced by Arnaldo. The
story that I’ve heard is that her first album, Build Up, was not
originally Rita Lees idea. Os Mutantes went into a forced recess due to
her husband Arnaldo deciding on an adventurous vacation with a friend
traveling by motorcycle from São Paulo to New York. Hitting into some
difficulties along the way (I think he made it to Panama), Arnaldo gave
up on the idea and returned to São Paulo to find Rita midway into an
album. So it was agreed that he can produce some of the remaining
recordings. So yes, he did have a hand in it, but its not like he was
the mastermind behind the helm of the whole thing.

Regarding her
so called second album, ‘Hoje É O Primeiro Dia Do Resto Da Sua Vida’,
the story of this album is quite well known. Mutantes informed their
record company that they have enough material for, and intend to,
release a double album. The record company explained that Mutantes did
not sell enough to warrant a double album. The compromise was to have
the second album out as a Rita Lee album, because she was always the
bands main pull or main attraction in minds of the populous. Arnaldo was
the musical genius, Sergio the guitar wiz kid, but it was Rita’s charm
and charisma that made Mutantes television friendly. So, this is really a
Rita’s album at all although it is officially credited to her.

Regarding
Loki the album, one of the important things to know about the album is
that it was recorded after Rita and Arnaldo split up. Almost all the
songs are directed to Rita in one way or another. Será Que Eu Vou Virar
Bolar questions his musical future without her (venho me apegando ao
passado e em ter você ao meu lado // trans.: I’ve been getting attached
to the past and with you by my side). Uma Pessoa Só is a rerecording of a
Mutantes composition form their 1973 album O A E O Z (The A And The Z),
that was shelved until the nineties. In Não Estou Nem Aí he shows
himself unwilling to deal with the pressures in his life; rather get
high every morning (Não estou nem aí pra morte, nem aí pra sorte/ Eu
quero mais é decolar toda manhã). Rita Lee and Lucy Turnbull, who at
that time were working as a duo called ‘Cilibrina do Eden’, sing
background vocals on this and the following Vou Me Afundar Na Lingerie.
Arnaldo jokingly tuants them (or maybe it’s a shout-out?) on Cê Tá
Pensando Que Eu Sou Loki? (Cilibrina pra cá / Cilibrina pra lá / Eu sou
velho mas gosto de viajar). Descuple is an obvious open letter to Rita
Lee that warranted her to write and record her answer Agora Só Falta
Você on her 1975 album Fruito Proibido. Certainly not the answer Arnaldo
was hoping for. Desculpe is heart breaking in it’s vocal
interpretation, and has Limninha and Dinho giving us pure Mutantes power
in its execution, with only brother Sergio absent. Te Amo Podes Crer
follows Navegar de Novo, both stream of conscience type lyrics, and
follows the pattern of woes for the person identified as ‘you’ that left
and doesn’t want to return. Its a sad record thematically, but
beautiful in it’s playing. The Last song É Facil, Arnaldo amazes me as
how good a guitar player he really is, although he hardly plays the
instrument, up to that point in his carrer.

NOTE #1: There is noticeable noise / digital drop-outs beginning at the 1 minute and 20 second mark on the track “Uma pessoa só”. You may only notice them if you use headphones or a accurate speakers for playback. I compared two different CD copies of this first pressing, and the noise is in the exact same place. Quite likely damaged master tapes. I recently came across a new remaster of this album released on by the Universal group. I have not heard it and am not too inspired to pick it up, since the first pressings on Philips typically sound better than the newer remasters.

NOTE #2: There is a documentary about Arnaldo Baptista also called “Loki.” To my chagrin and consternation I still have not managed to see it. I am sure it has some lovely anecdotes about this album. Hopefully nothing that will make my commentaries look silly (or sillier..).

 

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Selda Bagcan – Selda (1976) *Repost*

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Back by popular demand! This is in fact one of the most visited and commented-upon albums featured on this blog since it was posted a year and a half ago. Now it comes complete with a FLAC set for my fellow audiofreaks. I have sort of drifted away from the idea of sharing or writing about the interesting Anatolian psych scene in favor of focusing on other musics, but I might revisit that territory more often this year. Who knows.

Don’t let the folky cover fool you, the music is much more far-out psychedelic folk (of the Turkish variety) than it would lead you to believe. Fuzzy guitars, electric oud, Moog and other analog synths are all layered over and under her powerful voice. In fact most of Selda’s subsequent records are apparently more in the traditional vein of pop/folk songstress. Quite a bit of this is still psychedelic-tinged dreamy folk, sometimes wading into prog-rock waters (which is okay by me), and occasionally downright funky. My personal favorites in this set are ‘Yaz Gazeteci Yaz’ and ‘Yaylalar’ but the whole record is extremely engaging and ’tis hard to chose. I wish I could understand the lyrics because this IS protest music, engaged with the social problems of life under the oppressive right-wing regime of the mid 70s. I prefer to contextualize the posts on this blog in their historical context but this one is a bit outside my reach.

So here are some reviews and info:

Selda Bagcan – Selda (1976) [FLAC]
2006, Finders Keepers Records/B-Music BMS004

1. Meydan Sizindir (3:39)
2. Yaz Gazeteci Yaz (2:45)
3. Mehmet Emmi (3:21)
4. Nasirli Eller (3:38)
5. Ince Ince (3:42)
6. Gine Haber Gelmis (4:54)
7. Yaylalar (3:48)
8. Dam Ustune Cul Serer (3:47)
9. Dost Uyan (3:02)
10. Gitme (4:12)
11. Niye Cattin Kaslarini (3:15)
12. Kizil Dere (3:41)

Bonus Tracks:

13. Utan Utan (2:52)
14. Karaoglan (4:00)
15. Eco’ya Donder Beni (2:57)
16. Anayasso (3:03)
17. Nem Kaldi (3:47)

Total: 60:23

(REVIEWS)

Embodying all the aesthetic watermarks of a private press country LP, Selda’s
debut long player from 1976, Istanbul, has masqueraded as lamb dressed as mutton
throwing many a discerning wolf from the gourmet scent. Behold! Space age,
Anatolian, electronic, progressive-protest, and psych-folk-funk-rock from the
Middle-East.

Fusing Selda’s radical prose with equally radical musical gestures from some of
the most lorded musical mavericks was a match made in psychedelic heaven.
Artists such as Andalou beat combo Mogollar (Also known to a growing French
audience as Les Mogol) along with the talents of Turkish rock stalwart Arif Sag
and master electronic producer and pioneer Zafer Dilek (whom would later gain
critical acclaim amongst collectors of Turkish library music.) Each of these
artists involved in the recording of this album are considered the cream-of-the-
crop amongst Eastern Psych aficionados. In recent years, the legacy of Turkish
progressive rock has been gaining popularity amongst DJs, producers and record
collectors as an unrivalled source for unique sounds rarely found in other
genres of international music and, until now, rarely heard outside their native
environment.

——————————–another review—————————-

Finders Keepers continues in it’s mission to unearth some of the finest
treasures the Western world has never seen with this incredible 1976 album from
Turkish radical folk singer Selda Bagcan.

Part of Finders Keepers’ ‘Anatolian Invasion’ series, this particular record
stirred up quite a fuss among the world’s Turkish communities on it’s release,
achieving a certain notoriety for Selda herself as she proclaimed unashamedly
her thoughts on freedom of speech and quality of life.

So it’s political, we’ve got that down, but since most of us don’t speak any
Turkish we need to get hooked on the music itself, which mercifully isn’t a
tough task. Harnessing the genre-bending talents of a number of Turkish musical
free-thinkers she managed to conjure up a record that was equal parts
experimental and pure Middle Eastern pop, blending elements of folk, psych,
rock, prog and proto-electronica.

To be quite honest this is a record that simply has to be heard to be believed,
Selda’s voice is a marvel and complemented by such peculiar backing tracks
produces a record that stands head and shoulders over the competition.

There seems to be a bubbling of interest in Middle Eastern psych at the moment,
but I must say that Selda’s debut album is a real eye-opener. You don’t have to
know anything about psychedelic folk or Middle Eastern pop to glean enjoyment
from Selda, this is inclusive, intense, hugely enjoyable music and is as
essential as they come. Just buy it.

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Paulo Diniz – Quero Voltar pra Bahia (1970)

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Photobucket

PAULO DINIZ
“Quero Voltar Pra Bahia”

1970
Odeon
MOFB 3664

1 – Piri Piri

(Odibar – Paulo Diniz)

2 – Um chope pra distrair

(Odibar – Paulo Diniz)

3 – Ninfa mulata

(Odibar – Paulo Diniz)

4 – Quero voltar pra Bahia

(Odibar – Paulo Diniz)

5 – Felicidade

(Lupicínio Rodrigues)

6 – Marginal III

(Odibar – Paulo Diniz)

7 – Chutando pedra

(Nenéo)

8 – Chega

(Odibar – Paulo Diniz)

9 – Canseira

(Odibar – Paulo Diniz)

10 – Ponha um arco-íris na sua moringa

(Odibar – Paulo Diniz)

11 – Me leva

(Nanuk)

12 – Sujeito chato

From cliquemusic

Nascido no interior de Pernambuco, foi para Recife trabalhar como crooner e baterista em casas noturnas. Foi locutor e ator de rádio e televisão, em Pernambuco e no Ceará. Em 1964 foi para o Rio de Janeiro, onde trabalhou na Rádio Tupi e passou a compor com mais freqüência. Sua primeira gravação saiu em 1966, com a música “O Chorão”. Quatro anos depois lançou dois LPs, e em seguida dedicou-se à tarefa de musicalizar poemas de língua portuguesa de autores como Carlos Drummond de Andrade (“E Agora, José?”), Gregório de Matos (“Definição do Amor”), Augusto dos Anjos (“Versos Íntimos”), Jorge de Lima (“Essa Nega Fulô”) e Manuel Bandeira (“Vou-me Embora pra Pasárgada”). Suas músicas foram gravadas por Clara Nunes, Emílio Santiago, Simone e outros. Entre seus sucessos destacam-se “Pingos de Amor”, gravado por vários intérpretes, “Canoeiro”, “Um Chopp pra Distrair”, “I Want to Go Back to Bahia” (uma homenagem a Caetano Veloso, então exilado em Londres) e “Quem Tem um Olho É Rei”, todas em parceria com Odibar.

——————————-

The first time I put this record on I thought to myself, “Groovy, man, groovy…”, and my second thought was, wow, this guy has a voice like a Brazilian Neil Diamond with a less emotive voice and more restricted range. Now, it depends on your personal taste whether or not this is a good thing, but I have a soft spot for Mr. Diamond and so kept an open mind. The album cover is much more psychedelic than anything you will hear in its contents, a visual tribute to the hit title song which was intended as an homage to then-exiled Caetano Veloso. Musically the record is in some weird plane of existance where Jovem Guarda, Tropicália, and Brazilian soul music, and harpsichord-laden baroque pop mingle and mutate. I can imagine Raul Seixas — who had yet to realize a solo album at this point — grooving out to this record. I think the main flaw in this record is that Diniz sings virtually every single tune the same way, with an overly-blown out belting that doesn’t have the nuance his own songs sometimes call for. It’s probably because of this that he is better known as the author of songs made famous by others. But this obscure little gem is rewarding for any fan of Brazilian music or early 70’s psych-inflected pop-rock. In addition to the title song, other highlights include “Felicidade” (not the bossa nova tune, but a reworking of Lupicínio Rodrigues), “Chutando Pedra”, and the gorgeous “Chega.”

Paulo Diniz – Quero Voltar pra Bahia (1970) in 320 kbs mp3

16-bit 44.1 khz

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