Caetano Veloso
Antologia 67/03

THE REVIEW

"O je je, O je je..." strummed years ago by comedian-singer Davide Riondino in his portrayal of Joao Mesquinho, an imaginary Brazilian singer-songwriter. It was a caricature: he spouted nonsense in a bizarre Italian-Portuguese, accompanying himself with a single guitar note. Amusing, but be cautious in thinking that Brazilian singer-songwriters conform to this standard (guitar, bossa nova, lazy and dragged voice).

Caetano Veloso seems born to refute this caricature: in the 36 years of artistic life summarized by this rich anthology (34 tracks, almost one per year), one can find so many colors, so many expressive modes, so many crossovers with Western music, that one is easily captivated by it. Not only that, but in a world of fleeting stars, thirty-six years of success are a rarity, and they are years lived intensely, in which Caetano, besides being a singer, has done it all: the writer, the opponent of the Brazilian regime, and, above all, he was a founder of Tropicalismo, a multimedia artistic movement ahead of its time, which involved various art forms.

All this inevitably reflects on his music, and in this collection, which doesn’t follow a chronological order, you may encounter "Sampa," a classic ballad for guitar and voice in the style of Joao Gilberto (and not Joao Mesquinho!), then immediately "Two Naira Fifty Kobo," a perfect fusion of Brazilian rhythm with African vocals worthy of Paul Simon's "Graceland," then a romantic and French "Dans Mon Ile," delicately Brazilianized with acoustic guitars and percussion, then back to the homeland with "O Leaozinho," an enchanted portrait inspired by his son playing on a beach. The landscape is never uniform: traditional songs, always of excellent craftsmanship ("Coraçao Vagabundo," "Sozinho," "O Ciume," and "Meditaçao," a classic by Antonio Carlos Jobim, the father of Brazilian music), alternate with modern European rock-infused songs like "O Estrangeiro," "Os Outros Romanticos," and "Maria Bethania" (dedicated to his sister, an excellent performer) with modern and elaborate rhythms, comparable to those of our own Fossati, who not coincidentally also draws heavily from South American music. From the carnival samba of "Chuva, Suor e Cerveja,” one leaps to the Fellini-like atmospheres of "Que Nao Se Vé" (partially in Italian), then to the tropical rap of "Haiti," and again to that splendid bridge between Brazil and the Mediterranean that is "Os Argonautas," with its Greek-flavored guitars. The same samba sometimes takes on gentler forms ("Nao Enche") or naively joyful ones ("Um Canto de Afoxé"). One is never really bored, and yet other facets of the multifaceted and polyglot Veloso remain unseen, such as the protester ("Enquanto Seu Lobo Nao Vein," "13 de Maio") and the pure experimentation, made of dissonances ("Doideca"), words and sounds ("Pulsar"), or just words ("De palavra em palavra"). Also original and splendid is "Muito romantico," with a choir that completely replaces the instrumental accompaniment. It's not over: there's still the ironic Veloso ("Superbacana," "Carcara"). To this latter belong also two brilliant examples of Brazilianization of Western hits: the Stones' "Let it bleed" and the commercial "Billie Jean" by Michael Jackson, so well treated as to lose its layers of plastic, transfiguring into a more human and slow bossa nova.

It's impossible not to leave out something from this review: the variety is such as to be disorienting. But there is a sure way to grasp it fully: to listen to this splendid summary of the art of a great in music, not just Brazilian, but worldwide.