•
Rating: I am not an authoritative voice to speak about the genres I prefer, let alone write something about bossa nova or jazz. But, as I mentioned elsewhere, my visits to South America for a thousand reasons have left something in my suitcase: small notes, various phone numbers, revolutionary Cuban periodicals, newspapers of the Bolivarian republic, glossy magazines with Western pretensions from Argentina, maps, paper scraps, and much more, including this record.
It brings to mind a Caribbean evening in St. Barthes, a place where they speak in euros (French territory), spent on the terrace of a hotel designed by the friend who brought me there, also Caribbean, cultured polyglot who, to see and understand him, seems like a modern-day pirate with all brain, wit, arrogance, and opportunism: a son of a bitch, I tell you.
A son of a gun, yes, but hospitable, curious, attentive observer, a friend to be feared but still sincere, who wears the Armani clothes of the refined engineer and bon vivant perfectly, in love with his land and, more specifically, the highest expressive artistic forms of his continent.
On this evening, with a dinner served on the balcony of the suite which is rightfully his every time he shows up (with notice) on this paradise islet, we focused on various things concerning my trip (nothing business-related, I'm not rich nor do I do business, but I venture. It was just a journey of discovery). As only a contemporary picaresque and South American host can do, the guy prepared two cocktails that I don’t know what they were but with real tropical fruit they went down like water, handed me something to smoke, and played music.
Pleased, he tells me something like: "With all the millions of sons of bitches who speak Spanish, in the end the best music is made by Brazilians".
And it's true. The nobility, the rank of the music produced in this part of the world I think is known to everyone. But indeed, those Americans who first encountered bossa nova and literally decided to clear it by bringing it to the States and making it a successful international genre must have felt the same amazement as Christopher Columbus when he discovered the new continent.
It's a novelty, honestly even for me (who roam from black metal to jazz with enormous delight).
What is this album (I swear I have an original vintage vinyl, I still don’t know if it’s worth anything, but certainly, I don’t care. It’s nu piezz e core.). It is an evening among friends, live, recorded some decades ago (the album is from 1965) in Rio de Janeiro. The friends are: Herbie Mann, an American flutist of Jewish origins who needs no further introduction for enthusiasts, just like two universally recognized icons of bossa nova, Joao Gilberto (guitar and voice) and Antonio Carlos Jobim (piano).
The repertoire they tackle is the classic bossa nova which is revisited here in its highest form, incredibly sensual, whispered, noble. The 12 tracks exhibit the natural charm and savoire faire of Brazilian white women in evening gowns and gloves, and who knows how many times they have been listened to on the continent of eternal spring in those intellectual evenings where, inevitably, intellectuals intermix among themselves.
The trio lifts the smoky atmosphere by starting with Amor Em Paz and the well-known Desafinado, which also has a text with intelligent content and an exhilarating metric. Bossa nova is poetry for the upper class to listen to at night, and that's how Mann, Jobim, and Gilberto render it to us, here as delicate interpreters of the inevitable cultural break with the music and sounds of black Brazil, the more wild and tribal one.
The mature flute, the softly plucked guitar, and the minimalist but highly characterized voice are the constants of an album whose wild variable consists of three elements: changing pathos, abundant sweat, and true poetry.
Sometimes the songs that follow, velvety and floating, seem like rhymes recited by an existentialist philosopher: Bolinha de papel, Insensitive, Maria ninguém. The popular roots, as well understood from the last track listed, are present and given by the emotional signature of the most common lullaby placed in the mouth of a great interpreter of the national song, accompanied by personified elegance on the instruments.
O barquinho, at least on that evening, was my favorite track, melancholic and sugary enough to fill your mouth and leave you breathless. A piece that evokes the typical saudade effect once you're no longer there, where European galleons on the conquest of the world met local cultures creating a violent cultural melting pot still seeking stabilization today. It continues with Samba de minha terra, Rosa morena, Consolation, One note samba until the spectacular Bim bom, another track, at least I think, of at least national fame that unlocks the typical imagery of Brazil’s depth: I am certainly not referring to what an unfortunately average Italian might think. As a conclusion to this piece, there is Deve ser amor, a slice of papaya on the tropical "tarta".
Enchanted by the conversations, the music, the sharp knowledge of continental culture by my friend, the sailor heat that never left me, the possibility of being in shorts and a shirt at any moment, that evening I began to develop an interest in a genre on which I might be able to tell you something, perhaps, in twenty years. I suggest this album (recently re-released) to those with even a slight curiosity about the music of exotic countries and particularly Brazilian music. It’s a simple album. Since I listened to it, I have been delving into South American music, possibly the less obvious ones, let’s say, but the more hidden, such as Venezuelan llanera music of which I believe I will write to you about soon.
I want to apologize for the blasphemy of a layman to the experts, to whom I surely will not have said anything new. I hope at least to have succeeded in making you feel that atmosphere a little. Next time I'm going to Brazil.
Loading comments slowly
