Virginia Rodrigues
Nòs

The charm of contrasts... the beauty of counterpoints...

Virginia Rodrigues is as far removed from my world as anything could possibly be. My obstinate search for absolute beauty, in fact, could never have led me to this not particularly slim chanteause barefoot from Salvador de Bahia. And yet, sometimes, you have to follow your instinct. So it was, therefore, that clutching the frightened black chick with both hands, I risked the barter, leaving far more enchanting finches fluttering between the commercial center aisles (never has a place been more unsuitable than this for certain music).

Well, I must admit: I was more daring, especially considering that at the time (A.D. 2000) the internet, rather than offering me escape and search opportunities, tangled me with its, for me, challenging dialectic.

In this case, the fear of having dared too much also manifested itself in the form of a deep-rooted and stubborn, yet amused ignorance towards a universe that even today I observe with proud, but respectful, detachment: that of South American music. Until the day before yesterday, in fact, I believed that Adtrud Gilberto was a man (sigh!) and that Caetano Veloso was any musician. Well, not that I know much more about him now. In fact, one thing I do know: he produced this splendid album and lent his voice to a song (Jeito Faceiro).

Apart from the declared incompetence in tropicalia, I could provide some biographical notes on Virginia, tell you about her very humble origins and the chance that brought her into Veloso’s arms, the fact that before this album there was “Sol Negro,” which I do not know, though I am aware it had enormous recognition.

I won’t do it. Never as on this occasion do I defer to all the knowledgeable debaserians, who through more learned comments, can help me understand how such a “substantial” woman, so anchored to her very poor land, can manage to soar and make anyone (I dare) soar with just a thirty-five-second harmonic progression of singing. (listen to sample: "Salvador nao inerte"). Or tell me where the secret lies in being so penetrating, evocative in the use of simple, artisanal instruments (kalimba, bottles, local percussion). Of a recording that seems to be made on the street, where Virginia was accustomed to perform.

Or is it enough to be conquered by the sense of peace and lightness that the cover itself conveys. As if to say: this is my home, make yourselves comfortable.

With every listening, I remain, today as yesterday, absolutely fascinated.