Vicente Barreto, Cambaco (2015) – An intriguing feature of Brazilian music is how intergenerational it can be. There’s a long history of tribute albums that are genuine attempts to hold a tradition together rather than just cheap cash grabs. Younger musicians will work with older ones to connect cultural movements across generations. In 2015, the Clube da Encruza, whose ‘dirty samba’ is the most compelling music scene in Brazil this decade, did that three times: with Elza Soares on the acclaimed A Mulher do Fim do Mundo, with Ná Ozzetti on Passo Torto’s Thiago França, and on this collaboration with longtime sideman and occasional solo performer Vicente Barreto. Barreto is probably best known for his sessions with Tom Zé, but he’s worked with a variety of well-known artists over four decades as well as put out several modest-at-best solo albums. Here Marcelo Cabral, who produces and plays bass, Sérgio Machado (drums), Rodrigo Campos (guitar), Thiago França (sax) and Juçara Marçal bring Barreto’s sound into the dirty samba era. The results aren’t as striking as the Soares or Ozzetti albums, and Barreto lacks those performers’ charisma, but there’s plenty of quirk and more edge than is the norm in his solo work. The album is very much in the vein of Campos’ first three solo albums, especially Bahia Fantástica: funky, but twisted, smooth, yet still prickly. Plus, as you probably guessed, the band is pretty hot. Listen here. Grade: B
Caçapa, Elefantes de Rua Novo (2011) – Instrumentalist mining NE Brazilian folk traditions. Every track is subtitled “rojão”, which translates as redneck. In theory he’s trying to recapture the rural roots of these musics—samba, coco and baiano-—but of course that’s a fool’s dream. Basically Caçapa recapitulates the work he and Alessandro Leão did on Dois Cordões but strips out her vocals and adds sonic resonance. So these ‘primitive’ takes are filtered through modern studio tricks—lots of shimmery echo, a (I believe) viola capira that sounds robotic—but achieve a facsimile of the fool’s dream by being so decidedly unpop about it. As a result it’s hypnotic and beautiful rather than staid and conservative. Like good ambient music, it kind of sits in the background, but still has an edge that pulls in your ears. I’ve heard similar attempts to modernize the rustic, but I can’t think of one this successful. Listen here. Grade: B+
Catavento, Lost Rush Against the Youth (2014) and Anseidade na Cidade (2018) – Starting out garage and ending up prog by the third album, this Caxias Do Sul band has struggled to develop its identity (and market) while making some modestly successful, as well as some awful, music along the way. The garage rock on the debut made a pitch for the international market with some English-language tracks, but the real selling point is a frenetic guitar attack with more oomph than the wan stuff you hear a lot in American indie music these days. And what they lack in songwriting ability, they make up for with momentum. That forward movement was derailed, however, by a genuinely awful, must-to-avoid sophomore album, Cha (2016). So the band fracture and reformed around a new nucleus on the much-better-but-not-that-good third album. The guitar is downplayed for a more keyboard heavy and mellower sound. If speed distracted from songs on the debut, here they rely on texture. In other words, they went full-on prog, albeit without the 20-minute songs. Despite the silliness that infects most such music, they have a knack for finding something—hook is to strong a word—to hang their songs on, and, if I’m honest, I’m probably getting some kind of nostalgia kick off their ’80s prog rip offs. But only if I’m in the right mood. Listen here. Grades: B-/C+
Ronei Jorge, Entrevista (2018) – Former leader of Ronei Jorge e os Ladrões de Bicicleta, a run-of-the-mill alt-rock band, Jorge reappears after nearly a decade’s absence with his first solo album. He leads with two stunning tracks: the Itamar Assumpção inspired “Adivinha” and the Hermeto Pascoal homage “Ela”. In both, Jorge’s voice plays with, and is played by, a female chorus that sings rings around him as the instruments reach for a very Brazilian kind of musical ecstasy—light, funky, frivolous, reaching for the stars. On the rest of the album only “O Inferno É Voce” equals that fun, although three others aren’t too far behind. The remaining three are bores. Which means he’s come up with six decent songs in nearly 10 years. So, don’t hold out hope for the sequel. But do listen here to those winners. Listen here. Grade: B-
Jards Macalé, Besta Fera (2019) – Jards Anet da Silva, born in 1943, earned his surname as a child from his sporting abilities. The nickname is from the worst player of the Botafoga football club. But the ungifted soccer player proved adept at a different kind of playing: music. Macalé established himself as a key background player in the mid-’60s bossa nova scene working with Maria Bethania and Nara Leão, while also abetting the tropicalistas in their usurpation of bossa’s cultural primacy. He later broke with his friends Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil fearing that the tropicália movement had been co-opted by the state-run (hence military dictatorship supporting) culture agency. From there he established himself in the ’70s as a culturally marginal if historically significant figure in Brazil’s non-mainstream MPB. Alongside fellow oddballs Tom Zé and Itamar Assumpção, Macalé played key role in establishing Brazil’s independent music scene. On his first album in eight years, Macalé is joined by leading figures of São Paulo’s avant-samba scene, who owe more than a little to his pioneering independence. Clube da Encruza members Romulo Fróes and Kiko Dinucci, with the help of drummer Thomas Harres, try to capture the same magic that the Clube did working with veteran Elza Soares her great 2015 album, A Mulher do Fim do Mundo. The difference is that, as a songwriter, Macalé has a more definitive sound than performer Soares, who develops her public persona as an interpreter of other people’s songs. This means the Clube’s stamp is less apparent. Where A Mulher was a Clube album with Soares’ voice bringing depth to their dirty samba, Besta is a Macalé project with some flourishes and details that connect it to the current São Paulo scene. Vocals are the biggest difference between the two albums. While Soares’ voice is also shot, she still knows how to use it. Her singing on A Mulher and its follow-up, Deus é Mulher, find humanity and vivacity in the frailty and decline of old age. In contrast, Macalé, whose vocal gifts are less robust, struggles. Thin, straining, almost hoarse, he doesn’t break through the limitations of age; he sounds constrained by them. Which means it’s a good thing Fróes, Dinucci and Harres lit a fire under his semi-retired butt and coaxed a solid set of songs out of him. It took awhile, but I’ve trained myself to hear past my irritation with the voice, in the manner I can with Dave Wakeling of the Beat, to appreciate the real strengths of this album. Two tracks toward the end, “Peixe” and “Longho Caminho do Sol”, provide the relief where assists by Juçara Marçal and Fróes help the songs connect by taking the focus off of Macalé’s voice. Eventually almost all the others clicked thanks to some sharp arrangements and guitar work throughout. While not directly political, Macalé’s struggle to find light in the darkness fits this moment in Jair Bolsonaro’s Brazil. Macalé, who organized a concert celebration on the 25th anniversary of the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights in the midst of a military dictatorship, is no stranger to struggle, and if Bolsonaro hasn’t returned to those days, he’s stoked nostalgia for them. Which means Macalé’s weary defiance of despair and death models resistance for the kids who convinced him to record again. Besta Fera nicely hands the baton to a new generation of Brazilian musicians to take up the struggle for Brazil’s better nature. If it’s not as perfect as you might wish, well as another weary soul reminded us, sometimes you might find you get what you need. And apparently, Brazil, or at least its musicians resisting Bolsonaro’s bigoted populism, needed another Jards Macalé record. Listen here. Grade: B+
Thiago Nassif, Três (2018) – A guitarist/singer from Rio, Nassif’s arty avant samba has tended soundscape and fragments, but on his third album his collaboration with American ex-pat Arto Lindsay, who’s produced Marisa Monte and Lucas Santtana, provides some needed shape and songfulness. (Lindsay is returning the favor to Nassif who co-produced Lindsay’s 2017 album.) For much of Três, Nassif sounds like a cross between Lindsay and Itamar Assumpção, with the latter’s fidgety funk streaked by Lindsay’s skronk guitar and no wave noise undercurrents. Sometimes, however, he’s stumbles closer to pal Negro Leo, who also appears herein. Leo’s aggressively in your face weirdness embraces alienation as aesthetic strategy. Nassif’s not as annoying, but on “Bulgado” he gets close. At his best he achieves Lindsay’s deft mixture of avant with songform as he smartly updates Assumpção’s twitch for Brazil’s current avant samba scene. If he’s not as immediate as the jagged rumble of Metá Metá or Rodrigo Campos’ post-Steely Dan pseudo-gloss, he rewards the effort of patient listening as your ears acclimate to his restless rhythms. Just as with Assumpção. Listen here. Grade: B+
Juliana Perdigão, Folhuda (2019) – On her third, most accomplished, but not necessarily best album, Perdigão focuses on the pop elements of her art-pop samba. With Thiago França producing, you might have expected more instrumental flourishes and avant tricks, but the two keep things tight: the longest song is 3:30, and four of the 12 tracks clock in at under two minutes. The arty appears less in the arrangements than in the way she jumps stylistically from song to song. Funky, rocking, lilting, moody, abstract: she switches approach from track to track while maintaining a flow and cohesion over the album. How deep it all is depends upon your grasp of Portuguese poetry. Google translation give glimpses of female assertion, political upheaval and, of course, saudade. But this is the line that gets across: “Sente-se diante da vitrola/E esquece das vicissitudes da vida.” Sit in front of the record player/and forget the vicissitudes of life. Sometimes that’s all you can do in a world of never-ending crises if you want to keep your sanity. As usual, Perdigão’s sonorous alto and quirky smarts are up to that task of providing some temporary relief. Listen here. Grade: B+
Trombone de Frutas, Chanti, Charango? (2014) and Chanti Alpïsti (2016)– Proggy alt-rock band from Curtiba in the southern state of Parana, TdF—which, yep, means Fruit Trombones—lives up to their silly name. Their samba-touched rock on the debut humorously juxtaposes hard rock explosions, Beatles quotations, lounge jazz, psychedelic folk and whatever sounds fun. Chanti Alpïsti picks up directly from the final notes on the Chanti, Charango? and launches into a terrific lead track that moves from Roma to Rush to something else in a heartbeat. The guitarist sound like he was listening to a lot of 2112 while making this album. But even more than the debut, Chanti Alpïsti exposes their limits. While they may be smart asses, they ain’t genius ones, so they rarely rise above entertainingly diverting. But apparently they hand out fruit at their shows. And they do feature a trombone. Listen here for Chanti, Charango? Chanti Alpïsti can be found on many streaming services. Grade: B-/C+.
Laura Wrona, Cosmocolmeia (2016) – After a folky, and kind of boring, debut, singer Wrona teams with fellow weirdo Thiago Nassif for a synth pop album that sounds like Duda Beat meets Quartabê, which really means it sounds like Maria Beraldo’s Cavala from last year. With Nassif co-producing, Wrona has plenty of arty touches that decorate her fairly straightforward beats, but she doesn’t reach out to the audience as forcefully or effectively as Duda Beat or Beraldo do. Still solid stuff, and I wish I could place that new wave quote she interpolates into “Nuvens Anônimas”. Listen here. Grade B.
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