Wednesday, February 26, 2003
An Italian modernist in
the land of the palms
Aldo Brizzi makes fusions,
with a little help from his friends.
Aldo Brizzi & Augusto de Campos
Objeto de conquista dos turistas
só pra contar aos amigos
aventuras tropicais
amores tão perto, tão longe [...]
[from “Meninas de Programa”]
Aldo Brizzi isn’t your typical contemporary Italian composer. Anyone who worked with both Giacinto Scelsi and Ennio Morricone is bound to raise eyebrows. But Brizzi goes further. He’s currently launching Brizzi do Brasil, a Brazilian disc of popular songs peformed by the likes of Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, Tom Zé, Carlinhos Brown, Arnaldo Antunes, Margareth Menezes, Zeca Baleiro, Virgínia Rodrigues, and Olodum.
The embracing of Brazil by Brizzi and of Brizzi by Brazil (and particularly by Bahia, where he lives part of the year) transcends the pop world. For years now, he’s been championed by the eminent poet/essayist Augusto de Campos, co-author of Balanço da Bossa, the book that marked an era. Campos is one of the poets whose verse Brizzi set to music. Another is the Mexican Francisco Serrano, who contributed lyrics to four songs in Brizzi do Brasil. Yet three of the disc’s twelve songs carry the composer’s own Portuguese verse, as in the quotation above, or in “Cat’s,” a tribute to Bahia, Brazil, and, not least, Caetano:
Dorival
João
Gil
Cat’s
heróis da solidão
inspiração da
paixão
Cat’s
nomes
Cat’s
cores
leão
fogo, água, ar
Olodum
Mangueira
é Brasil
América do sul
é total Carnaval
coração em preto
e branco
rio vermelho
explosão
começa no fim
acaba no início
“Cat’s” is an ethereal aria sung by Virgínia Rodrigues to the accompaniment of acoustic guitars, viola, contrabass, percussion, programmed piano & electric guitars, and sampled tracks. The very next number, “O Amor,” is a stripped-down, repetitively insistent rock song of the kind we might hear from Suely Mesquita and Rodrigo Campello. Here Margareth Menezes reveals shades of interpretation we haven’t heard before, assisted by Arnaldo Antunes and accompanied by percussion, bass, electronics, and samples.
“Cat’s” and “O Amor"” give a good idea about the nature of Brizzi do Brasil. My curiosity piqued, I asked the composer how his love affair with Brazil came into being.
DT: How did Brazilian music begin to figure in your work?
Aldo Brizzi: It was in the early ’90s. I heard Olodum in Salvador and was impressed with the potential in their polyrhythms and the strength of the sound of their percussion. Earlier, my interest in popular music had been centered on Mexico, where I traveled extensively around that time.
As a composer, I was looking for something coming from the spontaneous world of popular music that could enrich the contemporary minimalist language. Then I met Caetano Veloso and Carlinhos Brown. Caetano was a reference of high quality mixed with spontaneous communication, a great example of contemporaneity.
DT: Are your Brizzi do Brasil compositions an element apart from your other work, or have you been incorporating Brazilian elements into other compositions (not necessarily songs)?
AB: Yes, my first CD, The Labyrinth Trial (Rara Records, 1998), is an instrumental album where acoustic instruments are mixed with electronics. All on the base of Afro-Latin-American rhythms, above all Brazilian and Cuban. After that I wrote a piece for 11 instruments and electronics, Barravento, based on the rhythms and melodies of candomblé. It premiered in a festival of contemporary music in France. In these last few years, all my pieces are fused.
DT: What prompted you to move to Brazil, and what have you been doing there?
AB: I married a Brazilian architect, and in these last four years I was visiting professor of composition at the Federal University of Bahia, wrote music for films, prepared arrangements for orchestra of works by Arnaldo Antunes and Zeca Baleiro, and founded the percussion group Terra em Transe—a mix of candomblé and popular Brazilian music in a contemporary language setting. This group performed at PercPan and twice toured Europe. My latest project brings together Afro-Brazilian percussion, the Indian singer Neela Baghwat, the Lapp singer Wimme Saari, and the French flute group Trio d’Argent.
Recently we founded the group Aço do Açucar [the alliterative name was taken from Augusto de Campos’ poem “Ão”] to perform the repertoire of Brizzi do Brasil. We are doing concerts here in Salvador, with special guests such as Caetano Veloso, Margareth Menezes, Arnaldo Antunes, Zeca Baleiro, and Virgínia Rodrigues. In March we tour Rio de Janeiro, São Paulo, Recife, and then, I hope, Europe and USA. This new group includes Graça Reis (vocals); Alex Mesquita (guitars); Michelle Abu and Luizinho do Gêge (percussion); and myself on electronics and keybords.
Electronics and keybords abound in Brizzi do Brasil, as does percussion, both live and sampled. The repertoire is refreshingly varied, fusing the popular and the erudite in a rare amalgam of beauty (another composer mining a similar vein but with different results is Chico Mello, a Brazilian living in Europe). Here we find “Meninas de Programa,” a staccato story of sexual tourism and exploitation; “Mistério de Afrodite,” a tender fado-habanera full of longing; “Toi,” a phallic reggae; “Velada ou Revelada,” whose free-form soaring voices waft us into a cathedral invaded by Bahian street percussion; and “Ão,” a play of syllables intoned by Caetano Veloso in a quasi-religious incantation accompanied by piano, bass, and electronics and intermixed with a recitation by Augusto de Campos over João Gilberto-style guitar:
[...]
aço do açucar
joão do tom
o
ão
do
om
The final track, “Este Era un Gato,” sums up the disc, fusing the sounds of pre-classical opera and jazz in a bilingual (Spanish and English) nonsense poem delivered in the angelic counter-tenor of Nuno Guerreiro to the accompaniment of guitar, piano, G flute, and synthesizer. What could be lovelier?
Aldo Brizzi: Brizzi do Brasil
(Eldorado 278408; 2002) 50:31 min.
01. Meninas de Programa (Aldo Brizzi)—Gilberto Gil
02. Mistério de Afrodite (Aldo Brizzi)—Teresa Salgueiro & Caetano Veloso
03. Exílio (Aldo Brizzi/Zeca Baleiro)—Zeca Baleiro
04. Cat's (Aldo Brizzi)—Virgínia Rodrigues
05. O Amor (Aldo Brizzi/Francisco Serrano)—Margareth Menezes & Arnaldo Antunes
06. Toi (Aldo Brizzi/Barbara Toy)—Carlinhos Brown
07. Ondas (Aldo Brizzi/Tuzé de Abreu)—Teresa Salgueiro & Zeca Baleiro
08. Ão (Aldo Brizzi/Augusto de Campos)—Caetano Veloso & Augusto de Campos
09. Velada ou Revelada (Aldo Brizzi/Francisco Serrano)—Virgínia Rodrigues, Nuno Guerreiro & Olodum
10. Abraça o Meu Abraço (Aldo Brizzi/Arnaldo Antunes)—Arnaldo Antunes
11. Down, Down, Down (Aldo Brizzi/Francisco Serrano)—Tom Zé
12. Este Era un Gato (Aldo Brizzi/Francisco Serrano)—Ala dos Namorados
__________________________
15:52
 
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
The Aracy de Almeida discography
A 50-year singing career on record.
Aracy de Almeida
Aracy de Almeida (1914–1988) was one of the most glorious popular singers that Brazil has ever produced. No one sang samba better.
She began her recording career in 1934, and her final LP, recorded live in 1980, was released in 1988, the year of her death.
Aracy is best known for being the consummate Noel Rosa interpreter, but she probably racked up more Haroldo Lobo recordings than anyone. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, for her 78-rpm output alone exceeds 300 sides.
To honor this great vocalist, I’m publishing her complete discography in Musica Brasiliensis.
The project is being built in stages. All the 78s, 45s, and original 33s are already online. Still in the works are the compilation LPs and the CDs.
The discography is woefully short of album cover images. If you have any, please send them—your name will be enshrined in the Acknowledgements page.
This enterprise would not have been possible without the research work of Paulo Cesar de Andrade and the generosity of Maria Elisa Guimarães.
__________________________
13:29
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
The Boeuf chronicles, Pt. 29
The fine line between tribute and theft.
Darius Milhaud, rapacious condor?
What is originality? Undetected plagiarism.
— Dean William R. Inge
As the structure of Le Boeuf sur le Toit clearly illustrates, the composition is a collage made up of a repetitive rondo theme concatenating 28 tunes created by at least 14 Brazilian composers (identification of the four mystery tunes could uncover more).
It is assumed that the rondo theme was Milhaud’s only melodic contribution to the piece, although it’s possible that he may have had a hand in any of the four unidentified tunes—nos. 14, 15, 16, and 20. Since Milhaud never identified his sources, the plagiarism question inevitably comes up, as indeed it has on more than one occasion.
One of the most ballyhooed instances was the poet Blaise Cendrars’ assertion that Milhaud had lifted the “Boi no Telhado” theme from Donga, an accusation that has no merit and that may have sprung wholly from the fertile imagination of Cendrars, who had a habit of crying wolf.
Blaise Cendrars, defender of the robbed?
But that wasn’t the end. In 1967, the illustrious musicologist and music professor Baptista Siqueira published the book Ernesto Nazareth na Música Brasileira (see selected scans), in which he dedicated several pages to castigating Milhaud. In Baptista Siqueira’s mind, the French composer had rapacious intentions from the start:
He didn’t want to limit his space, for he had condor-like intentions; as they say: “he doesn’t know how to fly low”! He took advantage of the Brazilian tunes, made them his own, and even hid the true source, widening the area of his “research” to South America, which, in fact, was exclusively in Brazil.
Baptista Siqueira further claims that Nazareth refused to believe in that possibility:
Ernesto Nazareth, warned by prudent persons about certain foreign “researchers,” didn’t want to believe that anyone could have even thought of lifting his tunes—so well were they known in Rio de Janeiro. [...] he didn’t foresee that internationally his name was unknown, his prestige, a chimera...
Thus, concludes Baptista Siqueira:
Hence the disappointment of those who hastened to the Teatro Municipal of Rio de Janeiro to see the presentation of “Le boeuf sur le toit” and “Scaramouche” by Darius Milhaud, which could have been called festival Chiquinha, Calado, Tupinambá, Nazareth, etc...
One wonders how Joaquim Callado found his way into the “festival,” since Baptista Siqueira drops him there and then, and he’s never mentioned again. In his final chapter on Milhaud, titled Abuso Inominável, the musicologist speculates that it might have been the bad influence of others which compelled the composer to commit “one of the saddest usurpations in the History of Music.”
Surprisingly, the lengthy diatribe supplies little in the way of pay dirt for those wishing to identify the borrowed tunes, as Baptista Siqueira named only seven titles by five composers, including two errors:
Ernesto Nazareth — o Brejeiro e Escovado;
Alexandre Levy — Tango Brasileiro;
Marcelo Tupinambá — Viola Cantadeira e Matuto;
Eduardo Souto — Maricota sai da chuva;
Chiquinha Gonzaga — Corta-jaca, etc...
“Brejeiro” is not quoted in Le Boeuf (although an adaptation of its theme may be heard in part III, “Brazileira,” of the suite Scaramouche), while “Maricota, Sai da Chuva” was not written by Eduardo Souto (who is represented in Le Boeuf by another tune).
Ernesto Nazareth, victim of plagiarism?
A decade after Baptista Siqueira, another defender of Brazilian copyrights came to the fore. In articles published in the Folha de S. Paulo on 20 and 21 July 1977, João Marcos Coelho cried thief vociferously. His first item, titled “Plágio—Um boi francês, às custas da nossa música,” tells a story based more on invention than on fact:
On his return to France, [Milhaud] received a commission to compose music for a screening of Charles Chaplin’s silent films; he didn’t hesitate. He set out to make a simple collage of what he’d seen, heard, and noted down in Brazil, enclosing everything in a suite for piano and violin. Years later, Milhaud reformulated only the instrumentation of this suite, transforming it into an orchestral piece and giving it the title “Le Boeuf sur le Toit,” more familiar to Brazilians as “O boi no telhado.”
As examples of the stolen goods, Coelho cited “Flor do Abacate” (attributed by him to Arnaldo [sic] Sandim); Tupinambá’s “Maricota, Sai da Chuva”; Alexandre Levy’s “Tango” [sic]; Nazareth’s “Carioca”; and this revelation:
[...] and even a very well-known maxixe that was much hummed at the time, “Jacaré Comprou Cadeira, Não Tem B... Pra Sentar”.
In the second article, published the following day, Coelho furnished “confirmation of how Milhaud stole our music” under the extra-large headline Provas (proofs), reproducing the musical scores of “O Boi no Telhado” and “Apanhei-te, Cavaquinho” alongside corresponding passages from Le Boeuf.
It is quite evident that Coelho had never listened to Le Boeuf sur le Toit or to “O Boi no Telhado” and couldn’t read music, for on the same page displaying the score of “O Boi no Telhado” he tells us:
“O Boi no Telhado,” tango of that era that had been a great success in Rio de Janeiro, was not only taken for its title but literally used as the principal theme of the opening and as a bridge for the others themes, repeated thirteen times (see the plagiarism by examining the 17 measures that are the whole first section of the tune by José Monteiro and [sic] Zé Boiadêro).
Further damning evidence handed in by Coelho:
[...] 1) from the very familiar chorinho “Apanhei-te, Cavaquinho” [...] Milhaud copied around nine complete measures. The melody is absolutely the same, only the key (G major) had been changed to C major; 2) from “Que Sôdade,” tanguinho by Marcelo Tupinambá that the people parodied with “Jacaré comprou cadeira, não tem b... pra sentar,” Milhaud copied 17 measures, practically the whole tune; his work consisted in transposing the song from D major to B major; 3) from “O Matuto,” cateretê-canção cearense also by Marcelo Tupinambá, Milhaud stole about 12 measures, not forgetting to change the key from G minor to F minor.
In conclusion, Coelho prophesies a bad end for Milhaud’s heirs if, according to the law, lifting more than eight measures constitutes a crime—and Milhaud, after all, could claim only the orchestration as his own work:
[...] the heirs of Nazareth and Tupinambá can perfectly well demand the payment of royalties for performances and recordings of “O Boi no Telhado” since 1920. [...]
Coelho forgot a small but not insignificant fact: in those days, composers sold their creations to music publishers outright, rarely receiving more than the initial lump-sum payment. Had he been paid royalties just for his music published in Brazil, Nazareth wouldn’t have died in penury.
Ceding rights for a lump-sum payment was the norm.
Amusing as Coelho’s harangue is, there are those who take it seriously. Conar, Conselho Nacional de Auto-regulamentação Publicitária, is using the information in one of its cases, demonstrating imitation or plagiarism:
Among all the arts, perhaps it is in music that cases of plagiarism may be most easily proven, for the convention is that the use of more than eight measures of a melody is sufficient to characterize the fraud.
Nevertheless, it’s difficult to find cases in which a clear and defined consensus exists about the taking of others’ work. Rare are examples as clear as that raised by the musical critic João Marcos Coelho, through Caderno B of Jornal do Brasil [sic], in July 1977, when he proved conclusively the case of plagiarism practiced in 1920 by the French composer Darius Milhaud, who had recently been in Brazil.
Presenting to the Parisian audience as his own the composition Le Boeuf sur le Toit, or rather O Boi no Telhado, this musician had done nothing more than paste together a collage that included the title tune by the Brazilians José Monteiro and Zé Boiadeiro, with 17 measures; “Apanhei-te Cavaquinho” by Ernesto Nazaré, with nine measures; “Que Sôdade” (the well-known song “Jacaré comprou cadeira e não tem bunda para sentar”); and “O Matuto,” both by Marcello Tupinambá, with 17 and 12 measures, respectively.
This fact probably would not have happened today, given the ease of communications, but in the 1920s the French plagiarist received the glories of a work that never belonged to him.
Despite the plain lack of rigor exhibited by all the critics above, the question remains: did Milhaud pay tribute to Brazilian music or was he merely a copycat? Is Le Boeuf sur le Toit a marvelously inventive collage possessing original values and merits of its own or just a hodgepodge of stolen tunes? Could Milhaud have done the same thing while using other sources?
What do you think?
__________________________
20:33
Wednesday, February 05, 2003
An angel’s voice
from the heart of Brazil
Renato Braz’s not-so-quixotic
quest for the poetic.
Renato Braz at the
Visa Awards competition
Eh Minas, Eh Minas
É hora de partir, eu vou
Vou-me embora pra bem longe...
If the Prêmio Visa da MPB is any indication, then paulista composer Eduardo Gudin is Brazil’s best talent spotter. Two vocalist awards have been handed out since the Visa competition’s inception in 1998, and both went to alumni of Gudin’s vocal group Notícias dum Brasil: Mônica Salmaso in 1999 and Renato Braz in 2002.
The two winning artists have much in common, not least a lyrical singing style and a predominantly poetic repertoire that combines folk songs (for lack of a better adjective), MPB classics, and lesser-known compositions by modern songwriters. In other words, nothing that streaks up the charts, hence the title of Braz’s latest album: Quixote.
Quixote was also the pseudonym under which Braz entered the Visa competition, and “Dulcinea”—the song Don Quixote sings to the sullen kitchen wench Aldonza in Man of La Mancha—is one of the songs he recorded (in Jacques Brel’s French version) on his previous CD, Outro Quilombo (2002). In the same disc he also sings the ethereal “Segue o Teu Destino” (Follow your destiny), a poem by Fernando Pessoa set to music by Sueli Costa.
Quixote is the singer’s fourth album, his prize for winning the Visa competition. Quixotically or not, in this disc Braz continues following his destiny, doing what he’s been doing since he began his solo recording career. Here we encounter the same earthy caboclo redolence found in Renato Braz (1996), História Antiga (1998), and Outro Quilombo. Braz often sings of the sertão, of workers and country folk, of fruits of the earth, of singularly Brazilian scenes and situations. The songs he chooses are always carefully crafted, with lyrics that speak to the heart.
What sets Braz apart from the current generation of singers is his beautiful, clear tenor voice, devoid of artifice and most notably employed in the high registers. In Quixote he puts the high notes to good use in classics that span seven decades, such as the toadas “Tristeza do Jeca,” “A Saudade Mata a Gente,” and “Desenredo” and the sambas “O Canto das Três Raças” and “Todo Menino É um Rei.”
A newer song poised to become a standard is Zeca Baleiro’s melodious lullaby “Canção prá Ninar um Neguim,” ideally suited to the singer’s angelic timbre and the two-guitar arrangement executed by Renato and his close friend Mario Gil. But my favorite track on this disc is the samba “Não Vim prá Ficar,” which bears all the telltale marks of its authors, Wilson das Neves and Paulo Cesar Pinheiro. Accompanied by Renato’s guitar, Pretinho’s tamborim, and a jazzy soprano sax wielded by Teco Cardoso, it closes the album in a most delectable way.
The Visa prize made possible the inclusion of heavyweight musicians, among them Luciana Rabello (cavaquinho), Sizão Machado (bass), and Toninho Ferragutti (accordion). The legendary guitarist Théo de Barros steps in for “Disparada,” Chico César lends a voice to the caipira duet in “Vida da Semana,” and Alaíde Costa joins her emotion-laden interpretation to Renato’s pure high vocals in “Onde Está Você,” arranged for strings and piano by Laércio de Freitas. Dori Caymmi, who arranged much of História Antiga, contributed string arrangements to “Desenredo” and “A Saudade Mata a Gente.”
Like everything Renato Braz does, Quixote is a disc to savor at leisure and with attention.
Renato Braz: Quixote
(Eldorado 278407; 2002) 64:20 min.
01. Intro: O Trenzinho do Caipira (Heitor Villa-Lobos)
Desenredo (Dori Caymmi/Paulo Cesar Pinheiro)
02. Canteiro de Obra (Wilson Moreira/Sérgio Fonseca)
03. Comunhão (Mario Gil)
04. O Velho Francisco (Chico Buarque de Hollanda)
05. A Saudade Mata a Gente (João de Barro/Antonio de Almeida)
06. Disparada (Théo de Barros/Geraldo Vandré)—w/ Théo de Barros
07. Tristeza do Jeca (Angelino de Oliveira)
08. Amiga (Edson Trindade/Cleonice)
09. Vida da Semana (Riachão)—w/ Chico César
10. O Canto das Três Raças (Mauro Duarte/Paulo Cesar Pinheiro)
11. Canção prá Ninar um Neguim (Zeca Baleiro)
12. Onde Está Você (Oscar Castro Neves/Luvercy Fiorini)—w/ Alaíde Costa
13. Todo Menino É um Rei (Nelson Rufino/Zé Luiz)
14. Não Vim prá Ficar (Wilson das Neves/Paulo Cesar Pinheiro)
Renato Braz: Outro Quilombo
(Atração Fonográfica ATR 21299; 2002) 48:55 min.
01. Outro Quilombo (Mario Gil/Paulo Cesar Pinheiro)
02. Okolofé [Jongo] (Wilson Moreira)
03. Frutos da Terra (Jurandy da Feira)
04. Crença (Chico César/Paquito)
05. Quero Ficar com Você (Caetano Veloso)
06. Dulcinea (Mitch Leigh/Jacques Brel)
07. L'Internationale (Pierre Degeyter/Eugene Pottier)
08. Na Ribeira Deste Rio (Dori Caymmi/Fernando Pessoa)
09. Acqua Marcia (Ivan Lins/Marina Colasanti)
10. Fiz uma Viagem (Dorival Caymmi)
11. Segue o Teu Destino (Sueli Costa/Fernando Pessoa)
12. Cruzeiro do Sul (Jean & Paulo Garfunkel)
13. Casinha Feliz (Gilberto Gil)
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14:49
Sunday, February 02, 2003
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16:51
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