Caetano Veloso - The Conscience of Música Popular Brasileira
For some reason, the general Italian public seems convinced that Caetano Veloso belongs to the jazz universe. You'll find him filed in that section in record shops, not to mention the invitations he gets to our jazz festivals. In reality, his stellar career, now spanning half a century, has never strayed from the pop-rock path
In the hope of not offending the sensibilities of those well-versed in the subject, it seems appropriate to touch briefly on the political and social situation of Brazil in the 1960s, because everything Caetano Veloso came to be, he owes not only to his own sensibility, but also to the context he found himself in.
Caetano – as Brazilians call him – was born on August 7, 1942 in Santo Amaro, in the state of Bahia. His family, while not wealthy, was comfortable enough to raise its seven children with a proper education and exposure to the arts. From adolescence he developed a passion for cinema – Fellini above all – and for music. In 1958, while listening to the radio, he was enchanted by a song performed by Marisa Gata Mansa, "Chega de saudade".
The following year that same song gave its title to João Gilberto's debut album. Caetano bought it, and from that moment his interest in music outstripped everything else. João interpreted Brazilian tradition like no one had ever done before. In his hands, the classics of the Brazilian musical imagination diluted their samba roots and, while retaining percussive arrangements, softened their drive. Added to this was the rhythmic support of the classical guitar, weaving refined chords and jazzy touches, and the lead vocal, resolutely melancholic. If that music, which went down in history as bossa nova, is now part of the curriculum in many Brazilian schools, there's a precise reason for it: its contribution changed the cultural face of the country.
On this subject Caetano holds a personal, unstereotyped view. While most people at the time read bossa nova as a redemption of Brazilian music from the more frivolous era of radio samba, he interpreted it instead as a way of enhancing what had come before it. A different perspective from which to view material that, in itself, already formed the backbone of the country's feelings. In essence, it's no coincidence that João's album was largely made up of classics of popular song.
In 1960 Caetano and his sister, Maria Bethânia, moved to Salvador to study. University stimulated him right away, and among other things he took courses in theatre and dance. The rector, Edgard Santos, remembered as one of the most important intellectuals of the era, made no secret of his fondness for humanistic subjects, to which he devoted substantial funds, drawing to Salvador leading names of the world artistic avant-garde, both as occasional guests and as teachers. During this period Caetano thus came into contact with experimental theatre, arthouse cinema and classical music, experiences that would prove useful throughout his career.
In 1963, still in Salvador, he managed to meet Gilberto Gil through a mutual acquaintance. He had noticed Gil during some singing appearances on local television and had been struck by him. The chemistry between the two was immediate, and Caetano took the opportunity to get guitar lessons from him and refine his technique, which at the time was rudimentary. Toward the end of the year a particularly shy girl joined their circle. As soon as they heard her sing they realized they were dealing with a real talent – hardly a far-fetched hunch, since within a few years she would become one of Brazil's most famous singers, under the stage name Gal Costa.
In March 1964 the political situation came to a head and the military carried out the coup that would subjugate the nation for two decades. That very year Caetano was hired by João Augusto Azevedo, an influential figure on the local theatre circuit, to put together some musical shows. He thus rallied Gil, Gal, Maria Bethânia and his friend Tom Zé, who in his view had remarkable stage presence. The shows – "Nós por exemplo", "Mora na filosofia" and "Nova bossa velha, velha bossa nova" – turned into small-scale events, in which the performers moved between great classics of local music and new songs written for the occasion by Caetano, Gil and Zé, all interspersed with surreal comic interludes.
The star Nara Leão, touring in the region, comes into contact with the company and is particularly struck by Bethânia. When in early 1965 a vocal cord problem forces her to withdraw from the musical “Opinião,” Nara wastes no time in naming the young girl, still a minor at the time, as the only substitute worthy of taking her place. Bethânia thus parts ways with her friends and flies to Rio de Janeiro, accompanied by Caetano. Director Augusto Boal hires her on the spot, and she goes on to a resounding popular success. In particular, with the protest song “Carcará,” written by João do Vale, she sends the audience into a frenzy.
The songs from the show are soon recorded and form a landmark debut album, simply titled “Maria Bethânia.” The newly minted star manages to include a few songs written by her brother: it's the first time Caetano's name appears on a record. His stature as a young songwriter is shown above all by “De manhã,” a splendid orchestral bossa nova depicting the typical elements of morning, complete with a cock's crow, and “Sol negro,” a lament of love for voice and guitar alone: “Da quanto tempo lui se n'è andato, così lontano, oltre il mare, oltre le braccia di Iemanjá.” The figure evoked at the end of the song is a demigoddess from Yoruba mythology: from the very start, Veloso shows a leaning toward cultural blending and quotation, folding in mystical imagery, natural elements and – later on – consumerist symbols.
Once back home after his sister's tour wrapped up, Caetano gets involved in a few unsuccessful theatrical productions, before returning to Rio in the summer of '66, where in the meantime all his fellow travelers had relocated. There he is welcomed by leading names of the local music scene, such as Sylvia Telles and Edu Lobo, who had appreciated the songs he wrote for his sister and had briefly met him the year before. With connections like these, his entry into the scene's upper echelons is almost immediate.
It's October '66 when one of his songs wins the award for best lyrics at the Festival de Música Popular Brasileira. “Um dia” isn't actually among his best, and Maria Odette's performance of it is far from memorable. The director seems to think so too, repeatedly denying her the camera shot in favor of Caetano, crouched on the ground amid the crowd in the audience, in what is effectively his first television appearance.
In July '67 comes out Domingo, the long-awaited debut album, co-credited to Gal Costa. Five songs are sung by her, four by Caetano and three as duets. Caetano writes eight of the twelve tracks and includes with the record a statement in which he makes clear that his music will soon be heading toward new horizons. Produced by Dori Caymmi, son of the great Dorival, Domingo is in fact an album entirely faithful to the bossa nova creed. Praised as much as one could wish by journalists and colleagues (Tom Jobim himself would later cover “Coração vagabundo”), but not what the increasingly restless artist is aiming for. Especially after Bethânia spurred him on and talked him into trying electric guitars.
It's precisely the electric guitars that will be the unwitting protagonists of one of the most sensational episodes of that Brazilian summer. “O fino,” the TV show hosted by Elis Regina, is in fact cancelled because it can't withstand the competition from Roberto Carlos's “Jovem guarda.” The reason is musical: Elis keeps on doggedly singing samba and bossa nova, while Carlos has let himself be seduced by the British Invasion and plugged in his guitars. The younger audience sides with him instantly.
Used to being the center of attention, Elis flies into a rage and decides to put together a new show, “Frente única.” To make sure people talk about it, she calls for a march on July 17th against barbaric foreign music. Gilberto Gil is forced to take part reluctantly, since Elis has taken him under her wing, as is the singer-songwriter Chico Buarque, who agreed to host a few episodes of the program but feels uncomfortable with certain ideological excesses. Caetano, on the other hand, doesn't show up and, in fact, at the height of his disgust, a few days later publicly accuses those protesters of backing ideals one step removed from Nazism. Weighed down by internal rifts, the show folds after just a few weeks.
Meanwhile, the Festival de Música Popular Brasileira is approaching once again. This time Caetano and Gil enter in person and with a very clear goal: to bring booming electric guitars onto the stage. The two, however, aren't satisfied with the way Roberto Carlos uses them; although he had modernized Brazilian music, the version he offers is still fairly lightweight and saccharine (at least on the surface). The Beatles' “Sgt. Pepper” shows them which direction to move in. Being a rather ambitious character, Caetano doesn't want to merely follow the Beatles' record, though – he wants to surpass it. Spurred on by the radical vision of Glauber Rocha's “Terra in trance,” one of the masterpieces of Brazilian cinema, he becomes convinced that the only thing that can save Brazilian music from the near-decade-long stagnation of bossa nova – a genre he had always loved, but which had by then become the unwitting emblem of the worst xenophobic purists – is an act of violence. So he writes a song that is an affront to Brazilian tradition, and one night at a club in Rio he discovers the Beat Boys, a quintet of Argentine immigrants with a rather programmatic name. He hires them on the spot.
The festival takes place in October amid an extremely tense atmosphere. The audience is divided, not only along the lines of each singer's fanbase, but also between those in favor of electric guitars and traditionalists. In both cases, waves of booing rain down. Almost no one escapes the heckling, and many singers perform under dreadful conditions, unable even to hear their own voices. The song with which Caetano takes on the festival is titled “Alegria, alegria.” The booing starts instantly, but the fuzz-laden guitars and the electric organ drown it out, and when the singer then launches into that immortal melody, just a step away from samba, with lyrics packed with imagery, the crowd caves and gives him a warm round of applause. On the night of the final, everyone is on his side, and as he performs they sing along: “Io bevo una Coca Cola, lei pensa di sposarsi, e una canzone mi consola, io vado… attraverso immagini e nomi, senza libri e senza fucile, senza fame senza telefono, nel cuore del Brasile.” The jury ranks the song fourth, but the single sells over a hundred thousand copies and every radio station plays it relentlessly.
This brings us to his first solo album. Recorded in a rush after the success of “Alegria, Alegria,” it's produced by Manoel Barenbein, a talented young man fascinated by rock music, who can hardly believe his luck at getting to work on a record that – according to its own creator – should sound like a collision between psychedelia and tradition.
Opening the record is “Tropicália,” a statement of intent. First of all because of the lyrics, among the most avant-garde to appear in pop-rock music worldwide up to that point, a blender of symbols and vivid, high-contrast snapshots: “Sopra la mia testa gli aeroplani, sotto i piedi i camion, punta verso gli altipiani il mio naso, io organizzo il movimento, io oriento il Carnevale, io inauguro il monumento sull'altopiano centrale della nazione, viva la bossa-sa-sa, viva la capanna-na-na.” Bossa nova, the music that symbolized the Brazilian bourgeoisie, and the shack, in which a sizable share of the poorest population still lives, are listed side by side to represent the country's many contradictions. The ending is a volley of pop references: “Che tutto il resto vada all'inferno, tesoro, viva la banda-da-da, Carmen Miranda-da-da.” “Quero que vá tudo pra inferno” was a song by Roberto Carlos, “A banda” one by Chico Buarque, and Carmen Miranda the famous 1940s actress with the turban piled high with fruit. Arranged by maestro Júlio Medaglia, the track is a triumph of tropical percussiveness and daring orchestration, a sort of Stravinsky-esque samba, all ups and downs and unheard-of sounds.
In the garage-pop of “Superbacana” the electric guitars return, played by RC-7, the band that at the time backed Roberto Carlos, while “Clara,” a duet with Gal Costa arranged by Sandino Hohagen, is an exotic, thoroughly dissonant pop song. One also can't overlook the electric mambo “Soy loco por ti, América” (written by Gilberto Gil as a dedication to the Cuban revolution and sung partly in Portuguese, partly in Spanish), the jazzy “Anunciação” (blanketed in wildly over-amplified vibraphone chimes), and the closing “Eles,” a hybrid of baião and psychedelic blues, featuring percussion, electric solos, violent blasts of organ and the rhythmic contribution of the viola caipira. On this last track he's backed by Os Mutantes, a band of teenagers discovered a few months earlier by Gilberto Gil.
The album is very well received by journalist Nelson Motta, who writes more than one article naming it among the symbols of the Tropicalista movement. Tropicalismo is built on a manifesto published by Motta right around that time, which states that the art of tropical countries will only be free and creative once it can celebrate itself to the point of veering into the grotesque and the distortion of its own image. The singer isn't fully convinced he wants to belong to a movement based on such a rigid rule, since it strikes him as a contradiction of the very freedom the manifesto preaches. But once the term catches on everywhere, he decides to embrace it.
Increasingly famous, Caetano and Gil are now fixtures on television, guests on various programmes. Motta is irritated by this and accuses them of having corrupted the movement with a consumerist, unscrupulous attitude. His words, however, don't touch the two artists, who keep going their own way and decide to capitalize on the moment of popularity with a manifesto album, which is meant to bring together everyone from their circle: Bethânia, Nara Leão, Gal Costa, Os Mutantes and Tom Zé. While Bethânia pulls out of the project (ever since "Carcará" at the start of her career nearly trapped her in the role of protest singer, she wants nothing more to do with any movement), everyone else signs on enthusiastically.
Produced by Barenbein and arranged by the maestro Rogério Duprat, who had already worked with Gil, the record sees Caetano take the lion's share: he appears as performer or writer on ten of the twelve tracks.
His is the adaptation of "Coração materno" by the old-school singer Vicente Celestino, orchestrated by Duprat and delivered with a understated manner that's the opposite of the dramatic original version. His is "Baby", sung by Gal, where bossa nova finally seems to find something new to say again, thanks to the perfect pop vocals and the cinematic-flavoured strings. His is "Lindonéia", sung by Nara, a kind of paso doble once again driven by strings and dripping with violent snapshots of street life ("Destroyed, run over, dead dogs in the streets, the police looking on, the sun beating down on the fruit, bleeding"). His is "Enquanto o seu lobo não vem", with Gil and Rita Lee of Os Mutantes on backing vocals: a march somewhere between folk and Stravinsky, with lyrics invoking Getúlio Vargas (Brazilian national hero in the guise of both enlightened dictator and elected president) as an obvious provocation against the military junta then in power, as well as a curious example of a self-referential song (when Rita announces "os clarins da banda militar", martial-sounding trumpets immediately burst in). Co-written with Gil and performed by Os Mutantes, "Panis et circenses" is psychedelic pop in which Barenbein runs wild amid warped sounds, distortion and noise. Also co-written with Gil, "Bat Macumba" is finally a hysterical, Indian-flavoured tongue-twister sung passionately by the whole group in chorus.
"Baby" becomes the third best-selling single of the year, turning Gal into a star and confirming the magic moment the Bahians are having.
Unfortunately, even though Caetano now has droves of fans, there's a segment of the population that detests his public persona. His eccentric, exaggeratedly colourful clothing, his delicate manner and the intellectual bent of his lyrics soon earn him the label of "frocio" ("faggot") from the most extreme fringes, both of the right and of the left. There's discontent among his peers too: Edu Lobo, for instance, stops speaking to him after he decides to switch to electric music.
An ordinary pop star seeking approval would backtrack and choose a safer, more conventional profile, but not Caetano, who feels he's on a mission. He thus decides to openly challenge the conservatives by entering the 1968 Festival Internacional da Canção. He takes the stage in a blinding phosphorescent plastic suit, backed by Os Mutantes. While the lyrics of "É proibido proibir" are a heartfelt manifesto against totalitarianism, the music is the most experimental thing ever heard in Brazil up to that point: guitars distorted beyond belief, a long cacophonous introduction and a finale crammed with noise.
He makes it through the first round thanks to the jury's votes, but the audience is baffled, and on the night of the final a crowd of protesters gathers in the theatre. The moment he steps on stage, he's hit by an avalanche of boos and thrown objects. Caetano is deeply disappointed, especially because the protesters are mostly students and young left-wing militants: at a moment when the left should represent the opposition to the military junta, it is instead the first body to repress anyone who tries to shake up the scene and the nation's conscience, armed with the ideology that sees Anglophone culture as a source of corruption. Overcome with anger, he stops singing and vents in a speech destined to mark the history of Brazilian culture.
"But is this really the youth that claims it wants to seize power? […] It's the same youth that tomorrow will kill the enemy that's already dead today! […] The problem is this: you want to control Brazilian music like the police." At that point Gil — whose song "Questão de ordem" had been eliminated a few nights earlier — comes on stage to support his friend, and Caetano continues: "Gilberto Gil is by my side to put an end to this festival and to all the stupidity reigning in Brazil. […] He and I had the courage to enter every structure and to walk back out of them — what about you? If you treat politics the way you treat aesthetics, we're in good shape." He then goes back to singing, deliberately out of tune, and in one final act of contempt for the whole circus, turns to the judges: "Out of tune, no melody… so, jury? Doesn't that bother you? You rejected Gil's song? You were off. Did Gil fry your brains, huh?"
Leaving the stage amid insults, he walks out of the theatre, never to return. A few weeks later "É proibido proibir" is released as a single: the studio version on the A-side, the live version — complete with the outburst — on the B-side. Unfortunately, despite the huge stir caused by the incident, the sound is too extreme and sales are poor. To this day the song doesn't appear on any of Caetano's albums.
The year closes with a live EP. Still alongside Os Mutantes, he continues his sabotage work, presenting distorted, ferocious versions of songs he had launched a few months earlier for Gal ("Baby", "Suadosismo") and for the great samba singer Araci de Almeida ("A voz do morto"). There's also a cover of "Marcianita", by the Argentine Billy Cafaro.
If students are an opponent within his reach, the same can hardly be said of the military, who in the autumn of '68 cut short a series of performances by Caetano and Gil because of certain provocations deemed excessive (signs championing marginalization, mangled patriotic anthems, shouting, sensual dance routines and so on). Those events, however, generate huge publicity, and the two manage to secure a television slot to run as they please. They call it "Divino, maravilhoso", after the song they've just written for Gal. The show is, if anything, even more extreme than the concerts that preceded it: Gil goes as far as dressing up as Christ, while Caetano — between one traditional song rendered unrecognizable and the next — points a gun to his own temple.
The timing is terrible, since on December 13, 1968 an amendment comes into effect that effectively suspends the Brazilian parliament. The military are now free to deliver the final clampdown on freedom of press and expression: the show is shut down, and a few days later Caetano and Gil are arrested. After a couple of months in prison, they're released under the condition that they not leave Salvador and not appear in any media. It's under these circumstances that they record their 1969 albums. Rogério Duprat has them record voice-and-guitar demos, then completes the work in the studio in São Paulo, together with Barenbein and electric guitarist Larry Gordin, without the actual artists present.
Every review of this record aims to underline its depressed character. It's not hard to understand why: the singing is muted, at times almost slurred. Caetano is at rock bottom during the sessions, and not even the daring arrangements, which do liven up the atmosphere considerably, manage to remove the bitter aftertaste.
"Irene," the best-known track on the record, is a gorgeous piece of pop-folk where Gordin's rebellious streak immediately makes itself felt - a visionary player inclined toward effects, distortion and the warping of funk and blues. The song proceeds calmly, though pierced now and then by electric stabs, until a genuine solo arrives at the end, all fuzz and wailing. The masterpiece, though, is "The Empty Boat," Caetano's first song in English, and the blueprint for his next two albums. Sung in an almost voiceless rasp, the blues unfolds hypnotically through a continuous build-up of emotion, marked by percussion and Duprat's orchestral flare-ups, until after a couple of minutes Gordin's electric guitar arrives, releasing all the tension. Caetano then raises his voice and moves, desperate, toward the ending: ⟦Q1⟧. Also noteworthy are the fado "Os argonautas," the saturated psychedelia of "Não identificado," and the oppressive cover of "Carolina," the bossa nova hit Chico Buarque had made famous the previous year, here rendered with barely a whisper of voice and stripped of all hope.
By the time the record reaches stores, Caetano is no longer in Brazil. The military have decided to settle the matter once and for all, sending him into exile along with Gil and their respective partners.
In August '69 the four of them land in London. They survive thanks to the royalties from their songs, which Dona Canô (Caetano's mother) sends them periodically, though not without difficulty, using intermediaries (officially, each person was only allowed to transfer a small sum out of Brazil per month).
Caetano is so depressed that he stops writing new songs and, for over a year, seems to lose interest in music altogether. It's only in January '71 that he returns to the studio, spurred on by the enthusiasm of Gil, who is thriving in London. Having secured a contract with the newly founded Famous Records, he's assigned as producer the young keyboardist Ralph Mace, fresh off the sessions for David Bowie's "The Man Who Sold The World." The album is sung almost entirely in English, for commercial reasons, though it makes virtually no impact in the UK.
The tracklist is made up of seven songs, some among the most significant of his career. The eight minutes of "Maria Bethânia" blend sacred imagery and urban landscapes with a heartfelt appeal to his sister: ⟦Q2⟧. The folk-blues backdrop picks up where "The Empty Boat" left off: by repeating phrases over and over, it reveals the author's cleverness in working around his limited command of English, ultimately creating a kind of pop mantra. The orchestral arrangement, a wall of sound rich in harmonies and dissonances, is by Phil Ryan, future member of Man.
The sad, muted flow of "London London" somewhat recalls Harry Nilsson's "Everybody's Talkin'," while the lyrics once again lament his distance from his homeland: ⟦Q3⟧. The only song in Portuguese is "Asa branca," a cover of the famous baião by Luiz Gonzaga, slowed down to an extreme degree. One thing is certain: by this point, no trace of the Tropicália era remains in Caetano's music.
The exile did not go unnoticed in Brazil. Although the media weren't allowed to report on it, everyone in the entertainment world was aware of what had happened, and after a while some big names began voicing their discontent. The first to speak up was "the King," Roberto Carlos, who in 1971 wrote one of his biggest hits drawing inspiration directly from Caetano. Although he is never named outright in the lyrics, there's no doubt about who the character described in the gorgeous "Debaixo dos caracóis dos seus cabelos" (transl. "Beneath the Curls of Her Hair") really is.
In the summer of that same year, João Gilberto agrees to return to television after almost a decade's absence, but only on the condition that Caetano, regarded as his greatest heir, be allowed to appear alongside him. He moves heaven and earth to make it happen, and gets the green light. Caetano returns to Brazil for a couple of days, just long enough to record the special, and finds the atmosphere far more relaxed than when he had left. Encouraged by the experience, he decides to move back permanently in January '72, together with Gil. Shortly before leaving London he had recorded a new album, released in April under the title "Transa" (meaning, roughly, "Fuck"). Production is again handled by Mace, who decides to try a live-in-studio approach, keeping overdubs to a minimum, while virtuoso guitarist Jards Macalé takes care of the arrangements.
Mixing English and Portuguese, "You Don't Know Me" moves along the repetitive lines that have by now become typical of Caetano, but injects them with a surprising dynamism thanks to Gal Costa's backing vocals (she happens to be in London for a few shows) and the acoustic guitar, whose lead line weaves tirelessly throughout. "Neolithic Man" is the most obsessive of his mantras: an acoustic intro sets a few phrases spinning (the opening line is unforgettable: ⟦Q4⟧), then, just as the song seems to open up toward poppier territory, a pounding drum kicks in that makes kraut-rock pale by comparison, sweeping away the rest of the arrangement. "Nine Out Of Ten" is a bold blend of Brazilian folk, electric solos, seething fusion-flavored bass lines and reggae inflections (a sound Caetano had discovered in London, since Brazil had remained closed off to it until then). There are also songs sung entirely in Portuguese, like "Mora na filosofia," an old samba by Rio composer Monsueto Menezes, dressed up here with refined blues phrasing, echoing vocals and jazzy drum breaks. And "Triste Bahia," nine minutes building in intensity, with a cathartic finale of tropical percussion and funk bass. The first eight lines are drawn from the seventeenth-century poem of the same name by Gregório de Matos, after which Caetano takes flight, through a whirl of situations, ships, seas, flags and invocations to the Virgin. The song is both a grand tribute to his homeland and a metaphorical account of the exile he was forced into.
The album isn't a big success at the time, but over the years it establishes itself as a cult record. Today it's widely regarded - at least by the most discerning listeners - as his masterpiece. The same year sees the release of two live albums, Barra 69 with Gilberto Gil (part of their final concert before going into exile) and Caetano e Chico juntos e ao vivo, with Buarque, recorded in November and released a month later. The latter is decidedly superior in terms of sound quality.
As if to exorcise lost time, Caetano decides to unleash the Tropicalista impulses left unexpressed because of his exile. The problem is that he unleashes them with interest, releasing an extreme record, at times downright unlistenable. His worst, if, like this writer, you love his songs — or his best, if, like some, you can spot in it the seeds of much of the most extreme alternative music to come. Indeed, amid warbling, falsettos, every kind of yelp, out-of-tune instruments, tribal rhythms and mangled little tunes, we're not that far from the countless folk records steeped in psychedelia and noise that have populated the underground market from 2000 onward. Be that as it may, it remains the worst-selling record of his career, and for once that's no surprise.
Though he never stopped performing live and appearing on television, Caetano didn't return to the studio until 1975, when he released two albums simultaneously. Aside from the title track, a masterful crossing of Iberian tradition and Brazilian pop, there isn't much worth noting on the first one (seven of its twelve tracks are covers, none of which stand out for originality). The second, however, is a gem. Dropping drums and electric guitar, Caetano builds a record with pastoral tones, far removed from bossa nova despite the premise. Inspired by the melodies of the indigenous peoples of the Xingu, the songs are sung as if in a state of estrangement, almost disembodied, while the arrangements — overseen by Perinho Albuquerque — are pared down to the essentials and each time built around a single instrument: rattles ("Jóia"), cymbals ("Gravidade"), flutes with an Arcadian flavor ("Pelos olhos"), faint veils of electric organ (the single "Lua lua lua lua", at the close of "Canto do povo de um lugar"), kissange ("Guá") and strings ("Pipoca moderna"). Even when it's just acoustic guitar, the atmosphere stays suspended in midair, as in the opening "Minha mulher", dedicated to his wife Dedé ("Whoever sees us like this thinks you're my daughter, but in truth you're more like my mother"). It may not be his most direct work, but it's dense with ideas and lush harmonies.
A double live album made up of brand-new songs, credited jointly to Bethânia, Gal and Gil, with the latter acting as arranger. Two hours of cross-contamination — at times frenetic, at times given over to mood music — between samba, rock and funk, with full-bodied basslines, plastic-toned guitars, electric piano, synthesizer and lounge-flavored horns.
Among the various songs written by Caetano, a handful of classics stand out: the romantic "Eu e ela estávamos ali encostados na parede", a duet with Gil, the ethereal "Um índio", lent to Bethânia, the driving grooves of "Gênesis", "Os mais doces bárbaros" and "São João, Xangô menino", sung in chorus. But the standout is the astonishing cover of "Fé cega, faca amolada", which manages to outdo even Milton Nascimento's original.
The tour was filmed and the video released commercially: not to be missed, especially for the stage presence of the four of them, decked out in skin-tight costumes covered in every mystical symbol imaginable. All told, it's an undertaking that proved to be a pivotal moment for Brazilian culture in the Seventies.
Back in the studio, Caetano continues his collaboration with Albuquerque. This is where his passion for Nigerian music kicks in, jùjú and afrobeat in particular. Blending it with Brazilian folk and the rubbery sounds of Western funk, the two craft a forward-looking mixture. It's hard to believe the opening "Odara" was recorded in 1977: the pulsing electric piano, the slap bass polished to a shine, the crisp sound of the electronic keyboards, the funky guitar stabs. Had the drums been electronic, it could have passed for acid jazz.
The rest of the album is less flashy, but no less creative for it. "Gente" is a rhythmic short-circuit that — beneath its festive mood — seems to anticipate Talking Heads with Brian Eno; "O leãozinho" is a winning folk sketch with whistling synth; "Tigresa" is an epic midtempo piece for acoustic guitar and jazzy piano, with a melodramatic lyric that seems a perfect fit for the persona of Ney Matogrosso (to name just one of the many who've covered it).
While "Olha o Menino" is a gift from Jorge Ben, dressed up in whatever style its author happened to be pursuing at the time — in this case an electric samba with a mystical flavor and swollen with strings — "Um índio" is a reprise of the song he'd given his sister a year earlier. The ethereal tone is preserved and the vocal line is drenched in echo as it intones: "An indio will descend from a bright, colorful star [...] after the massacre of the last indigenous nation, of the spirit of the birds and of the clear springs of water [...] it will be a surprise to everyone, not because it's exotic, but because it had always remained hidden, when it should have been obvious".
Alongside his more serious-minded career, Caetano had released — scattered across singles, EPs and compilations — a series of carnival-themed songs. This album gathers them under one roof and adds some previously unreleased tracks. Most are electric frevo numbers, genuine acts of love toward his own culture: the great artist setting aside, for a moment, his role as intellectual to give his people quick, danceable tunes. It's certainly not among his most representative records, but anyone who loves the artist can't avoid a detour through these shores: titles like "Chuva, suor e cerveja" (1972), "Qual é, baiana?" (1972), "A filha da Chiquita Bacana" (1975) and "Deus e o diabo" (1977) are downright infectious. Among the few tracks already issued on album is the celebrated "Atrás do trio elétrico", from the 1969 record.
Several of Caetano's songs released between 1971 and 1977 are classics today, thanks to their use in the media and an endless stream of covers, yet none of them were hits at the time of release.
“Sampa”, the fourth best-selling single of '78, thus marks a pivotal moment in the artist's career, repositioning him at the heart of the pop scene. More than the music, a fairly traditional bossa, what truly wins over listeners is the lyric, an intense ode to the city of São Paulo: "It's that when I got there, I understood nothing of the harsh concrete poetry of your corners, of the discreet inelegance of your girls [...] From the people who live in row houses, in villages, in favelas, from the power of money that builds and destroys beautiful things, from the ugly smoke that rises up snuffing out the stars, I see your poets of fields and open spaces being born."
"Terra" too, which speaks of Bahia using the same type of symbols, meets with notable success. Six and a half minutes long, it's a bridge-less ballad that, despite its elementary structure, boasts a labyrinthine arrangement full of delights: the superb twelve-string harmonics of Sérgio Dias of Mutantes, the echoing ripples of the electric piano, the long, muffled percussion sounds, the sitar embellishments. One gets the sense of floating within this sound, with its open-ended, seemingly borderless textures.
Besides the two singles, what impresses are the lounge epic "Cá-Já" (the sounds are so heavily treated that in the background textures it's hard to distinguish guitars from keyboards) and the driving "Tempo de estio" (with an acoustic jazz piano solo rich in subtle dissonances).
It's the first album produced entirely by Caetano, and the first of two credited jointly to Outra Banda da Terra, which includes major names of Brazilian prog-rock such as Arnaldo Brandão (bass), Tomás Improta (keyboards) and Vinícius Cantuária (drums, percussion). It's hardly surprising, then, to find such refined virtuosity throughout.
Caetano's first LP to surpass one hundred thousand copies sold. The four opening tracks ("Lua de São Jorge", "Oração ao tempo", "Beleza pura" and "Menino do Rio") have all become evergreens. And yet something doesn't quite add up. The collaborators are the same as on the previous record, the voice is as magical as ever, the lyrics still dense with poetry. The problem is the sound, halfway between acoustic pop and watered-down funk, much like countless records of the period, and not just Brazilian ones. To be clear, this is a historic and formally impeccable title, and snubbing it would be a mistake. Still, for the first time, the lack of immediate comprehension of the words seems to seriously penalize one of his works, in a case where up to that point the richness of the music had always made up for it.
Outra Banda de Terra remains in the picture (the partnership will last a couple more years), but no longer appears on the cover. Shaking things up is electric guitarist Perinho Santana, who brings a generous dose of edge. The sound recalls, with due caveats, what Pino Daniele was developing in the same period. The hits here are "Lua e estrela", a saccharine-toned ballad written by Cantuária, and "Rapte-me, camaleoa", a midtempo track that starts out fairly linear and gradually fills up with flourishes and virtuoso touches (kudos to Improta, whose piano produces a shower of notes). Also excellent are the title track, with its syncopated rhythm, and the covers, particularly "Dans mon île" (an intimate classic from Henri Salvador's repertoire) and "Quero um Baby seu" (a whirlwind of garage-funk, originally released the year before by the little-known Solange).
A transitional work, split evenly between acoustic tracks and electric moments that pick up the sound of Outras palavras. The latter are preferable, particularly "Queixa" and the hypnotic "Ele me deu um beijo na boca", although it's the voice-and-guitar cover of "Sonhos", originally sung by Peninha, that captured the wider audience.
Even more polished than its predecessor, some sounds now feel out of place alongside his music. Even so, it manages to land a cult track like the title track, a lopsided jazzy little march, and a couple of immortal classics such as "Eclipse oculto" (a stone's throw from Cars, believe it or not) and "Você é linda" (one of his most crystalline melodies).
Banda Nova, led by Toni Costa's guitar, backs the artist on a work that tries to surprise through AOR sonorities and bursts of sax. The opening "Podres poderes", complete with jabs at Catholicism, is a track of undeniable scope, and "O quereres" does even better, driven by exquisite minimalist repetitions of piano and horns. There are, however, too many slow numbers that dampen the enthusiasm, not to mention the new version of "Nine Out Of Ten", a nadir that should have been avoided.
Following a somewhat confused period, Caetano starts from scratch and records a live album for voice and guitar alone. The music emerges refreshed, and the nearly three hundred thousand copies sold in a year reinforce the conviction that he'd made the right move. The set list features a dozen covers, to which are added four of his own songs: "O quereres", "Vaca profana" (originally released by Gal in 1984), "Nosso estranho amor" (launched by Marina Lima in '80) and the previously unreleased title track (that same year taken to success in a compelling electric version by Hanoi Hanoi).
Another acoustic album, this time recorded in the studio and released by Nonesuch only in the US market (which didn't prove particularly interested). The track list is made up mostly of reworkings of his own famous songs, among which, however, there's a stroke of genius: a bossa version of Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean", which completely deforms the accents and meter of the original, creating a continuous effect of disorientation. Perhaps the best cover of his entire career.
The arrangements and the Banda Nova are back, while famed producer Guto Graça Mello sits at the mixing desk. It's not a consistent album, but it has peaks that hint at what's about to happen, such as the noir ballad "Noite de Hotel", about the depression of touring artists far from home, and the abstract existentialism of "Eu sou neguinha?" ("Am I Black?"). These are songs that are tense both lyrically and musically, with jagged dub-influenced rhythms, guitar dissonances that nod to new wave, fretless bass and sudden flashes of sound courtesy of samplers.
There's still room, however, for more relaxed moments, like the acoustic "O ciúme", one of his most covered songs.
Caetano meets Arto Lindsay in 1983 during a concert in New York, but it's only a few years later — pushed by Robert Hurwitz of Nonesuch — that he's convinced to record an album with him. So he flies to New York, accompanied by Toni Costa, Naná Vasconcelos (great jazz percussionist) and Carlinhos Brown (unknown at the time, but a successful singer himself a few years later).
Besides Lindsay, the album is also produced by the other half of Ambitious Lovers, Peter Scherer, and features the participation of experimentally-minded guitarists such as Bill Frisell and Marc Ribot. The range of names involved explains very well the tightrope-walking with which the ten songs stay balanced between the northern and southern hemispheres, never openly taking sides: atmospheric keyboards, cacophonous sounds produced by the latest technological gadgets, intricate percussive structures drawing on popular tradition. Even the melodies are soft one moment, only to find themselves crumbling into fits of logorrhea the next. Consider the dark advance of "Os outros românticos" or the dance-paced indictment of "O estrangeiro": "È giunta l'ora di rieducare qualcuno. Padre, Figlio, Spirito Santo, amen. Certainty is the madman undergoing electroshock. Certainty is knowing that what's certain is certain. The white adult male always in charge. [...] Wipe out the indios, expect nothing from blacks". These verses might seem clichéd by today's standards, but they weren't in a Brazil that had emerged from dictatorship in 1985 and was still undergoing political readjustment, where extremism risked taking strong hold over a population that for too long had needed to vent, embittered by poverty, by the gap between social classes and by a long series of ethnic conflicts.
What captures the wider public, however, is the cheerful reggae of "Meia-lua inteira", written by Brown, the most accessible moment together with the bossa nova "Branquinha", dedicated to Paula Lavigne, whom he married in 1986 after separating from Dedé. The track where the hand of Ambitious Lovers is most evident is "Jasper", with a rhythm bordering on industrial and vocals in English.
Forgive a small moment for a bit of polemic. As one might have guessed, this is a first-rate work, yet it's hard to explain why Italian critics unanimously consider it Veloso's masterpiece. It's quite curious that, for an artist with such a strong and varied discography, this is always the only title singled out, especially when in Brazil any of his releases from the Seventies are considered superior. It's probably a combination of several factors: first, reverential awe toward Lindsay (especially among critics writing for a niche audience); second, the fact that it was his first album to get decent international distribution; third, the now well-known laziness of certain critics.
Arto Lindsay is kept on as producer and the budget increased, with a host of guests from all over the world: the global music Caetano dreamed of becomes reality.
Opening with one of his manifestos, "Fora da ordem", a mutant funk track dense with eccentric sounds (Toni Costa's guitar, Andres Levin's samples, the swarm of percussion, played among others by his son Moreno), accompanied by a splendid video set against a backdrop of rigid geometries and bright colors. The lyrics are yet another portrait of Brazil built through juxtapositions of images and situations, each time able to show the subject from a different angle. Specifically, the protagonists are drug traffickers, crumbling buildings, juvenile delinquency, forest-dwelling indigenous peoples and... a Jorge Ben concert!
"Circuladô de fulô" is a tongue-twister punctuated by the string of the berimbau and adorned with sharp cello (Jaques Morelenbaum) and accordion (Oswaldinho) parts; "A terceira margem do rio", co-written with Milton Nascimento, is an acoustic sketch built on complex interplay of guitar and percussion; in "O cu do mundo" a perfectly pop vocal melody is crossed by Lindsay's abrasive guitar, by deep bass lines, by the brief but intense solo of avant-jazz trumpeter Butch Morris.
A couple of tracks even feature Ryuichi Sakamoto, who around that same time was releasing an album of his own, “Heartbeat”, likewise firmly aimed at building a musical bridge between cultures. It's hardly surprising that two such brilliant minds ended up crossing paths, despite being born seventeen thousand kilometres apart. The result is “Neide Candolina” – a kaleidoscopic funk track with a riff lifted straight from the tradition of the Land of the Rising Sun, complete with a breakbeat interlude – and “Lindeza”, a bossa nova submerged under a tide of electronic keyboards, with touching piano notes floating freely on top.
Co-credited to Gilberto Gil. Twenty-five years after the album that gave its name to the Tropicalista movement, the two artists return to the studio together. This time, though, the alchemy doesn't quite work. One might have expected Caetano to feel at ease with rap, given that his own metrical playfulness had in some ways anticipated it, yet “Haiti” turns out to be rather toothless, and the project as a whole feels unbalanced. It either blends rock and tradition with an anaesthetized sound lacking any real timbral exploration, or attempts rather naive experiments (the plunderphonic collage of “Rap Popcreto” arrives years too late to produce any element of surprise). Still, the acoustic “Desde que o samba é samba” goes on to become a classic.
Polygram asked him for an album of Spanish-language versions of his most famous songs, aiming at the foreign market, but Caetano opted instead for a handful of classic titles from Latin American music, joined by Morelenbaum and his orchestral arrangements. It's an enjoyable project, but it's also the kind of album that's typically more useful to the artist than to the listener.
The subsequent tour yielded Fina estampa ao vivo, released in 1995. It contains his first recording of the Mexican classic “Cucurrucucú paloma”, used in at least half a dozen films, to the point of becoming one of the songs by which audiences outside Brazil identify him.
Following the huge success of the duet with Gal Costa, “A luz de Tieta”, from the soundtrack of the film “Tieta do agreste” (1996), he returns to the studio with Morelenbaum. Alongside the strings, the arrangements this time make ample room for brass and percussion. “Não enche” is full of life and becomes a classic, but otherwise there are no other truly memorable tracks. It doesn't help that “Você é minha” feels like a carbon copy of “Você é linda”, and not just in its title.
Recorded live in September 1998 and released just weeks later, it's the biggest commercial success of Caetano's career, selling a million and a half copies. The credit goes to a cover of Peninha's “Sozinho”, a voice-and-guitar ballad that becomes one of the most-played songs of the decade in Brazil.
As is often the case with his live releases, the occasion proves a good opportunity to include songs he had given to other artists and that never appeared on his own albums. So we get “Esse cara” (Bethânia, 1972), “Mel” (again Bethânia, 1979) and “Linha do equador” (Djavan, 1992). The rest is handled by classics such as “Terra”, “Odara”, “Eclipse oculto” and “Jorge de Capadócia”, the latter a cover of Jorge Ben. The arrangements follow the same path as Livro, but this time they rest on a far more solid repertoire and come out all the better for it.
Notable chiefly for the orchestral “Michelangelo Antonioni”, sung in Italian to lyrics that seem to describe one of the director's screenplays. Otherwise, a certain fatigue is palpable: the partnership with Morelenbaum had effectively exhausted its potential with the previous live album, and here it reaches its final act.
Co-credited to the little-known singer-songwriter Jorge Mautner, whom Caetano has admired since the Seventies, and produced by the young multi-instrumentalist Kassin. It's packed with electronic sounds, which find their reason for being precisely in their contrast with traditional instruments like the banjo and the pandeiro. Among its highlights: the Brazilian bluegrass of “Todo errado”, the folk ballad “Graça divina” complete with mandolin, the acrobatic funk of “Morre-se assim” and the technological samba of “Feitiço”, featuring Gilberto Gil.
Mautner's voice, in the old grumbling-elder mode, is particularly expressive and complements Caetano's delicate tone excellently. It's a creative and enjoyable record, but one that passes by a little too quietly.
A set of covers sung in English, this became one of his best-known works outside Brazil. Frankly, the fact that a songwriter of this caliber only gets discussed when reinterpreting songs everyone already knows is embarrassing, and symptomatic of an endemic laziness towards anything that doesn't come from the US or UK. Will we ever shake that off? Whatever the case, this remains his most forgettable record.
This is the first of the (so far) three albums produced by Moreno and played by BandaCê, a trio of young musicians with an indie rock background. Caetano sounds rejuvenated: the melodies are the same as ever, but the arrangements sit halfway between the alternative traditions of London and New York. Granted, fifty minutes of guitar-bass-drums is a bit much, but the livelier tracks are irresistible, especially "Outro," "Rocks," and the steamrolling build of "Odeio," which became one of his most requested songs live.
The rhythms stretch out until they verge on post-rock. Some passages are exaggeratedly slow, and there's a distinct sense of music that's run past its own expiration date. If we have to save one track, the opener "Perdeu" at least tries to play the epic-crescendo card.
The band understood the need to diversify the sound and make it more appealing, so they return to a more direct indie rock, with occasional forays into folk and funk. "A bossa nova é foda," with its obsessively pulsing effected guitar and its shout-it-at-the-top-of-your-lungs slogan-title, became a new live staple. "Parabens" and "Funk melódico" keep the groove alive, while the long, reflective "Um comunista" is a tribute to the militant Carlos Marighella, killed by the military in 1969. Though he never shared the man's ideals, the artist felt it was right to honor someone who gave his life fighting the regime.
After Noites do norte, Caetano began releasing live albums in rapid succession, and it's hard to blame him, since they outsell his studio records. While none of the three albums with BandaCê topped fifty thousand copies, Roberto Carlos e Caetano Veloso e a música de Tom Jobim, a tribute to the master of bossa nova, sold two hundred thousand copies and landed in the top 10 of 2008. Even so, the arrangements are rather by-the-numbers, and the listen goes by without any real surprises. Multishow ao vivo: Caetano e Maria Gadú works better, itself reaching a hundred and fifty thousand copies and the top 10 of 2011. As the title suggests, it's a joint billing with the new star of Brazilian popular music, but the repertoire is entirely Caetano's. Reworked in an acoustic register with the young singer's vocal and instrumental support, the songs hold up remarkably well, even if this is obviously an item for completists only.
There are, naturally, countless compilations, all more or less incomplete. The only truly essential ones, once you already own the albums, are the first two volumes of the "Raro e inédito" series: Cinema Olympia (2006) and Pipoca moderna (2007). The first contains rarities spanning 1965 to 1974: both sides of Caetano's first single ("Samba em paz" and "Cavaleiro"), released on the wave of his sister's success but which went unnoticed at the time; the two versions of "É proibido proibir" (joined into a single track); the tracks from the live EP with Os Mutantes; and two carnival marches recorded in 1968 for an appearance on presenter Chacrinha's TV show, "Yes, nós temos banana" (a cover of Braguinha) and "Ai de mim, Copacabana".
The second volume contains material of less historical weight, but deserves a mention for including the EP Doces bárbaros, released a couple of months before the live album of the same name and containing studio versions of four of his songs.
Caetano is one of the central figures in twentieth-century music, perhaps the greatest his nation has ever produced. And yet, all too often, whenever he's discussed, the first move to prove his worth is to trot out words of praise from some big-name Anglo musician. As if, to convince the public of the value of an "exotic" product, you needed gurus or opinion leaders to vouch for it. It's a practice that should be dropped, which is why we won't be naming, here, the many musicians north of the equator who have undoubtedly fallen under Caetano's spell. It's about time his music and his story were allowed to speak for themselves.
As for the Brazilian scene, one could write an entire book about it. Caetano is one of the most widely covered local songwriters of all, and he has often given away his own songs to other artists outright (just think of two colossal hits like "Menino do Rio" by Baby Consuelo, 1980, and "Força estranha" by Roberto Carlos, 1978). Not to mention the influence he has had on the careers of essential performers like Gal Costa and Maria Bethânia, his interplay with other great songwriters such as Chico Buarque and Gilberto Gil, the great arrangers and producers who did some of their finest work precisely on his records, and the work of historical memory he carried out alongside the other musicians of his generation, constantly reviving songs from the past. For half a century now, the most refined Brazilian music has essentially revolved around the figure of Caetano, and there really isn't much more to add.
Berimbau: a stringed percussion instrument of African origin.
Baião: a rhythmic pattern typical of northeastern Brazil, underpinning several musical genres.
Fado: a melancholy folk song of Portuguese origin.
Frevo: a carnival dance born in northeastern Brazil.
Kissange: a percussive idiophone of African origin.
Pandeiro: a tambourine with jingles typical of samba.
Viola caipira: an acoustic guitar typical of northeastern Brazil.
Xingu: a river running through the deepest interior of Brazil.
Yoruba: a Nigerian people, whose beliefs spread throughout the Americas during the slave trade.
Most valuable sources: Caetano's autobiography, the writings of journalist Carlos Calado, the blog "Caetano Veloso… en detalle". Thanks to Thiago for his many insights.
This article is an English translation of the original Italian text, published on OndaRock.it. It was translated with the help of artificial intelligence, under the editorial responsibility of OndaRock's editor-in-chief, Claudio Fabretti.
