Brazzil
May 1999
Music

Hearing
the Book

The College of Caetano opens enrollment for its summer session with the arrival of Livro Vivo.

Bruce Gilman

As the year 2000 approaches, Caetano Veloso appears more and more likely to be the single giant among Brazilian artists to have been a truly forward-looking influence on the music of our time. To grasp this, one would have to look back over a thirty year period when artists like Milton Nascimento, Gilberto Gil, Chico Buarque, and Veloso himself were each making unique contributions and laying the foundation for the future of Brazilian popular music (MPB). Wholly overcoming the fears of rejection and commercial inviability that keep composers from following their experimental impulses, Veloso dared to propose new concepts of song. He talked about seeing music with free eyes, as sound set free, and about composition as a continual process of expansion, interaction, and transformation. Comparing the process of composition to cannibalism, he searched for whatever vehicle would respond best to the realization of his ideas—be it reggae, concrete poetry, rap, twelve-tone technique or the juxtaposition of all of these.

Veloso has always advocated and continues to demonstrate unexplored, but essential concepts. In the book Masters of Contemporary Brazilian Song: MPB, 1965-1985, Charles A. Perrone notes that when traditional and nationalist sounds were highly prized, Caetano emphasized international trends. When musical militancy and activism were in vogue, he explored romantic and spiritual spheres. In the face of sentimentalism, Caetano refocused on the development of the mass media and consumerism. And when commercial viability came into question, Caetano's experimentalism and individualism surfaced.

Literary and musical references are interwoven in his music, and there is an illusive sense of reality, one that doesn't neatly discriminate between fact and fancy. His is an art of conflict with both enough sharp-edged weight to etch a mood and enough light to let the emotions soar. But far from being intellectual exercises, Caetano's music is bursting with suggestive qualities that have stimulated listeners' imaginations from the time of his earliest recordings. His image has changed over time from a rebellious tropicalista and counterculture guru, to a cultivated, suave media persona; but Veloso has remained a realist, constantly on the move, always on the lookout for fresh challenges. That this doctrine has been responsible not only for the quality of Veloso's music itself but also fundamental to current directions in music can be seen in the recent "discovery" of Tropicália in Europe and the United States (see cover story in Brazzil December 1997) and in the appearance of the verb "caetanear" (to Caetano-ize).

Performances aside, in just the past five years Caetano has composed the sound tracks for the films Tieta do Agreste, the Cacá Diegues remake of Black Orpheus, and themes for the Italian influenced film O Quatrilho. He recorded and released two CD's of Latin American music, Fina Estampa and Fina Estampa ao Vivo, and is currently planning the production of João Gilberto's next CD. In addition, he published Verdade Tropical (Tropical Truth), a book that analyzes and reflects upon the creation and the consequences of the Tropicalista movement and spawned the CD's Livro and Prenda Minha. Verdade Tropical, Livro, and Prenda Minha form a curious, but complementary whole.

In Verdade Tropical, published by Companhia das Letras in 1997, Caetano speaks about his influences and preferences in literature and art as well as his relationship with drugs, sex, rock `n' roll, and Cinema Novo. Not an autobiography, Verdade Tropical is a narrative, an interpretation, and an application of critical theory to the cultural vision and creative surge that grew in the artistic and intellectual communities of Bahia in the late 1960's. Tropicalismo generated new philosophies in music, dance, theater, and the plastic arts. It also scared the hell out of the Brazilian government. The book analyzes the political left, the military dictatorship, its methods of violence and torture, Gil and Caetano's imprisonment in 1968, and their exile in London. Verdade Tropical is the history and commemoration of a cultural movement that was heard despite the oppressive gag of governmental censors.

In principle, the book Verdade Tropical and the CD Livro should have been released at the same time, as the CD is full of citations and homages as is the book. But after Caetano's initial enthusiasm for writing Verdade Tropical, he found that the revisions, editing, completion, and release had left him little time to record. By the time of publication, he was tired of words, was experiencing writer's block, and suffering a kind of postpartum depression. Caetano's fatigue in completing the book is expressed in the lyrics to the second tune on the CD, "Livros" (Books). Additionally, the small ensemble he used for the Fina Estampa tour as well as his work on the sound track for Tieta do Agreste, which utilized both orchestra and the Bahian percussion group Didá Banda Feminina, exacerbated his hunger for working with a larger group of musicians and for the music played on the streets of Bahia. Consequently, although he had only a vague idea of what his approach would be for the new disc, his interest in the initial stages was essentially focused on texture and tonal colorings rather than lyrics.

Caetano, contrary to his approach on past projects, composed the music for Livro first, enlisted Jaques Morelenbaum to create the arrangements, recruited a legion of percussionists, and only afterward wrote the lyrics—many of them in the studio at the time of recording. Of the fourteen compositions, only "Um Tom" (A Tone) and "Os Passistas" (Carnaval Dancers) had complete lyrics when Caetano entered the studio. Nevertheless, the combining of Morelenbaum's orchestral sophistication with the street percussion of Bahia evolved into one of Caetano's best discs and tours to date.

But Livro is not a companion CD that functions as an interactive guide, orienting listeners aurally to the subject matter treated on a particular page of the book. Where Verdade Tropical concentrates on justifying the theories of the Tropicalismo movement, the disc expands the concept of paying homage and remembering influences. From Chico Science and Lulu Santos, to Antônio de Castro Alves, Livro is full of citations, some subtle, others more direct. For example, the woodwind arrangement for Ari Barroso's "Na Baixa do Sapateiro" by Luiz Brasil "suggests" the syncopated guitar phrasing of João Gilberto, who for Caetano is the beginning and the end of modern Brazilian music. And the tune "Um Tom" is dedicated to both Tom Jobim and Caetano's youngest son, Tom, who was born at the time Verdade Tropical was completed. "Você É Minha" (You Are Mine) was written for Caetano's wife, Paula Lavigne, and bears a similarity to another of Caetano's dedicatory tunes "Você É Linda" from 1983. The symbolically named "Pra Ninguém" (For No One) is an homage to Chico Buarque and a direct reference to Chico's tune "Paratodos" (For Everybody), in which Chico pays homage to everyone from Jackson do Pandeiro to Hermeto Pascoal.

Just as Caetano's life revolves around the axis of Bahia and Rio, the 14 tracks on Livro are a mix of samba and the music of Bahia. The listener discovers the integration of the two immediately; there is an almost limitless degree of overlapping. "Onde o Rio é Mais Baiano" (Where Rio is More Bahian) is an homage to the escola de samba Mangueira that paid tribute to the Doces Bárbaros (Sweet Barbarians—Gal Costa, Caetano, Gil, and Maria Bethânia) a few years ago. The first theme is played in a traditional samba rhythm, the second in samba-reggae. Caetano's oldest son, Moreno, contributed a samba with the minimalist lyric, "How Beautiful Could a Being Be." The tune's single phrase, repeated over percussion, distorted guitar, and choir induces a flavor suggestive of Bahian candomblé and is at the same time reminiscent of arrangements by tropicalista Rogério Duprat.

"Minha Voz, Minha Vida" (My Voice, My Life), a tune Caetano originally composed for Gal, and now one of the most beautiful tunes Caetano has ever recorded himself, is performed as a bolero with Bahian drums submitting to a sensuous swirl of strings. It has the simplicity and dancing radiance that has become a fixture in much of his music. The track that holds the least interest for me is "Não Enche" (Piss Off). There isn't enough angst. Caetano's emotionally detached, almost buoyant delivery is not aligned with the unremittingly harsh lyrical content:

Harpy, spider,
Prowess for preying, ensnaring, snaring
You slut, you piranha
My energy keeps you afloat up there,
Get out! Get lost,
Get out of my blood, you bloodsucker,
that's all you know,
Let me enjoy, let me enjoy
Let me enjoy, let me enjoy.

In "Manhatã" Caetano exploits a familiar enunciation from the Portuguese language and the refined harmonic language and tonal colorings of the Gil Evans/Miles Davis collaborations. He rhymes Manhatã with manhã (morning) as well as other words that end with the ã ("eng") sound. The idea stemmed from a nineteenth century poem that incorporated a similar rhyme scheme with sounds from the Tupi language written by the Brazilian romantic poet from the Northeastern state of Maranhão, Sousândrade. In this enigmatic mix of Gil Evans, Sousândrade, and Lulu Santos (to whom the tune is dedicated); Caetano's voice hovers above subtle Bahian percussion as he alludes to Manhattan as Manhatã. Some passages simply seem to float in mid-air as he sketches a rare vision of New York.

The best track on the disc is "Doideca" whose title refers to the Portuguese word doido meaning insane or mad and to the musical term dodecaphony, the technique of composition developed by Schoenberg. The musical term evolved from the Greek words dodeca meaning twelve, and phone meaning sound. In this homage to Chico Science, the piccolo introduces a repeated then inverted twelve-tone row over an atmospheric
drum `n' bass foundation performed by a battery of Bahian percussionists rather than by synthesizers. Quoting himself, Caetano sings a phrase from his 1970 "London, London." The major reference here is to Brazilian composer Arrigo Barnabé, best known for his film scores, his ensembles of dissimilar instrumentation (rock band with string quartet and percussion), his experimentation with atonal and twelve-tone composition, and for his reputation for always being on the threshold between popular and contemporary music.

"O Navio Negreiro" (The Slave Ship) is the other great track on the disc. It is a setting of the magnificent epic poem by Antônio de Castro Alves, the great Brazilian nineteenth century poet whose themes opposing black slavery clashed with public opinion. Castro Alves died at the age of twenty-four from tuberculosis, but left behind works at the highest level of poetic art. On Livro, "O Navio Negreiro" is transformed into a rap performed alternately by Caetano and Bethânia aloft a foundation of percussion commanded by Carlinhos Brown while a choir echoes the strophe:

What ship is this that just arrived?
It's the ship bringing slaves from Angola.

A fiercely emotional performance, the music is informed by a great deal of integrity, fueled by passion, and marked by a high degree of empathy among the participants.

Livro was released in Brazil in 1997, in Europe in 1998, and is scheduled for release in the United States on June 1, 1999, roughly one month prior to the arrival of Caetano's Livro Vivo tour. Curiously, Prenda Minha, a live recording extracted from the September 1998 shows of Livro Vivo in Rio, arrived in our stores first. Prenda Minha (My Sweetheart) is essentially the B side of Livro. The repertoire, based on its predecessor, pays homage to the great names of popular Brazilian music and includes several of Caetano's encore pieces. And like its predecessor, Prenda Minha incorporates Bahian percussionists and the orchestral palette of Jaques Morelenbaum. But there are also two pieces for just voice and guitar, "Sozinho" and Chico Buarque's "Carolina."

Jorge Benjor's "Jorge de Capadócia" is here (prefaced by allusions to Fernanda Abreu, the rappers Racionais MC's, and Miles Davis) as is the tune "Meditação" by Tom Jobim. There is a tip of the hat to Djavan with "Linha do Equador," the funk tune he co-wrote with Caetano in 1992, and a salute to Carnaval with "Boa Vida" and "Atrás da Verde-e-Rosa Só Não Vai Quem Já Morreu" (Only Those Who Have Died Won't Join Mangueira's Parade), which contains embedded quotes from "Festa do Interior." Gilberto Gil is acknowledged with "Drão" from 1981 and one of his earliest compositions, "Bem Devagar" from 1962. Caetano, however, reserved an even more elegant homage for his close friend and Tropicália companion with his reading of a passage from Verdade Tropical in which he reveals the way Dona Canô, Caetano's mother, once referred to Gil.

With the exception of "Onde o Rio É Mais Baiano" and "Não Enche," Caetano has chosen tunes for this CD that were not included on the Livro CD. The outstanding tracks are the new arrangements Morelenbaum created for the Caetano classics "Eclipse Oculto" (1983) and "Odara" (1977), which cleverly concludes with a musical quote from "Doideca." Morelenbaum's salsa-like score for "Mel" is vibrant and accessible. The tune, originally recorded by Bethânia in 1979, is performed here by Caetano in both Spanish and Portuguese and demonstrates the remarkable stylistic synthesis that Caetano is capable of achieving.

Surely the most interesting track is "Prenda Minha" itself, a pearl of Gaúcho folklore by an anonymous composer. Almost a hymn of Rio Grande do Sul, the tune has been memorized by school children throughout Brazil, and Caetano delivers it with the stylistically appropriate Gaúcho accent. Morelenbaum again draws from the Gil Evans/Miles Davis color wheel as he had for "Manhatã." But here it is with an ironic wink, as the tune was recorded in 1962 (though not released until 1964) by Miles for the controversial Quiet Nights album. The liner notes on the Columbia recording attribute Miles and Evans as the tune's composers.

It is very difficult to verbalize about music. It feels pointless at times, like making a statue of a famous painting. The important thing is what each listener brings to and personally gets from the music. When asked to write an article about Caetano, I was hopelessly paralyzed. I had no words to describe fully my respect for the man. It seemed useless to add anything more about the contributions Caetano has made to MPB, as he is probably the most influential composer alive in terms of impact on the present musical generation.

According to one theory of the arts, the function of a great artist is that of a teacher, one whose work is to be contemplated and one who communicates ideas of intellectual and social significance. It is exactly in this sense that Caetano Veloso—poet, author, journalist, philosopher, producer, translator, actor, film maker, director, social activist, singer, and composer—has been teaching for over three decades that music, literature, and cinema are passports that remove our blindfolds to new frontiers. His capacity to go in all kinds of directions and always get to the nucleus of Brazil in an intellectually and emotionally satisfying manner is unparalleled.

The vision of Brazil expressed in Caetano's music constitutes a key to an understanding and an interpretation of Brazil and her people. Be it in a negative or positive form, or perhaps submerged in a feeling of ambivalence, Brazil's inner reality has always held a position in Caetano's music. His relationship to Brazil is not merely that of a composer/singer toward his country, and it isn't just a socio-political reaction on the part of a poet/author. Caetano lives in Brazil in its totality, as Noel Rosa, and Ari Barroso had before him, and he dramatizes his own personal feelings toward his country in terms of his musical creation. Throughout his work, the consciousness of Brazil has been a motivating force in his creative process.

What Caetano learned originally from João Gilberto and Oswald de Andrade he later expanded into an individual talent that knew the virtues of assertive expression as well as the beauties of blurring the boundaries between disciplines. Caetano Veloso, a man who has seen not only the more sophisticated side of life but also its hardships, has experienced the academic as well as the mind-broadening lessons not found in books and institutions. A prolific composer whose works number in the hundreds, Veloso has lived to see his music both lauded and vilified. Significantly marking the history of Brazilian music, he has always been and today remains identifiably, Caetano.

The December, 1997 cover story in Brazzil magazine, "Thirty Years of Tropicalismo/Times of Gall," can be found on the Web at: http://www.brazzil.com/dec97.htm 

Caetano's Web site is: http://www.caetanoveloso.com.br  

Bruce Gilman, music editor for Brazzil, received his Masters degree in music from California Institute of the Arts. He leads the Brazilian jazz ensemble Axé and plays cuíca for escola de samba MILA. You can reach him through his e-mail: cuica@interworld.net

Caetano Veloso's summer tour with Livro Vivo: June 27 Beacon Theatre New York, New York June 29 Vogue Theatre Vancouver, Canada July 1 Masonic Hall San Francisco, California July 3, 4 Ford Auditorium Los Angeles, California July 6 Bass Concert Hall Austin, Texas July 8 Salle Wilfrid Peletier de la Place des Arts Montreal, Canada July 10 Lowell Auditorium Boston, Massachusetts July 12 Northrup Auditorium Minneapolis, Minnesota July 13 Ravinia Festival Chicago, Illinois July 15 Warner Theatre Washington, DC July 17 Gleason Theatre Miami, Florida

THE LYRICS

Livros Caetano Veloso Tropeçavas nos astros desastrada Quase não tínhamos livros em casa E a cidade não tinha livraria Mas os livros que em nossa vida entraram São como a radiação de um corpo negro Apontando pra a expansão do Universo Porque a frase, o conceito, o enredo, o verso (E, sem dúvida, sobretudo o verso) É o que pode lançar mundos no mundo. Tropeçavas nos astros desastrada Sem saber que a ventura e a desventura Dessa estrada que vai do nada ao nada São livros e o luar contra a cultura. Os livros são objetos transcendentes Mas podemos amá-los do amor táctil Que votamos aos maços de cigarro Domá-los, cultivá-los em aquários, Em estantes, gaiolas, em fogueiras Ou lançá-los pra fora das janelas (Talvez isso nos livre de lançarmo-nos) Ou—o que é muito pior—por odiarmo-los Podemos simplesmente escrever um: Encher de vãs palavras muitas páginas E de mais confusão as prateleiras. Tropeçavas nos astros desastrada Mas pra mim foste a estrela entre as estrelas.

Books You tripped clumsily over the stars We had almost no books at home And the city had no bookstore But the books that entered our lives Are like the gleam of a black body Pointing to the expansion of the Universe Because the phrase, the concept, the plot, the verse (And, verily, above all, the verse) Is what can throw worlds to the world. You tripped clumsily over the stars Not knowing how the luck and misfortune Of the road goes from nothingness to nothingness Are books and the moonlight contrary culture? Books are transcendental things But we can love them with our hands The way we touch a pack of cigarettes Tame them, nurture them in fish bowls, Shelves, cages, and bonfires Or fling them out the window (And that may keep us from jumping out) Or—and what's much worse—to hate them We could simply write one more: Fill whole pages with vain words Add confusion to the bookcases. You tripped clumsily over the stars But to me you were the star among the stars.

 

Manhatã para Lulu Santos Caetano Veloso Uma canoa canoa Varando a manhã de norte a sul Deusa da lenda na proa Levanta uma tocha na mão Todos os homens do mundo Voltaram seus olhos naquela direção Sente-se o gosto do vento Cantando nos vidros o nome doce da cunhã: Manhattan, Manhattan Manhattan, Manhattan Manhattan, Manhattan, Manhattan Um remoinho de dinheiro Varre o mundo inteiro, um leve leviatã E aqui dançam guerras no meio Da paz das moradas de amor Ah! Pra onde vai, quando for, Essa imensa alegria, toda essa exaltação Ah! Solidão, multidão Que menina bonita mordendo a polpa da maçã: Manhattan, Manhattan Manhattan, Manhattan Manhattan, Manhattan, Manhattan

Manhattan for Lulu Santos A canoe, canoe Cuts through the morning from north to south Goddess of the legend on the prow Lifting a torch in her hand All of mankind Turns its eyes in that direction One tastes the wind Singing in the windows the sweet name of the Indian girl Manhattan, Manhattan Manhattan, Manhattan Manhattan, Manhattan, Manhattan A whirlwind of money Sweeps the whole world, an overwhelming light And here wars dance amid Love's peaceful dwellings. Ah! Where is it going, when it goes, This immense joy, such exaltation Ah! Solitude, multitude, That beautiful girl biting the apple: Manhattan, Manhattan Manhattan, Manhattan Manhattan, Manhattan, Manhattan

 

O Navio Negreiro (excerto) Antônio de Castro Alves Stamos em pleno mar (. . . ) Era um sonho dantesco . . . o tombadilho, Que das luzernas avermelha o brilho, Em sangue a se banhar. Tinir de ferros . . . estalar do açoite . . . Legiões de homens negros como a noite, Horrendos a dançar . . . Negras mulheres, suspendendo às tetas Magras crianças, cujas bocas pretas Rega o sangue das mães: Outras, moças . . . mas nuas, espantadas, No turbilhão de espectros arrastadas, Em ânsia e mágoa vãs. E ri-se a orquestra, irônica, estridente . . . E da ronda fantástica a serpente Faz doudas espirais . . . Se o velho arqueja . . . se no chão resvala, Ouvem-se gritos . . . o chicote estala. E voam mais e mais . . . Presa dos elos de uma só cadeia, A multidão faminta cambaleia E chora e dança ali! Um de raiva delira, outro enlouquece . . . Outro, que de martírios embrutece, Cantando, geme e ri! No entanto o capitão manda a manobra E após, fitando o céu que se desdobra Tão puro sobre o mar, Diz do fumo entre os densos nevoeiros: "Vibrai rijo o chicote, marinheiros! Fazei-os mais dançar! . . ." E ri-se a orquestra irônica, estridente . . . E da ronda fantástica a serpente Faz doudas espirais! Qual num sonho dantesco as sombras voam . . . Gritos, ais, maldições, preces ressoam! E ri-se Satanaz! . . . Senhor Deus dos desgraçados! Dizei-me vós, Senhor Deus! Se é loucura . . . se é verdade Tanto horror perante os céus . . . Ó mar, por que não apagas Co'a esponja de tuas vagas De teu manto este borrão? . . . Astros! noite! tempestades! Rolai das imensidades! Varrei os mares, tufão! . . . Quem são estes desgraçados Que não encontram em vós Mais que o rir calmo da turba Que excita a fúria do algoz? Quem são? . . . Se a estrela se cala, Se a vaga à pressa resvala Como um cúmplice fugaz, Perante a noite confusa . . . Dize-o tu, severa musa, Musa libérrima, audaz! São os filhos do deserto Onde a terra esposa a luz. Onde voa em campo aberto A tribo dos homens nus . . . São os guerreiros ousados, Que com os tigres mosqueados Combatem na solidão . . . Homens simples, fortes, bravos . . . Hoje míseros escravos Sem ar, sem luz, sem razão . . . São mulheres desgraçadas Como Agar o foi também, Que sedentas, alquebradas, De longe . . . bem longe vêm . . . Trazendo com tíbios passos Filhos e algemas nos braços, N'alma—lágrimas e fel. Como Agar sofrendo tanto Que nem o leite do pranto Têm que dar para Ismael . . . Lá nas areias infindas, Das palmeiras no país, Nasceram—crianças lindas, Viveram—moças gentis . . . Passa um dia a caravana Quando a virgem na cabana Cisma das noites nos véus . . . . . . Adeus! ó choça do monte! . . . . . . Adeus! palmeiras da fonte! . . . . . . Adeus! amores . . . adeus! . . . ( . . . ) Senhor Deus dos desgraçados! Dizei-me vós, Senhor Deus! Se eu deliro . . . ou se é verdade Tanto horror perante os céus . . . Ó mar, por que não apagas Co'a esponja de tuas vagas De teu manto este borrão? . . . Astros! noite! tempestades! Rolai das imensidades! Varrei os mares, tufão! . . . E existe um povo que a bandeira empresta P'ra cobrir tanta infâmia e cobardia! . . . E deixa-a transformar-se nessa festa Em manto impuro de bacante fria! . . . Meu Deus! meu Deus! mas que bandeira é esta, Que impudente na gávea tripudia?! . . . Silêncio! . . . Musa! chora, chora tanto Que o pavilhão se lave no seu pranto . . . Auriverde pendão de minha terra, Que a brisa do Brasil beija e balança, Estandarte que a luz do sol encerra, E as promessas divinas da esperança . . . Tu, que da liberdade após a guerra, Foste hasteado dos heróis na lança, Antes te houvessem roto na batalha, Que servires a um povo de mortalha! . . . Fatalidade atroz que a mente esmaga! Extingue nesta hora o brigue imundo O trilho que Colombo abriu na vaga, Como um íris no pélago profundo! . . . . . . Mas é infâmia demais . . . Da etérea plaga Levantai-vos, heróis do Novo Mundo . . . Andrada! arranca este pendão dos ares! Colombo! fecha a porta de teus mares!

The Slave Ship (excerpt) We're on the high seas ( . . . ) It was a Dantean dream . . . the quarter-deck, Reddens the skylights' gleam, Bathed in blood. The chink of irons . . . the whip cracking . . . Legions of men, dark as the night, Perform a hellish dance. Black women, suckling at their breasts Squalid children, whose mouths, so dark Are filled with mother's blood: Others, young . . . but naked, and aghast Are dragged among the maelstrom of specters In vain grief and anguish. And the orchestra laughs, ironic, strident . . . And out of the phantasmal whirl comes a serpent Spiraling madly . . . If the old man wheezes . . . if he does fall down Screams are heard . . . the whip cracks down, And they fly and fly . . . Tied to the links of a single chain, The famished horde staggers, wails Weeping and dancing! One raves delirious, another has lost his mind . . . Another, with torments numb Sings, laughs, and sighs! And yet the captain orders the shady procedure And then, staring at the sky unfolding So pure over the sea, He says, eying the smoke amid the thick clouds: "Keep that whip cracking, seamen! Make them dance on! . . ." And the ironic orchestra laughs, strident . . . And out of the phantasmal whirl comes a serpent Spiraling madly . . . As in a Dantean dream the shadows dart . . . Screams, sighs, curses, prayers ring out! The Devil laughs out loud! . . . Dear God of the unfortunate! Tell me, Dear Lord! If it be madness . . . if it be truth Such horror before heaven . . . Oh, Sea, why do you not erase with your waves this blot from your cloak? . . . Stars! Night! Oh, Tempests! Roll out from your immensity! Typhoons! Sweep the seas! . . . Who could these wretches be Who only find in you The laughter of the crowd Exciting the executioner? Who are they? If the star is mute, If the wave passes resolute As an elusive accomplice, Before the confused night . . . Say it then. Oh, austere muse, Free and fearless muse. They are the children of the desert Where the land marries the light. Where through the open landscape The naked people soar . . . They are intrepid warriors, Who battle the spotted tigers, In the wide solitude . . . Simple men, strong and brave, Today miserable slaves Without air, or light, or reason . . . These are wretched women As was once Agar as well, Who, thirsty, broken down, Come far from where they dwell . . . Bringing with their timid steps Children and chains on their arms, And in their souls—tears and gall. Like Agar, they suffer so They lack even the milk of tears To quench the thirst of Ishmael . . . There, in those expanses of sand, Among the palms of their country, They were born—beautiful children . . . They lived—noble young women . . . One day the caravan comes While the virgin, in her hut Dreams of veils in the night . . . . . . Farewell! straw hut in the hill . . . Farewell! palm trees by the spring! . . . . . . Farewell! my loves . . . Good-bye! ( . . . ) Dear God of the unfortunate! Tell me, Dear Lord! If I am delirious . . . or if this is reality Such horror before heaven . . . Oh Sea, why do you not erase with your waves This blot from your cloak? . . . Stars! Night! Oh, Tempests! Roll out from your immensity! Typhoons! Sweep the seas! . . . And there is a nation whose banner flies Over such infamy and cowardice! . . . And transforms in this feast Into the impure cloak of a dissolute woman! . . . Dear God! Dear God! What flag is this, Shamelessly fluttering on the foretop? Silence! . . . Muse! Weep, weep so much The banner may be cleansed by your tears. Golden green pennant of my land, You whom Brazil's breeze sways and kisses, Standard gathering in the light of the sun, And the divine promises of hope . . . You, who were hoisted on the heroes' lance, After the war to signal freedom, Before you could be tattered amid the battle, Serve these people as a shroud! . . . Atrocious fate that minds obliterate! Extinguish now the dreadful brig The trail left by Columbus on the wave, Like an iris in the ocean deep! . . . . . . It is too much infamy . . . From the ethereal zone Emerge, oh heroes of the New World . . . Andrada! uproot this banner from the main! Columbus! Close the doors to your ocean!

 

Minha Voz, Minha Vida Caetano Veloso Minha voz, minha vida Meu segredo e minha revelação Minha luz escondida Minha bússola e minha desorientação Se o amor escraviza Mas é a única libertação Minha voz é precisa Vida que não é menos minha que da canção Por ser feliz, por sofrer, por esperar eu canto Por ser feliz, por sofrer, para esperar eu canto Meu amor, acredite Que se pode crescer assim pra nós Uma flor sem limite É somente porque eu trago a vida aqui na voz.

My Voice, My Life My voice, my life, My secret and my revelation My hidden light My compass and disorientation If love enslaves us But is our only liberation My voice is needed Life is no less mine than the song's For being happy, for suffering, for waiting, I sing To be happy, to suffer, to wait, I sing My love, believe me If a flower can grow for us Without limit It is only because I bring my life here in my voice.

 

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