Organized over the Internet, gringo sambistas from 19
countries invaded the Sambadrome in Rio in celebration
of Brazil’s 500 years. They created
the Unidos do
Mundo escolas de samba. With the gringos parading in the
avenue, the
question became not whether or not
they could samba, but whether or not
they could
actually become Brazilian.
By Brazzil Magazine
It’s beginning to seem like all the pacesetters in Brazilian music die young. Guitar
virtuoso Rafael Rabelo was lost to drugs in 1995; Chico Science, creator of mangue-beat,
perished in an automobile accident in 1997; and only five months ago, a predawn apartment
fire took the life of Mitar Subotic (Suba), Brazil’s vanguard producer and a musician who
had been leading a new generation in the development of electronic music. Suba was the
first professional sound engineer to come to Brazil with an understanding of how to match
his vision with the concepts of Brazilian artists, regardless of style. "The year
2000 was going to be big for Suba," says producer and A&R man Béco Dranoff.
"He was finally coming to the surface and out of the São Paulo underground, becoming
recognized as the hot, new mainstream producer."
Exceptionally sensitive to nuances of mood and color, Suba created fiercely expressive
musico-dramatic environments by superimposing and synthesizing a wide range of dense and
interweaving electronic textures, his quick mind enabling him to open and build
heterogeneous collages in the studio exactly as an artist wanted. Says Béco Dranoff,
"Suba had created such an innovative sound and was so far ahead of the curve that
everybody wanted him. He opened a whole new door."
At the time of his death, Suba had produced tens of CD’s, composed music for over 25
theater pieces and dance companies, written sound tracks for more than 15 films as well as
for Yugoslavian, French, and Brazilian television, including original scores for ESSO (an
affiliate of Exxon Corporation), BMW, and Philip Morris. In addition, he was negotiating
with Natasha Records for the release of his solo CD, finishing production on Bebel
Gilberto’s, and working with Daniela Mercury and Skank on their latest projects.
Outstanding among his numerous theater works in Brazil are his sound tracks for Oswald
de Andrade, Os 12 Trabalhos de Hércules, Sáfara, and Bonita
Lampião, which received the São Paulo Association of Art Critics’ award for best
theater sound track.
Suba’s story began on June 23, 1961, in Novi Sad, Yugoslavia, a melting pot of
Serbians, Croats, Hungarians, Romanians, Slovaks, Bosnians, Russians, and Gypsies. He grew
up in a home where both parents were journalists. His father, a well-known TV journalist,
received the Villa-Lobos Award for promotion of Brazilian culture, hence Suba’s early ties
with Brazil. Suba became interested in music at an early age and studied music theory,
accordion, and piano from 1966 until 1980 then composition and orchestration from 1980
until 1985 with professors Rudolf Bruci and Dusan Radic at the Academy of Arts in Novi
Sad.
During a visit to Novi Sad last year, Suba joked that the Danube (due to the NATO
bombing campaign) was the only river that flows over its bridges. Between 1982 and 1984,
Suba specialized in electronic music at the Radio Belgrade Electronic Studio and also
researched Eastern European ethnic music and jazz, working closely with electro-acoustic
composer Paul Pignon.1
He began his professional career in Novi Sad under the pseudonym Rex Ilusivii (King of
Illusions) by brilliantly creating and recording a mix of new wave, electronic/ambient,
and sophisticated funk. There is still Rex Ilusivii graffiti on some buildings around Novi
Sad, reminding his fans of the period between 1982 and 1986 when Yugoslav radio played
countless hits by this mysterious artist whose material was always at the top of radio
station play lists and was being covered by the scene’s best groups. Remaining anonymous
for years, Rex Ilusivii ultimately revealed to both press and his admiring public that the
true identity of the man hidden behind the persona was their own Mitar Subotic.
Ahead of his time, Suba constructed sound installations in open spaces, made extensive
research in electronic minimalistic music, evolved compositional procedures, and wrote
articles about jazz styles, the relationships between philosophy and music, and musical
cultures in non-European countries. He moved to Paris in 1986 where he composed music for
theater, ballet, elite fashion shows, film and television, and produced numerous radio
broadcasts and recordings, including his CD Dreambird and the first volume of his
project Angel’s Breath. While in Paris, his electronic piece based on Yugoslavian
folk lullabies, In the Mooncage, received the International Fund for Promotion of
Culture award from UNESCO, which included a three month scholarship to research indigenous
music and Afro-Brazilian rhythms.2
Classically trained as a pianist and composer with a huge background in theory and an
aesthetic foundation in electronic music, Suba, planning only to gain first-hand contact
with the music and distinguished musicians of Brazil and enjoy the beauty and spiritual
wealth of the country, became engrossed in Brazilian roots music and the Brazilian musical
chemistry. Commenting last year to a Yugoslavian journalist, Suba said, "Brazilian
music is so rich that it comprises a unique planet. Every 500 kilometers there is a new
rhythm and musical style, authentic, delightful, and unique."
Speaking of his initial reactions he said, "In the beginning, I could not speak a
word of Portuguese, but I found that in such situations all the antennas are turned on,
absorbing the new smells and sounds. I had a feeling of rediscovering the world. A year
later I had already made friends with excellent musicians and worked with them. I soaked
up their energy, was in touch with everything that was going on. Initially, it was culture
shock, a strong but pleasant one."
In 1992, Suba met percussionist João Parahyba and forged a partnership that lasted
until his death.3 "The first conversation we had," says Parahyba,
"was about our musical philosophies and the rhythm and harmony of the universe. It
was a conversation that ended after seven hours and in which there had been a surprising
congruence of intuitive response. Suba was the first guy I’d met who spoke about music as
the universal language—no labels. His concept of music was so close to my own, that
it was like finding a mirror that reflected my music with a high-tech image. We started
working together from that first day on a project called Harmonia Mundi. Using diverse
influences from all corners of our planet, we built some of the most interesting music
I’ve had the pleasure to work on.
"We would go to the studio in the afternoon and stay until late at night. Suba
would say, `First, we’ll make a Frankenstein.’ He was a garbage mind who destroyed to
construct, using everything. He was completely open, so it was easy for us. We were like
two very tight musicians who could just deliver. We’d find a groove, a melody, or a
harmony and transform it into a kind of colored noise and then start recording. We cut
everything, sampled cells, transformed these, and made other grooves. When we started
doing this, I realized how a simple cell of percussion could be transformed with flangers
into chords and melodies. He opened my mind to working directly with effects."
Electronic effects and their potential within the context of popular music have been
recognized and considered seriously as an extension of an ensemble’s performance since the
1960’s. (The Beach Boys used a Theremin on "Good Vibrations" and the Beatles
used tape loops and recordings played backwards on Revolver.4 ) And one
of the central facts of electronic music is that it depends on a rapport between musician
and technology. "Electronic effects, for us, are just a different tool," says
Parahyba. "Just like the drum set is a rhythmic tool, like acoustic guitar and
electric guitar are different tools, the computer is one more tool musicians use to create
different sounds, to create new images. Musicians who have talent can create excellent
material on a computer or they can do this on a small match box. The musicians do this,
not the instruments. These electronic tools, be it a compressor or a flanger effect, were
Suba’s instruments, the tools he used to speak his language. Anything you plug in could be
a new instrument for him. His was an electronic/organic thing."
Effects and samples have assumed an increasingly important role in the most musically
elaborate pop, in many cases eliminating entire horn sections and ousting the electric
guitar as the center of a group’s sound world. As these audio tools are refined, a new
vocabulary of sounds comes into common usage. Limited possibilities become unlimited, and
everything which was imponderable can be subjected to precise measurement.
With 24-bit digital technology offering greater resolution than 16-bit, digital
recording has come even closer to analog quality. "What’s happening," says Béco
Dranoff, "is that the technology is improving and something inside our brains is
saying, `Oh, we can deal with this now on a very different level.’ Our ears have
acclimated to the point where electronic effects and sampled instruments don’t jump out at
us like they used to. We’re getting used to them. The good electronic music is almost
becoming acoustic music to our ears. Before musicians needed record labels to pay for
their studio time, but many are now working with Pro-Tools and creating a lot of music
cheaper and much faster at home."5
Skill and imagination are needed to create sounds which retain a sense of wonder, as
most of our music makes use of only a narrowly defined spectrum from the enormous range of
sounds we can hear. In the hands of a sensitive musician, these devices give rise to that
sense of new discovery, but they have also encouraged amateurs, who lack discretion, to
create works that are limited and that tend to sound the same. The electronic medium,
after all, makes it only too easy to indulge in trick effects: bizarre juxtapositions of
unrelated ideas, sudden shifts from the familiar to the unfamiliar, gradual disruptions of
everyday sounds. When Suba was asked about this trend last year he said, "A person
can have a computer at home without knowing how to play and still make music, provided, of
course, that he has some musical taste. This democratization in music is phenomenal, but
nothing will happen without talent. You may have the most advanced studio, all the
education you need, but all will be in vain if there is no trace of that lunacy in your
head, which we call talent or inspiration."
Says singer Cibelle Cavalli, "Suba would develop the foundation of a piece, and
then we would get together and jam at his place. He had the sound table, everything there,
all his computers, filters, and effects in a case that he went around with. We called it
the Suba-móvel. Suba would start mixing textures, filtering, looping, working with
the table, and I would hear a sound, which felt like it was right in front of me, and
another sound at the back of my head, and another sound spinning over my head, and another
sound inside my right ear. He made the music come alive. Once we had a song nearly ready,
we would go to Wah Wah Studios, his studio, to finish it. Suba could respond to every
expression of thought in the realization of his ideas."
Recalling their work together on "Sereia" Cavalli says, "One night we
got together at Suba’s apartment, and listened to some acoustic bass loops that he had
recorded cut, and pasted. After picking up on one, Suba started filtering and stretching
the sound, creating all kinds of effects. He kept doing that to the sound, creating
another and another. We went on into the night cutting and pasting sounds that we were
creating right there. Actually, Suba was doing the creating. I could only describe the
sounds I felt I needed to hear and say `Yes’ or `I don’t think so,’ because I can’t deal
with effects yet. Remember, I came from the acoustic bossa/MPB/jazz school. Finally, I
went to take a nap and when I woke up, I heard this looped melody that sounded just like a
poem I had written before I met Suba. That’s the lyric you hear throughout
"Sereia." The funny thing is, when I wrote it, I had a particular melody in my
head, like a drifting thought. And that night, out of the blue, Suba played the same
melody. I rushed into the other room, got my poetry notebook, found the poem, and sang it
along with the loop. I just couldn’t believe how perfectly it fit."
Suba’s live electronic ensembles had the same freedom to use any conceivable sound, as
the composer had in his studio, with the advantage that human subtleties were immediately
involved. Combining live instrumental playing with electronics enabled Suba to relate his
work directly to a common musical experience and to extend the capabilities of
conventional instruments. Additionally, this medium lent itself well to performance in
spectacular locations, where the visual environment could match the strangeness and often
the grandeur of the music.
"A few years ago," says Parahyba, "I went to the studio and recorded
twelve percussion tracks, just rhythms. Afterward, Suba destroyed these twelve pieces, and
we rebuilt them again in electronic reprocessed samples. He made a playback of these that
we took to a theater with all of our instruments and we played on top of this again, live.
I played all percussion and Suba rebuilt live on top of this with effects. It was an
extraordinarily successful balance of live electronic music and conscientious ensemble
playing. Everything live again on top of this! The results and breakthroughs were
exhilarating.
"We toured the universities with these pieces for four months in 1997. I remember
students sitting on the grass at night under a very big, full moon. It was completely
magic and crazy. Hermeto (Pascoal) worked with us on that tour, which was funny, because
in the beginning, Hermeto just looked at us like he was wondering what was going on with
these two guys. And then when he realized that this was a language very close to his own,
one that liberated the composer and made it possible for him to use any sound whatsoever,
he started to do amazing things together with us, always funny things. He and Suba became
very, very good friends."
Electronic music is unusually dependent on the means accessible at the time. That is
the natural evolution of electronics, and that evolution in the last ten years has been
fast and far-reaching. The resources available ten or fifteen years ago were primitive
when compared with the elaborate advanced technical knowledge which composers now have at
their disposal. Thus, any judgment made about new music must take into account the
efficiency and imagination with which a musician has used what was at hand, in terms both
of apparatus and of theoretical knowledge. Because there has always been a lag between the
creation of powerful original music and its public appreciation, all we can draw from when
judging a work’s relative merits, is our listening experience within the particular idiom.
When the sound images are completely new, however, there is little help from the memory in
recognizing the genius, originality, and beauty of a work that, at first, appears alien.
Suba was a pioneer in the discovery of new possibilities, and his achievements, in
terms of both technical innovation as well as his radically new contribution to the
Brazilian musical experience, can be heard and felt—first bar to last—on São
Paulo Confessions. "The mark of this recording," says Béco Dranoff,
"is that it is really a bridge to the millennium, something that is going to be heard
and studied for years to come. This album is far ahead of its time, really ahead of the
curve." Entirely a work of the new generation, rich in imagery, and powerfully
atmospheric, São Paulo Confessions takes the listener into realms of the unknown
and the mysterious where he is thrown headlong into an angular and complex world that both
shocks and charms the ear, where he is obliged to suspend expectations and to follow,
every moment, a path unfolded amid changing soundscapes.
"Sereia" (Mermaid) is a completely different sensation from the ordinary
listening experience. Cibelle Cavalli elicits a world of mystery and essential solitude
where the sound of her words are as important as their literal sense. Providing not an
accompaniment, but a parallel dimension enmeshed with voice, Suba layers Cavalli’s lyrics
atop an electronically generated baião/coco groove that is punctuated with deep cuíca-like
accents and laced with ambient traces of jungle and trip-hop. Reverberation and a wide
spectrum of filtered sonorities exploit tone-color, extending rather than contrasting with
Cavalli’s exotic voice. This powerfully atmospheric alliance of allusion, both musical and
linguistic, creates a dreamlike ambience.
With enhanced surrealistic images of highly colored electronic effects and unusual
juxtapositions of timbre, register, and rhythmic forms, "Segredo," a Bahian samba-marcha,
displays Suba’s finesse in handling the technique of timbre composition. His attention not
only to the tune’s expressive effect but also to the more delicate properties of rhythm
and color is stunning. Functioning like a liaison between a delicate web of percussion and
a luxurious ambient sonority, Katia Bronstein’s voice, like some celestial hybrid that
crawls over your eardrum in drifting clouds of sound, tickles a part of the brain that has
been sleeping.
In a wave of prolonged musical motion, "Samba do Gringo Paulista" (Samba for
Our Gringo) sets blocks of musical material against one another in flat, multi-layered
planes. The metallic resonance of the cavaquinho and the percussive foundation
created by João Parahyba from an array of samba school instruments function like traffic
signs in the unlimited space of this electronic sound world. Says Parahyba, "In a
very, very good samba school, like all live music, you appreciate a certain delay from the
musicians. But with samples, you need to be more mathematical. You need a hundred beats,
and every one has to be together." Here it all adds up. What is electronic and what
is instrumental remains open to the innocent ear. Suba perfected a way to make electronic
music sound organic, not chopped up or recycled, in which only the physiological
sensitivity of the listener’s ear and Suba’s artistic sensitivity prescribe borders
possible.
"Abraço" (Embrace), is simply mesmeric; the listener can sense Suba’s joy in
creating atmospheric strokes as well as his almost boyish enthusiasm for pursuing the
potentialities of the electronic medium. Parahyba plays perpetual repetitions of an
African rhythm on congas and a Firchie snare above an implied trip-hop pulse while Edgard
Scandurra’s guitar pierces the ceiling. A background canvas of voices—Joanna Jones
and Arnaldo Antunes—appears and submerges, alternating between quasi-declamation and
rhythmically articulated spoken lines. And all these references are woven into a fabric of
largely intuitive playing.
Snaring the listener again and again, "A Noite Sem Fim" (Infinite Night) is a
densely patterned bossa nova with transformations of motif, each growing
imperceptibly from a small germinal cell that works itself out within the tune’s tightly
formulated gauze of contrapuntal tissue. By juxtaposing separate, yet ultimately
assimilated elements, including acoustic guitar and timba samples, and by employing
an extremely broad array of coloristic, electronically processed, looped, and filtered
resources, Suba creates a musical contemplation, or better still, a reflective, playful,
yet gently ironic tone painting.
In technical and musical respects, São Paulo Confessions is an aural drama of
sound effects, rhythms, and tone color that embraces surreal and extreme counterbalances.
An enormously powerful pulse, references to indigenous music, and richly complex textures
of intricate rhythmic counterpoints stamp this work and assert its claim as the crown of
Suba’s career in tirelessly seeking new sounds and combinations. Suba’s composition and
decomposition of timbre as well as his merging and dividing of complex entities with
different degrees of intensity, is not simply sound manipulation, but an invitation to
alter one’s way of perceiving the world. São Paulo Confessions speaks of energy,
integrity, and essences.
"I introduced Suba to a lot of musicians from my popular Brazilian music
area," says Parahyba, "and he always spoke with them like he was their closest
friend. No matter if it was a rock player, a symphony player, some Indian guy, or an old
woman from Rio de Janeiro. In five minutes they were friends. And he taught all these
people how to shine professionally without losing their identity. He had an amazingly open
mind and made friends easily. For him, everything was new and good, but he never lost his
sharp European, Oriental focus, regardless of where he was—São Paulo, Bahia, Rio de
Janeiro. In all his contacts with musicians, he shed new light on how they could give
heart to their music with this new language. What was most important about Suba was what
he did for the new concept of Brazilian music."
Memory and hindsight are unreliable faculties; details fade in the mist as time and
distance change impressions of an event. Folha de São Paulo and Trombeta do
Café reported that around 5:30 a.m. on November 2, 1999, smoke was detected coming
from Suba’s apartment, that the building custodian called on the intercom, and that Suba,
who had been sleeping, told him that he was unable to open his door. The custodian
battered down the door and found Suba on his feet, but disoriented, inside the burning
studio.
Amid the chaos that followed, it appears that Suba reentered his studio, and his
friends believe it was to recover a small case containing the original audio files and
back-ups (safety copies of computer files) of the new Bebel Gilberto album. Suba was
overcome by smoke and taken to the emergency room where at 6:32 a.m. he died from smoke
asphyxiation. He had planned to travel to Belgium on November 3, 1999, to promote São
Paulo Confessions and to finish producing the final tracks of the Bebel Gilberto CD, Tanto
Tempo (So Much Time).
On Tuesday, November 23, 1999, a long journey came to its end as friends, professors,
fellow musicians, and notables from the Yugoslavian cultural scene gathered at the
Cultural Center of Novi Sad to pay homage to the composer, producer, instrumentalist, and
connoisseur of world cultures who explored the electronic frontiers of music and theater
in both Europe and Brazil, the distant and beautiful land where Suba’s concepts of
cultural interaction continue to nurture scores of musicians.
Family and friends remember his life-affirming presence, his sense of humor, and his
generosity of spirit. They tell me that he loved to paraphrase Kierkegaard: "If I
were to wish for something, I would not wish for either wealth nor power, but for the
passion of possibilities. I would wish for an eye eternally youthful because it forever
yearns to see possibilities." Reflecting on Suba’s work and the terrible loss his
passing brings to loved ones and the music world, I rummaged through my books for a quote
from Kierkegaard that embraced the complexity of the circumstances and the depth of sorrow
that his family and friends have shared with me: "Life can only be understood
backwards; but it must be lived forwards." Suba’s ashes were placed in the Municipal
Cemetery’s Hall of Serenity, though he lives forever through his music, his style, and his
determination to find new ways and new modes of expression.
Peace
|
Segredo Se for um desejo Se eu perder a hora Tanto faz agora Se eu perder a hora |
Secret
If it is desire If I lose the time It doesn’t matter now If I lose the time |
|
Tenho tua palma na alma da mão Quero esse simples tão livre de ser No mar Eu vou ter você Sereia |
Mermaid
I have your soul in the palm of my hand I want this simple freedom to be In the sea I’ll have you Mermaid |
|
Eternos ventos sussurrantes Na solidão dos pensamentos Tantos deseaw6kx |
So Many Desires
Eternal whispering winds In the solitude of thoughts So many tortuous desires
Where I breathe where I drown |
Selected Discography:
| Title | Artist | Label | Date |
| Tanto Tempo | Bebel Gilberto | Six Degrees/Ziriguiboom | 2000 |
| São Paulo Confessions | Suba | Ziriguiboom Discos | 1999 |
| (Released in the United States on Six Degrees Records in 2000) |
|||
| Fuá Na Casa de Cabral | Mestre Ambrósio | Sony | 1999 |
| Clubbing | Edson Cordeiro | Sony | 1998 |
| Pierrot do Brasil | Marina Lima | Mercury/PolyGram | 1998 |
| Katia B | Katia B | Vulkana Music | 1998 |
| O Silêncio | Arnaldo Antunes | BMG | 1996 |
| Kizumba | João Parahyba | Visom | 1996 |
| Janela dos Sonhos | Taciana Barros | Natasha Records | 1995 |
| Trio Mocotó | Trio Mocotó | RGE | 1973 |
| (Reissued 1997) |
Web sites of interest:
Six Degrees Records
http://www.sixdegreesrecords.com
Crammed Discs/Ziriguiboom
http://www.crammed.be/zir/index.htm
Fylkingen Records
http://www.fylkingen.se
Katia B
http://www.katiab.com.br
João Parahyba
http://www.geocities.com/~parahyba
OHM: Early Gurus of Electronic Music
http://furious.com/perfect/ohm/index.html
Electronic Music Foundation
http://www.emf.org/guidetotheworld
1 Paul Pignon is a Yugoslavian composer known for fragmenting music into
tiny micro-ingredients and focusing on well-specified timbres. He is also acknowledged for
the enormously important role he played in Sweden’s free improvisation movement.
2 UNESCO is the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural
Organization.
3 Seminal percussionist João Parahyba is known for his innovation of the
small timba drum set, his collaboration with Jorge Ben Jor in the development of a
samba/rhythm ‘n’ blues hybrid, and his performances with, among others, Trio Mocotó,
Paulinho da Viola, Dorival Caymmi, Dizzy Gillespie, and Michel Legrand.
4 The Theremin, one of the first electronic instruments to attract public
attention, was invented about 1924 by the Russian scientist whose name it bears.
5 Pro-Tools, the brand name of the most popular hardware/software
combination designed for recording and editing audio digitally onto the disk of a
computer, is cheaper than multi-track professional tape, sounds (almost) as good (this is
where the analog vs. digital controversy begins), and has allowed a wealth of new music to
surface. When used by someone knowledgeable, it is an impressive tool—especially for
editing—because you can cut, copy, and paste sound without destroying the original
source. Used in conjunction with good microphones and preamps, Pro-Tools yields
extraordinary results, which explains why many of the best recording facilities today are
Pro Tools studios where the engineer uses a mouse and two monitors rather than a mixing
board.
6 Presented here is Cibelle Cavalli’s original text. The recording
substitutes the English lyrics in the B section.
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
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