Pretend John Lennon was still alive. Pretend also, that he had in him some of the songwriting blood of his friend Paul, as well as some of Bob Dylan's capacity for lyrics of protest. Now pretend he's Brazilian, so take all of that and add to it some of that mist from the hills of Rio and the smell of tanning bodies on the beaches of Bahia, and you may have a better concept of Caetano Veloso's music.
Sweet-voiced Veloso was born in 1942 into the sweaty exotic beats of Bahia, in Brazil's northeast region where African, Caribbean and North American cultures collide with the Brazilian. A veritable legend in Brazil, he's a star also on an international level, having been around since the birth of bossa nova. In the late `60s Veloso contributed to the creation of tropicalismo, the artistic movement in Brazil that introduced eclecticism and social awareness into fine art, theatre, poetry and music. His 1968 collaboration with renowned Brazilian artist Gilberto Gil produced the album Tropicália; it became the musical manifesto for the movement.
The love child of old jazz and new rock fused together with social and political protest made tropicalismo one of the most influential movements in the history of music. Veloso's music, in addition to being as varying and celebratory as Brazil itself, was utterly charged with the political situation of the era; from 1964 to 1985 Brazil's bohemians were stifled under a military regime that deported, imprisoned, tortured and even murdered thousands of Brazilians.
Veloso himself (along with Gilberto Gil) was imprisoned for several months during the same year his manifesto was released. The best kind of officiality the regime could bring to the pop star's charge was calling it "anti-government activity." After his release he and Gil held a concert in Rio; they were both exiled. Veloso fled to London, the pop mecca of the `60s, and began co-habitating with the likes of the Beatles, Led Zeppelin and David Bowie.
Caetano Veloso took all the influence he could get, from just about everywhere. He stands as a symbol of Brazil itself: colorfully diverse, full of beauty and misfortune, with a voice capable of doing justice to both. Despite our tendency to classify him under the category of an English-speaking counterpart, he is neither John nor Bob. His name, after all, is much cooler.
And remarkably, he's still around. At 65, Veloso has released his 40th (yes, 40th) album under Nonesuch Records. Despite Veloso's age, the record has the energy and versatility that many young artists lack today. Much of it may have even been influenced by some of these young artists - the backround on "Odeio," the album's eighth track, seems like a quieter Strokes intro, for instance.
It differs greatly from his last album, A Foreign Sound, which was released in 2004, and featured English covers of artists from Gershwin to Elvis to Nirvana. Here he's back to his own stuff and his own language, and the effect echoes facets of the old tropicalismo while retaining a modern sound.
Co-produced by his son, Moreno, the album fluctuates, opening with the catchy, almost Kinks-like "Outro," followed by "Minhas Lagrimas" ("My Tears"), possibly the album's most emotional ballad, long-voiced and languid. He bounces from then on, from the lazy bass drum and warbling melody of "Wally Salamão" to the modern rock beats of the intro to "Odeio" to the more classic bossa nova feel of "Musa Hibrida." The only less-than-perfect track on the album was ironically its first single released in Brazil, "Não Me Arrependo." Slow and acoustic, Veloso seems to lack the expected passion on this ballad -- even his strong belts seem half-enthused. But let's attribute this to his career. It's his 40th album; he's an international superstar - he doesn't need to pop veins in his head to get you to take his music seriously.
His confidence takes you even as far as "O Heroi," in which his soft voice alternates with his poetic rap railing racial inequality in Brazil. Veloso himself is considered, like nearly all the country's population, a mulatto - the common Brazilian term for people of mixed ethnicity. Despite the country's colorfulness, however, there is an almost exaggerated division of races existing in Brazil today. Addressing this, he says, "I discovered early that the path ... is to stir up racial hatred here, the clear separation between races - one eye on the bible, one eye on the gun." It is just this type of protest that made Veloso a legend.
In all, to the non-Portuguese speaker, his is music that makes you think of exotic plants, hanging lights, cold drinks and twirling floral-print skirts on beautiful dark-haired women. Or sweaty leather seats in your car as you drive past the beach with the windows down. Play it at your next hipster party. Remember, though, that behind that breathy croon and those ethnic beats, Veloso speaks for a country - one in which music means far more than just a way to fill the silence.
