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Verdad tropical
Inadequately described as the John Lennon or the Bob Dylan of his country, Caetano Veloso has virtually personified Brazilian music for thirty-five years. Now, in his long-awaited memoir, he tells the heroic story of how, in the late sixties, he and a group of friends from the Northeastern state of Bahia created tropicalismo, the movement that shook Brazilian culture--and civic order--to its foundations and pushed a nation then on the margins of world politics and economics into the pop avant-garde.
Tropical Truth begins with a childhood in the Bahian hinterland, where Caetano (as Brazilians of all ages now call him) first heard not only the musical traditions of his own country and her Latin neighbors, but also the giants of postwar American song: Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, Chet Baker, to name but a few. While teenagers in America would soon be enthralled by the primal (and commercial) beat of rock’n’roll, in Brazil it was bossa nova, that sublimely sophisticated music, that was to become the soundtrack of a generation. Inspired above all by bossa nova’s supreme master, João Gilberto, Caetano and his crew would set about creating a totally new sound. Tropicalismo would aim to “cannibalize” the extraordinary beauty and richness of Brazil’s musical past but at the same time to assimilate eclectically the most original elements of Anglo-American pop, an influence many rejected as yet another form of imperialism corrupting Brazil’s “authentic” character.
The birth of tropicalismo coincided with the wave of counterculture sweeping Western nations, but in Brazil that wave would hit the breakwaters of a brutal military junta. While supporting resistance to right-wing oppression (and the terrible social inequities it perpetuated) the tropicalistas nevertheless rejected the automatic connection to the Left and its unreflective nationalism, then the politics de rigueur of the artistic class. Their third way foresaw a Brazil open to free markets but likewise free in itself. It was a vision so subversive of both the political and musical status quo that before long Caetano faced imprisonment and was then forced into exile until the early seventies. But when he returned, it was in triumph: Brazil, no less than the state of her popular music, would never be the same.
Rich with the satisfactions of a novel, weaving the story of a country with that of its most idealistic generation, Tropical Truth recounts the odyssey of a brilliant constellation of artists: Caetano and his sister Maria Bethânia, the queen of Brazilian song; the black musical genius Gilberto Gil, Caetano's closest collaborator, with whom he was jailed and then banished; the great diva Gal Costa; the revolutionary filmmaker Glauber Rocha; the brothers de Campos, those luminaries of concrete poetry, who were among the tropicalistas’ learned mentors. Here is an unparalleled confluence of highbrow and pop, and with it the genesis of what has become one of the most wildly successful cultural exports ever produced by a nation other than the United States.
By turns erudite and playful, dreamlike and confessional, Tropical Truth is an utterly unexpected revelation of Brazil's most famous artist, one of the greatest popular composers of the past century.
Tropical Truth begins with a childhood in the Bahian hinterland, where Caetano (as Brazilians of all ages now call him) first heard not only the musical traditions of his own country and her Latin neighbors, but also the giants of postwar American song: Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, Chet Baker, to name but a few. While teenagers in America would soon be enthralled by the primal (and commercial) beat of rock’n’roll, in Brazil it was bossa nova, that sublimely sophisticated music, that was to become the soundtrack of a generation. Inspired above all by bossa nova’s supreme master, João Gilberto, Caetano and his crew would set about creating a totally new sound. Tropicalismo would aim to “cannibalize” the extraordinary beauty and richness of Brazil’s musical past but at the same time to assimilate eclectically the most original elements of Anglo-American pop, an influence many rejected as yet another form of imperialism corrupting Brazil’s “authentic” character.
The birth of tropicalismo coincided with the wave of counterculture sweeping Western nations, but in Brazil that wave would hit the breakwaters of a brutal military junta. While supporting resistance to right-wing oppression (and the terrible social inequities it perpetuated) the tropicalistas nevertheless rejected the automatic connection to the Left and its unreflective nationalism, then the politics de rigueur of the artistic class. Their third way foresaw a Brazil open to free markets but likewise free in itself. It was a vision so subversive of both the political and musical status quo that before long Caetano faced imprisonment and was then forced into exile until the early seventies. But when he returned, it was in triumph: Brazil, no less than the state of her popular music, would never be the same.
Rich with the satisfactions of a novel, weaving the story of a country with that of its most idealistic generation, Tropical Truth recounts the odyssey of a brilliant constellation of artists: Caetano and his sister Maria Bethânia, the queen of Brazilian song; the black musical genius Gilberto Gil, Caetano's closest collaborator, with whom he was jailed and then banished; the great diva Gal Costa; the revolutionary filmmaker Glauber Rocha; the brothers de Campos, those luminaries of concrete poetry, who were among the tropicalistas’ learned mentors. Here is an unparalleled confluence of highbrow and pop, and with it the genesis of what has become one of the most wildly successful cultural exports ever produced by a nation other than the United States.
By turns erudite and playful, dreamlike and confessional, Tropical Truth is an utterly unexpected revelation of Brazil's most famous artist, one of the greatest popular composers of the past century.
493 pages, Paperback
First published October 23, 1997
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 73 reviews
April 18, 2011
I was blown away by tropicalia, a musical movement from Brazil that took hold in the late 60s, when I first encountered it as a college radio deejay. Subversive pop music by folks who know that to be a true Beatles fan, you have to love Yoko? Sold. If you aren't aware of Gilberto Gil and Os Mutantes, or peripheral players like Elis Regina, Jorge Ben, and predecessor João Gilberto, you can't go wrong with any of the available recordings (Ben's gracious Tábua De Esmeralda is one of my all-time favorite albums). As for Veloso, his elegant, cerebral body of work speaks for itself. If you haven't been transported by "Enquando seu lobo não vem" or his cameo in Talk to Her, I'll follow David Byrne's lead and strongly recommend it. His cover of "Billie Jean" is pretty good too.
Going in, I was hoping Veloso's autobiography would incorporate the cultivation of tropicalia as a left-of-the-Left movement into a discursive history of national identity, political factions, and broadcast television's influence on popular music. I'd love to read that book (I'd also like to read the book that explains how bossa nova rose to popularity in East Asian countries like Japan). However, Veloso weakens any insights around his upbringing, Brazil's racist history, miscegenation, exoticism, the movement's responses to and against American and European popular culture, censorship, tropicalia's political agenda, the 1964 coup, his and Gil's brief imprisonment, their exile in England, and more interesting concerns with tangents both insular and indulgent. He made a point not to research before writing this book, and I believe it to be a mistake. We get one man's opinions, which ultimately do little to validate or contextualize this important part of contemporary musical history.
Going in, I was hoping Veloso's autobiography would incorporate the cultivation of tropicalia as a left-of-the-Left movement into a discursive history of national identity, political factions, and broadcast television's influence on popular music. I'd love to read that book (I'd also like to read the book that explains how bossa nova rose to popularity in East Asian countries like Japan). However, Veloso weakens any insights around his upbringing, Brazil's racist history, miscegenation, exoticism, the movement's responses to and against American and European popular culture, censorship, tropicalia's political agenda, the 1964 coup, his and Gil's brief imprisonment, their exile in England, and more interesting concerns with tangents both insular and indulgent. He made a point not to research before writing this book, and I believe it to be a mistake. We get one man's opinions, which ultimately do little to validate or contextualize this important part of contemporary musical history.
May 30, 2024
Que joia.
April 26, 2021
La mejor lectura de abril (hasta ahora) y de las mejores del año.
May 11, 2018
Têm muitos pontos que fez me encantar imensamente com esse livro. Mas acredito que os principais seriam a forma da narração de Caetano e como ele aborda a história do tropicalismo com um panorama histórico e autobiográfico. E faz isso genuinamente, misturando a pessoalidade com a criticidade. Parece que ele está do nosso lado contando a história em uma conversa intima. Além de seu olhar sobre os acontecimentos que é bastante único, ele é daqueles que enxerga mínimo e consegue descrever sensações e sentidos bem tocantes ao leitor. Conseguiu reunir grande conteúdo teórico de forma leve e muito rica para quem se interessa pela música brasileira. Sem contar nas inúmeras referências aleatórias sobre cultura em geral, a cada página uma nova personalidade, filme ou música à ser descoberta.
June 8, 2010
Veloso is an intellect. That is obvious from reading this. My hunch is that he wrote the English version himself. In any event this is most likely the definitive book on Tropicalia. that he was jailed and deported for basically writing music that the right wing disapproved of is startling. Under a repressive regime it can happen anywhere.
April 22, 2019
I'll second what others have said in the reviews. This book reads like sitting down with your grandpa and hearing old stories. Caetano says he didn't go back and listen to old recordings or look at photos. It's all from memory. As a result, there's a bit of rambling, but it's mostly endearing rather than distracting. An essential read for any fan of his music or tropicalia in general.
April 29, 2008
Caetano and his writing somehow take a fascinating subject that happened in one of the most exciting periods of recent history and turn it into a so-so book. Worth reading for the information, but a tough plow. I want to read Tom Ze's version!
January 30, 2019
I’ve started this book 3 times before I finished it. Every time school would start and I would have to stop, when I could embark on it again I felt like I had to begin from the start cause the narrative has such free flow you feel like you’ve lost a part of the story. Well, now I’m sad it’s over. This is one of the most mesmerizing accounts by one of my favorite human beings on earth of his experience as a Brazilian, as one of the creators of Tropicalia and as a human. Caetano’s point in not researching before or fact checking the details is what makes this so special, this is what has stuck to his memory, to his soul and as you go along the book some things come back to him. This book feels like a friend telling you about an important time in their life, a friend that is well-read and mostly well-lived. It is a cultural encyclopedia of Brasil spanning many years and, of course, pertinent to his perspective of the accounts. The words used to describe people and feelings brought me to tears many many times, this is a book that I will revisit again and again, because it made me glad I am alive and it made me glad I am Brazilian in ways I did not know before.
February 25, 2021
Visto oggi su Youtube, Caetano Veloso può ricordare un Gianni Morandi in versione brasiliana, per il mezzo secolo di successo, i modi affabili ed il sorriso da eterno ragazzo.
In realtà, è anche qualcosa di più, e non solo perché ha composto da sé i suoi maggiori successi.
Ci troviamo infatti di fronte ad un intellettuale di spessore che, negli anni 60, ha anche pagato con il carcere la sua opposizione alla dittatura militare.
Purtroppo questo suo memoir non è all'altezza delle premesse: troppo spazio è dedicato al "Tropicalismo", genere musicale quasi impercettibile per un pubblico europeo, mentre troppo poco è dedicato all'analisi della società brasiliana sotto la dittatura.
Molto discutibile, poi, la scelta di concentrarsi su pochi anni, senza occuparsi del ritorno alla democrazia e successive vicende.
Per il momento, un'occasione mancata, si spera nel sequel.
In realtà, è anche qualcosa di più, e non solo perché ha composto da sé i suoi maggiori successi.
Ci troviamo infatti di fronte ad un intellettuale di spessore che, negli anni 60, ha anche pagato con il carcere la sua opposizione alla dittatura militare.
Purtroppo questo suo memoir non è all'altezza delle premesse: troppo spazio è dedicato al "Tropicalismo", genere musicale quasi impercettibile per un pubblico europeo, mentre troppo poco è dedicato all'analisi della società brasiliana sotto la dittatura.
Molto discutibile, poi, la scelta di concentrarsi su pochi anni, senza occuparsi del ritorno alla democrazia e successive vicende.
Per il momento, un'occasione mancata, si spera nel sequel.
September 26, 2015
"Quando eu tinha 23 anos me aplicaram o teste de Rorachach, e o resultado, quanto a isso foi: homossexualismo latente, identificação feminina, idealização da figura da mulher."
August 9, 2017
Escrita um pouco confusa. Não fosse o meu grande interesse pelo tema, de certeza que não o teria lido até ao fim. Cheio de boas referências e histórias.
July 12, 2024
A causa da superação da hipocrisia sexual não podia deixar de ocupar posição privilegiada para mim entre os temas da onda libertária dos anos 60. E a instância da homossexualidade não pode deixar de desempenhar aí um papel central. Oferecendo o modelo ideal do conflito entre autenticidade e dissimulação, sem poder ser enquadrada entre as perversões que implicam crime ou negação da liberdade alheia, desenhando com clareza a interrogação fundamental sobre a sexualidade humana, a homossexualidade provou ser o ponto crucial da questão referente à liberdade do indivíduo. Não por acaso ela está na mira de fogo dos Estados totalitários — e das nostalgias de um passado de controle social absoluto. Mas não é por eu ter chegado à consciência disso que o tema da homossexualidade esteve, está e estará sempre comigo. Eu diria antes que é por ele ter estado sempre comigo que me foi tão luminosa a captação dessa consciência. [...] Quando eu tinha 23 anos me aplicaram o teste Rorschach, e o resultado, quanto a isso, foi “homossexualismo latente; identificação feminina; idealização da figura da mulher”.
July 3, 2014
Liked this book a lot, mostly for the narrative voice. It reads like a grandfather's recollections sound, if you are fortunate enough to have a grandpa as badass and brilliant as Caetano. It's riddled with digressions, super patchy and disorganized. That makes me love it more, though, in this case. The shape is very personal to the storyteller. And the story is wonderful: a nuanced musical rebellion against the military regime in Brazil, and also the knee-jerk leftist reactionaries. I feel this book has a lot to say to the USA, with entrenched revolutionaries on both sides and not much in the middle.
August 19, 2017
un'autobiografia, un saggio sulla cultura popolare (musicale, ma anche letteraria e cinematografica) brasiliana e sulla società brasiliana e sulla situazione politica (una feroce dittatura militare) che i brasiliani vissero tra i '60 e i '70, e probabilmente anche altri tipi di libri ancora: aspettarsi da caetano veloso qualcosa di lineare a facilmente inquadrabile è inutile, la sua scrittura assorbe qualsiasi cosa esattamente come la sua musica per produrre qualcosa di magmatico e di difficilmente inquadrabile. perfetto complementare al recente documentario "tropicalia", che restituisce in immagini diverse parti del libro.
September 20, 2019
Há alguns anos, Caetano e Gil fizeram alguns shows juntos. Para quem conhecia um pouco da parceria dos dois era uma oportunidade única de vê-los no mesmo palco. Eu e uma amiga fomos. Quanta beleza, quanta sintonia. Em determinado momento minha amiga me fala: “cara, se a gente já viveu coisa pra caralho, imagina esses dois?”. Imagina esses dois! Haja história. Amei acompanhar o pensamento nada linear de Caetano narrando sua visão preciosa e muito particular sobre a Tropicália. E viva a arte brasileira!
September 16, 2014
Caetano Veloso is a genius and his story is an important one, but alas I found this book a bit of a slog - names, dates, locations, concerts - all important to his tale, which would be far better received by a Brazilian who grew up in and around his culture. In other words, very insider-y.
March 14, 2023
I didn't read this book because I have any strong affinity for Caetano Veloso; I read it because I DO love the Tropicalia scene, which he was one of the cornerstones of, and there's not much in terms of English books about it. Rita Lee, who to me is first and foremost the singer of tropicalia's wunderkind weirdo band Os Mutantes but who Brazil knows for her later work that turned her into one of the country's all-time biggest pop stars, has an autobiography, but I'm not aware of an English translation. And that's about it, so I went ahead and read this, the autobiography of my least favorite member of the collective that made such brilliantly vibrant and subversive music together between 1968 - 1970.
Why was Caetano my least favorite? Well, the short answer is just that I found the music I'd heard from him less consistently compelling than that of Gilberto Gil, Gal Costa, Os Mutantes, and Tom Ze. But there was also something about Caetano the man and persona that, from my admittedly minimal reservoir of familiarity outside of a few albums, rubbed me wrong, too. But the man was one of the main songwriting forces of tropicalia (and subsequent Brazilian MPB, the broad term for popular Brazilian music), providing my beloved Gal Costa in particular with any number of my favorite songs she performed. As one of the tropicalistas, he lived and created through a wild, harrowing, and fascinating time in his country's history. And I'd be lying if I claimed I don't like some of his own recordings, especially those from his 1969 self-titled second tropicalia album, as well.
Which brings us to this book. Caetano Veloso is an intelligent man given to deep, thoughtful ponderance - a true Brazilian intellectual. And boy howdy, he makes sure you know it over the course of Tropical Truth. You may have come in wanting to read about his role in the "genre" that receives such disproportionate attention from American music fans relative to the rest of its creators' generally wildly successful careers. And you may have expected to get a deep look at the political context that it came out of - the increasingly dangerous military dictatorship that first came to power in 1964 and would stay there through the peak periods of these artists' careers, and even how the tropicalistas also felt out-of-step with and sensed hostility from Brazil's traditional left (there are definitely shades of Dylan being booed by the American folkies for going electric). But did you also know you will be subjected to long, dry chapters and stretches about numerous Brazilian poetry, film, and visual art movements, many of which will be exceedingly difficult (or at best, digital labor intensive and time consuming) for even the most dedicated non-Brazilian reader to experience, judge, or even access? Or that he's going to be talking about them and pre-tropicalia Brazilian music as though he expects you to already have an encyclopedic knowledge of them? Yeah, have fun with that.
There is some great content in here, I don't want to imply otherwise (and I say that referring to great content for people like myself who came in wanting a focus on the music and events of '68 - '72 rather than somebody preparing to write a dissertation on Brazilian mass and underground culture in the fifties and sixties). Hearing Veloso's early takes on Anglophile rock and roll and related cultural imports was interesting because the fusion of those elements and traditional Brazilian sounds and ideas is so central to the music he & his allies made. Anything about the development of his relationship with the other Tropicalia heavyweights, especially co-founder Gilberto Gil, who I vastly prefer in every way to the author, is welcome. And when we do get some deep focus in the early-middle of the book on the actual making of Veloso's '68 self-titled album and the collective's posse album, Tropicalia ou Panis et Circensis (as well as some live shows and a TV variety show they oddly got to run for a bit), it's absolute paydirt. The rest of the crew's albums largely get background mentions at best, which I suppose is technically fair since it's a Veloso memoir, but considering how much time gets devoted to things like the Concrete Poetry Movement, it feels a tad unfair that we don't get a bit of a deeper look at one of Gil's albums or more time with Gal Costa, who seems briefly poised to become a significant part of the narrative but who, like everyone really other than Veloso and Gil among the Tropicalia vanguard, never graduates beyond window dressing. Anyway though, this paragraph was meant to be about the sections of the book that I enjoyed, so let's not digress too far. The ample time devoted to the author's imprisonment by the the military for subversive behavior is also vividly described and fascinating, from what he describes actually happening to the aspects he does and doesn't remember from those weeks. The subsequent section, in which the duo are exiled to London for a couple of years, isn't bad, either...but of course that's part of the mythology that I came in expecting/looking forward to read about.
But ultimately I can't say I liked the experience of reading the book, and that's more than anything because it confirmed a number of things I had sensed I didn't like about Veloso from his music, and then casually dropped an atomic bomb of extra, thoroughly unexpected fuel on that fire at the very end. As he writes it, Caetano comes across as not much fun, frail and overly sensitive, and highly pretentious and judgmental. He has no problem admitted repeatedly through most of the book that his musical abilities were inferior to those of Gil and many of his other contemporaries, and I definitely wouldn't disagree there; it was informative to know that the posse album came out sounding a bit flat and tame compared to the Gil, Mutantes, Costa, and Tom Ze albums largely because of Veloso's influence and that he alone thought that it was an artistic success because it WAS better than his '68 album. I agree on both points! But his lesser musicality seems to go hand in hand with what he likes and doesn't like - he hated on rock and roll until Gil sold him on mid-late-period Beatles, and he never stops dropping hot takes on cool music he didn't like. Everything for him seems to have been viewed through the lens of his complex philosophies on music and Brazilian cultural identity, with little room for fun, abandon, or pure musical excitement. His writing and choice of vocabulary in the book is often extremely scholarly and showy; it's hard to criticize too much when I'm pretty sure he wrote the whole English edition in his second language, but it adds to the stuffy, dry nature of the prose when he's constantly reaching for big words to convey how smart he is. At times it can lead to awkward word choices, too, like when he refers to Gil's embrace of his "negritude" or finds similarly uncomfortable ways of talking about other minority groups (he never comes off as racist or homophobic because of these choices, and repeatedly acknowledges bisexual tendencies he recognizes in himself and refers to himself as a light mulatto, but it just further highlights what a try-too-hard he is to come off as clinical and erudite). In any case, his odd prose choices, plus his sense of intellectual smugness, PLUS his insistence of deep dives into content that most non-Brazilian readers won't have a world of interest in or context for makes all but the most interesting sections slogs to read through.
As for the "atomic bomb" reveal I mentioned earlier...well, turns out that our man Caetano's second marriage was to a child wife who he met when he was 40 and she 13 in the early 1980s, and who (this part comes from reading I've since done outside of the book since reading it) he apparently deflowered at that age and married a few years later when she was 17. Yup, Mr. Sensitive Enlightened Sociological Genius Caetano Veloso didn't even bother to groom his under-aged love object, he more or less immediately consummated the interest with a girl who in United States might not have even left middle school yet. And he throws this in so quickly, like it's an afterthought to even mention and doesn't even really need defending (they married in '86 when he was 44 and stayed married until 2004)...I knew I didn't much like him because he seemed like a wet blanket weiner, but I felt a little bad about what it said about me earlier - I felt like a fratboy bully or something for responding so negatively to the picture most of the book painted of him. But wow, I hadn't realized I'd been reading the work of an unrepentant pedophile. And sure, sex with under-age girls is a foul, recurring problem among some of the big names of the classic rock vanguard that's really hard to reconcile with how much we've often already come to love their music by the time we learn about their shameful histories of statutory rape and the like...but Veloso's didn't come in the '70s at the peak of some kind of drugged-out megalomania; he tells us numerous times earlier in the book how much he doesn't like doing drugs/doesn't do them after a bad experience with ayahuasca, and he started his longterm sexual relationship with a kid at forty.
But anyway, this review isn't meant to be primarily a moral condemnation of Veloso, no matter how much of a disgusting creep I now view him to be. It's to say what I thought of his book overall, and like I said - I found it wanting. I do value the insight I gained about the origins and early days of tropicalia and at least a few of the works that came out of the movement (plus any time he talks about my boy GIlberto Gil). I also, despite having generally been dismissive of the stuff he focused on outside of tropicalia music and the military dictatorship, did learn some interesting things about other aspects of Brazilian culture in the 1960s...certainly plenty about bossa nova and its founding hero Joao Gilberto, and my curiosity was at times piqued by his talk about Cinema Nuevo. But mostly the book was a chore to get through and left me with an ever-increasing aversion to Caetano Veloso the man even before he outright repulsed me with his casual late-book admission to fucking and later marrying a thirteen year old. All of this just makes me that much more sour that he seems to have wound up as the most revered of his peers, showing up ahead of Gil, Costa, & Mutantes in lists of great singers (huh?), Brazilian artists, and more. Because sometimes that's the world we live in - the musically cut-rate, bitch-ass pedo gets the glory because he talks enough pretentious jargon that people think he's worth a damn and the average non-Brazilian fan doesn't know jack shit about his life beyond maybe the exile to England his revered elder statesman status as someone who was abused by the state in a dark period and came out more successful from it. Damn.
Why was Caetano my least favorite? Well, the short answer is just that I found the music I'd heard from him less consistently compelling than that of Gilberto Gil, Gal Costa, Os Mutantes, and Tom Ze. But there was also something about Caetano the man and persona that, from my admittedly minimal reservoir of familiarity outside of a few albums, rubbed me wrong, too. But the man was one of the main songwriting forces of tropicalia (and subsequent Brazilian MPB, the broad term for popular Brazilian music), providing my beloved Gal Costa in particular with any number of my favorite songs she performed. As one of the tropicalistas, he lived and created through a wild, harrowing, and fascinating time in his country's history. And I'd be lying if I claimed I don't like some of his own recordings, especially those from his 1969 self-titled second tropicalia album, as well.
Which brings us to this book. Caetano Veloso is an intelligent man given to deep, thoughtful ponderance - a true Brazilian intellectual. And boy howdy, he makes sure you know it over the course of Tropical Truth. You may have come in wanting to read about his role in the "genre" that receives such disproportionate attention from American music fans relative to the rest of its creators' generally wildly successful careers. And you may have expected to get a deep look at the political context that it came out of - the increasingly dangerous military dictatorship that first came to power in 1964 and would stay there through the peak periods of these artists' careers, and even how the tropicalistas also felt out-of-step with and sensed hostility from Brazil's traditional left (there are definitely shades of Dylan being booed by the American folkies for going electric). But did you also know you will be subjected to long, dry chapters and stretches about numerous Brazilian poetry, film, and visual art movements, many of which will be exceedingly difficult (or at best, digital labor intensive and time consuming) for even the most dedicated non-Brazilian reader to experience, judge, or even access? Or that he's going to be talking about them and pre-tropicalia Brazilian music as though he expects you to already have an encyclopedic knowledge of them? Yeah, have fun with that.
There is some great content in here, I don't want to imply otherwise (and I say that referring to great content for people like myself who came in wanting a focus on the music and events of '68 - '72 rather than somebody preparing to write a dissertation on Brazilian mass and underground culture in the fifties and sixties). Hearing Veloso's early takes on Anglophile rock and roll and related cultural imports was interesting because the fusion of those elements and traditional Brazilian sounds and ideas is so central to the music he & his allies made. Anything about the development of his relationship with the other Tropicalia heavyweights, especially co-founder Gilberto Gil, who I vastly prefer in every way to the author, is welcome. And when we do get some deep focus in the early-middle of the book on the actual making of Veloso's '68 self-titled album and the collective's posse album, Tropicalia ou Panis et Circensis (as well as some live shows and a TV variety show they oddly got to run for a bit), it's absolute paydirt. The rest of the crew's albums largely get background mentions at best, which I suppose is technically fair since it's a Veloso memoir, but considering how much time gets devoted to things like the Concrete Poetry Movement, it feels a tad unfair that we don't get a bit of a deeper look at one of Gil's albums or more time with Gal Costa, who seems briefly poised to become a significant part of the narrative but who, like everyone really other than Veloso and Gil among the Tropicalia vanguard, never graduates beyond window dressing. Anyway though, this paragraph was meant to be about the sections of the book that I enjoyed, so let's not digress too far. The ample time devoted to the author's imprisonment by the the military for subversive behavior is also vividly described and fascinating, from what he describes actually happening to the aspects he does and doesn't remember from those weeks. The subsequent section, in which the duo are exiled to London for a couple of years, isn't bad, either...but of course that's part of the mythology that I came in expecting/looking forward to read about.
But ultimately I can't say I liked the experience of reading the book, and that's more than anything because it confirmed a number of things I had sensed I didn't like about Veloso from his music, and then casually dropped an atomic bomb of extra, thoroughly unexpected fuel on that fire at the very end. As he writes it, Caetano comes across as not much fun, frail and overly sensitive, and highly pretentious and judgmental. He has no problem admitted repeatedly through most of the book that his musical abilities were inferior to those of Gil and many of his other contemporaries, and I definitely wouldn't disagree there; it was informative to know that the posse album came out sounding a bit flat and tame compared to the Gil, Mutantes, Costa, and Tom Ze albums largely because of Veloso's influence and that he alone thought that it was an artistic success because it WAS better than his '68 album. I agree on both points! But his lesser musicality seems to go hand in hand with what he likes and doesn't like - he hated on rock and roll until Gil sold him on mid-late-period Beatles, and he never stops dropping hot takes on cool music he didn't like. Everything for him seems to have been viewed through the lens of his complex philosophies on music and Brazilian cultural identity, with little room for fun, abandon, or pure musical excitement. His writing and choice of vocabulary in the book is often extremely scholarly and showy; it's hard to criticize too much when I'm pretty sure he wrote the whole English edition in his second language, but it adds to the stuffy, dry nature of the prose when he's constantly reaching for big words to convey how smart he is. At times it can lead to awkward word choices, too, like when he refers to Gil's embrace of his "negritude" or finds similarly uncomfortable ways of talking about other minority groups (he never comes off as racist or homophobic because of these choices, and repeatedly acknowledges bisexual tendencies he recognizes in himself and refers to himself as a light mulatto, but it just further highlights what a try-too-hard he is to come off as clinical and erudite). In any case, his odd prose choices, plus his sense of intellectual smugness, PLUS his insistence of deep dives into content that most non-Brazilian readers won't have a world of interest in or context for makes all but the most interesting sections slogs to read through.
As for the "atomic bomb" reveal I mentioned earlier...well, turns out that our man Caetano's second marriage was to a child wife who he met when he was 40 and she 13 in the early 1980s, and who (this part comes from reading I've since done outside of the book since reading it) he apparently deflowered at that age and married a few years later when she was 17. Yup, Mr. Sensitive Enlightened Sociological Genius Caetano Veloso didn't even bother to groom his under-aged love object, he more or less immediately consummated the interest with a girl who in United States might not have even left middle school yet. And he throws this in so quickly, like it's an afterthought to even mention and doesn't even really need defending (they married in '86 when he was 44 and stayed married until 2004)...I knew I didn't much like him because he seemed like a wet blanket weiner, but I felt a little bad about what it said about me earlier - I felt like a fratboy bully or something for responding so negatively to the picture most of the book painted of him. But wow, I hadn't realized I'd been reading the work of an unrepentant pedophile. And sure, sex with under-age girls is a foul, recurring problem among some of the big names of the classic rock vanguard that's really hard to reconcile with how much we've often already come to love their music by the time we learn about their shameful histories of statutory rape and the like...but Veloso's didn't come in the '70s at the peak of some kind of drugged-out megalomania; he tells us numerous times earlier in the book how much he doesn't like doing drugs/doesn't do them after a bad experience with ayahuasca, and he started his longterm sexual relationship with a kid at forty.
But anyway, this review isn't meant to be primarily a moral condemnation of Veloso, no matter how much of a disgusting creep I now view him to be. It's to say what I thought of his book overall, and like I said - I found it wanting. I do value the insight I gained about the origins and early days of tropicalia and at least a few of the works that came out of the movement (plus any time he talks about my boy GIlberto Gil). I also, despite having generally been dismissive of the stuff he focused on outside of tropicalia music and the military dictatorship, did learn some interesting things about other aspects of Brazilian culture in the 1960s...certainly plenty about bossa nova and its founding hero Joao Gilberto, and my curiosity was at times piqued by his talk about Cinema Nuevo. But mostly the book was a chore to get through and left me with an ever-increasing aversion to Caetano Veloso the man even before he outright repulsed me with his casual late-book admission to fucking and later marrying a thirteen year old. All of this just makes me that much more sour that he seems to have wound up as the most revered of his peers, showing up ahead of Gil, Costa, & Mutantes in lists of great singers (huh?), Brazilian artists, and more. Because sometimes that's the world we live in - the musically cut-rate, bitch-ass pedo gets the glory because he talks enough pretentious jargon that people think he's worth a damn and the average non-Brazilian fan doesn't know jack shit about his life beyond maybe the exile to England his revered elder statesman status as someone who was abused by the state in a dark period and came out more successful from it. Damn.
September 15, 2022
Depois de muito tempo resolvi ler a odisseia de Caetano. E que odisseia.
Caetano escreve muito, escreve bem. Um livro que se propõe a uma análise de um momentos importante da sua trajetória pessoal através de uma mirada para o momento importante do Brasil que o corresponde.
Há inúmeras digressões da ordem da análise ensaística que se dedicam aos mais variados temas para além daquela verdade tropical principal (a história da tropicália, da sua prisão e de seus primeiros discos até Araçá Azul é o mote principal da obra): Caetano fala de suas ideias sobre Contardo Calligaris, indústria musical, psicanálise, situação política do Brasil, Bob Dylan, Nova York, sexualidade, entre tantas outras coisas, tudo misturado à sua história. E tudo faz parte da sua história. A tropicália é esse local em que tudo se abriu, do mais cool ao mais trash, tudo foi válido e da justaposição disso nasceu o novo, essa ideia de Brasil que fagocita o Brasil (a bela explicação que Caetano dá da atropofagia oswaldiana ao comentar as observações enviesadas de Contardo dá conta de explicar muito melhor e mais minuciosamente essa ideia do que eu poderia).
O capítulo da prisão (que ganhou um livro próprio depois) é de uma beleza atroz. Corta, fere e mostra como a ditadura foi capaz de adentrar no mais íntimo das pessoas tornando tudo mais infeliz, levando Caetano particularmente à beira da loucura (que sequer sabia porque estava indo preso). E a recusa de Caetano em ver a ditadura como algo que nos é externo enquanto brasileiros, que surgiu como uma expressão profunda do ser do Brasil, é um ponto importante de seu pensamento - é um ponto em que, mesmo tendo escrito o livro nos anos 90, durante a positividade democrática que o Brasil experimentava, Caetano antevê e nos aponta a possibilidade de coisas nefastas surgirem novamente (e Bolsonaro o confirma). E dá a resposta - antropofagia: mastigar o amargo para depois jogar fora, expurgar de vez. Reconhecer que a ditadura (e bolsonaro) é (sã0) parte do ser do Brasil é importante para que possamos expulsá-los. (E daí, penso eu, a importância da memória, da verdade para que entendamos o que se passou, o que está se passando, e a importância do livro, nesse sentido, é enorme, já que é o relato também de uma prisão).
Li o livro de Guilherme Wisnik que saiu pela Fósforo - "Lançar Mundos no Mundo - Caetano Veloso e o Brasil" - que trata do pensamento de Caetano e da sua relação com o Brasil, imediatamente após acabar de ler Verdade Tropical, quase como se fosse um apêndice explicativo. Gostei muito da justaposição dos dois textos. Wisnik faz uma análise muito mais completa e muito mais crítica de Verdade Tropical do que eu jamais seria capaz de fazer. Assim, deixou a indicação de leitura (complementar?) a essa grande odisseia caetanesca.
Caetano Veloso chega aos 80 e eu chego ao fim do seu grande livro. Como homenagem quis ler esse livro durante o ano de 22, como uma forma de entender esse que vem me encantando em música por tanto tempo e por tanto tempo vem me traduzindo as mais variadas emoções em folha em graça em vida em força em luz.
Caetano escreve muito, escreve bem. Um livro que se propõe a uma análise de um momentos importante da sua trajetória pessoal através de uma mirada para o momento importante do Brasil que o corresponde.
Há inúmeras digressões da ordem da análise ensaística que se dedicam aos mais variados temas para além daquela verdade tropical principal (a história da tropicália, da sua prisão e de seus primeiros discos até Araçá Azul é o mote principal da obra): Caetano fala de suas ideias sobre Contardo Calligaris, indústria musical, psicanálise, situação política do Brasil, Bob Dylan, Nova York, sexualidade, entre tantas outras coisas, tudo misturado à sua história. E tudo faz parte da sua história. A tropicália é esse local em que tudo se abriu, do mais cool ao mais trash, tudo foi válido e da justaposição disso nasceu o novo, essa ideia de Brasil que fagocita o Brasil (a bela explicação que Caetano dá da atropofagia oswaldiana ao comentar as observações enviesadas de Contardo dá conta de explicar muito melhor e mais minuciosamente essa ideia do que eu poderia).
O capítulo da prisão (que ganhou um livro próprio depois) é de uma beleza atroz. Corta, fere e mostra como a ditadura foi capaz de adentrar no mais íntimo das pessoas tornando tudo mais infeliz, levando Caetano particularmente à beira da loucura (que sequer sabia porque estava indo preso). E a recusa de Caetano em ver a ditadura como algo que nos é externo enquanto brasileiros, que surgiu como uma expressão profunda do ser do Brasil, é um ponto importante de seu pensamento - é um ponto em que, mesmo tendo escrito o livro nos anos 90, durante a positividade democrática que o Brasil experimentava, Caetano antevê e nos aponta a possibilidade de coisas nefastas surgirem novamente (e Bolsonaro o confirma). E dá a resposta - antropofagia: mastigar o amargo para depois jogar fora, expurgar de vez. Reconhecer que a ditadura (e bolsonaro) é (sã0) parte do ser do Brasil é importante para que possamos expulsá-los. (E daí, penso eu, a importância da memória, da verdade para que entendamos o que se passou, o que está se passando, e a importância do livro, nesse sentido, é enorme, já que é o relato também de uma prisão).
Li o livro de Guilherme Wisnik que saiu pela Fósforo - "Lançar Mundos no Mundo - Caetano Veloso e o Brasil" - que trata do pensamento de Caetano e da sua relação com o Brasil, imediatamente após acabar de ler Verdade Tropical, quase como se fosse um apêndice explicativo. Gostei muito da justaposição dos dois textos. Wisnik faz uma análise muito mais completa e muito mais crítica de Verdade Tropical do que eu jamais seria capaz de fazer. Assim, deixou a indicação de leitura (complementar?) a essa grande odisseia caetanesca.
Caetano Veloso chega aos 80 e eu chego ao fim do seu grande livro. Como homenagem quis ler esse livro durante o ano de 22, como uma forma de entender esse que vem me encantando em música por tanto tempo e por tanto tempo vem me traduzindo as mais variadas emoções em folha em graça em vida em força em luz.
June 22, 2020
Alright! A first hand account of Brazil's post-Bossa Nova artistic/political movement Tropicalia...by one of the lead orchestrators himself, Caetano Veloso.
This book is wonderful in that it lends terrific insight into the political and cultural climate of Brazil in the 60's, not only within it's insular implied boundaries but in a globalized (predominately American) homogenization. The stage is well set for something big and new to continue the evolution of Brazilian music, the book lays it all out. It is a very honest book and reveals the thought of the protagonists as they conceptualize and subsequently deal with the consequences of their creative revolution. It is clear that this movement was so very deliberate and carefully constructed, it's inspiring, nothing we've seen or that we'd expect of American "scenes". Fascinating.
The problem is sort of two-f0ld in my humble opinion. Being written as a first hand account (meaning without the contribution of fellow conspirators), the book becomes a lot more like an autobiography than an objective story of Tropicalia. We get a LOT of Caetano. That's not so bad if that's what you're after. He is, after all, a brilliant and interesting person. So to clarify, MY problem is that I just read Ruy Castro's book on Bossa Nova (which I recommend) and came away with an editorial perspective on the history of 50's/60's Brazil with a musical bibliography and an idea of what the music sounded like. In fact, it was a treat to listen to the musicians on headphones while reading. The second "problem" with this book is that I never really got an idea about what the music sounded like. Don't get me wrong, my love of Tropicalia is what inspired this purchase. I just wanted to know more. And with no bibliography and a slant more toward the political implications and autobiographical perspective, the actual music and other bands suffered (beyond of course, their role in Caetano's story). Of course, maybe writing about music is like dancing about architecture as the fella sort of said.
That said, there is a lot of name dropping in many different disciplines...painters, poets, filmmakers, musicians, philosophers, producers...enough so that if you wish to go do some research, you can build a nice catalog of Tropicalia (and it's influences). I just wish I could have heard more from other's perspectives.
SOOOOOO, if you love Brazilian music, this is a must-read. Caetano's writing isn't very concise, but it's so interesting. And then go listen to some Bossa and Tropicalia and hit me up so we can talk about it over some records!
This book is wonderful in that it lends terrific insight into the political and cultural climate of Brazil in the 60's, not only within it's insular implied boundaries but in a globalized (predominately American) homogenization. The stage is well set for something big and new to continue the evolution of Brazilian music, the book lays it all out. It is a very honest book and reveals the thought of the protagonists as they conceptualize and subsequently deal with the consequences of their creative revolution. It is clear that this movement was so very deliberate and carefully constructed, it's inspiring, nothing we've seen or that we'd expect of American "scenes". Fascinating.
The problem is sort of two-f0ld in my humble opinion. Being written as a first hand account (meaning without the contribution of fellow conspirators), the book becomes a lot more like an autobiography than an objective story of Tropicalia. We get a LOT of Caetano. That's not so bad if that's what you're after. He is, after all, a brilliant and interesting person. So to clarify, MY problem is that I just read Ruy Castro's book on Bossa Nova (which I recommend) and came away with an editorial perspective on the history of 50's/60's Brazil with a musical bibliography and an idea of what the music sounded like. In fact, it was a treat to listen to the musicians on headphones while reading. The second "problem" with this book is that I never really got an idea about what the music sounded like. Don't get me wrong, my love of Tropicalia is what inspired this purchase. I just wanted to know more. And with no bibliography and a slant more toward the political implications and autobiographical perspective, the actual music and other bands suffered (beyond of course, their role in Caetano's story). Of course, maybe writing about music is like dancing about architecture as the fella sort of said.
That said, there is a lot of name dropping in many different disciplines...painters, poets, filmmakers, musicians, philosophers, producers...enough so that if you wish to go do some research, you can build a nice catalog of Tropicalia (and it's influences). I just wish I could have heard more from other's perspectives.
SOOOOOO, if you love Brazilian music, this is a must-read. Caetano's writing isn't very concise, but it's so interesting. And then go listen to some Bossa and Tropicalia and hit me up so we can talk about it over some records!
January 20, 2023
4.5 /5
Caetano Veloso es un filósofo de los sentidos. Sin lugar a dudas este es un libro valiosísimo sobre el tropicalismo, del cual Caetano fue fundador e ideólogo, pero también es la biografía intelectual/sensorial del autor. No imaginaba la cantidad de referencias filosóficas, literarias y de la cultura popular ligadas a sus creaciones y a su interpretación del mundo, sobre todo de Brasil. Al respecto, el capítulo tercero me parece una verdadera obra de arte, yo la incluiría en una antología de literatura latinoamericana del siglo XX.
Algo que me llama particularmente la atención es que durante todo el libro habla cariñosa y detalladamente de Dedé, su primera esposa. Hay una atención a los gestos y acciones de ella a lo largo del todo el texto. Sin embargo, esto termina abruptamente en el último capítulo, cuando menciona rápidamente que se separó de ella en los 80 y posteriormente comenzó a vivir con Paula Lavigne (me aterra la edad que tenía). A pesar de tener más de 450 páginas, da la sensación de terminar de manera abrupta precisamente porque los años 80 son obviados y sustituidos por una reflexión (entre otras) del libro de Samuel P. Huntington. En esta parte final se nota que Caetano se oculta a través de una reflexión simpática y lista, como lo que él hace, y se escuda en ella. Ojalá saque otro libro de memorias en los que comente los años 80 en adelante.
Caetano Veloso es un filósofo de los sentidos. Sin lugar a dudas este es un libro valiosísimo sobre el tropicalismo, del cual Caetano fue fundador e ideólogo, pero también es la biografía intelectual/sensorial del autor. No imaginaba la cantidad de referencias filosóficas, literarias y de la cultura popular ligadas a sus creaciones y a su interpretación del mundo, sobre todo de Brasil. Al respecto, el capítulo tercero me parece una verdadera obra de arte, yo la incluiría en una antología de literatura latinoamericana del siglo XX.
Algo que me llama particularmente la atención es que durante todo el libro habla cariñosa y detalladamente de Dedé, su primera esposa. Hay una atención a los gestos y acciones de ella a lo largo del todo el texto. Sin embargo, esto termina abruptamente en el último capítulo, cuando menciona rápidamente que se separó de ella en los 80 y posteriormente comenzó a vivir con Paula Lavigne (me aterra la edad que tenía). A pesar de tener más de 450 páginas, da la sensación de terminar de manera abrupta precisamente porque los años 80 son obviados y sustituidos por una reflexión (entre otras) del libro de Samuel P. Huntington. En esta parte final se nota que Caetano se oculta a través de una reflexión simpática y lista, como lo que él hace, y se escuda en ella. Ojalá saque otro libro de memorias en los que comente los años 80 en adelante.
Read
December 18, 2011Caetano Veloso writes:
I remember my walk from the Solar to the movie theatre where Land in Anguish was playing. It must be said that I found the film even more uneven than Black God, White Devil. [Both films by Glauber Rocha.] The lamentations of the main character – a left-wing poet torn apart by conflicting ambitions to achieve the “absolute” and social justice – were at times frankly sub-literary. In addition, certain intolerable conventional shortcomings of Brazilian cinema – high society parties staged unconvincingly, female extras encouraged by directors to enact deplorable provincial caricatures of sexy glamour, an overall lack of narrative clarity – these were all in painful evidence (though less intensely.) Yet as in Glauber’s previous films and a great many other Cinema Novo productions, suggestions of a different vision of life, of Brazil, of cinema, seemed to explode on the screen, overwhelming my reservations. The poet-protagonist offered a bitter, realistic vision of politics – in flagrant contrast to the naïveté of his companions – as he resisted the recently imposed military dictatorship. The film stages the moment of the coup d’état as a nightmare he has at the moment of his death: a confusing spectacle evoking at once Buñuel’s La fièvre monte à El Pao (Republic of Sin), mixed with some of the bad habits of the New Wave and strokes of Fellini’s 8 ½. But that chaos contributed to the parodic force of the film. And the effect was not entirely a disservice to the character, even though his desperate attempts at maintaining a critical perspective on his political objectives while sustaining the will to carry them out – the kind of dilemma that would lead so many to madness, mysticism, or the trenches of the opposition – lead, rather gratuitously, to his death. It is touching to think, today, how such a series of events might provide, with slight variations, a succinct biography of Glauber himself.
The film was naturally not a box-office success, but it scandalized the intellectuals and artists of the Carioca Left. Some in the audience – leaders of politically engaged theatre – jeered as the lights came up. One scene in particular shocked them: During a mass demonstration the poet, who is among those making speeches, calls forward a unionized worker and, to show how unprepared the worker is to fight for his rights, violently covers his mouth, shouting at the others (and at the audience), “This is the people! Idiots, illiterate, no politics!” Then a poor wretch, representing unorganized poverty, appears from among the crowd trying to speak, only to be silenced by the point of a gun stuck in his mouth by one of the candidate’s bodyguards. This indelible image is reiterated in long close-ups.
I experienced that scene – and the indignant, heated discussions that it provoked in bars – as the nucleus of a great event whose brief name I now possess but did not know then (I would try to name it a thousand ways for myself and for other people): the death of populism. There is no doubt that populist demagogues are sumptuously ridiculed in the film: they are seen holding crucifixes and flags in open cars against the sky above the Aterro do Flamengo, a wide modern road by the sea, lined with landscaped gardens. There they are in their gaudy mansions, celebrating the solemn rites of the church and Carnival that touch the heart of the masses, and so forth. But it was their essential faith in the popular forces – and the very respect that the best souls invested in the poor man – that here was discarded as a political weapon and an ethical value in itself. It was a hecatomb that I was facing. And I was excited by the prospect of examining what drove it and anticipating its consequences. Tropicalismo would have never have come into being but for that traumatic moment.
This assault on traditional left-wing populism liberated one to see Brazil squarely from a broader perspective, enabling new and undreamt-of critiques of an anthropological, mythic, mystical, formalist, and moral nature. If the scene of the poet and the worker that incensed the communists charmed me with its courage, it is because the images that came before and after it were trying to reveal something about our condition and ask questions about our destiny. A great cross on the beach overshadows a gathering of politicos, transvestites dressed to the nines for a ball, and Carnival Indians; one feels the presence of the grotesque and with it the revelation of an island always newly discovered and always hidden – Brazil. Among the multitude at the rally, a little old man is dancing samba, graceful and ridiculous, lecherous and angelic, happily lost – the Brazilian people captured in a paradox. One does not know whether they are meant to seem despairing or suggestive; political decisions are discussed on cement patios with black lines dividing the floor, asserting a denial of the comings and goings of the characters. The camera weaves among groups of four, five, six restless agitators, who express disagreement over tactics through their body language, all shot in black and white with enormous areas of light threatened by ominous, looming shadows. It was a political dramaturgy different from the usual reduction of everything to a stereotype of class struggle. Above all, here was the rhetoric and the poetics of post-1964 Brazilian life: a deep scream of pain and impotent rebellion, but also an updated vision, nearly prophetic, of our real possibilities to be and to feel.
I remember my walk from the Solar to the movie theatre where Land in Anguish was playing. It must be said that I found the film even more uneven than Black God, White Devil. [Both films by Glauber Rocha.] The lamentations of the main character – a left-wing poet torn apart by conflicting ambitions to achieve the “absolute” and social justice – were at times frankly sub-literary. In addition, certain intolerable conventional shortcomings of Brazilian cinema – high society parties staged unconvincingly, female extras encouraged by directors to enact deplorable provincial caricatures of sexy glamour, an overall lack of narrative clarity – these were all in painful evidence (though less intensely.) Yet as in Glauber’s previous films and a great many other Cinema Novo productions, suggestions of a different vision of life, of Brazil, of cinema, seemed to explode on the screen, overwhelming my reservations. The poet-protagonist offered a bitter, realistic vision of politics – in flagrant contrast to the naïveté of his companions – as he resisted the recently imposed military dictatorship. The film stages the moment of the coup d’état as a nightmare he has at the moment of his death: a confusing spectacle evoking at once Buñuel’s La fièvre monte à El Pao (Republic of Sin), mixed with some of the bad habits of the New Wave and strokes of Fellini’s 8 ½. But that chaos contributed to the parodic force of the film. And the effect was not entirely a disservice to the character, even though his desperate attempts at maintaining a critical perspective on his political objectives while sustaining the will to carry them out – the kind of dilemma that would lead so many to madness, mysticism, or the trenches of the opposition – lead, rather gratuitously, to his death. It is touching to think, today, how such a series of events might provide, with slight variations, a succinct biography of Glauber himself.
The film was naturally not a box-office success, but it scandalized the intellectuals and artists of the Carioca Left. Some in the audience – leaders of politically engaged theatre – jeered as the lights came up. One scene in particular shocked them: During a mass demonstration the poet, who is among those making speeches, calls forward a unionized worker and, to show how unprepared the worker is to fight for his rights, violently covers his mouth, shouting at the others (and at the audience), “This is the people! Idiots, illiterate, no politics!” Then a poor wretch, representing unorganized poverty, appears from among the crowd trying to speak, only to be silenced by the point of a gun stuck in his mouth by one of the candidate’s bodyguards. This indelible image is reiterated in long close-ups.
I experienced that scene – and the indignant, heated discussions that it provoked in bars – as the nucleus of a great event whose brief name I now possess but did not know then (I would try to name it a thousand ways for myself and for other people): the death of populism. There is no doubt that populist demagogues are sumptuously ridiculed in the film: they are seen holding crucifixes and flags in open cars against the sky above the Aterro do Flamengo, a wide modern road by the sea, lined with landscaped gardens. There they are in their gaudy mansions, celebrating the solemn rites of the church and Carnival that touch the heart of the masses, and so forth. But it was their essential faith in the popular forces – and the very respect that the best souls invested in the poor man – that here was discarded as a political weapon and an ethical value in itself. It was a hecatomb that I was facing. And I was excited by the prospect of examining what drove it and anticipating its consequences. Tropicalismo would have never have come into being but for that traumatic moment.
This assault on traditional left-wing populism liberated one to see Brazil squarely from a broader perspective, enabling new and undreamt-of critiques of an anthropological, mythic, mystical, formalist, and moral nature. If the scene of the poet and the worker that incensed the communists charmed me with its courage, it is because the images that came before and after it were trying to reveal something about our condition and ask questions about our destiny. A great cross on the beach overshadows a gathering of politicos, transvestites dressed to the nines for a ball, and Carnival Indians; one feels the presence of the grotesque and with it the revelation of an island always newly discovered and always hidden – Brazil. Among the multitude at the rally, a little old man is dancing samba, graceful and ridiculous, lecherous and angelic, happily lost – the Brazilian people captured in a paradox. One does not know whether they are meant to seem despairing or suggestive; political decisions are discussed on cement patios with black lines dividing the floor, asserting a denial of the comings and goings of the characters. The camera weaves among groups of four, five, six restless agitators, who express disagreement over tactics through their body language, all shot in black and white with enormous areas of light threatened by ominous, looming shadows. It was a political dramaturgy different from the usual reduction of everything to a stereotype of class struggle. Above all, here was the rhetoric and the poetics of post-1964 Brazilian life: a deep scream of pain and impotent rebellion, but also an updated vision, nearly prophetic, of our real possibilities to be and to feel.
November 25, 2022
Li pela primeira vez aos 18 anos quando fazia faculdade em Salvador. Fez efeitos e provocou mais alterações em mim do que qualquer droga. Reli uma dezenas de vezes, se tornou minha bíblia, é o livro que eu levaria para uma ilha deserta.
April 9, 2022
Terminei de ler esse livro precisamente no dia que vou ver pela primeira vez um show do Caetano. Me sinto em movimento constante e sem freio.
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February 25, 2024My thoughts on this book are a mess, and as follows:
I read this for the purposes of novel research. Veloso and the tropicalistas are mentioned a bunch and I wanted to get that stuff right. I was also curious about his time in prison (the most interesting portion of the book by far) and to better understand what life was like under the military dictatorship. So that was that.
As I said, the prison stuff was very interesting. Sounded like a nightmare, ngl. But the book as a whole left a… weird? Taste in my mouth. Mostly because I knew the whole time that my guy would wind up marrying a girl he met when she was 12 and he was in his forties.
There’s exactly one line about that here. Which… k. In a book with a full page dedicated to discussing how Americans pronounce their Rs, you’d think wife no. 2 would get at least a paragraph, but no. Really makes you wonder…!
Anyway, this guy is an interesting figure. I will admit to liking his music but I really can’t get over the “sleeping with a child” thing, endemic as it was among men who made music throughout the 20th century. I feel similarly about Bowie, for example; I still listen to the songs but feel a little disgusting about it. What do you even do with these people?
I do think it’s interesting that Veloso’s still getting profiles in the New Yorker and op-eds in the NYT and stuff despite the fact that his having married a teenager when I’m pretty sure he had children just a few years younger than her is not exactly a secret. Maybe it’s because he’s not well-known enough here for people to care? I really don’t know.
Anyway (again), the first 200 pages of this were kind of a slog. But the prison part is really fucking good. I just don’t know how to square all this stuff! Off to watch some Glauber Rocha, I guess, if I can find it.
I read this for the purposes of novel research. Veloso and the tropicalistas are mentioned a bunch and I wanted to get that stuff right. I was also curious about his time in prison (the most interesting portion of the book by far) and to better understand what life was like under the military dictatorship. So that was that.
As I said, the prison stuff was very interesting. Sounded like a nightmare, ngl. But the book as a whole left a… weird? Taste in my mouth. Mostly because I knew the whole time that my guy would wind up marrying a girl he met when she was 12 and he was in his forties.
There’s exactly one line about that here. Which… k. In a book with a full page dedicated to discussing how Americans pronounce their Rs, you’d think wife no. 2 would get at least a paragraph, but no. Really makes you wonder…!
Anyway, this guy is an interesting figure. I will admit to liking his music but I really can’t get over the “sleeping with a child” thing, endemic as it was among men who made music throughout the 20th century. I feel similarly about Bowie, for example; I still listen to the songs but feel a little disgusting about it. What do you even do with these people?
I do think it’s interesting that Veloso’s still getting profiles in the New Yorker and op-eds in the NYT and stuff despite the fact that his having married a teenager when I’m pretty sure he had children just a few years younger than her is not exactly a secret. Maybe it’s because he’s not well-known enough here for people to care? I really don’t know.
Anyway (again), the first 200 pages of this were kind of a slog. But the prison part is really fucking good. I just don’t know how to square all this stuff! Off to watch some Glauber Rocha, I guess, if I can find it.
September 12, 2019
Brazilian music has long fascinated me, but I haven't spent nearly enough time listening to it. Veloso was an artist I'd encountered here and there on compilations or radio shows, and I knew he was associated with the revolutionary strain of Brazilian pop known as tropicalismo. Herein, he tells the story of how he and his contemporaries developed a version of music situated in the samba and bossa nova they loved, but which embraced influences from all over the world of pop music. More, Veloso tells of his intellectual discoveries with and of writers, poets, filmmakers, musicians, painters, and other creative types. His youthful enthusiasm, told from the perspective of late middle age, is contagious. A very long section of the book describes detailed memories of his time in prison - Brazil had undergone a military coup in 1964, and by the end of 1968, the powers that were had no interest in Veloso or his favorite contemporary Gilberto Gil remaining free and capable of undermining public belief in their system. This chapter is spellbinding. Veloso's intellectual interests meet his very real pain and suffering, and that of his fellow prisoners, and even some of the guards. Though sections of the book drag when he goes off on a tangent either beyond my grasp or so far from my experience that I can't figure out what he's discussing, he sometimes hits such graceful and distinctive passages as to match the beauty of his best music. (In that regard, I've played over and over again his self-titled 1968 debut album, as well as Gil's 1968 self-titled record, all week long.)
October 21, 2020
"Caetano possui como poucos a capacidade de caracterizar artistas e obras. Espalhados pelo livro e apimentados pela rivalidade, os retratos de Maria Bethânia, Nara Leão, Elis Regina, Glauber Rocha, Chico Buarque, Raul Seixas, Erasmo Carlos, Gilberto Gil, Augusto Boal, Augusto de Campos, Geraldo Vandré e outros formam uma excelente galeria contemporânea. Deliberadamente ou não, as feições individuais somam, ressoando umas nas outras e configurando com densidade a problemática de uma geração. Noutro plano, o mesmo golpe de vista estético-social, aberto para a individualidade das obras e para a sua substância coletiva, faz de Caetano um crítico de arte de primeira qualidade. As suas páginas sobre Terra em transe e Alegria, alegria estão entre as boas peças da crítica brasileira, particularmente pela inteligência com que integram descrição formal e circunstância histórica. Dito isso, as caracterizações devem o seu relevo a mais outro elemento de visão, também ele dialético, ligado à confiança sem reservas no valor histórico da individualização complexa. Com efeito, para Caetano as obras e os artistas não são epifenômenos, mas acontecimentos, pontos de acumulação real, que fazem diferença e têm consequências no campo estético e fora dele. São momentos salientes e significativos de uma história em curso, que não se reduz à dinâmica do mercado, com as suas modas que se sucedem indiferente e indefinidamente, nem aos esquemas prefixados do marxismo vulgar".
- Roberto Schwarz
- Roberto Schwarz
January 31, 2007
I'll admit I didn't finish the book. Though I love what I know, I don't have a very strong knowledge of Brazilian music. Veloso tries to make the history approachable for the uninformed, but he's talking about music, mostly, so without knowing what these things SOUND like, it's all just too abstract to follow the chains of influence. This isn't helped by the writing style - I respect that he takes his subject so seriously, but it seems a bit overly academic and intellectual, and leans towards long, fairly convoluted sentences which I could probably parse if I wasn't also keeping tabs on who everybody was and what songs they sang, etc. To be fair it's hard to know how much of this is Veloso's intention and how much is the work of a translator.
What I loved about the book was the sense of he and his peers building a cultural movement that mattered, mostly because they believed it did. This belief that art has a power (beyond its power as a commodity) to transform life is one of the main things missing in america today! I'd love to steep myself in the music of some of the main reference points and come back to the book someday.
What I loved about the book was the sense of he and his peers building a cultural movement that mattered, mostly because they believed it did. This belief that art has a power (beyond its power as a commodity) to transform life is one of the main things missing in america today! I'd love to steep myself in the music of some of the main reference points and come back to the book someday.
May 20, 2013
Interesting autobiography from a key member of the tropocalia movement of Brazil in the late 60's. The majority of the book is recalling encounters with his peers, the inspirations for many of his songs; the usual stuff of an entertainer's memoir. What sets it apart are the chapters detailing his sudden and unwarranted arrest on the morning of New Year's Day, 1969. What happened? What made Veloso and tropocalia so dangerous to the military regime in control in Brazil at that time? It seems ridiculous now, but he and many others were either jailed or run out of the country (in Veloso and Gilberto Gil's case, both) for questioning not the government, but the musical traditions of their country. It is in this section of the book the author details not only the waking nightmare of being thrown in prison without trial or even an explanation, but a harrowing slide into paranoia and deprivation that very nearly claimed his sanity. His resolve and recovery in this bizarre Orwellian nightmare is truly inspirational. An illuminating book on a little-known but highly influential period in music history, which has since influenced everyone from The Talking Heads to Beck and The Flaming Lips.
July 25, 2020
Levei muitos meses para concluir a leitura, um pouco por meu próprio marasmo, um pouco pelas milhares de referências existentes no livro, tornando a leitura mais enciclopédica do que passatempo.
Curiosamente, iniciei e conclui a leitura em duas datas muito importantes para o povo negro no Brasil: dia 20 de novembro, dia da consciência negra e dia 25 de julho, dia de Teresa de Benguela e da mulher negra latino-americana e caribenha. Caetano repete diversas vezes que respeita o acaso do destino. Fiquei pensando sobre essas datas e sobre o que Caetano retrata como tropicalismo. Além de toda a história retratada, li principalmente sobre o encanto e a riqueza da música brasileira estarem necessariamente associados às heranças de nossas origens negras. Viva o povo negro, viva a música brasileira.
Curiosamente, iniciei e conclui a leitura em duas datas muito importantes para o povo negro no Brasil: dia 20 de novembro, dia da consciência negra e dia 25 de julho, dia de Teresa de Benguela e da mulher negra latino-americana e caribenha. Caetano repete diversas vezes que respeita o acaso do destino. Fiquei pensando sobre essas datas e sobre o que Caetano retrata como tropicalismo. Além de toda a história retratada, li principalmente sobre o encanto e a riqueza da música brasileira estarem necessariamente associados às heranças de nossas origens negras. Viva o povo negro, viva a música brasileira.
December 3, 2012
This book was quite dense and difficult to get through at points. So coming from an American perspective I can see where others did not like it. However, to criticize Veloso for writing from his perspective is rather like to criticize him for not performing impossible magic. The ideas presented in Anthropophagy and the constructions behind a movement that presented something truly radical in the 1960s (many have presented the 60s as the penultimate in radicalism, but I find most movements of the 60s to be rather lacking, and hypocritical) was an incredible rush. Sure, I did not know every character, but then again how many people would be familiar with any close knit scene? To have a glimpse into it was great. Not to mention that he quoted Kapuscinski at the end.
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