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Recently, I heard from an friend that in-person events are back with full force. My friend L. is an editor and lives in São Paulo, but I see the same phenomenon happening here in Rio. Among the various cultural activities that are currently (re-)flourishing, poetry reading soirées seem to be multiplying with particular rapidity.

It is amazing how the written word attracts people of all types and backgrounds! At a literary gathering with audience participation you will inevitably encounter at least of of the following: a student in a top hat who would put the rabbit in the story of Alice to shame, a handful of shy poets who refuse to succumb to the current rule of full exposure in socials, but are comfortable behind the open mic, as well as people who have experienced hard times and managed to repurpose their pain through words.

I write poems since… well, I have the impression that since I was literate and such meetings are not unfamiliar to me, either as a watcher or an active participant, singing or reciting. It is always a nice experience, but… There is something about poetry readings that make me feel, well, uncomfortable. I do not quite know how to explain it, but it is as if some very intimate sphere has been crossed.

And what would that sphere be? There is something very personal about reading and listening to a poem. I am not referring here to a specific need. honestly, I do not think there is a “correct” setting for enjoying poems. There are words to be recited screaming, others more suited to whispering in the ear, in short, there is poetry for the most diverse situations.

My discomfort at poetry soirees is the same I feel at restaurants with live music performances. Someone performing while other people are distracted is not an image I like very much. I am aware that the fields of gastronomy and entertainment are intertwined: we want gigs and venue owners want to sell their products. And you know what? For the sake of our gigs, we wish them and their business well. We all need to live in harmony, for the sake of the scene.

Things kind of take car eof themselves when gigs take place in theaters or concert halls that really understand what they are doing and suspend services during the musical performances. However, this is not the reality in poetry soirées, which are characterized by a climate of, shall we say, healthy chaos, meaning that while some pour their souls into the open microphone in front, others pour out the news of the week in loud shouts at the side tables and counters in the back.

On the one hand, I find some comfort in knowing that my discomfort is not shared by many and that soirées will live long and propsper. On the other hand, I would like my confession to serve as a wake-up call to the fact that maybe, just maybe, we are just too loud. Everywhere, not just at concerts. And speaking loudly is a feature that is usually part of a package that includes, among other unpleasant things, the inability to hear.

My impression is that despite (or perhaps precisely because of ) the frenetic production of words and sounds, our capacity for assimilation has greatly diminished. I do not have the solution for what might be a twentty-first century sindrom, but I am sure that it does not lie in our ability to make eye-catching videos of up to three seconds.

We worship speed since the beginning of the nineteenth century and it is simply not working: we do not work less because of computers os smart phones, neither faster cars have solved traffic problems. Speed is definitely not the answer to our growing lack of attention. Are we really going to keep insisting?

We can do better than that.

Be seeing you,

G.F.

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I already liked to buy in thrift stores before it was cool. And just like in the mentioned case of tea, we are dealing with territory that Brazilians in general are quite unfamiliar with. In fact, shopping at thrift stores was for a long time associated here with a situation of great poverty, and many people still think that only a situation of extreme need can justify wearing clothes previously used by strangers.

Perhaps because I was raised in a family in which it was a common practice for younger to wear clothes that no longer fit the older sinblings and cousins, inheriting clothes was never a problem for me. Incidentally, I believe that the practice, from an early age, of choosing the pieces that I liked among family donations is responsible for my “good eye”, that is, the ability to find good pieces, even in the messiest thrift stores.

The ability to establish some kind of order in a chaotic situation can be very useful when it comes to writing a song, because the idea is basically the same: being able to gather some sense in the midst of, according to the beautiful words of the genius Luis Melodia, everything there is “loose on the platform of the air”.

Some musicians take this ability to capture what is in the air and translate it into wonderful music to a spiritual level, like Coltrane and João Donato, who just left this planet to join the stars.

The Brazilian musician João Donato (1934-2023) had one of these blessed gifts. A seemingly effortless capacity not only to insert his signature (a “piano by Donato” can be recognized from afar) in his vast oeuvre, but also to keep transiting through different styles without ceasing to be, well, totally Donato.

Unlike many people think, and despite being strongly associated to the movement, Donato did not classify himself as a bossa nova musician, nor samba, nor jazz, nor rumba, nor forró: “Actually, I am all of these things at the same time”, he used to say.

As a fan of of the his phases have, but I would like to draw attention here to his 2016 album Donato Elétrico. It is a proof that great artists can surprise at any stage of their career (did anyone mention the jazz phase of Matisse?). The album has an enviable freshness and vigor. It refers to modern arrangements ans references, but also pays tribute to the roots, in a way that always reminds me of Fela Kuti. The irresistible energy of the album makes me want to dance, even if only in my mind.

João Donato is now jaming in heaven and we will miss him a lot (his live concerts during the pandemic years saved my day, more than once). Luckily, he will live forever.

Be seeing you!

G.F.

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Carmen McRae said once that Stevie Wonder is a genius, and I should add that his discography is the greatest proof that Carmen was not just giving her opinion, but actually describing a fact, a musical indisputable truth.

A great example of his Wonder-touch is Stevie Wonder´s Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants, usually cataloged as representing the B-side of his vast oeuvre, due to its extremely experimental nature. You may remember that I previously mentioned this album here, suggesting that it is the perfect soundtrack to enhace the healing energy of taking care of plants, but it is certainly much more than that.

The album would be classified today as conceptual. All tracks revolve round the subject brought to light by the controversial 1973 book The Secret Life of Plants, by Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird, which served as the basis for the homonymous 1979 documentary, directed by Walon Green.

The soundtrack, by Stevie Wonder, was released separately under a slightly modified title. In fact, the change was subtle, but it reinforces the independent character of the work in relation to the book and the documentary. Now, the journey is what matters. And what a ride!

The careful listener will be rewarded with an album with a unique atmosphere. With his genius touch, Stevie creates a dreamlike aura that makes any controversy seem unimportant, just as he would do again in the 1991 movie Jungle Fever, but this is another story.

Anyway, my journey to the journey of Stevie has to do with the fact that no matter where I live, there will be plants around me. No matter how big or small, how well or poorly lit the rooms are, I always manage to keep green spots on the house (and yes, I am very proud of it).

It was a matter of time until the book by Tompkins and Birdbook fell into my hands, but by then I still did not know about the soundtrack. As a matter of fact, I only became aware of it because of… another re-interpretation!

The song was Flower Power and it was part of the 1991 album Slow Food, from the Brazilian jazz group Nouvelle Cuisine. They also deserve a full text on their contribution to the transition from the colourful music scene of the late 1980s to the minimalist 1990s, but for now I can tell you that I was immediately hooked by the arrangement.

Ironically, it was the strong bossa nova influence that brought me to the Mr. Wonder. As you can see, flower power always finds a way.

Be seeing you!

G.F.

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Sound editing is a fine art and I do not master it, but I had to learn a thing or two, just like every independent musician. I must confess to you that it is one of my least favourite parts of post production and, consequently, a task that I usually put off until I can no longer ignore it.

This is the case with more than an hour and a half recordings. They are takes of a very special live concert: the release of my EP So Now, five years ago.

Precisely because it was a concert whose memories keep me warm on rainy days, the usual difficulty of dealing with my recordings increased a lot, to the point where I was already two weeks behind my schedule (!)

Okay, my schedule is flexible, but it is still quite a delay, and it made me wonder why it is so hard to deal with, let us say, my yesterday version.

My first guess is that it is because I am used to doing my chores listening to music or a podcast, with headphones on. However, when editing audios this form of distraction is not possible, that is: it demands on hundred percent concentration and who has such percentage of concentration nowadays? No-one!

This is indeed an important factor, but certainly not the main one. Searching deeper in my heart for the true causes, what I find are a mix of feelings. A bit of shame for possible mistakes and a certain irritation for no longer being able to change them.

However, digging a little bit deeper, I find one more feeling. Perhaps the central piece, without which my puzzle is not only incomplete, but also meaningless. I am talking about nostalgia.

If you cannot understand the reason for my dilemma, you certainly are not familiar with the selective function of memory. Remembering things is returning to what no longer exists in the outside world, but is still alive for and within us. The complex and sophisticated mechanism of memory is not only limited to being a screen where images of memories are projected.

Comparing our memories to scenes from a movie, we could say that our minds have the power of rewriting lines, changing actors, backgrounds and shooting angles, editing and giving the final cut. Now think about how much my mind could have changed my memories of the show over a period of five years. Scary, hu?.

What if I get to the end of the recordings and find out that my performance was not as good as I remember it? And what if the audience was not as receptive as I have it in mind?

The only solution I can think of is to try to deal with the recordings with the detachment that a professional editor would have. It does not really matter if the recordings do not show my A-material. Maybe the night was not perfect, so what?

The important thing is that So Now was able to create perfect memories. This is the real magic.

Be seeing you!

G.F.

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I am determined to follow through with my resolution from the end of last year. I promised myself that every victory would be celebrated, every step taken, every milestone. I strongly believe that when we do that, we not only boost our self-esteem, but also our productive capacity. In other words, the victory of today is the fuel that keeps the engine running towards the victory of tomorrow.

Therefore, to be faithful to this self commitment, today I would like to talk about a very special event that took place exactly five years ago: the release of my traditional jazz vocal EP called So Now. The title and intro of the song that gives name to the album both refer to So What, the first theme from the iconic 1959 album A Kind of Blue.

Miles is a character in the song and is even quoted in the lyrics of the story that reports in a mocking and humorous way a date that did not work out very well. After hearing Miles “for quite a long time”, the protagonist wonders if it might not be the right time to order a taxi back home and call it a night.

The launch concert represents, in itself, a milestone in my career, as it was held in a traditional jazz club in the city of Eugene, in the State of Oregon, U.S.A.: The Jazz Station.

The club, set as in the classics of the golden age of jazz has with tables adorned with natural flower arrangements and an extremely polite audience, used to high-level performances conducted by students and professors at the University of Oregon.

Of course there were little problems before (musicians late for rehearsal, for example) and during the show (some technical problems and minor mistakes), but what I really remember is a magical night, with a full house, people stopping at the street to listen, great merch sale and lots of nice comments on my presence book.

I know that memory is a movie set, but in the movie of my memories, So Now started off on the right foot. I will tell you more about this dream-concert on the following post. For now, I would like to invite you to listen to So Now on your favourite platform.

Are you the kind who likes to listen to songs paying a lot of attention to the lyrics? Then you got to check out this playlist.

Be seeing you!

G.F.