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From the north-eastern provinces, mixing Spanish, African and Guarani influences (and long derided for it), a distant cousin of tango. Guitar and six-string guitarron, accordion and bandoneon, double bass, singing.
The first time out for this buried treasure recorded in 1977 at Columbia Studios in New York with Claus Ogerman.
Featuring fellow Brazilians Mauricio Maestro, Nana Vasconcelos and Tutty Moreno, and in-demand statesiders including Michael Brecker, Joe Farrell and Buster Williams, it kicks off with a sensational eleven-minute version of her anthemic Feminina. Check out Descompassadamente, too. Lovely stuff.
Aka baile funk.
Music for a ballet telling the life of of a daughter of a black slave, recorded in 1974 by the likes of Nana Vasconcelos, Joao Donato, Paulinho Jobim, and members of Som Imaginario; and containing the definitive versions of some of MN’s most iconic songs, including Os Escravos De Jó and Maria Maria.
‘Sheer beauty’ (The Guardian). ‘You don’t need to understand a word to realise that this is awesome music’ (Time Out).
Legendary, occult musical reverie about the I Ching, psychedelically loaded with fuzz guitars, dirty percussion, Echoplex delay, and Ingmar Bergman, concocted by Italian artist Roberto Campadello and Brazilian guitarist Luis Carlini, leader of Rita Lee’s band Tutti Frutti. Originally released as a 10” in 1975, boxed with a game, candles and a magic mirror; now remastered from the original tapes, adding two tracks from a cassette-only release on the side. With a 24-page booklet containing rare graphics, photos, press clippings and Campadello’s artworks, besides extensive notes (including information about the celebrated Persona Bar which Campadello and Carmen Flores ran in the late 70s in São Paulo’s Bixiga neighbourhood); and the LP with the iconic cover as a poster.
José Roberto Bertrami from Azymuth (and Tatuí, a small city in the Brazilian state of São Paulo) — not to mention his work for Elis Regina, George Duke, Sarah Vaughn, Jorge Ben, Eddie Palmieri, Milton Nascimento, Flora Purim, and Erasmo Carlos, among countless others — playing piano alongside his bro Claudio on double bass, a horn section, and an organist. With compositions by Antonio Carlos Jobim, Roberto Menescal, Carlos Lyra, Durval Ferreira, and Adilson Godoy, the album also features Bertrami’s own A Bossa Do Zé Roberto, mesmerising bossa jazz which ensconces him amongst the bossa greats, even at the age of nineteen.
Remastered from the original tape reels, this is the first official release of the legendary guitarist’s live recordings at the Penthouse jazz club, alongside bassist Sebastiao Neto and drummer Paulinho Magalhaes. With an extensive forty-page booklet containing rare photos of the performances; an essay by jazz critic Greg Caz; new statements by Carlos Santana, Lalo Schifrin, and others; and an effusive tribute by the John Fahey.
Gonzalo Benitez and Luis Alberto Valencia were kingpins of the musica nacional movement in Ecuador. Check them out on the cover, on a rooftop in Quito’s Old Town, surveying their dominion.
In 1970, when Valencia collapsed onstage during a performance of the yaravi Desesperacion — ‘My heart is already in ashes’ — and died four days later, aged 52, his coffin was carried through those city streets on the shoulders of a throng of his fans.
They began singing as a duo in their mid-teens. During twenty-eight years together they recorded more than six hundred songs, for Discos Ecuador, Nacional, Granja, Ortiz, Rondador, Onix, Fuente, Real, Tropical, Fadisa, RCA Victor — and of course CAIFE.
Their exquisitely romantic harmonising is a sublime blend of collected forbearance and abject self-annihilation, underpinned and elaborated by the heart-piercing, improvisatory guitar-playing of Bolivar Ortiz. Effectively the third member of the group. ‘El Pollo’ sets the tone and intensity for everything that follows: listen to his soloing at the start of our opener, Lamparilla.
Musically a pasillo — a cross between a Viennese waltz and the indigenous yaravi rhythm — Lamparilla draws its verses from a poem by Luz Martinez from Riobamba, written in 1918 when she was 15, under the influence of Baudelaire and Mallarme. Another pasillo here, Sombras (‘Shadows’) is one of the best-loved songs in the musica nacional canon, setting poetry about undercover sex and lost love by the Mexican poet Maria Pren, which was considered pornographic on publication in 1911. ‘When oblivion comes / I will lose you to the shadows / To the hazy gloom / Where one warm afternoon I laid bare my unbridled feelings for you / Never again will I search out your eyes / Or kiss your mouth.’
And Benitez & Valencia looked back still further, to the indigenous roots of Ecuadorian music, as the key to its future. Carnaval de Guaranda is their take on a song dating back to the era of the Mitimaes, a broad group of Bolivian tribes conquered by the Incas and displaced to Ecuador. ‘Impossible love of mine / I love you for being impossible / Who loves what is impossible / Is the truest lover.’
Fiercely beautiful, desolate music from the shadowy mists of time, the lip of oblivion, for anyone who had a heart, for anyone who ever dreamed.
Impatiently returning to the golden age of Ecuadorian musica national, this second round of retrievals is more of a selectors’ affair: less reverent, more free-flowing, with more twists and turns. There is no let-up in the quality of the music, maintaining the same judicious, heart-piercing balance between emotional desolation and dignified endurance, the same bitter-sweet play between affective excess and formal sublimity.
This time around, the woman steal the show. Laura and Mercedes Suasti were child stars, with an exclusive Radio Quito contract. Unlike nearly all the men here, they lived long and prospered: Mercedes died last year, at the age of 93. Gladys Viera and Olga Gutierrez both came to Ecuador from Argentina. To start, Gladys plugged the scandalous new Monokini swimwear; Olga performed for visiting British royalty in 1962. Olga was glamorous but tough. She would make little of the amputation of one of her legs: ‘I don’t sing with my leg.’ She is accompanied on our opener by quintessentially reeling, sultry musica national: haunted-house organ, twinkling xylophone, Guillermo Rodriguez’ heart-plucking guitar-playing, and lilting, dance-to-keep-from-crying double-bass. ‘Sometimes I think that you will leave me with no memories,’ she sings, ‘that you hold only disappointments in store for me… In the future your love will search me out, full of regret. By then it will be too late, there will be no consolation, only disappointment awaiting you.’
Other highlights include the two contributions of Orquesta Nacional: Ponchito Al Hombro, like an off-the-wall forerunner of the Love Unlimited Orchestra, beamed into the tropics from an unknowable time and space; and the tone poem Atahualpa, a mystical yumbo invoking Quito’s most ancient inhabitants, the Kichwa. Also the tremulous, gypsy-flavoured violin-playing of Raul Emiliani, who arrived in Quito from Italy, suffering PTSD from the Second World War; the inscrutable, sardonic experimentalism of organist Lucho Munoz; and the mooing and whistling of Toro Barroso — cow-thief school of Lee Perry — in which a muddy bull dashes home to his darling chola, fearless, full of desire.
Lavishly presented, with a full-size, full-colour booklet, with transporting art-work and expert notes. Luminous sound, by way of Abbey Road, D&M and Pallas.
Truly spell-binding music.
A dazzling survey of the last, bohemian flowering of the so-called Golden Era of Ecuadorian musica national, before the oil boom and incoming musical styles — especially cumbia — swept away its achingly beautiful, phantasmagorical, utopian juggling of indigenous and mestizo traditions.
Forms like the tonada, albazo, danzante, yaravi, carnaval, and sanjuanito; the yumbo, with roots in pre-Incan ritual, and the pasillo, a take on the Viennese waltz, arriving through the Caribbean via Portugal and Spain.
Exhumations like the astoundingly out-there organist Lucho Munoz, from Panama, toying with the expressive and technical limits of his instrument; and our curtain-raiser Biluka, who travelled to Quito from Rio, naming his new band Los Canibales in honour of the late-twenties Cannibalist movement back home, dedicated to cannibalising other cultures in the fight against post-colonial, Eurocentric hegemony. He played the ficus leaf, hands-free, laying it on his tongue. One leaf was playable for ten hours. He spent long periods living on the street, in rags, when he wasn’t in the CAIFE studio recording his chamber jazz-from-space, with the swing, elegance and detail of Ellington’s small groups, crossed with the brassy energy of ska — try Cashari Shunguito — and an enthralling other-worldliness.
Utterly scintillating guitar-playing, prowling double bass, piercing dulzaina, wailing organ, rollicking gypsy violin, brass, accordion, harps, and flutes. Bangers to get drunk and dance to. Slow songs galore to drown your sorrows in, with wildly sentimental lyrics drawn from the Generacion Decapitada group of poets (who all killed themselves); expert heart-breakers, with the raw passion of the best rembetica, but reined in, like the best fado.
Fabulous music, like nothing else, exquisitely suffused with sadness and soul. Hotly recommended.
Sumptuously presented, in a gatefold sleeve and printed inners, with a full-size, full-colour booklet, with wonderful photos and excellent notes. Limpid sound, too, courtesy of original reels in Quito, and Abbey Road in London; pressed at Pallas.
Testing bossa conventions, encouraged by ACJ’s move to Creed Taylor’s ambitious set-up, abetted by Deodato’s brilliant arrangements. From 1970, with Airto and Ron Carter; and some lovely electric piano.
Haydee Alba’s 1990 debut album — emotional and poetic from the off, already steeped in tradition — following the evolution of the form over its nineteen tracks. ‘An artist’s job is to make her public dream.’
‘Eighteen dedications, each hybrid and different, but driven by an utterly personal approach to bebop, Brazilian jazz, Africa and Brazilian roots; thronged with his signature battery of whistles, screams, scales, keyboard, kettles, spoons, squeeze toys, children’s voices, prepared piano and geese calls; with the band adding native instruments like pandeiro, surdo, caixa, apitos, bonecos and agogos, besides saxophones, flute, electric piano, electric bass and so on. Musicians and genres such as Terry Riley, Frank Zappa and Weather Report, Javanese gamelan and Indonesian kulintang come to mind, but there is no real overlap: Pascoal has his own special brew.’
His first recording with his band in fifteen years. “My music is not commercial; it’s not like selling bananas or soap. I’m not in a hurry to record.”
The great Argentinean bandoneon player in his first purely solo recording for more than thirty years.
‘A powerful reminder of Dino’s gifts as a musical storyteller of great subtlety. His pieces in this intimate recording reach back to early memories: Don Caye, subtitled Variations on the work of Cayetano Saluzzi, is a most touching dedication to his father. Throughout, the bandoneonist reflects upon the fleeting passage of time.’
Wonderful music, warmly recommended.