Vibracao da Carne

There is no one like Tom Zé.  An architect of the tropicalismo movement that harmonized Brazilian pop music with global modernism in the 60s and 70s, Zé fell into obscurity in the 80s, not commercial or comprehensible enough to find a niche in the musical landscape that followed the anything-goes, tropicalista revolution.  David Byrne, a natural ally of offbeat genius, helped Zé re emerge in the 90s, and Zé’s subsequent work has been extraordinary, none more so than this 16-part operetta focused on the myriad ways human societies have victimized women.  On one level, this is an ambitious think piece, delving back to feudal European history and notions of property, slavery, subjugation.  At the same time, this is enchanting music to listen to, loaded with catchy rhythms and refrains, and fabulous soundscapes.  Zé has a knack for pop music, no matter how unorthodox or maverick, and for all its grave intent, Estudando o Pagode is no exception. 

Pagode is the name of an informal, party-oriented sub genre of Brazilian samba, and many of these 16 short, snappy songs feature hand drums, tambourines, cavaquinho, and the easy lope of a samba party.  There are also unmistakable Zé touches: high-pitched plucked strings chinking out offbeat rhythms, vocal melodies that converse and even argue with each other, and a barrage of sonic elements from distant voices and the whir and grind of machines to the braying of a donkey, meant in this case to stand for the moaning of a woman in orgasm.  (Elsewhere, we get the actual sound of a woman in orgasm.)  Zé’s talent is to make all of this far more than weirdness and gimmickry.  The music is inspired and beautiful, with hook melodies, deep grooves, and arrangements that keep you on the edge of your seat, but never let you down.

Zé begins with a rock-edged, fractured reworking of “Ave Maria,” and ends with a minimalist call for love and harmony, “Beatles by the Bushel.”  In between, we get a trial, a trip on a slave ship, a gay and lesbian demonstration at the Vatican, and a surreal session of the UN Security Council.  Deciphering the plot of Zé’s “unfinished operetta” offers its own challenges and rewards.  But the music alone is enough to entertain mightily.  Zé has a poet’s voice, evocative, theatrical, and quirky.  He can’t wail like Gilberto Gil, or coo like Caetano Veloso (both fellow tropicalistas), but he doesn’t have to.  Zé generates his own sonic universe, as bold and iconoclastic as John Cage, and as much fun as Talking Heads.  This is a landmark recording destined to survive and be talked about long after the pop hits of its day are forgotten. 

Contributed by: Banning Eyre for www.afropop.org