The Casa de Cultura was wedged between a McDonalds and a car yard. Inside, people sat in concentric circles, with the guitarists and drummers in the middle, crouching round a single lit candle. Anyone can come to the centre with a song - often holding little photocopied squares with the words that get passed around. The learning of the song spreads outwards from the centre. I loved this. It was like Church without the religion. There were couples with their kids on their laps,nibbling their fingers making them laugh. Little old ladies with huge, dyed hair, pink sweaters and giant Mr Magoo glasses whos necks wobbled when they sang. Black Mamas in leopard skin with their girls pushed up and their belt-em-out voices cracked and husky. Rickety old men with leather caps and white bristles on their chin, teeth missing - amazing voices. Laughter. Tears. The song in the video was the only one I could sing along to, so apologies for bellowing (badly) right next to my phones mic. And the footage is shaky cause I couldnt help dancing (also badly, but fortunately not on camera). Under president Dilma Rousseff (who was staying at my hotel yesterday with a shit tonne of body guards) Brazil has had a deliberate renaissance of samba, which was frowned on by the previous regime as the music of poverty. Although Rousseff isnt very popular in the international press, she is very loved here - and the resurgence of Samba as a cultural tradition to be proud of is just one reason why (and the national election is on Sunday - apparently neck-and-neck). I was picked out as a visitor by the samba conductor and there was an exchange of Portuguese between him and our minder, who said Nova Zelândia and then the conductors face lit up with surprise and he raised his arms in the air and shouted Nova Zelândia!!! and the whole room broke into applause and feet stamping and smiles. People came up afterwards and said kind, encouraging words in Portuguese. All I knew how to do was smile and say Obrigado. Once the candle burned out (protected in a little glass case in the centre of the room) this lady with a tangle of black curls and an apron on walked out of a side room with an ENORMOUS vat of bacon hock soup and ladled it out to everyone. And when all was said and done, the musos and the mamas and the mischief makers went across the road to a bar next to the 5-rehas-an-hour hotel to carry on into the wee hours, but with Caipirinhas and dancing.
Posted on: Tue, 21 Oct 2014 13:48:43 +0000
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