First there was Bombay Disco: Disco Hits from Hindi Films 1979-1985, a very worthwhile collection from Boston’s Cultures of Soul label. It was smartly followed with Tropical Disco Hustle, an appealing survey of the Caribbean adaptation of the titular style. Next was Bombay Disco 2, and now the latest installment has arrived; The Brazilian Boogie Connection: From Rio to São Paulo (1976-1983) features 13 tracks from 11 acts. Compiled by Deano Sounds and Greg Caz, the 2LP/CD continues to document the fleeting global dominance of the USA’s dance floor export.
Cultures of Soul’s anthologizing of disco’s extensive impact has been steady, thorough, and to these ears quite welcome. Still too frequently derided as a fad rather than a transitional stylistic phenomenon springing from the ‘70s Philadelphia underground, disco deserves its due, and the more evidence of the music’s worldwide assimilation the better.
Well, as long as the sounds hold up. If more than a passing fashion, disco could be easily and brazenly transformed into a vessel of uninhibited commercialism, and in fact that’s all many people remember about it, or even noticed at the time. And as one of the most populous countries on the planet, it was inevitable disco mania would emanate from Brazil’s twin record-producing locales Rio and São Paulo.
Those cities would remain the centers of the Brazilian music industry until the ‘90s. The compilation opens with two from Bossa Nova man Marcos Valle; his most highly regarded stuff comes from ’68-’74, but after five years in Los Angeles, where he worked with Chicago and R&B artist Leon Ware, he returned home ready to boogie. His “A Paraíba Não é Chicago” is slick but crisp, wielding clean guitar, spongy bass, smooth horns, and energetic if unperturbed voices in Portuguese and English.
Consistently lively, according to Caz’s liners, Chicago provides the backing, but perhaps the most interesting twist is the emergence of a spritely accordion. Valle’s “Estrelar” sports a groove of funk and polish that was apparently promoted as “workout music.” Post false ending the tune gets a smidge heartier.
The Tarantulas are described by Caz as belonging to a spate of bands that performed covers and originals on television, and their “Saiba Ser Feliz (Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough)” delivers exactly what the parenthetical suggests. Michael Jackson’s smash from ’79 is a disco classic, rendered faithfully by The Tarantulas and therefore neither transcending nor faltering, though it does offer an enjoyable if truncated ride, the cut ending far short of Off the Wall’s six minute LP version.
A glimpse of the album jacket reproduced in The Brazilian Boogie Connection’s booklet implies Painel De Controle was a sextet, and Caz depicts them as contemporaries of The Tarantulas. Their “Relax” is a study in high-disco style, sporting billows of flute, glossy string enhancements, and a complex lead-backing vocal weave. Due to its rhythmic bedrock, the bass firm and the drumming vibrant, particularly near the close, it’s also the kind of foundational source material nabbed by the early rap scene.
“Funk-Funk-La” by Robson Robson is assessed in the notes as a probable attempt at cashing in, but in appropriating the indefatigable guitar line from Chic’s “Le Freak” (McFadden and Whitehead’s “Ain’t No Stopping Us Now” is in there too, as are Gibb-mimicking syllables) it helps to kick The Brazilian Boogie Connection into a higher gear.
For part of the 1960s the late Tim Maia resided in the US, and “Não Vá,” the first of his two tracks included here, is reminiscent of a boldly produced late-‘70s/early-‘80s mid-tempo R&B number. Naturally this means it’s disco-informed, but where it differs is in the agreeable extended showcase for electric bass guitar.
The Brazilian Boogie Connection begins in unabashedly commercial territory and never really leaves it, though after the boost of Robson Robson and Maia the selections are dependably engaging, and this is certainly the case with “Rio Babilônia” by the great Brazilian guitarist Jorge Ben. It was in the timeframe denoted in the title that Ben, one of his country’s enduringly popular crossover figures, cast aside his acoustic and embraced electricity, but here his rich singing is highlighted as he enters into stimulating exchanges with the support vocalists.
Yes, the rhythm is ceaselessly hot, and in a manner surpassing mere commerciality. And speaking of workout music, somebody’s putting a gym whistle through its paces. Like Ben’s track, Emilio Santiago’s “O Amigo De Nova York” is dated to ’83 and is another example of a long-established performer adapting his talents to the disco realm.
Santiago is noted for his exceptional voice, and he doesn’t disappoint as the tight punch of the playing is a few notches above the norm. I especially dig the guitar at the end. Altogether it serves as a fine lead-in to the humid instrumental “Expresso Madureira” by Banda Black Rio, a group that’s creative recipe, at least here, seems to be the integration of musical chops and sweat-inducing forward motion. Their description as a “Brazilian Earth, Wind & Fire” is understandable, and the inclusion of soloing trombone is a treat.
Maybe the most intriguing entry comes from the singer-guitarist-composer known as Cassiano. His “Central Do Brazil” from ’76 is dense, driving, and lacking in gloss as it exudes heaviness that’ll leave any glitter-ball gatecrashers panting on the sidelines. Get in shape, pikers! It contrasts well with “Olhos Coloridos” by soulstress Sandra De Sá, her addition opening with strumming acoustic only to expertly build intensity through the auspices of Banda Black Rio.
De Sá’s singing is powerful and assured, deftly mixing sophistication and verve, and I’m seriously tempted to check out the albums she made for Celluloid. Tim Maia’s second appearance is the R&B vocal group-laced “Verão Carioca,” and it’d be the stronger of his entries but for one thing; it’s less than two minutes long.
At my neighborhood disco we call that a segue; it brings us to Robson Jorge & Lincoln Olivetti, who close this enlightening affair with “Aleluia.” It hails from an LP portrayed by Caz as brandishing a “Kool & the Gang meets George Benson sound,” and baby, I can hear it. Also mentioned are accusations of Jorge and Olivetti weakening the power of Brazilian pop, and hey, I can hear that too. Far from my favorite track, it kinda reminds me of a song crackling out of speakers tuned to an R&B station’s morning drive-time circa 1981.
So, it’s not without its rewards. Akin to the majority of comps, The Brazilian Boogie Connection: From Rio to São Paulo (1976-1983) is saddled with a range of quality, but it doesn’t suffer for it, instead beginning with what a mind might imagine its contents to sound like, and once that idea is properly reinforced, starts traveling down detours into less predictable regions. It’s a successful strategy, and four volumes in, Cultures of Soul’s series has yet to lose its sense of purpose.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
