So, here are two songs (from Brazil) that might serve better as the (un)official soundtrack to the tournament.

Football country” is a collaboration between São Paulo rapper Emicida and ostentation funk performer MC Guimé. As with a lot of the country’s socially conscious urban songs, it helps to know the language. But there are English-language subtitles over the video’s extended intro, which make the themes pretty clear.

The next contender, “Everyone’s Cup,” is a Coca-Cola production, so it’s unsurprisingly more polished. But it features Amazonian star Gaby Amarantos and moves through uplifting scenes of real Brazil without stereotyping. For a more agressive, Brazilian, and visually impressive take on the same song, check out this effort below, “Everyone click play.”

]]> 10 http://frombrazil.blogfolha.uol.com.br/2014/02/25/carnaval-spreads-across-the-land-belo-horizonte/ http://frombrazil.blogfolha.uol.com.br/2014/02/25/carnaval-spreads-across-the-land-belo-horizonte/#comments Tue, 25 Feb 2014 21:29:24 +0000 http://f.i.uol.com.br/folha/colunas/images/12034327.jpeg http://frombrazil.blogfolha.uol.com.br/?p=3915

Carnaval, long concentrated in traditional party centers like Rio, Salvador, and Recife, is taking roots in new cities all over the country. James Young reports from landlocked BH, Brazil’s unglamorous third-largest city, which is learning to put on its own celebrations.

By James Young

Brazil’s carnaval capitals are well established. There’s frevo music on the steep cobbled streets of Olinda, and the giant Galo da Madrugada bloco (street party) in next door Recife, until recently considered by the Guinness Book of Records to be the biggest carnavalesque gathering in the world.

If trotting behind giant sound trucks listening to axé superstars such as Ivete Sangalo or Claudia Leite is your thing, then Salvador, Bahia is the place. And the most flamboyant carnaval of them all, whether you fancy watching the samba schools parade in the sambodromo or getting hot and sweaty among 2.5 million revellers at the Cordão da Bola Preta bloco, is in Rio de Janeiro.

It’s safe to say that the comparatively reserved, landlocked city of Belo Horizonte, Brazil’s third biggest, is not high on the list of traditional carnaval destinations.

Gradually, though, the seeds of carnaval are beginning to find fertile soil in BH, as locals refer to the capital of Minas Gerais, usually more famous for its delicious if stodgy comida mineira cuisine than scenes of gay abandon. Last year over 500,000 foliões (carnaval–goers) partied in the streets. This year, according to the city’s tourist department Belotur, over a million people are expected to kick up their heels at the festival.

Last Saturday more than 50,000 attended the famous Banda Mole bloco on the city’s main central drag, Avenida Alfonso Pena. The theme of the party, which was first held 39 years ago, was “We Were Ready Before The World Cup,” a dig at Brazil’s often shambolic preparations for this June’s footballing jamboree. Among the giant papier mâché dolls were recreations of president Dilma Rousseff, Pelé, and national team coach Luiz Felipe Scolari.

Belotur director Mauro Werkema suggests the growth in popularity of the city’s street parties may be connected to recent social change in Brazil. “It’s part of the social democracy phenomenon. The lower middle classes are growing and have more disposable income to spend on TVs, fridges, and on going out.”

What gives carnaval in Belo Horizonte a different feel is that there are few central, officially organised hubs at which people gather. Instead, in the style of the older carnavals, individual blocos parade through the streets, pulling in crowds as they go. This year, according to Werkema, there will be over 200 blocos, almost triple the total in 2013.

“It’s not like the bigger carnavals,” Monica Carvalho, an English teacher, said at last year’s Bloco Alcova Libertina in the city’s most bohemian neighbourhood, Santa Tereza. “It’s more organic. It’s not based around mega-events organised by the council or the beer companies. It’s like carnaval used to be.”

Not everybody is happy about the explosion in size of the BH carnaval, however. A lack of official organisation led to complaints about insufficient infrastructure and planning at last year’s event. One bloco, Baianas Ozadas, anticipated a thousand revellers at its downtown street party. When over 20,000 showed up, the parade route had to be changed at the last minute. In Santa Tereza, revelers complained about a lack of toilets, security, and public transport.

Many residents of carnaval neighbourhoods were also unhappy, complaining that the parties went on long after official closing time, and that streets were littered with refuse for days afterwards.

The city has promised to improve things. “This year will be better,” promises Mauro Werkema. “It’s a learning process. We’re all learning, from the city council to the police. And it’s great preparation for the World Cup.”

But Belo Horizonte faces another battle if it is to join the ranks of Recife, Rio and the rest as a carnaval hotbed.

“You can tell the difference between those who were born with the carnaval rhythm and those who are trying to learn it,” Francielen Alves, a veteran of several Recife and Olinda carnavals, observed while watching the predominantly middle-class revellers at the Bloco Alcova Libertina take a break from dancing to snap selfies with their I-phones.

Later, at the same street party, a band took to the stage in the Praça Duque de Caxias and belted out raucous Beatles covers while the crowd sang lustily along. Although no one was complaining, the essentially and uniquely Brazilian nature of carnaval, so prevalent in other cities, was conspicuous by its absence.

Perhaps the lack of tradition and authenticity is unsurprising. After all, Belo Horizonte is a mere 116 years old, a baby when compared to Rio (448 years old), Salvador (464) and Recife (476). And while the roots of carnaval in the city date back to 1897, today’s mass celebrations are a relatively recent development.

For decades the festival in BH was best summed up by the saying that “at carnaval, you can walk down Avenida Alfonso Pena naked if you want, because no one will see you,” a reference to the fact that the holiday was traditionally a time for locals to flee to cities where the party pulse beats stronger.

“On the last night of the Recife carnaval all the old maestros get up on stage and all the frevo orchestras play together. And when the sun comes up and it’s finally time to go home, everyone cries because it’s over for another year. It’s not quite like that in BH,” said Francielen.

Such minor griping is unlikely to concern revellers at this year’s carnaval, however. What it lacks in history and musical heritage, the Belo Horizonte street party makes up for with enthusiasm and energy. That in itself will likely be enough to ensure that carnaval in the city keeps on growing.

James Young has lived in Brazil for the last eight years, alternating between Belo Horizonte and the Northeast. He writes about Brazil and Brazilian football for The Independent, Sports Illustrated, ESPN and others.

What’s going on in Brazilian music? Journalist and former MTV Brasil presenter Gaía Passarelli introduces a few bands from the contemporary scene, who draw on 70s-inspired soul, Brazilian folk/country, and stoner rock.

In the past they’ve been accused of sounding too much like a tribute to the Brazilian 60s rocker movement know as jovem-guarda: ingenuous, fun, garage-driven. But that time is gone and the band now seems to have drunk heavily from the Brazilian 70s soul scene, as their new album, Feras Míticas (Mythical Beasts) is a powerful, honest and strong collection of tracks, with four of the five members singing. The album’s instrumentation is well arranged, crossing over to rap (as on the gorgeous “A Nuvem”, with Lourdes da Luz) and jazz-funk (“Eu Vou Sorrir Pra Quem é Gente Boa”). There are also good collaborations, with guitarist Kid Congo Powers in ‘LA Funk” and vocalist Paulo Miklos, form Brazilian iconic rock band Titãs, in “Charles Chacal”. You can have it for free here.

Then comes Vanguart, a six-piece band from Cuiabá, Mato Grosso. The band started in 2002 with vocalist and leader Helio Flanders recording some songs in his bedroom, and he slowly developed a personal kind of songwriting in Portuguese and (in the case of the biggest hit so far, “Mi Vida Eres Tu”) Spanish. Vanguart released a successful album in 2011, which was well received on radio and TV, and now are returning with an album that stands as one of the most celebrated of the year, Muito Mais que o Amor. It is everything that Brazilian music is known for: melodic, suave, emotional. But forget bossa-nova standards: we are talking about folk and country music. You can hear it here.

And now for something completely different. A band from Rio Grande do Norte called Far from Alaska. They’re notorious for being praised by Garbage singer Shirley Manson (indie cred), but don’t let this fool you: their music is serious business and not only because they are bold enough to make stoner rock in Brazil’s Northeast. They have some music videos on YouTube and promise a full album before end of year. We’ll be sure to hear more talk of them in the near future.

Paraty, the colonial coast town near Rio, is becoming known for its festivals which are attracting more and more culturally curious Brazilians. Dom Phillips reports from MIMO, featuring the complex music appreciated here.  Above: the Rum Group with Tareq Al Nasser, from Jordan. Photos Gustavo Otero

Dom Phillips

As the 20 or so white-clad musicians in the Jordanian orchestra on stage, called the Rum Group and presided over by Tareq Al Nasser, romped through what sounded like the soundtrack to a film you couldn’t see, shadows of hula hoop dancers flickered on the white walls of the beautiful old church beside the stage.

Paraty is celebrated for its colonial architecture – and this first edition in the city of the MIMO Festival wisely made good use of it. But it is increasingly becoming known for its cultural events, each of which attracts its own distinct audience. Good news for the tourism industry on which the city depends.

Paraty’s Jazz Festival, for instance, appeals to an older demographic, like jazz festivals all over the world. The creatively-inclined flock to photography weekend Paraty em Foco (Paraty in Focus). Panama hats and pearls are big at the FLIP literary festival. A younger crowd concentrates on getting drunk at the cachaça festival. New Year’s Eve packs out the Pontal beach with axé pop for families and young couples.

MIMO slotted neatly into the “mid-30s, disposable income, culturally curious, and, in the case of the men, bearded” bracket. The festival started out as a caravan of local musicians in 2004 in Olinda, near Recife, as the Mostra Internacional de Música em Olinda. Like Paraty, it is a colonial town big on history and culture. Today MIMO is also staged in Ouro Preto, another historic city in Minas Gerais state, but this was the first time it had ventured this far south.

It was a well-organised event with proper sounds and lights and corporate sponsors that were easy enough to ignore – bar the heavily-branded shed that a cellphone operator inexplicably constructed in front of a screen – and all shows are free, though some of the events held in indoor venues like churches require you to get a free ticket beforehand. And MIMO had the advantage that Brazilian audiences are very open to music that might be seen as too difficult for other countries. Perhaps this is cultural – both samba and bossa nova are considerably more complicated both musically and rhythmically than rock and roll.

There was much interest at MIMO in headliner Herbie Hancock, a jazz funk legend who filled the same main square with an instrumental show in which he performed with a percussionist, a bass player and a drummer, leaving him in charge of every other melody in the show, much of which he played on a keyboard he could carry around like an electric guitar. Thus demonstrating a musical ego as impressive as his repertoire.

If the crowd did chatter in Hancock’s quieter moments, they hooked back in for his career bookending hits ‘Cantaloupe Island’, a jazzy piano bar standard, and pioneering electro classic ‘Rockit’. And the same audience stayed on to see Brazilian rapper BNegão and his group Seletores de Frequência combine lazy funk grooves and an evocative jazz trumpet with live hip hop into the early hours.

Despite its sleepy appearance, Paraty is not scared of the odd late night out, as its carnival shows – the best bloco (mobile samba street party) in town, Paraty do Amanhã (Paraty of Tomorrow), heads out of the main square at 1am. And most of the audience even stood through BNegão’s ‘hardcore experiment’ with thrash metal, even though by now it was gone 3am.

MIMO also had early evening attractions, like the premiere of the film Olho Nu (Naked Eye) about the colourful Brazilian singer Ney Matogrosso, at which the artist himself appeared, and German multi-instrumentalist Stephan Micus both performing in a church and then hosting a Saturday morning workshop to explain his work.

All of which could make MIMO sound like hard work, when in fact it was just the right mix of culture, music and fun. Provided, that is, that Jordanian orchestras, hand-held keyboards, and hoola-hoop shadow dancing are your idea of a good time.

São Paulo’s Virada Cultural, a 24-hour mega-party featuring more than 900 acts, put the best and the worst of São Paulo on display last weekend. Despite headlines dominated by crime, Claire Rigby had a great time, alongside millions of others, and argues that these kinds of events should be a source of pride for the city.

By Claire Rigby

Headlines – “DEATHS, ROBBERIES AND MASS MUGGINGS MAR THE VIRADA CULTURAL” – “DEATHS AND MASS MUGGINGS: CULTURE LOSES OUT TO VIOLENCE” – “VIRADA OF THE MASS MUGGING” 

São Paulo’s population, waking up after another Virada Cultural, the city’s annual 24-hour cultural marathon, could be forgiven for shuddering with horror at São Paulo’s newspapers over their Monday morning coffee. But for millions of people who attended the festival downtown, the papers seemed to be talking about a parallel event. Not that the robberies, injuries, and even the shooting and death of a young man who ran after the thief who had taken his phone, didn’t take place.

They did; and there was definite tension in the air at times, especially in the early hours, when the mix of thousands of revelers, untold gallons of alcohol, and the carnavalesque all-night party – not to mention the smouldering social tensions that are the mark of every major city, not least São Paulo – took their toll.

But alongside the undoubtedly bad news, there was precious little good news to be read about the Virada Cultural (‘Cultural All-Nighter’), an event that brought an estimated total of 4 million people onto the streets over the course of 24 hours, starting at 6pm on the night of Saturday 20 May. Filling the streets of SP’s dilapidated, occasionally lovely Centro with music, art, dance and theatre, and with hundreds of official food stalls and unofficial beer-sellers, the ninth annual Virada set audiences washing up and down the town to watch shows by thousands of musicians – there were some 900 acts spread across 120 locations – and dancing through the night to everything from techno to samba, lambada and funk carioca.

Art projections filled the Vale de Anhangabaú, where artists and collectives had created 15 installations, including a bridge by BijaRi whose LED lighting glowed in response to the people crossing the valley on it. An art/activist installation Conjunto Vazio, by the collective CoLaboratório, projected Batcave-like lightning flashes onto empty buildings all over town, and under the Viaduto do Chá, grown men and women screamed in excitement as they flew through the air on immense swings attached to the viaduct overhead. Street performers, dancers and theatre companies attracted unlikely, ragtag audiences to their pop-up shows, roping in bystanders and parading them up and down the valley; and George Clinton and P. Funk played to a rapt crowd at 3am, as a tango orchestra struck up 500 metres away at a lonely Estação da Luz. The mesmerizing Gal Costa played a difficult, moving set of new music from her album Recanto; and as Sunday wore on, Racionais MCs, Brazil’s most powerful, important rap group, played a cathartic, euphoric, packed set, also featuring an impassioned speech by the group’s much revered leader, Mano Brown, in which he criticized crime during the event. The band’s previous appearance at the Virada, in 2007, had ended in confrontations between military police and fans that turned to rioting.

We walked the streets for most of the night and again on Sunday afternoon, joining audiences at stages all over the region, home to some of São Paulo’s most historic buildings, and criss-crossing the streets from one show to another, aided (if the light was good enough, and shining at the right angle), by the black, hard-to-read Virada maps and programmes, distributed in their thousands and displayed on structures erected at street corners. The city’s ubiquitous columns of cars were nowhere to be seen, and even some of the roughest of Centro’s troubled streets, which are also home to Cracolândia, an itinerant, crack-riddled no-man’s land, were busy with people strolling from place to place.

None of this is to pretend that all was well with the world at the Virada: it wasn’t. São Paulo is an immense, pressurised megacity with more social injustice and indeed, more rigidly delineated class segregation, than most. It also has a chronic crime and violence problem every night of the week. There’s no doubt about it: assorted pickpockets and muggers were having their own mini-festival of crime at the Virada, while at least one immense band of forty thieves organized a series of arrastões – mass muggings in which individuals or sections of the crowd are surrounded, robbed, and attacked if they resist. I saw a scuffle break out as we passed along Avenida Rio Branco around 3am; and I heard a pop-pop-pop, and saw people running, at what might or might not have been gunshots around the same time, a hundred yards on. (I don’t think it was gunshot, despite the stampede, but I note it here as a possibility.)

And yet as frightening as the contact with crime, violence and sheer drunken disorderliness must have been for anyone on the receiving end of it, it’s what sometimes happens at mass events, especially when mixed with alcohol – and especially when they bring haves and have-nots together in such a sudden, unaccustomed manner.

Super-sized street events always attract the kind of people who disrupt, fight and rob, even in much safer cities. It happens at London’s Notting Hill Carnival, and even, as Vincent Bevins, editor of this blog, points out, at San Francisco’s Gay Pride Parade.São Paulo, arguably, needs more Viradas, and more events like it – it’s what a new surge of street festivals is all about, most recently the Anhangabaú da Feliz Cidade festival that took place in May, as a kind of mini-precursor to the Virada. For every citizen who lost a phone to the thieves (even Senator Eduardo Suplicy wasn’t immune, taking to the stage before Saturday’s opening show by MPB queen Daniela Mercury to ask for his stolen credit cards and ID cards back – then patting his pockets to find his phone also missing) there were hundreds of thousands whose Viradas went off without incident.

I was struck by the overwhelmingly negative press coverage of what was in many ways, and for hundreds of thousands if not millions of people, a successful, enjoyable event. In a telling example of the press’s choice of focus, one headline in the newspaper Agora, a populist broadsheet, read MAYOR HADDAD ADMITS HE NEVER EXPECTED SO MUCH VIOLENCE, over a story in which the mayor, in office since January, also said, ‘From Friday through to Saturday the register of violent crime was identical to that from Saturday to Sunday’. Hardly inspiring words on the city’s problems, but a dash of perspective, albeit a sobering one, on Monday morning’s seemingly hysterical headlines. Describing the smooth running of the Virada’s 900 shows, with just two delayed or with other problems, the mayor went on, ‘What were of most concern was the question of [public] safety and the incidents that occurred above all between 2am and 6am. We had more reports than we’d predicted, but nothing out of the ordinary in an event with almost 4 million people.’

It’s tough to know what the media coverage means. Some have suggested the media may have been especially hard on the new PT mayor. Infographics showing levels of crime and violence at previous editions of the Virada seem to show more or less similar results. But beyond that, a whole tier of the city’s society (the same tier, in the main, who would never dream of attending a mass event attracting huge swathes of people from the city’s poor periphery, as the Virada does) may well have been  put off attending not only the Virada, but all manner of street celebrations and festivals – a growing and much celebrated tendency in São Paulo. Violence and crime are chronic problems. But they’re not a reason to abandon the streets any more than SP’s wealthy already have done. Events or even venues at which the classes mix are extremely few and far between in SP, as the city’s affluent areas and the vast periphery that surrounds them run on parallel tracks, in parallel realities. Moments like the Virada, filing the streets with people, huddled at the crossroads in the patchy streetlight, trying to make out what it says on the map, ought to be celebrated.

Brash Funk Carioca emerged in the 1990s from the illegal underworld of Rio’s favelas. Now, in a nod to North American rap traditions and Brazil’s new economic moment, a group of kids in São Paulo has hit it big using the music to celebrate conspicuous consumption.

By Dom Phillips

Wearing gold chains and baseball caps, two young men drive Lamborghinis past palm trees and up the driveway of a huge, white mansion. A bugle sounds. And the beats begin.

As does a luxurious party, in which Brazilian rappers Backdi and Bio G3 perform surrounded by women in short, figure-hugging outfits, while sipping champagne, gambling, and smoking big cigars.

This is the new video for their song ‘Vem Com Os Trutas’ – literally, ‘Come With The Trouts’, but ‘trout’ here is street slang for friends. Published on March 18, the clip has already been seen over 70,000 times on youtube.

And its depiction of an expensive lifestyle in which conspicuous consumption reigns supreme is another sign of how much one type of carioca funk, Brazil’s distinctive and hugely-popular, bass-driven hip hop dance music, has changed.

This is funk de ostentação, or ‘ostentation funk’, and it is, says Bio G3, made for a socially-mobile Brazil. “People are doing well. They stopped complaining,” Bio G3 – Cleber Alves, 29 – told From Brazil.

“A champagne já tá no gelo e as gatas tão na sofa,” the pair chant in the track: “The champagne is already on ice and the gatas (literally cats, but slang for hot girls) on the sofa.”

In one scene, Bio G3 gently kisses the enormous silver cross hanging on a pendant around his neck in the mansion’s bathrooms while a glamorous blonde watches entranced – though whether that’s by the rapper or the jewellery is, perhaps deliberately, left ambiguous.

Ostentation funk is last year’s hit, and there are hundreds of videos like this, in which expensive champagne is lovingly poured (close-up on the label); motorbikes and jet-skis are ridden; and pool parties are packed with curvy girls in bikinis dancing lasciviously.

The blue 100 real notes (worth $49) – the highest denomination in Brazil – feature heavily. This video by MC Guime, called ‘Plaque de 100’ (100 Plaque) has been seen 23 million times. In it, he flaunts a R$100 note with his face on it.

In this video for his track ‘É Fluxo’ (It’s Flow), São Paulo MC Nego Blue parties on his own private plane.

A cigar is lit with a R$100 note in this video for the track ‘Os Invejosos Vêm’ (The Envious Come) by Rio artist Menor de Chapa.

Carioca funk, or just funk, as the sound is often known, has been around for decades in various forms. In its current incarnation, as a brash, confrontational ghetto music, since at least the late 1990s. The sound is characterised by clattering, electronic beats, over which rappers, or MCs, deliver rhymes about sex, violence and life on the sharper end of Brazilian society.

“Rap, for Black America, is like our CNN,” Public Enemy vocalist Chuck D once remarked. As Brazilian hip hop is a much more specialist sound, concerned more with protest – a “manifesto”, as Bio G3 calls it – it is funk that fulfils this role in the country. Although, musically, the sound has more in common with the Miami Bass that inspired it, or with dancehall reggae.

Funk has long been associated with the Rio de Janeiro favelas it came from. But with funk de ostentação and its glorification of the conspicuous consumption that is so rife in Brazil, São Paulo seems to have stolen Rio’s funk thunder.

In ‘Vem Com Os Trutas’, Backdi and Bio G3 chant:

“São Paulo não é bagunça tem que manter o respeito/é selva da pedra, terra da garoa,” they add. “São Paulo is not a mess, it has to maintain respect/it’s the stone jungle, the land of drizzle.”

The city’s legendary work ethic even gets a mention when the rappers declare: “Nos temos dispozição de matar um leão por dia” – literally, they are ready to kill a lion every day, a phrase often used by entrepreneurs and workers to describe meeting the challenges of the working day.

“Consumption in São Paulo is bigger, the city is bigger,” said Bio G3. “Today, funk in Brazil is São Paulo, no doubt.”

This is all a long way from funk’s beginnings at illegal parties, or bailes, often run by drug gangs deep in Rio favelas where police rarely trod. British journalist Alex Bellos wrote about the scene in the magazine Mixmag in 2001, and returned to the subject in 2005 in this excellent Observer Music Monthly piece.

This Brazilian documentary Favela On Blast is one of a number of films made about the genre.

Initially despised by the Brazilian upper classes, funk soon took acquired a certain cachet: dangerous, edgy, ghetto. In 2005, it was even rather daringly played at the Christmas party of a famous, and very mainstream Brazilian television presenter I attended. Now it’s heard all over Brazil.

Wth ostentation funk, the style seems to have come full circle: Backdi and Bio G3 also have a song called ‘Classe A’, the term for the highest-income segment of Brazilian society. And there is even a documentary about ostentation funk.

Bio G3 used to do hip hop, but switched to funk eight years ago because he saw he could “reach a bigger public”. He claims to have invented ostentation funk in 2008 with an ode to his expensive sunglasses called ‘Bonde de Ju Ju’. But it is over the last 12 months that the style has caught fire.

“I didn’t imagine the impact it would have,” he said. “It became gigantic, it became mass, so today we represent this category.”

Brazil too has changed since funk first emerged from Rio’s favelas. Perhaps the music needed to change with it. As Vincent Bevins noted in his piece about class last week, around 40 million Brazilians rose out of poverty over the last decade – many of them into what is usually called classe C – or class C.

This is usually described as a new middle class. Though it could be argued that class C resembles more the British working class of the 1960s and 70s, as they bought their first washing machines, colour televisions and foreign holidays.

It is class c that drives Brazilian consumption, which in many ways drives the economy. As a result, the upper A and B classes have had to become used to the sight of Brazil’s nouveau riche on flights and in restaurants that were formerly reserved for the rich. A new reality they frequently complain about.

And while the Brazilian economy isn’t growing very much any more, people are still spending. The Central Bank said in March that family consumption would grow 3.5% this year, driven by credit and near-full employment. Sales of luxury imported cars, such a staple in ostentation funk videos, keep growing.

And ostentation funk, too, has crossed over from the music’s traditional fan-base in lower income groups to high society. Bio G3 has performed at upscale São Paulo clubs like Pink Elephant and Royale. “We are talking about consumption, and this began to please class A and class B, not just C and D,” he said.

Released in 2012, ‘Classe A’ was aimed in both directions.

“The song is about consumption, but not just consumption, it is also about attitude. To be class A, is not just a condition, it is a personality, a quality,” he explained.

In short, he seemed to be saying, it’s about having style. Albeit with a heavy dose of bling – ostentation like this is nothing new in American hip hop. Nor are some Brazilian funk artists adverse to simply nicking a few glossy scenes from US rap videos to insert into their own productions when their own production budgets don’t quite stretch to it.

There is social mobility too within the funk music industry. In 2005, Alex Bellos wrote about a Rio funkeiro whose hit had not provided a way out of the favela. When Rio MC Deize Tigrona recorded her hit ‘Injeção’ (Injection), in which a doctor’s injection serves as a thinly-disguised metaphor for anal sex, she was working as a maid.

Bio G3 was born in the poor, outer São Paulo suburb of Tiradentes but now owns three imported cars, including a BMW. “I bought a house for my parents, so I’m in a better condition than I was,” he said. “But it’s not the limit.”

All photos screen shots from “Classe A” and “Vem com os trutas”

This year, the country didn’t deliver on everything international observers thought the country had promised, but Brazil still remains one of the 21st century’s most remarkable success stories. 2013 could be decisive.

For those paying attention to Brazil headlines, 2012 was mostly a bad year. For some, it was enough to re-evaluate the status as an emerging power that the country has euphorically held for years now.

The economy barely grew, and government involvement in the economy has surprised some international investors. The ruling Worker’s Party was dragged through the mud repeatedly as the Supreme Court handed down sentence after sentence for a vote-buying scandal from Lula’s first term. The PCC returned to the scene in São Paulo, and a small-scale war broke out between police and the gang. New laws dismayed environmentalists concerned for the Amazon.

But Brazil still remains one of the most remarkable success stories of the 21st century. This is true for a few simple reasons. 40 million people have risen out of poverty, and inequality has decreased. Despite the slowdown, unemployment is at record lows, and wages have continued to rise. Perhaps most importantly, we saw last week that President Dilma has an eye-popping 78 percent approval rating.

In short, the vast majority of the population support the way the country is being run, people are better off than ever, and society is more just. It’s important to remember that this is the whole point of economic growth and democracy in the first place. The results are there. We shouldn’t confuse means with ends, as is so easy to do when we journalists get caught up in the latest GDP numbers, or scandal.

Even some of the the year’s worst stories have a positive flip-side. As ugly as the corruption trial was, many believe that the tough sentences handed down to high-level politicians could signal an end to political impunity in the country. And despite the tragedy of a spike in violence in São Paulo’s periphery, the state’s murder rate is still much lower than it was a few years ago.

When Brazilians and observers (justifiably) complain about the country at the moment, a little context can be uplifting. What has the world been going through for the last 12 years, especially since 2007? How many countries in the world can you point to with: rising standards of living, reduced inequality, and widespread, long-lasting contentment with leadership? This is certainly not how things feel in my native California, or in Europe. And all of this in an open, liberal democracy? I can’t think of many examples.

But of course, nothing guarantees this will continue, and 2013 could be a decisive year. We can’t expect wages to rise forever without economic growth returning, and so the world will be holding their breath until it does, as expected next year.  But if instead there is more stagnation, or more of what the international community sees as state meddling in the economy, international investors could finally give up and concentrate on countries like Mexico or Colombia. And it’s hard to imagine how the PT would be seen by the people if any of the party’s social gains were reversed.

I personally don’t think either of those doom scenarios will come to pass. We’ll see. But for now, here are some of the bad, the good, and the interesting stories from 2012.

These are summaries – click the links for more in-depth info.

The bad

Corruption –

We watched all year as high-level politician after high-level politician was brought down for the ‘mensalão’ scandal from 2003, and a new hero of the opposition (and anti-corruption movements) was born in the form of Joaquim Barbosa (pictured above).

Violence –

War broke out for the first since 2006 in São Paulo. Again, the major parties were the PCC, the state’s main gang, and the military police. The latter lost over 100 officers to (mostly) targeted executions, while the murder rate in SP jumped.

The economy –

This is the big one. After growing 7.5% in 2010 (and causing us in the international press to rush here), then slowing to 2.7% in 2011, we may not do much better than 1% in 2012. Even more awkward was the moment when Finance Minister Guido Mantega joined the rest of analysts in wildly overestimating third-quarter growth, leading The Economist to call for his dismissal. Needless to say, President Dilma was not pleased to hear this from the British magazine.

But the economy is expected to pick up in 2013, thanks not only in part to the huge cut in interest rates carried out this year, which have finally come down to the levels of a normal country. And in reality, the 7.5% growth year was a statistical blip after -0.3% in crisis-hit 2009. Taken together, the economy had been growing at 3.6% a year, close to the average over the last 20 years, and to what we’re likely to see over the next few years.

But more worrying is that some investors believe, whether rightly or wrongly, that the government has begun to micro-manage the economy and that the possibility of intervention may be unpredictable. Much of this has to do with the decision to lower energy prices. I personally think they’re wrong, or at least that this was a problem of the government’s way of communicating the changes rather than the changes themselves. But some people are on edge, and this is especially important, as a drop in investment is the real culprit for the bad numbers.

And of course, there remains so much that Brazil should and could do to increase productivity and upgrade its growth model.

Infrastructure –

We are still waiting on this one. This is one part of Brazil’s economy that most desperately needs to be resolved, and we’ve still only seen baby steps.

The environment –

My visit to the Amazon this year was not pretty, both because of the persistence of slave labor and the obvious destruction of the rain forest. Things took a turn for the depressing for environmental activists as the government rolled back protections in 2012.

The good

Politics –

Whatever you think of the ruling Worker’s Party (PT), it is undeniable that if you use the standard most often applied to political parties, Lula and Dilma’s have overseen a truly remarkable success story since 2003. Lula left office one of the most popular leaders in the world, and two years into her term, Dilma is already widely supported. 78 per cent approval is a breathtaking figure. And this after everything that happened in 2012.

Despite the mensalão mess, the PT did very well in municipal elections this year, and took back São Paulo, South America’s largest city. If 2014 elections were held today, all polls indicate Dilma would win by a landslide.

And without a doubt, the country plays a much larger role on the world stage than it did in 2002.

The PT, like everyone else, could improve greatly, but widespread support and a rising nation means you are winning, big. This is a tough act to follow.

The real economy –

As I mentioned above, for all the dismal numbers, life on the ground still feels better than ever. Families are still rising out of poverty. The explanation for this is a little complicated, but the reality is there. It can’t last forever like this, of course, but forever hasn’t happened yet.

Justice –

The flip side to the mensalão mess is a justice system which really has teeth for the first time anyone can remember. This has always been the case for the poor, but now politicians can be on the hook, too. This has many hoping they will think twice in the future.

Even some police are being held to account. Some of those that gunned down suspected members of the PCC and, by all accounts, set off this year’s wave of violence, are now in jail.

World Cup preparations –

For years we wondered if Brazil would be ready to host the World Cup. We haven’t sorted out our infrastructure problems, but it looks like at least the stadiums will be ready.

My personal take is the following: The World Cup will go the way Brazil does for most visitors. Something or another will go wrong. They’ll be stuck in traffic, or miss a flight, or end up spending more than they expected on this or that. But those things will be heavily outweighed by the charm of the country and the fun of the event, and most will go home raving about Brazil.

Cost of living –

For us foreigners, it’s been good news that the real has come down significantly this year. Brazil is no longer so maddeningly expensive. For Brazilians, the cost of living hasn’t changed much.

Corinthians –

“The people’s team” from São Paulo took the world club championship, and gave Brazilian football a much-needed boost. This also meant lots of traffic and nonstop fireworks in the city, but overall it was very good for the country, and for South America.

The unexpected and interesting

Lula back on the scene –

I suppose it was more of an anomaly that he was actually gone for a while. But after recovering quickly from cancer, the former president was given a grand welcome back and got to work quickly, helping out in this year’s municipal elections. Crucially, he has so far floated above the mess of the mensalão scandal, and insisting he know nothing of the scheme. We’ll see if he can keep this up in 2013.

Music –

2012 was a much more interesting year musically than 2011, in my opinion. We saw the rise of Brazilian hip hop to the mainstream, “techno brega” from the Amazon in the form of Gaby Amarantos, and funky pop from the likes of Tulipa Ruiz. Here’s our full interview with Emicida, and Criolo’s will be posted next year.

Eike Batista –

He did not have a good year. There was the unfortunate incident with his son, Thor. Then he attracted lots of negative attention, and fell quite dramatically from his position as Brazil’s richest man.

Race –

Hard to categorize this one as good or bad, but the country stared two deep-seated problems in the face this year: relations with indigenous populations, and the government’s approach to black Brazilians.

Tourism –

The sector is doing quite well, but it has nothing to do with the gringos. The sector is almost entirely powered by Brazilians moving around their own country.

The rebirth of the center –

Long more famous for being “Crack land” than anything else, we saw interesting new movements coming up from the street.

Evangelical power –

Much to the dismay of bien-pensant liberals, Brazil’s numerous, and often unsettling, Evangelical Christian churches revealed themselves as an ever more potent political force.

Exhibitionist turn –

We saw Brazil’s sub-celebrity realitytainment industry power into the same bizarre gears we’ve been accustomed to around the world. First, there was the sex, or perhaps rape, transmitted live on Big Brother Brasil. Then we had the young girl who auctioned off her virginity for $800,000.

Petrobras – Graça Foster –

One of South America’s largest companies inherited a true rags-to-riches story as Graça Foster took over. Here’s hoping she can help navigate Petrobras out of its current mess.

Niemeyer –

And finally, we bid a sad farewell to nation-defining visionary architect Oscar Niemeyer, who passed at 104 years old. Here’s an interview I did with him last year, and perhaps next year I’ll post my pictures from his 104^th birthday party.

Here’s hoping 2013 goes better. Happy New Year.

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An interview with Tulipa Ruiz, the exciting and cutting-edge Brazilian musician, and the video to her contagiously funky and kooky rock hit, “É”.

by Dom Phillips

Tulipa Ruiz bounded on stage at Rio de Janeiro’s Circo Voador recently, and the packed crowd of hundreds began singing along to every word. And continued until they finally let her go, many songs later.

This was a gutsy, ebullient performance with moments in which both crowd and singer seemed delirious with happiness. In which Ruiz’s highly distinctive voice – at times operatic, at times huskily seductive – took precedence over the funky and eclectic Brazilian pop ensemble, flavoured with a string section, that backed her.

Brazilians are famously one of the most welcoming audiences in the world. If a show is done well, with passion and brilo, it will be welcomed. But if the singer fails to deliver, he or she will be booed. Brazilians value good musicianship, singers with originality, and they are unlikely to turn off if the arrangements get a little weird, or if a song breaks off into an unexpected direction. All of which Ruiz’s music is wont to do.

In short, Brazilians take their music seriously. And knowing a lot about music does not make  you a nerd. I remember watching a tribute show to the late samba genius Cartola in Rio some years ago with a table of middle aged women, who bickered happily amongst themselves about who had produced which of his albums.

But even given that, the massed singalong Tulipa Ruiz’s show prompted in Rio is not all that common. Clearly she had hit some sort of collective nerve. She agreed to answer five questions by email, put to her somewhat at random in the hope of learning something about one of Brazil’s most exciting and original singing talents.

“For me it was overwhelming,” Ruiz said of the reaction at Circo Voador. “I’m never going to forget what happened there.” She noted that the fact her latest album, ‘Tudo Tanto’, her second and best, is available for free download might have helped. But beyond this, rather endearingly had no idea why people might like her quite so much. “The identification and warm reception people have is an enigma for me,” she said. “A good enigma.”

One element might be her originality. In visual style, as in her music, Tulipa does not fit the usual Brazilian stereotype of a female singer – essentially a Latina Jessica Rabbit in a party frock, all lips, eyes, hair and cleavage. Not for her the svelte, old fashioned glamour of country music, or sertaneja star Paula Fernandes. Instead Tulipa dresses like an art student run amok at a thrift store, and flings herself around the stage with abandon, like she’s having too much fun to care what she looks like.

For Brazilian music fans, the quality of the lyrics is as important as that of the music. Perhaps one reason why the 1930s samba great Noel Rose is so celebrated, as indeed is Cartola. At Circo Voador, a particularly raucous response greeted Ruiz’s song ‘É’ (‘Is’). It is a contagiously funky, and kooky, Brazilian rock number about a modern love affair between two independent adults, something of an antidote to the over-sweetened stardust of so much modern pop.

“Pode ser ou é
De algum jeito a gente se deu bem
Com tempo pra respirar
Com tempo pra ser bem mais que dois.”

In English: “It could be or is/Anyway we got on well/With time to breathe/With time to be more than two.”

“Dez mil coisas por segundo
Pelos dias que a gente aprendeu
Dez milhões de coisas que a gente é.”

“10,000 things a second/For the days that we learn/10,000 things that we are.”

Ruiz explained: “It’s about people who grow, who modify themselves, and who nevertheless like to be together.” In short, she said: “A love in motion”. Here is the video, shot seemingly on the hoof in London:

[youtube 42j4rcn994A]

Equally refreshing is her attitude to downloading. Downloading in Brazil is rife. Why fight the inevitable, she argues? People might start with a download, but then see a show, and then buy her CD. “I think the download is the beginning of the relationship (between singer and fan),” she said.

Today’s music fan finds music anywhere, from youtube to vinyl, Tulipa noted. “The profile of the music listener today is mutant, if I restrict the download of my album, I make it more difficult to access,” she said. “For two weeks my album was the top seller in the (music and book store chain) Livraria Cultura. I’m proud of this, because it happened after I liberated the free download.” Here it is. Click BAIXE AQUI (download here):

http://www.tuliparuiz.com/

And of course it creates more fans to pack into shows like this, and witness the flourishing one of the many rare talents in modern Brazilian music, which is itself undergoing something of a creative renaissance. And giving original singers like Ruiz – those who break the mould, yet know how to write a song and knock ‘em dead on stage – space to grow.

Ruiz is also an artist, and her bright, colourful images are created on her computer. “I like a programme called Paintbrush,” she said. “At times I print and paint with watercolour. I wrinkle, photocopy, scan. It is a mixed technique with free analogue-digital.”

Our final question was about that very distinctive voice. Where does it come from? “From my parents’ gramophone, from guitar circles with friends, from some opera lessons, and from singing frantically in the shower,” she explained.

To Rome With Love, the latest film by Woody Allen – a popular director in Brazil – features a character who can only sing opera in the shower, and ends up taking a shower cubicle on stage with him. Tulipa Ruiz had no need of such devices to leave her audience at Circo Voador glowing with goodwill.

Photo: Rodrigo Schmidt

On Sunday, I published this article on the rise of rap music in Brazil, featuring quotes from interviews with Criolo and Emicida. Below is the (relatively) complete transcript of the interview with Emicida. Criolo transcript coming next.

In the in-depth discussion, Emicida he takes on a broad set of issues, and doesn’t shy from controversy. He compares Brazilian rap to US rap. He calls out Brazilian media as “racist” and “ridiculous.” He calls for land reform and better treatment of the poor and indigenous.

“At the closing ceremony of the Olympics, we put on display all the things we love to sell to foreigners – native Brazilian culture, capoeira, samba, but these are all things that are being killed back at home.”

Click here to read the original LA Times article, or click “continue reading” below to see the full transcript

VB is Vincent Bevins, EMC is Emicida

VB What is Brazilian rap? How is Brazilian hip hop different than hip hop in the US?

EMC: Well, both countries have distinct literature, and this influences the forms the rhymes take and the way the words flow. English is a much more monosyllabic language than Portuguese, so you [English speakers] can find different lyrical solutions whereas we have to employ some more clever subterfuges. Our poetry is different, but the themes were the same: the ghetto, the margins of society, drugs, violence, ascendance.

From the beginning of the 80s until the early 90s, we were highly influenced by everything that came from the US, so a lot that happened in Brazilian rap, just like in other countries at the time, was basically just ripped off from what the Americans were doing.

But then it began to take on Brazilian elements. I can see in [1990s left-wing rock group] Nação Zumbi some spoken word music, something like rap, but with tambores and more Brazilian instrumentation, in this case derived from Northeastern Maracatu. Then you have Marcelo D2, Rappin Hood, Filial. The themes changed, the metric schemes changed.

But I think the main difference between our hip hop and US hip hop is that here, we’ve been more daring, because the market is smaller. There, the market is so big, and they have to supply a demand according to certain standards and certain requirements.

People outside Brazil see a similarity here now with the moment that American hip hop went through in the 90s, the famous “golden era”, where they were flirting with jazz, with soul, when so many revolutions took place. And we’re going through that moment, but with one addition: in addition to knowing jazz, to knowing soul, we have this huge cauldron of Brazilian music to drink from.

So that’s it – we’re able to insert elements of our culture without losing what is so rich in rap – its simplicity and its impact.

VB: It seems there’s another similarity with the 1990s – the rap scene here is now entering the mainstream. Why did that take so long here, and will that change Brazilian hip hop, like it did the in the US?

EMC: I think the delay was partially because of our posture. Racionais MCs, Brazil’s greatest rap group, had a rule of not appearing on TV. A lot of people were influenced by this, and even if they didn’t agree, refused to interact with the media. That created a blockade. But as the years passed, some people pierced that blockade. That’s been developing slowly for 15 years.

But it’s a delicate question, because now we may be losing that freedom that I spoke of, because now we need to sell…we’re creating a demand and now maybe we have to sell millions of CDs…but one thing that comforts me is that the major groups continue to be independent. Racionais MCs, Rappin Hood, MV Bill…so we still do have this freedom. It has been the radical political discourse that brought hip hop the respect it enjoys now.

[[Editor’s note – Racionais MCs did appear at this year’s MTV Video Music Awards, where their video, “Mil faces de um homem leal” won. It’s not a compromising video, to be sure – it celebrates radical Marxist guerilla Carlos Marighella. When it won, Emicida jumped up and cheered]]

VB: But you talk with everyone, right? You talk to Globo, etc.

EMC: Right.

VB: So why don’t you personally agree with that old prohibition?

EMC: Let’s start with the main point: we started making music because we want to change the world. We started making music, because, before anything else, we want to show that art could change our reality.

So, any show that respects me, that respects my music, I’ll go. I’m relaxed there. My mother was a domestic employee, cleaning the houses of the rich, and I’ve always lived between these two worlds. I always wanted to build a bridge, not a wall, between them.

VB: So what brought you into the rich neighborhoods as a kid?

EMC: My mom had no one to watch us, so she took us to work with her.

VB: Let’s talk about that. How else did your childhood, your personal story, affect your music?

EMC: Damn, that question is big as fuck, isn’t it?

VB: Ha, yes, yes. What parts stand out especially?          

EMC: Man, I had a relatively tranquil childhood. There were some tough paths, such as the loss of my father.

VB: What happened?

EMC: Well he died in a fight, you know? A fight with my cousin. He pushed him and he hit his head and later died from cranial trauma. That was in 91-92. That really affected me. From then on I became a real quiet kid, and I found my escape in comics, in those stories, and in music. I started to read a lot because I wasn’t going out to play with the other kids.

That’s when hip hop entered my life as some kind of therapy, you know what I mean? I wasn’t talking to anyone. I still have a hell of a time with that, but I can write a song about a certain theme.

And on the streets the kids were going to paint graffiti. Today there’s a lot of talk of rap, rap, rap but at the time it was the hip hop movement. B-boys, graffiti, DJs, MCs, all of that. It wasn’t a market, just a scene. Market came later.

VB: And what were the musical influences when you entered that scene?

EMC: Well my dad was a DJ, he played at dances.

VB: What did he play?

EMC: Black music – Earth, Wind and Fire, The Manhattans, Dionne Warwick, Marvin Gaye…so I was close to that. I got to know rap later, and I got to know Brazilian rap before American rap. So if you listen to “Pânico na Zona Zul”, by Racionais MCs, it’s very similar to Public Enemy. But I thought Public Enemy was ripping off Racionais MCs! Crazy.

Later I got into Cypress Hill, Tupac, Notorious BIG. You know, we always gravitated to the “gangsta” side of hip hop. Boney…

VB: Boney?

EMC: Bone, Thugs, N Harmony. But here we called it Bone. Lost Boys, and Wu Tang Clan. When Wu Tang Clan arrived it was crazy, I got the cd as a present from a rocker friend. They’d given it to him saying it was rock. And he said, “This shit isn’t rock!’ and gave it to me.

VB: But if I’m going to compare Brazilian hip hop with American hip hop, there are more similarities with the 90s – it is more intelligent, more poetic, and political than hip hop tends to be now in the US. Now it’s club music, party music.

EMC: Without a doubt.

VB: Like, we have songs about taking shots of tequila. Is that going to happen here?

EMC: I think the themes will change, but I pray that people here will opt for quality. But we have a unique opportunity, because we can look at everything American hip hop did, and we can grab the things we think were correct, and leave aside the errors.

There will be new names here rising here as a result of the press attention. But it’s been the same there. At the same time that you have 50 cent or Ja Rule, you also have on the other hand KRS One, or Mos Def, You know? Talib Kweli. Artists closer to hip hop’s roots.

VMB: What do you want to do with your spotlight. What was the thing you said at last year’s VMB, for example?

EMC: It’s a part of a song, called “Samba do fim do mundo”. It’s about the revolution…for common people, you know? We’re seeing new horizons. It goes like this:

We are the debunkers of Carnaval/
Runaway slaves on digital drums/
The phoenixes of Ash Wednesday/
The Landless Workers Movement of the social networks/
We know where kids come from, don’t be alarmed/
Like the kids know where weapons come from/
Money comes from Jews. Oil from Arabs, businesses/
But the blood and sweat is always ours

It’s about an agrarian reform in Brazilian music. It’s necessary. Just like the rich landowners dominate physical space in Brazil, this works as a metaphor for the media and communications conglomerates that dominate Brazilian culture.

I think Brazil is going through a new moment, getting to know itself as a result of social networks. For example, it’s a huge victory to have an artist like Gaby Amarantos, from Belem do Pará, who comes from completely outside of the standards dictated by the culture industry in Rio and São Paulo. It’s amazing to see her be able to succeed.

VB: That works as a metaphor, to be sure, the agrarian reform. But do you think Brazil needs real land reform, literally and physically?

EMC: Yes. I think we need it urgently. At the closing ceremony of the Olympics, we put on display all the things we love to sell to foreigners – native Brazilian culture, capoeira, samba, but these are all things that are being killed back at home. They’ve just passed a law approving quotas for black students in universities and people took to the streets protesting, can you believe that? We put our indigenous population on stage in London, while we build the Belo Monte damn that will throw them off their land. Brazil has been killing our indigenous population for 512 years without the slightest bit of remorse.

VB: You’ve just launched a company and label, Laboratório Fantasma. Why?

EMC: I want to grow. KL Jay [[Dj and producer of Racionais MCs]] always said: “If you give people a dirty cup of water, they’ll drink it. If you give them a clean one and a dirty one, they’re going to drink the clean one.” That’s what we’re doing here. The idea is to give people an option.

We saw that our music was being sold in the streets, and that meant we could really be part of the culture of the people. So now you have both someone like Ivete Sangalo, signed on Universal and hugely present in the media. And then you have Emicida. The option is there, it’s there in the streets, and the people buying music in the streets now what is going on. Even with the police chasing them around for selling pirated cds, they know.

In Brazil there’s a culture of trying to kill off all other options. Take a look at our media…what can I say? Now, they can finally be questioned. They’re in panic because of social networks. That’s ridiculous in the 21^st century. This is something the big newspapers haven’t learned to deal with.  We had a big paper like Folha de S. Paulo actually sue a blog for being called Falha de S. Paulo [[São Paulo Fail]], you know? That is ridiculous in the 21^st century. If you believe in what you’re saying, you have to be able to say it.  And these same guys love to talk about freedom of speech.

VB: What do you think of Brazilian media generally?

EMC: They’re ridiculous.

In reality the papers here function based on the interests of a small group of people that don’t want to relinquish power in any way. They’re the people that have been running Brazil for 500 years. They’re the descendents of those that came over on the first ships from Portugal.

I’ve always considered the Brazilian media to be extremely racist. And it is.

VB: You said you descend from slaves. What are your roots here in Brazil?

EMC: Well, my mom and my dad were born here in São Paulo. But my grandparents are from Bahia. In Brazil, it is fucked, because after the Revolta dos Malês the elite came down with a vengeance. They burned all the books, and burned all of our possibilities of finding out who our ancestors were. So I don’t know where I come from. And that’s tough, because if you don’t know where you’re from it’s tough to know where you’re going.

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[[Note – the transcript is translated, and edited for length. If anyone wants access to or wants to publish the original in Portuguese, get in touch with me]]

By Dom Phillips

Their region has traditionally been poorer, and a lot made their way down here in the twentieth century looking for jobs, some ending up in favelas. Some snottier elements of the elite elite in the South East looked down on their culture. But now the boot may be on the other foot – or should that be the other Haiavana (or flip flop).

Firstly, because in economic terms, the North and North East are growing faster than the rest of Brazil, which isn’t really growing much at all. North Easterners don’t migrate like they used to – many of them are going back.

Secondly, because these parts of Brazil have a vibrant and inventive culture that is increasingly being valued not just in the rest of Brazil, but abroad too.

On the pop level, this means the contagious jungle pop of Gaby Amarantos from the Northern Amazon state of Pará [editor’s note – I spent a week with the lovely Gaby in Belem, for this LA Times feature on her – Vincent]. She has been nicknamed the ‘Beyoncé of Brazil’ but this colourful pop queen is much more creative than the nickname might suggest. Or Michel Teló, whose ubiquitous pop hit ‘Ai Se Eu Te Pego’ (Oh, If I Get You) being released in the UK, is his record company’s hope of scoring a novelty, post-Summer holiday hit. And why not? It’s appallingly cheesy and tremendously catchy, a party-set story of ‘boy wants to get off with girl’ that is, for some reason, popular with footballers.

It’s like a tropical country carnival – with groups hundreds strong circulating São Luís to present colourful, choreographed square dances  around a pantomime ox in the street. It’s called Bumba Meu Boi. The guys dress as cowboys, in elaborate gold and silver threads, and the girls as forest Indians, though considerably more glamorously so in their bikinis and headdresses. The soundtrack is brass-led dance music, with a Spanish-Latin, rather than Portuguese-Brazilian feel. There are singers backed by a pounding drum and a relentless banjo.

Brazil’s reigning musical deity has given his blessing to its newest national poet. Criolo has broken out of the the ghetto, but he has taken the ghetto with him.

by Dom Phillips, in Rio de Janeiro

The thousands packed into Brazilian rapper Criolo’s show last Saturday at Rio’s cavernous Fundição Progresso were already jubilant when God walked in. God’s appearances are rare these days, and this one came unannounced.

God was silver-haired, wearing what appeared to be an elegant, if casual, blue-grey Nehru suit and what was most definitely a huge smile. He danced enthusiastically with Criolo as the two performed the rapper’s biggest hit, the bitter ‘Não existe amor em SP’ (‘Love doesn’t exist in São Paulo). God takes many guises, as any good Christian knows. In this case, his name was Caetano Veloso. And the response that greeted his arrival on stage was suitably ecstatic.

I am joking, of course. There are a number of religions in Brazil (Catholicism, Evangelicalism, a spiritualist movement that combines Christianity and reincarnation, inspired by 19th Century French philosopher Allan Kardec, who in turn has given his name to more than one soccer star, amongst others, but I digress…), and Veloso is not a God in any of them.

But he is a sort of demi-god in the stellar universe of Brazilian pop, or MPB, one of those stately, dignified, intellectual figures – philosopher kings, if you like – that Brazilians adore and admire and whose opinions are both venerated and newsworthy. Like fellow MPB artist Chico Buarque, and perhaps, if only in São Paulo and at the breaking point, former president Fernando Henrique Cardoso.

Both Caetano and Buarque have given Criolo their all-important blessing: Caetano even performed the same duet with the rapper at the Brazilian MTV Awards, where Criolo won three prizes for his debut album ‘Nó Na Orelha’. His appearance on stage at Criolo’s show was not just a surprise, but a powerful endorsement of how far into Brazil’s pop mainstream Criolo has reached.

Released in 2011, ‘Nó na Orelha’ (‘Knot in the Ear’) has become that gift horse that the music industry calls a ‘crossover hit’ and never looks in the mouth. It has spread beyond Brazilian hip hop’s natural base of disadvantaged youth living in poor suburbs, the perifería, or shanty towns, favelas, to land in the living rooms of the descolado (switched on, cool) Brazilian bourgeoisie. And it deserved to, for the intelligence and sensitivity of its lyrics, for the dexterity with which it blends rhythms as varied as bolero and samba with hip hop beats and luxuriant melodies. For songs of quality that can be sung along to.

Thanks to its success and shows like this, Criolo has become a crossover urban artist with mainstream appeal – much like British rap group Massive Attack in the 1990s, or British Sri-Lankan singer/rapper M.I.A. this decade. He is perhaps the first Brazilian rapper to do so.

Unlike in the United States, where the appearance of an in vogue rapper like Nicki Minaj or M.I.A. on a Madonna album is of benefit to both sides – Madonna gets the youth cred, Minaj and M.I.A. get the visibility of a duet with the Queen of Pop – Brazilian rappers are not part of the pop culture mainstream. Hip hop is a culture apart.

When saccharine pop singer Wanessa Camargo wanted a guest rapper on a pop-rap hit, she chose an American, Jar Rule.

Rio has its own, frenetic, tinny, electronic style called ‘funk’, whose lyrics are frequently x-rated. A style more reminiscent of hip hop’s North American roots thrives in São Paulo’s endless asphalt jungle, out in the periferia, where Criolo has been rhyming for 20 years.

Like classic New York rappers such as Nas or Guru before them, the better São Paulo wordsmiths don’t just deal in cliché. Criolo’s song ‘Não exist amor em SP’ describes a bleak, urban hustle of bars packed with empty souls, where greed vibrates and vanity excites. Caetano wasn’t alone in recognising its poetry.

I interviewed Criolo for a music magazine in December 2010, in the far-flung São Paulo favela of Grajaú where he grew up and was still living in with his parents. Their house was piled high with books: his mother Vilani ran a ‘Philosophy Café’ in Grajaú. Later, his performance was the highlight at a festival of independent hip hop, held in a stiflingly-hot warehouse by a reservoir.

Then, wearing the shirt of his football team, São Paulo’s Corinthians, he performed an uncompromising set of hardcore urban hip hop over a backing tape to a crowd of hundreds of the faithful. Now he has a backing band – and is dancing on stage with God, looking every centimetre the rock star, charismatically jerking in a white collared shirt as if possessed by invisible demons. In one of Rio’s biggest venues.

A handful of songs – all sung, not rapped – took the sound in intriguing new directions. But hip hop also made its presence felt – a forceful guest appearance by another São Paulo rap star, Emicida, playing the much smaller Circo Voador next door that night, set the crowd jumping, as did performances of the album’s rawer rap tracks.

Grajaú was not forgotten: a member of the favela’s community samba ensemble, O Pagode de 27 (27 Pagode – or street samba) put in a guest appearance, in the troupe’s red and white, soccer-style strip. Nor were richer members of the audience able to buy their way into a cordoned-off ‘VIP’ area stage front – as they were at the show British rock singer Morrissey performed weeks before. Criolo’s crowd is as varied as his music is democratic. Brazil’s first crossover rap star may have successfully broken out of the ghetto, but he has taken the ghetto with him.

Dom Phillips is a British journalist and writes for The Times of London, Bloomberg View, The Daily Beast, People Magazine, and British Soccer magazine 442. He has been in Brazil since 2007 and now writes From Rio for the From Brazil Blog. He is the author of Superstar DJs Here We Go (Ebury/Random House 2009).

What had the place lit up and rigging crews working flat out was the setting up for Lollapalooza – the first Brazilian edition of the Chicago festival founded by Perry Farrell of the band Jane’s Addiction, following a version in Santiago de Chile in 2011.

With four stages and a lineup featuring bands including Arctic Monkeys, Foo Fighters, and Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, the festival pulled in hundreds of workers, and took months of toil, planning and schmoozing on the parts of the people from Lollapalooza and their local partners, Geo. The first of many more editions to come, they hope, the festival took place last Saturday and Sunday, drenched in sunlight and drenched in rain too – a classic São Paulo weekend, and one full of surprises.

In a growing pattern over the last few years, and in parallel with music business efforts to increase income from live music, newly affluent Brazil has the money to bring in bands that have long had huge fan bases here, but that no one had yet been able to see play. It’s rumoured that some acts are paid as much as three times what they earn to play the USA or Europe, and are frequently shocked by the size and enthusiasm of the crowds that welcome them.

It’s a mix that can throw up an exciting and chaotic set of experiences. Lollapalooza was textbook in that respect.

Sunday evening brought a magnificent show of lightning and heavy, low-slung black clouds that burst before MGMT came on stage, soaking those in the crowd who stuck around for the band’s set, and sending the rest scurrying off to find shelter. But there’s nothing weird about rain at a festival, and the festival organisers had anticipated it with a huge covered space for one of the smaller stages, plus a large canopy over one of the sponsored areas – the incongruous Calvin Klein tent, one of a set of otherwise weirdly pointless corporate ‘spaces’.

What the organisers perhaps hadn’t anticipated were the set of three separate queues that had to be endured in order to buy a beer. Forty minutes in one queue, then 20 in another and 10 in a third set pulses racing in all the wrong ways, as festival-goers queued to buy vouchers, then joined another dozens-strong line to exchange them for food or drink. We weren’t the only ones to reach the front of the second queue only to find we’d missed the queue for the wristbands proving we were of legal drinking age – apparently essential, even for those of us sadly and very obviously past our underage-drinking prime.

The eccentricity of such systems is familiar to anyone used to Brazilian nightclubs, where you run up a tab and then queue up, right when you’re ready to leave, for often considerable lengths of time in order to pay. The product of a reluctance to allow all but a tiny proportion of servers to handle cash, the queues usually appear to go unremarked by patient Brazilians, but they racked up complaints all over Facebook and beyond after Lollapalooza, and led to a loss of interest in buying beer on the parts of some – one of my colleagues lost heart and went without for most of the day – and panic overbuying on the parts of others. R$12 worth of Lollapalooza coupons, anyone?

Claire Rigby is the editor of Time Out São Paulo, in English. She was previously the editor of Time Out Buenos Aires, and has worked as a freelance journalist for titles including the Guardian and the Telegraph.

She writes for From Brazil every other Wednesday.
Follow @claire_rigby

Time Out São Paulo