Livro

Veloso, Caetano

album cover

Rare Beauty from a Former Enfant Terrible

Imagine an intersection on the outskirts of Rio, a busy place where the cosmopolitan and the rustic converge. From one direction comes a drum troupe, happily pounding out a rhythm that lures hip-hop kids into a dance. From the opposite direction, the breeze carries traces of an orchestra—twittering pastel flutes and strings and muted trumpets. As often happens on the street, the sounds don't smash against each other in direct collision. Instead they flow into a single sensory impression, an ever-shifting river of sound.

Caetano Veloso's incandescent Livro might have been conceived in such a spot. Its songs express the yearnings common to so much Brazilian music—lust and sadness and the longing for whatever is far away—in a language that bubbles with and thrives on deep contrasts. This music is rooted in a rumbling funk foundation, but it's got moody Gil Evans–ish orchestrations on top. It's somewhat samba, but also a touch arty, with moments where the beat falls away and some drifting tempoless rhapsody (about the magic awaiting inside books, among other things) takes over.

Veloso began this project in search of rhythms that could transcend generational differences. He'd been listening to American neosoul singer D'Angelo, known for his canny updates of Marvin Gaye, and was convinced that a similar Brazilian confluence of old and new could yield interesting sounds. Veloso studied the street rhythms played in the favelas, the urban slums ringing Brazil's cities, and collaborated with several troupes. He ended up with more than just generic samba beats jacked up with a hip-hop kick: Livro's agitated yet eversensual polyrhythms are an acoustic version of a DJ's collage creation, with Veloso's tender vocals thrown in, almost as an afterthought.

Those vocals are the most riveting Veloso has committed to tape since the early 1980s. Singing with featherweight lightness, Veloso nuzzles and caresses the serpentine melodies. All the songs rely on Veloso's natural understatement, but of special note is his love letter to New York City, "Manhata." Sung in a voice filled with quiet awe, it's the rare city song that celebrates all the external romance of the place while revealing something of its often-hidden heart as well.

Genre: World, Brazil
Released: 1997, Nonesuch
Key Tracks: "Manhata," "Os passistas," "Voce e minha."
F.Y.I.: Beck, whose Mutations was partly inspired by Veloso, describes the Brazilian legend's music this way: "The different little sounds and ideas that run through his records are like a bunch of little jewels. Any one of them could change your life.
Catalog Choice: Estrangeiro
Next Stop: Gilberto Gil: Quanta
After That: D'Angelo: Brown Sugar
Book Pages: 829–830