Chico Buarque in English
Chico Buarque is a Brazilian singer-songwriter with a matchless record of composition and recording over half a century. In the past decade he has also written four well-received novels. He was born in 1944 and now lives in Rio de Janeiro.
Below are English translations of 20 songs from different stages of Chico Buarque's career, followed by a brief biographical note. I hope the translations will provide at least an echo of work that is, sadly, beyond the reach of most music fans from the English-speaking world.
For working on the translations two sources were particularly valuable: the book Chico Buarque, letra e musica 1, published in 1994 by Companhia Das Letras (Sao Paulo); and the web-site, http://lyrics translate.com/en/chico-buarque-lyrics.html, which contains translations of many CB songs by various hands.
Translating Chico Buarque's complex lyrics is no simple matter and I am well aware of the potential pitfalls. I would very much welcome observations from other CB enthusiasts, including those who have a better grasp of Portuguese than myself and can suggest corrections where I have misunderstood the sense of the original. My email is: [email protected]
You can buy the kindle version here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Chico-Buarque-Songs-Translated-English-ebook/dp/B01AXXGXIG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1510697265&sr=8-1&keywords=chico+buarque+translated
David Spiller, October 2015
The list of translated songs is as follows:
With some sugar with affection Com acucar com afeto
Love wants Bem-querer
Piano in Mangueira Piano na Mangueira
An unnatural song Uma cancao desnaturada
About all things Sobre todas as coisas
Tropical fate Fado tropical
Tattoo Tatuagem
Take your hands off me Tira as maos de mim
A thousand pardons Mil perdoes
The band A banda
In spite of you Apesar de voce
Samba of a great love Samba do grande amor
Women of Athens Mulheres de Atenas
Eyes within eyes Olhos nos olhos
My dearest friend Meu caro amigo
The actresses As atrizes
This girl-friend Essa pequena
Construction Construcao
Other dreams Outros sonhos
Without you 2 Sem voce 2
With some sugar with affection
With some sugar with affection
I prepared a nice confection
So I won't be home alone.
No such thing.
Dressed up in your Sunday best
You go out, but I don't trust you
When you say you'll be back soon.
That you want to find a job,
Scrape together a few bob
The better to support me.
No such thing.
On the way to where you meet
There's a bar on every street
For you to celebrate,
And I don't know what.
Then someone sitting near you
Will begin to bend your ear
On football and so on.
You'll stay ogling the bikinis
Of the women on the beaches
Weathered by the sun.
Come the dusk, another round,
Soon you're three sheets to the wind,
And I know you're going to sing.
In the bar your new companion
Strikes up with the national anthem,
Nothing stops you joining in.
When at last you're over-tired
Then you come home like a child
Begging for another chance.
Never mind.
You tell me I should dry my eyes,
That you're going to mend your ways
To soothe my sorry heart.
When I see you so deflated,
Vilified and enervated
I regret my ugly mood.
No such thing.
I go to heat your food up,
Give a kiss upon your photo,
And open my arms wide to you.
'Com acucar com afeto' (lyrics and music by Chico Buarque) was on the 1966 album Chico Buarque de Hollanda – no 2. It also formed part of a a live show he did at the Canecao night-spot with Maria Bethania (recording released in 1975). CB has spoken of the feminine side of his nature, but here he puts himself into the shoes of a working class woman – not his background at all! – as she meekly comes to terms with her partner's feckless behaviour. CB sings gently, accompanied initially by bass and woodwind, then a piano, then the strings towards the end.
Love wants
When my love wants us to get together
I'm sure she'll come right after me,
Follow me across every, every, every, threshold.
And when her love wants to lie
That there'll never be a last farewell,
He'll reply with shameless, shameless, shameless promises.
And when my love wants to feel
That affection is a fleeting sensation,
She'll embrace me with a mortal fervour, fervour, fervour, fervour.
And when your love wants to ask
That you stay a little longer,
He'll caress you with the calm, the calm, the calm of married people.
And when my love wants to hear
My heart beat louder,
She'll tear at me with the fury,
Fury, fury, the very fury of beasts.
And when your love wants to sleep,
To take care he'll sleep in peace
Like someone who's switched off the light,
He'll block up the doorway and turn on the gas.
Bem querer, a disturbing paen to the ambivalence of love-making, had both words and music written by Chico Buarque and was sung at his joint Canecao show with Maria Bethania. They sang the lyrics right through one after the other, with Bethania abruptly biting off the last word 'gas'.
Piano in Mangueira
Mangueira,
I'm here on the platform
Of Estacao Primeira.
The favela called to me.
In white suit and straw hat
I'm going to show up for my new associate.
I've already sent up the piano to Mangueira
My music's not the kind to make a row,
But you can go on into the samba school
Where the mulata hangs up her skirt
On a Wednesday morning.
Mangueira
Estacao Primeira of Mangueira.
Mangueira is a famous Rio samba school that meets in a concrete space surrounded by a hillside slum (favela), where you can indeed see the residents' washing hanging on clothes lines. Estacao Primeira is the rail station that serves the hill. The song is from the album Paratodos (meaning 'for everyone') that was released in 1993. It was written with Tom Jobim (of 'Girl from Ipanema' fame) not long before Jobim died. The references to a piano are because it was Jobim's instrument. This fleeting, inconsequential song, barely more than two minutes long, carefree yet sad, with its gentle accompaniment (always the acoustic guitar, not electric, always the trombone, not the trumpet), is so typical of that era. Of all CB's songs, this is perhaps the one most likely to have been written by Noel Rosa, Brazil's whiz kid song-writer of the 1930s. When living in Rio I would tell visitors – 'If you don't like this number, don't bother with Brazilian music'.
An unnatural song
(In the 'Opera do malandro', a mother curses her only daughter, who has insisted upon marrying public enemy number one.)
How quickly you grew
Beneath my dress, missie,
To become this rash and painted woman.
If it were possible
I would rewind the clock
And renew my authority over you,
I'd watch you, missie, with feeble legs
Bang your unformed head,
Get yourself filthy all over,
Deny you my breast,
Recover those nights, missie,
When I didn't sleep a wink,
Ignore your cries
And fend only for myself.
I'd let you burn with fever, missie,
Fifty degrees, coughing, teeth chattering,
Dress you sloppily,
Arrange for a nanny,
Break your doll, missie,
And go around exposing you
To the public bars
Turn sour the milk
From my withered breasts,
Sprinkle on the floor you crawl across
A thousand shards of glass.
And by your long-lost cord
Drag you for ever
To the darkness of my womb, missie,
From which you should not
Ever have emerged.
Opera do Malandro is a Brazilian musical inspired by John Gay's Beggar's opera and Bertolt Brecht/Kurt Weill's Threepenny opera. All the songs are composed by Chico Buarque to fit in with the original texts. 'An unnatural song' is one of the lesser-known numbers. The unmemorable melody is combined with utterly chilling lyrics that call to mind Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth. ('I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums, and dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you have done to this.')
About all things
For the love of god,
Can't you see it's a sin to despise those who revere you?
Don't you know god is angry when they're
Abandoned by the love of god?
Ask our lord,
Who made such splendour from the gloom,
If it was all – men, women, beasts, flowers –
Created just to worship the creator.
And ask if the creator
Invented people as a kindness,
If he made us from the clay with so much tenderness
Just for us to love our saviour.
No, our lord,
You'd not have sent the earth, the stars, the sky
On their eternal celestial journey
Only to circle their creator.
Or could it be that the god
Who taught us how to yearn is callous?
He shows us milk and honey in the valleys
But these valleys all belong to god.
For the love of god,
Can't you see it's a sin to despise those who revere you?
Don't you know god is angry when they're
Abandoned by the love of god?
This song – 'Sobre todas as coisas' – was written by Chico Buarque and Edu Lobo and is part of the album Paratodos, released in 1993. The theme looks daring in a Catholic country, but perhaps CB's many brushes with military dictatorships made the church seem a mere pussy-cat. In performance the tempo is slow and deliberate, and the unusual appearance of a twangy electric guitar strikes a dissonant note that appears to chime with the song's sentiments.
Tropical fate
(Song envisages one of the Portuguese soldiers landed on the south American coast by mariner Pedro Cabral in the year 1500.)
(Sung)
O my sweet native land,
O muse of my fate,
On this our first April
I leave disconsolate
Do not be ungrateful.
Do not forget who loves you,
Who lost himself and found himself
Within your densest jungles.
For this country still can realise your ideal,
Can still become a giant Portugal.
(Spoken)
You know, deep down I'm a real softie. We all
inherit in our Lusitanian blood a hefty dose of
emotion (as well as syphilis, of course). Even
when my hands are busy torturing, strangling
butchering, my heart closes its eyes and most
sincerely weeps...
(Sung)
Silver ferns grow in the backwoods,
Rosemary 'mongst the sugar cane
Liqueurs in the water jar
And a full-bodied wine.
And the beautiful mulata
In Alentejo lace
From whom, with false bravado
You can surely snatch a kiss.
Ah this country still can realise your ideal,
Can still become a giant Portugal.
(Spoken)
My heart has a serene air,
My hands a blow so fierce and quick
That after the deed I'm disoriented,
Even question myself.
Holding my hands far from the heart
It seems there's a distance between the intention and the gesture.
If I squeeze my heart in both hands
The sense of uncleanness amazes me.
In the heat of the struggle
I flaunt the sword point before me,
But my chest is bursting.
And if the death sentence is merciless,
So much quicker does the blind hand deliver it.
For if not, the heart finds a reason to forgive.
(Sung)
Jasmine, palm trees, fountain-heads,
Accordions and mandolins,
Sardines and cassava
On a smooth glazed tile.
And the river Amazon
Traverses mountain ranges,
And in a massive tidal wave
Flows into the Tagus.
For this country still can realise your ideal,
Can still become a giant Portugal.
For this country still can be your heart's desire,
It still can be a giant colonial empire.
A song from the album Chico canta, written with Ruy Guerra and released over 1972/73. The phrase 'our first April' presumably refers to April 1500 being later hailed as the date for the discovery of Brazil. Most of the seductive images of Brazil are sung, whilst the passages that describe the man coming to terms with bloodshed are spoken. Not for the first time CB had trouble with the censor, and the clumsy cutting of the line 'as well as syphilis, of course' can be detected on the recording. For this most ironic of lyricists, an extra layer of irony is afforded by the situation in 2015, when Brazil is marked by violence and corruption, whilst the Portuguese are a peaceful nation with the best manners on the planet.
Tattoo
I want to cling to your body
Like a tattoo,
To watch you go boldly,
Follow your journey
When the night comes.
Then to make myself
Your everlasting slave,
Whom you hold, caress, deny,
But will not wash away.
I want to play on your body
Like a ballet dancer
Who drives you crazy,
Capers and prances
When the night comes.
And on the spent muscles
Of your arm
To lie sated, passive,
Shrivelled, becalmed.
I want to weigh like a cross
On your back,
That shreds you in pieces
But deep down relaxes you,
When the night comes.
I want to be
The smiling and corrosive scar
Marked on living flesh
With cold and iron and fire.
Star fish, harpoons,
Mermaids and serpents
Scratched on your whole body,
But you don't feel them.
From the Chico canta album by Chico Buarque and Ruy Guerra, 1972/73. One of CB's best known and best loved songs, and surely one of the most erotic numbers ever written. The gentle melody is amongst his best.
Take your hands off me
He was worth a thousand,
You're of no consequence.
In a strugle you're a poltroon.
In bed you're a eunuch.
Take your hands off me.
Put your hands on me
And see if his fire,
Still smouldering within me,
Can light your fuse.
He and I
Had a tightly knotted union,
While you
Are so loosely tied.
Take your hands off me.
Put your hands on me
And see if his fever,
Still dormant within me,
Can infect you just a little.
From the album Chico canta, this is like a footnote to the song 'Tattoo'. Once again CB's imagination crosses to the distaff side, depicting this woman's scorn as well as the characteristic irresolution (some might say) of her sex. The casual observer will be curious: why in hell did the woman have anything to do with the man she's addressing? No use asking her, of course.
A thousand pardons
I forgive you
For asking a thousand questions,
Which in lives that run together
No-one does.
I forgive you
For asking for forgiveness,
For loving me too much.
I forgive you
For your interest
In all the places
I've been round about.
I forgive you
For raising your hand
To lash out.
I forgive you
When I long for the moment to leave,
To prance about in relief
And to lose you.
I forgive you
For wanting to watch me
Learning how to deceive you (deceive you).
I forgive you
For keeping track of my day
When I come in after time.
I forgive you.
I forgive you because you cry
When I cry from laughing.
I forgive you when I betray you.
Music and lyrics by CB from the 1984 album Chico Buarque. This could be sung by a man or a woman. For all CB's interest in history and politics, his songs also investigate personal relationships with unsparing honesty.
The band
It was one of those aimless evenings,
My girlfriend called out for me
To watch the band go past
As it sang about love and all that.
The long-suffering citizens
Forgot their sorrows
When they saw the band pass by
Singing of love and all that.
The stuffed shirt counting his cash, he stopped,
The gas-bag full of bombast, he stopped,
The sweetheart counting the stars, she stopped,
They watched and listened and got out of the way.
The sad and lonely girl smiled,
The icy young beauty let slip her veil,
The kids in the street got a thrill,
When the band passed by
Singing of love and all that.
The grandad forgot his fatigue and thought
He'd go out on the terrace to dance.
The plain girl leant from the window and fancied
The band was playing her song.
The revellers thronged the road and inspired
The full moon to emerge from the clouds.
The whole of my town was smartly attired
To hear the band singing of love.
To my eternal regret
The sweet pageant died,
And the people regressed
When the band had passed by.
Everyone in their place
And every place dreary,
When the band had passed by
Singing of love,
When the band had passed by
Singing of love.
From the album Chico Buarque de Hollanda released in 1966. Music and lyrics by CB. The song was a mile-stone in CB's career because it won first prize at the Second Brazilian Festival of Popular Music in 1966. He was 22 at the time. The recording has a basic melody, a regular rhythm, and a chorus in its middle section.
In spite of you
Today it's you who calls the tune,
Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir,
But people talk behind your back,
Their eyes fixed on the ground.
You who created the state we're in
Who made up all the darkness,
You who invented the notion of sin
And forgot its absolution.
In spite of you, tomorrow will be another day.
How to conceal yourself then
From the torrent of euphoria?
How will you stop it when the rooster
Insists on crowing,
When springs well up and people learn to
Love without demur.
When the moment comes, I vow
You'll pay with interest for my dejection.
This mangled love, this strangled howl,
This samba in the gloom.
You who created sorrow, pray
Have the courtesy to stamp it out.
You'll pay twice over for every tear shed
During our affliction.
In spite of you, tomorrow will be another day.
Against your will, people will see the garden flower.
You'll grow sour watching the morning dawn
Without your say-so, but I shall roar with laughter.
That time will come before the appointed hour.
In spite of you, tomorrow will be another day.
You will endure the morning that's reborn
To poetry. How to explain it
When the clouds clear unrebuked?
How to trace the joyful chorus that clamours
In your face?
In spite of you...etc.
Often in trouble with government censors, Chico Buarque left Brazil in 1970 to spend an unhappy 18 months in Italy. On return he wrote the protest song 'In spite of you' ('you' signifying 'the government') which, released as a single, was a tonic for the democratic movement. The record sold 100,000 copies before the military authorities – not the brightest – grasped its meaning and censored the song. The recording has an irresistible samba rhythm, an ever-present chorus, the usual battery of samba drums, and the delightful cuica (a drum-like instrument that yields a unique squeaking sound). This is one of a series of sambas that CB wrote over the years, offering a barometer for the state of the country and his own responses to it. He uses the word 'samba' almost as shorthand for 'Brazil'. The gentle timbre of his voice and the chirpy nature of the music are unusual ingredients for a song of protest. The song eventually reappeared on the 1978 album, Chico Buarque.
Samba of a great love
It seemed to me
That now, for sure,
I'd finally found
My grand amour.
What nonsense!
I threw myself
From the trampoline
Was a lover to the full.
Went through the year
On such short rations,
Gave my share
To my great passion.
What bullshit!
Put my hand
Upon the fire
With my trusting heart.
Today I only bear
A stone within my chest,
A dreamer now no longer
I demand respect.
I even change my route
When I spot a flower
And I can laugh about
My one great love affair.
What twaddle!
I was very trusty
Went and bought a ring
Confided to my diary
About my only darling.
Stuff and nonsense!
Went to book a hotel.
And Sarapatel
And a honeymoon in Salvador.
Went to pray at the holy see
There at Sao Jose
Why? Because I'd sworn by
My only sweetie pie.
What tommy rot!
Even made a vow
To Oxumare
That I'd go up the Redeemer
On Shanks's pony.
Today I only bear
A stone in my chest.
A dreamer now no longer
I demand respect.
I even change my route
When I spot a flower,
And I can laugh about
My one great love affair.
What total nonsense!
Song by CB from the 1984 album Chico Buarque. Some of the composer's personal songs explore relationships with disturbing honesty, but he also offers more playful numbers like this one. Sarapatel is a Brazilian/Portuguese dish involving pork viscera and pork blood. The Sao Jose referred to is probably the diocese of Sao Jose dos Campos in Sao Paulo state. Oxumare is an Afro/Brazilian river god. 'The Redeemer' refers to the massive statue of Christ above Rio de Janeiro.
Women of Athens
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens,
Who live for their husbands,
The pride and race of Athens.
As sweethearts they perfume themselves,
Bathe in milk and comb
Their tresses.
When punished they decline to cry,
They kneel and beg for harsher
Excesses.
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens,
Who suffer for their husbands,
The force and power of Athens.
When the soldiers embark
The women remain, to weave
Tapestries.
When the men return, berserk,
They exact violent, obscene
Caresses.
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens,
Who undress for their husbands,
The brave warriors of Athens.
When flushed with wine
The husbands stray to the charms of
Temptresses.
In the maudlin dawn
They mostly return to the arms of
Their spouses.
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens,
Who generate for their husbands
The new sons of Athens.
They have no virtues, no limitations,
No needs, no aspirations,
Only stresses.
They have no dreams, merely unease
About their husbands, shipwrecks, seas,
Sorceresses.
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens,
Who fear for their husbands,
The heroes and lovers of Athens.
The grieving young widows,
The abandoned mothers, endure
Undistressed,
They wear black, are unadorned,
Kneel down before
Their new husbands,
Self-possessed.
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens.
Waste away for your husbands,
The pride and race of Athens.
Song by Chico Buarque and Augusto Boal, a Brazilian theatre director and close friend. It was written for Boal's play Lisa, a mulher libertadora, an adaptation of Lisistrata by Aristofanes. The recording forms part of the album Meus caros amigos, released in 1993. Song has a melancholy atmosphere, with CB making much use of his vocal dying fall (cf Billie Holiday). Bass and drums are prominent, and a jangling guitar, and an unusual moaning instrument. Near the end some strings enter and finally, a chorus (Greek, of course).
Eyes within eyes
When you left me, sweetie,
You said to keep well and be happy.
I was mad with jealousy, half-crazed,
But later on, as usual, I obeyed.
When you want to see me afresh
You'll find a different person in my place.
Eyes within eyes.
I want to hear what you say
When you notice that without you I'm OK.
Even that I'm looking younger,
And catch myself humming an aimless song.
So much water under the bridge,
So many men have cherished me
Better than you and for longer.
If you should ever need me at all
Of course my house is yours, do call.
Eyes within eyes,
I want to hear what you'll say,
How you will take it finding me so happy.
Song by Chico Buarque written in 1976 as part of the Meus caros amigos album. The recording has flutes and an oboe as well as the usual rhythm section. Another song written from a woman's viewpoint. A familiar subject for music and literature, including Philip Larkin's poem 'No road' ('Since we agreed to let the road between us/Fall to disuse...').
My dearest friend
My dearest friend will you forgive this poor reply?
Now's not the time for me to visit,
But since a go-between has turned up at my door,
I'm sending you some news on this cassette.
Here in our country they play football all the while,
Lots of samba, lots of crying, rock'n'roll.
Some days there is sunshine, others days the rain will fall,
But what I have to tell you, friend, is things back here are foul.
We've lots of scams to help withstand the circumstances,
We take them with a stubborn kind of rancour,
You have to gulp it down, which means again without cachaca,
For nobody can handle such a canker.
My dearest friend, I am not one to insist,
Or to denigrate your olden time nostalgia,
But it so happens that I really must persist
With putting you completely in the picture.
Here in our country they play football all the while,
Lots of samba, lots of crying, rock'n'roll.
Some days there is sunshine, others days the rain will fall,
But what I have to tell you, friend, is things back here are foul.
It's quite a dance here when you have to make a living,
I tell you it's a joke
Below are English translations of 20 songs from different stages of Chico Buarque's career, followed by a brief biographical note. I hope the translations will provide at least an echo of work that is, sadly, beyond the reach of most music fans from the English-speaking world.
For working on the translations two sources were particularly valuable: the book Chico Buarque, letra e musica 1, published in 1994 by Companhia Das Letras (Sao Paulo); and the web-site, http://lyrics translate.com/en/chico-buarque-lyrics.html, which contains translations of many CB songs by various hands.
Translating Chico Buarque's complex lyrics is no simple matter and I am well aware of the potential pitfalls. I would very much welcome observations from other CB enthusiasts, including those who have a better grasp of Portuguese than myself and can suggest corrections where I have misunderstood the sense of the original. My email is: [email protected]
You can buy the kindle version here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Chico-Buarque-Songs-Translated-English-ebook/dp/B01AXXGXIG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1510697265&sr=8-1&keywords=chico+buarque+translated
David Spiller, October 2015
The list of translated songs is as follows:
With some sugar with affection Com acucar com afeto
Love wants Bem-querer
Piano in Mangueira Piano na Mangueira
An unnatural song Uma cancao desnaturada
About all things Sobre todas as coisas
Tropical fate Fado tropical
Tattoo Tatuagem
Take your hands off me Tira as maos de mim
A thousand pardons Mil perdoes
The band A banda
In spite of you Apesar de voce
Samba of a great love Samba do grande amor
Women of Athens Mulheres de Atenas
Eyes within eyes Olhos nos olhos
My dearest friend Meu caro amigo
The actresses As atrizes
This girl-friend Essa pequena
Construction Construcao
Other dreams Outros sonhos
Without you 2 Sem voce 2
With some sugar with affection
With some sugar with affection
I prepared a nice confection
So I won't be home alone.
No such thing.
Dressed up in your Sunday best
You go out, but I don't trust you
When you say you'll be back soon.
That you want to find a job,
Scrape together a few bob
The better to support me.
No such thing.
On the way to where you meet
There's a bar on every street
For you to celebrate,
And I don't know what.
Then someone sitting near you
Will begin to bend your ear
On football and so on.
You'll stay ogling the bikinis
Of the women on the beaches
Weathered by the sun.
Come the dusk, another round,
Soon you're three sheets to the wind,
And I know you're going to sing.
In the bar your new companion
Strikes up with the national anthem,
Nothing stops you joining in.
When at last you're over-tired
Then you come home like a child
Begging for another chance.
Never mind.
You tell me I should dry my eyes,
That you're going to mend your ways
To soothe my sorry heart.
When I see you so deflated,
Vilified and enervated
I regret my ugly mood.
No such thing.
I go to heat your food up,
Give a kiss upon your photo,
And open my arms wide to you.
'Com acucar com afeto' (lyrics and music by Chico Buarque) was on the 1966 album Chico Buarque de Hollanda – no 2. It also formed part of a a live show he did at the Canecao night-spot with Maria Bethania (recording released in 1975). CB has spoken of the feminine side of his nature, but here he puts himself into the shoes of a working class woman – not his background at all! – as she meekly comes to terms with her partner's feckless behaviour. CB sings gently, accompanied initially by bass and woodwind, then a piano, then the strings towards the end.
Love wants
When my love wants us to get together
I'm sure she'll come right after me,
Follow me across every, every, every, threshold.
And when her love wants to lie
That there'll never be a last farewell,
He'll reply with shameless, shameless, shameless promises.
And when my love wants to feel
That affection is a fleeting sensation,
She'll embrace me with a mortal fervour, fervour, fervour, fervour.
And when your love wants to ask
That you stay a little longer,
He'll caress you with the calm, the calm, the calm of married people.
And when my love wants to hear
My heart beat louder,
She'll tear at me with the fury,
Fury, fury, the very fury of beasts.
And when your love wants to sleep,
To take care he'll sleep in peace
Like someone who's switched off the light,
He'll block up the doorway and turn on the gas.
Bem querer, a disturbing paen to the ambivalence of love-making, had both words and music written by Chico Buarque and was sung at his joint Canecao show with Maria Bethania. They sang the lyrics right through one after the other, with Bethania abruptly biting off the last word 'gas'.
Piano in Mangueira
Mangueira,
I'm here on the platform
Of Estacao Primeira.
The favela called to me.
In white suit and straw hat
I'm going to show up for my new associate.
I've already sent up the piano to Mangueira
My music's not the kind to make a row,
But you can go on into the samba school
Where the mulata hangs up her skirt
On a Wednesday morning.
Mangueira
Estacao Primeira of Mangueira.
Mangueira is a famous Rio samba school that meets in a concrete space surrounded by a hillside slum (favela), where you can indeed see the residents' washing hanging on clothes lines. Estacao Primeira is the rail station that serves the hill. The song is from the album Paratodos (meaning 'for everyone') that was released in 1993. It was written with Tom Jobim (of 'Girl from Ipanema' fame) not long before Jobim died. The references to a piano are because it was Jobim's instrument. This fleeting, inconsequential song, barely more than two minutes long, carefree yet sad, with its gentle accompaniment (always the acoustic guitar, not electric, always the trombone, not the trumpet), is so typical of that era. Of all CB's songs, this is perhaps the one most likely to have been written by Noel Rosa, Brazil's whiz kid song-writer of the 1930s. When living in Rio I would tell visitors – 'If you don't like this number, don't bother with Brazilian music'.
An unnatural song
(In the 'Opera do malandro', a mother curses her only daughter, who has insisted upon marrying public enemy number one.)
How quickly you grew
Beneath my dress, missie,
To become this rash and painted woman.
If it were possible
I would rewind the clock
And renew my authority over you,
I'd watch you, missie, with feeble legs
Bang your unformed head,
Get yourself filthy all over,
Deny you my breast,
Recover those nights, missie,
When I didn't sleep a wink,
Ignore your cries
And fend only for myself.
I'd let you burn with fever, missie,
Fifty degrees, coughing, teeth chattering,
Dress you sloppily,
Arrange for a nanny,
Break your doll, missie,
And go around exposing you
To the public bars
Turn sour the milk
From my withered breasts,
Sprinkle on the floor you crawl across
A thousand shards of glass.
And by your long-lost cord
Drag you for ever
To the darkness of my womb, missie,
From which you should not
Ever have emerged.
Opera do Malandro is a Brazilian musical inspired by John Gay's Beggar's opera and Bertolt Brecht/Kurt Weill's Threepenny opera. All the songs are composed by Chico Buarque to fit in with the original texts. 'An unnatural song' is one of the lesser-known numbers. The unmemorable melody is combined with utterly chilling lyrics that call to mind Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth. ('I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums, and dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you have done to this.')
About all things
For the love of god,
Can't you see it's a sin to despise those who revere you?
Don't you know god is angry when they're
Abandoned by the love of god?
Ask our lord,
Who made such splendour from the gloom,
If it was all – men, women, beasts, flowers –
Created just to worship the creator.
And ask if the creator
Invented people as a kindness,
If he made us from the clay with so much tenderness
Just for us to love our saviour.
No, our lord,
You'd not have sent the earth, the stars, the sky
On their eternal celestial journey
Only to circle their creator.
Or could it be that the god
Who taught us how to yearn is callous?
He shows us milk and honey in the valleys
But these valleys all belong to god.
For the love of god,
Can't you see it's a sin to despise those who revere you?
Don't you know god is angry when they're
Abandoned by the love of god?
This song – 'Sobre todas as coisas' – was written by Chico Buarque and Edu Lobo and is part of the album Paratodos, released in 1993. The theme looks daring in a Catholic country, but perhaps CB's many brushes with military dictatorships made the church seem a mere pussy-cat. In performance the tempo is slow and deliberate, and the unusual appearance of a twangy electric guitar strikes a dissonant note that appears to chime with the song's sentiments.
Tropical fate
(Song envisages one of the Portuguese soldiers landed on the south American coast by mariner Pedro Cabral in the year 1500.)
(Sung)
O my sweet native land,
O muse of my fate,
On this our first April
I leave disconsolate
Do not be ungrateful.
Do not forget who loves you,
Who lost himself and found himself
Within your densest jungles.
For this country still can realise your ideal,
Can still become a giant Portugal.
(Spoken)
You know, deep down I'm a real softie. We all
inherit in our Lusitanian blood a hefty dose of
emotion (as well as syphilis, of course). Even
when my hands are busy torturing, strangling
butchering, my heart closes its eyes and most
sincerely weeps...
(Sung)
Silver ferns grow in the backwoods,
Rosemary 'mongst the sugar cane
Liqueurs in the water jar
And a full-bodied wine.
And the beautiful mulata
In Alentejo lace
From whom, with false bravado
You can surely snatch a kiss.
Ah this country still can realise your ideal,
Can still become a giant Portugal.
(Spoken)
My heart has a serene air,
My hands a blow so fierce and quick
That after the deed I'm disoriented,
Even question myself.
Holding my hands far from the heart
It seems there's a distance between the intention and the gesture.
If I squeeze my heart in both hands
The sense of uncleanness amazes me.
In the heat of the struggle
I flaunt the sword point before me,
But my chest is bursting.
And if the death sentence is merciless,
So much quicker does the blind hand deliver it.
For if not, the heart finds a reason to forgive.
(Sung)
Jasmine, palm trees, fountain-heads,
Accordions and mandolins,
Sardines and cassava
On a smooth glazed tile.
And the river Amazon
Traverses mountain ranges,
And in a massive tidal wave
Flows into the Tagus.
For this country still can realise your ideal,
Can still become a giant Portugal.
For this country still can be your heart's desire,
It still can be a giant colonial empire.
A song from the album Chico canta, written with Ruy Guerra and released over 1972/73. The phrase 'our first April' presumably refers to April 1500 being later hailed as the date for the discovery of Brazil. Most of the seductive images of Brazil are sung, whilst the passages that describe the man coming to terms with bloodshed are spoken. Not for the first time CB had trouble with the censor, and the clumsy cutting of the line 'as well as syphilis, of course' can be detected on the recording. For this most ironic of lyricists, an extra layer of irony is afforded by the situation in 2015, when Brazil is marked by violence and corruption, whilst the Portuguese are a peaceful nation with the best manners on the planet.
Tattoo
I want to cling to your body
Like a tattoo,
To watch you go boldly,
Follow your journey
When the night comes.
Then to make myself
Your everlasting slave,
Whom you hold, caress, deny,
But will not wash away.
I want to play on your body
Like a ballet dancer
Who drives you crazy,
Capers and prances
When the night comes.
And on the spent muscles
Of your arm
To lie sated, passive,
Shrivelled, becalmed.
I want to weigh like a cross
On your back,
That shreds you in pieces
But deep down relaxes you,
When the night comes.
I want to be
The smiling and corrosive scar
Marked on living flesh
With cold and iron and fire.
Star fish, harpoons,
Mermaids and serpents
Scratched on your whole body,
But you don't feel them.
From the Chico canta album by Chico Buarque and Ruy Guerra, 1972/73. One of CB's best known and best loved songs, and surely one of the most erotic numbers ever written. The gentle melody is amongst his best.
Take your hands off me
He was worth a thousand,
You're of no consequence.
In a strugle you're a poltroon.
In bed you're a eunuch.
Take your hands off me.
Put your hands on me
And see if his fire,
Still smouldering within me,
Can light your fuse.
He and I
Had a tightly knotted union,
While you
Are so loosely tied.
Take your hands off me.
Put your hands on me
And see if his fever,
Still dormant within me,
Can infect you just a little.
From the album Chico canta, this is like a footnote to the song 'Tattoo'. Once again CB's imagination crosses to the distaff side, depicting this woman's scorn as well as the characteristic irresolution (some might say) of her sex. The casual observer will be curious: why in hell did the woman have anything to do with the man she's addressing? No use asking her, of course.
A thousand pardons
I forgive you
For asking a thousand questions,
Which in lives that run together
No-one does.
I forgive you
For asking for forgiveness,
For loving me too much.
I forgive you
For your interest
In all the places
I've been round about.
I forgive you
For raising your hand
To lash out.
I forgive you
When I long for the moment to leave,
To prance about in relief
And to lose you.
I forgive you
For wanting to watch me
Learning how to deceive you (deceive you).
I forgive you
For keeping track of my day
When I come in after time.
I forgive you.
I forgive you because you cry
When I cry from laughing.
I forgive you when I betray you.
Music and lyrics by CB from the 1984 album Chico Buarque. This could be sung by a man or a woman. For all CB's interest in history and politics, his songs also investigate personal relationships with unsparing honesty.
The band
It was one of those aimless evenings,
My girlfriend called out for me
To watch the band go past
As it sang about love and all that.
The long-suffering citizens
Forgot their sorrows
When they saw the band pass by
Singing of love and all that.
The stuffed shirt counting his cash, he stopped,
The gas-bag full of bombast, he stopped,
The sweetheart counting the stars, she stopped,
They watched and listened and got out of the way.
The sad and lonely girl smiled,
The icy young beauty let slip her veil,
The kids in the street got a thrill,
When the band passed by
Singing of love and all that.
The grandad forgot his fatigue and thought
He'd go out on the terrace to dance.
The plain girl leant from the window and fancied
The band was playing her song.
The revellers thronged the road and inspired
The full moon to emerge from the clouds.
The whole of my town was smartly attired
To hear the band singing of love.
To my eternal regret
The sweet pageant died,
And the people regressed
When the band had passed by.
Everyone in their place
And every place dreary,
When the band had passed by
Singing of love,
When the band had passed by
Singing of love.
From the album Chico Buarque de Hollanda released in 1966. Music and lyrics by CB. The song was a mile-stone in CB's career because it won first prize at the Second Brazilian Festival of Popular Music in 1966. He was 22 at the time. The recording has a basic melody, a regular rhythm, and a chorus in its middle section.
In spite of you
Today it's you who calls the tune,
Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir,
But people talk behind your back,
Their eyes fixed on the ground.
You who created the state we're in
Who made up all the darkness,
You who invented the notion of sin
And forgot its absolution.
In spite of you, tomorrow will be another day.
How to conceal yourself then
From the torrent of euphoria?
How will you stop it when the rooster
Insists on crowing,
When springs well up and people learn to
Love without demur.
When the moment comes, I vow
You'll pay with interest for my dejection.
This mangled love, this strangled howl,
This samba in the gloom.
You who created sorrow, pray
Have the courtesy to stamp it out.
You'll pay twice over for every tear shed
During our affliction.
In spite of you, tomorrow will be another day.
Against your will, people will see the garden flower.
You'll grow sour watching the morning dawn
Without your say-so, but I shall roar with laughter.
That time will come before the appointed hour.
In spite of you, tomorrow will be another day.
You will endure the morning that's reborn
To poetry. How to explain it
When the clouds clear unrebuked?
How to trace the joyful chorus that clamours
In your face?
In spite of you...etc.
Often in trouble with government censors, Chico Buarque left Brazil in 1970 to spend an unhappy 18 months in Italy. On return he wrote the protest song 'In spite of you' ('you' signifying 'the government') which, released as a single, was a tonic for the democratic movement. The record sold 100,000 copies before the military authorities – not the brightest – grasped its meaning and censored the song. The recording has an irresistible samba rhythm, an ever-present chorus, the usual battery of samba drums, and the delightful cuica (a drum-like instrument that yields a unique squeaking sound). This is one of a series of sambas that CB wrote over the years, offering a barometer for the state of the country and his own responses to it. He uses the word 'samba' almost as shorthand for 'Brazil'. The gentle timbre of his voice and the chirpy nature of the music are unusual ingredients for a song of protest. The song eventually reappeared on the 1978 album, Chico Buarque.
Samba of a great love
It seemed to me
That now, for sure,
I'd finally found
My grand amour.
What nonsense!
I threw myself
From the trampoline
Was a lover to the full.
Went through the year
On such short rations,
Gave my share
To my great passion.
What bullshit!
Put my hand
Upon the fire
With my trusting heart.
Today I only bear
A stone within my chest,
A dreamer now no longer
I demand respect.
I even change my route
When I spot a flower
And I can laugh about
My one great love affair.
What twaddle!
I was very trusty
Went and bought a ring
Confided to my diary
About my only darling.
Stuff and nonsense!
Went to book a hotel.
And Sarapatel
And a honeymoon in Salvador.
Went to pray at the holy see
There at Sao Jose
Why? Because I'd sworn by
My only sweetie pie.
What tommy rot!
Even made a vow
To Oxumare
That I'd go up the Redeemer
On Shanks's pony.
Today I only bear
A stone in my chest.
A dreamer now no longer
I demand respect.
I even change my route
When I spot a flower,
And I can laugh about
My one great love affair.
What total nonsense!
Song by CB from the 1984 album Chico Buarque. Some of the composer's personal songs explore relationships with disturbing honesty, but he also offers more playful numbers like this one. Sarapatel is a Brazilian/Portuguese dish involving pork viscera and pork blood. The Sao Jose referred to is probably the diocese of Sao Jose dos Campos in Sao Paulo state. Oxumare is an Afro/Brazilian river god. 'The Redeemer' refers to the massive statue of Christ above Rio de Janeiro.
Women of Athens
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens,
Who live for their husbands,
The pride and race of Athens.
As sweethearts they perfume themselves,
Bathe in milk and comb
Their tresses.
When punished they decline to cry,
They kneel and beg for harsher
Excesses.
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens,
Who suffer for their husbands,
The force and power of Athens.
When the soldiers embark
The women remain, to weave
Tapestries.
When the men return, berserk,
They exact violent, obscene
Caresses.
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens,
Who undress for their husbands,
The brave warriors of Athens.
When flushed with wine
The husbands stray to the charms of
Temptresses.
In the maudlin dawn
They mostly return to the arms of
Their spouses.
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens,
Who generate for their husbands
The new sons of Athens.
They have no virtues, no limitations,
No needs, no aspirations,
Only stresses.
They have no dreams, merely unease
About their husbands, shipwrecks, seas,
Sorceresses.
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens,
Who fear for their husbands,
The heroes and lovers of Athens.
The grieving young widows,
The abandoned mothers, endure
Undistressed,
They wear black, are unadorned,
Kneel down before
Their new husbands,
Self-possessed.
Model yourselves on the example
Of those women of Athens.
Waste away for your husbands,
The pride and race of Athens.
Song by Chico Buarque and Augusto Boal, a Brazilian theatre director and close friend. It was written for Boal's play Lisa, a mulher libertadora, an adaptation of Lisistrata by Aristofanes. The recording forms part of the album Meus caros amigos, released in 1993. Song has a melancholy atmosphere, with CB making much use of his vocal dying fall (cf Billie Holiday). Bass and drums are prominent, and a jangling guitar, and an unusual moaning instrument. Near the end some strings enter and finally, a chorus (Greek, of course).
Eyes within eyes
When you left me, sweetie,
You said to keep well and be happy.
I was mad with jealousy, half-crazed,
But later on, as usual, I obeyed.
When you want to see me afresh
You'll find a different person in my place.
Eyes within eyes.
I want to hear what you say
When you notice that without you I'm OK.
Even that I'm looking younger,
And catch myself humming an aimless song.
So much water under the bridge,
So many men have cherished me
Better than you and for longer.
If you should ever need me at all
Of course my house is yours, do call.
Eyes within eyes,
I want to hear what you'll say,
How you will take it finding me so happy.
Song by Chico Buarque written in 1976 as part of the Meus caros amigos album. The recording has flutes and an oboe as well as the usual rhythm section. Another song written from a woman's viewpoint. A familiar subject for music and literature, including Philip Larkin's poem 'No road' ('Since we agreed to let the road between us/Fall to disuse...').
My dearest friend
My dearest friend will you forgive this poor reply?
Now's not the time for me to visit,
But since a go-between has turned up at my door,
I'm sending you some news on this cassette.
Here in our country they play football all the while,
Lots of samba, lots of crying, rock'n'roll.
Some days there is sunshine, others days the rain will fall,
But what I have to tell you, friend, is things back here are foul.
We've lots of scams to help withstand the circumstances,
We take them with a stubborn kind of rancour,
You have to gulp it down, which means again without cachaca,
For nobody can handle such a canker.
My dearest friend, I am not one to insist,
Or to denigrate your olden time nostalgia,
But it so happens that I really must persist
With putting you completely in the picture.
Here in our country they play football all the while,
Lots of samba, lots of crying, rock'n'roll.
Some days there is sunshine, others days the rain will fall,
But what I have to tell you, friend, is things back here are foul.
It's quite a dance here when you have to make a living,
I tell you it's a joke
