Roberta Sá

What a strange, beautiful day to be happy
Hugo Sukman, August/2007

A singer with the musical talent, the knowledge, the taste and the technical maturity of Roberta Sá needs no motive to sing. She sings because she likes to; she sings what she likes (Brazilian music!); and she sings for those who appreciate her. Period. However, in her second album, Que belo estranho dia para se ter alegria (“What a strange, beautiful day to be happy”), Roberta clearly has further intentions: to show that her/our beloved Brazilian songs are still alive, present, interesting. Roberta seems to offer her own view of what defines contemporariness in Brazilian music. This ambition is evidently spread throughout the songs, without
ever compromising their nonchalant fluidity. Not by chance, she lifts the album’s title from a verse found in a discrete masterpiece from the lyrical and strange universe of Pernambuco composer Lula Queiroga, a bossa nova called “Belo Estranho Dia de Amanhã” [“Strange, Beautiful Tomorrow”]. Its curvaceous melody and dissonant harmony bear verses that reveal the lyrical intention of the album, as well as Roberta’s idea of what Brazilian music is: “The argument has lost its reason/We’ll have more time to spend together/We’ll have more time to go crazy”.

In an apocalyptic day when “politicians will lose their voices”, the song deftly uses contemporary elements — “News will lose control of the facts/Celebrities will slip into anonymity/Deformed words/Blurry pictures will cross the Atlantic/Blank newspapers will hit the stands/Plane plasma screens will dissolve” — that perfectly serve Roberta’s purpose of showing that, yes, Brazilian music is very much alive and a twenty-something woman can express herself through it. In her redefinition of contemporary music, Roberta revives an old samba like “Alô, Fevereiro” [“Hello, February”], created in 1972 by the unjustly forgotten Sidney Miller and made into a hit, in that same year, by Doris Monteiro. The arrangement, by producer Rodrigo Campello, evokes a whole century in the history of Rio’s street music: there is a maxixe at the introduction; there is a counterpoint between flute and saxophone (both played by Eduardo Neves), in the style of Benedito Lacerda and Pixinguinha; and there is the uptempo of a carnival samba that turns into a carioca funk and goes back to samba again. In her dialogue with the tradition of Brazilian music, Roberta also dusts off an old hit by Linda Batista called “Interessa?” [“Are You Interested?”], revealing one of her specialties as a singer: lending her youth to old sassy sambas, like she has done previously with “A Vizinha do Lado” [“The Girl Next Door”], by Dorival Caymmi.

Furthermore, she shows such a familiarity with the universe of traditional Brazilian music that she debuts as
a composer with an ultra-traditional samba-choro called “Janeiros” [“Januaries”], co-written by Pedro Luís and carried out by the 7-string guitar of Rodrigo Campello and the percussion of Marçalzinho. A contradiction? By no means. As we observe later on, Roberta offers the same contemporary approach for both very modern sambas written by older composers and very retro sambas written by younger ones.
Upon hearing “Cansei de Esperar Você” [“I’m Tired of Waiting for You”], a beautiful classic samba by Dona Ivone Lara and Délcio Carvalho (borrowed from the repertoire of the ubiquitous group Fundo de Quintal), or the samba de roda “Laranjeira” [“Orange Tree”], by Santo Amaro composer Roque Ferreira, does anyone doubt that they fit perfectly in the Brazilian music scenery of today? Or that “Samba de Um Minuto” [“One Minute Samba”], written by Rodrigo Maranhão in a clear evocation of Ataulfo Alves, as well as the very traditional “Novo Amor” [“New Love”], by carioca composer Edu Krieger, are also an expression of the Brazilian music of nowadays, of the youthful nightlife of Lapa, regardless of their oldfashioned flavor? Besides being sambas for our times, these songs have in common the freshness of Roberta’s voice and the fact that they do not seek modernity for modernity’s sake or tradition for tradition’s sake, but actually seek beauty and the best way to express those melodies and words, coming up with inventions and surprises in every track.

In “Novo Amor” [“New Love”], for example, the modern virtuoso mandolin of Hamilton de Hollanda adds new colors and atmospheres to the samba, turning it into a modinha, a valse, even a fado. The collaboration between Pedro Luís and Carlos Rennó produced two knockout tracks, the explosive Northeastern list song “Fogo e Gasolina” [“Fire and Gasoline”], sung by Roberta and Lenine, and “Samba de Amor e Ódio” [“Samba of Love and Hate”] — both perfectly integrated with the spirit of the album, the search for a current expression for every genre in Brazilian music. Likewise, the marcha-rancho “Mais Alguém” [“Someone Else”], by Moreno Veloso and Quito Ribeiro, acquires a surprising tropicalista flavor in the arrangement of Rodrigo Campello and seems to have been lifted immediately off the streets of Salvador and thrown into our ears — yet another personal view of Roberta, yet another contemporary way of making Brazilian music. If the album kicks off with the prayer of “O Pedido” [“The Demand”], a mantric song by Junio Barreto, it ends up with a party. The harmonic simplicity of “Girando na Renda” [“Spinning the lace”], an irresistible seashore samba de roda by Pedro Luís, is lavishly embellished by Pife Muderno, Carlos Malta’s horns-and-percussion combo. The song reveals the intentions of Roberta’s second album: “Those who pray, pray/Those who play, play/Good-hearted folk may approach/This is a party to last all night” — say the crystal-clear lyrics.

“Braseiro” [“Coal Pit”], Roberta’s first album, released in 2004, was something of a calling card, a statement of intentions towards Brazilian music. Que Belo Estranho Dia Para Se Ter Alegria gives continuity to her relationship both with Universal Music’s MPB label and with producer Rodrigo Campello. This increasingly mature performer dives into the effervescent waters of her contemporary peers — in themes, forms and partnerships. The result is something as beautiful and strange as Brazilian music has always been.