Luisa Brina's music conveys an ineffable spiritual transcendence. Daniela Paoliello/Courtesy of the artist Hide caption
Toggle caption Daniela Paoliello/Courtesy of the artist
8 Tracks is an antidote to algorithms: Every week, NPR Music producer Lars Gottrich teams up with his colleagues to forge sonic connections that transcend time.
It's only June, and I think I've found my favorite album of the year. Does it matter if it's in a language I don't know? Not at all. Melodies and rhythms take on different qualities depending on the language, creating entirely new musical elements. Not only would we lose that creativity, but we would also lose an opportunity to deepen our understanding of the world.
Luisa Brina's Prece, from what I understand from basic Latin roots in Portuguese (and Google Translate), is a secular prayer album. The Brazilian cantautra spent a decade developing a meditation on arrivals and departures, broken hearts and strength, written as an intimate symphony dedicated to the suffering yet hopeful spirit of humanity. Several guests appear, including duet partners Sérgio Pérere and Iara Renno, fellow countrymen who share Brina's penchant for fusing Brazilian tradition with contemporary production, and Mexican folk singer Silvana Estrada. The music moves at a spellbinding, searching tempo, and is peppered with frenetic strings. Inspired by the Brazilian masters of yesteryear (Milton Nascimento's soulful samba and Joyce Moreno's psychedelic folkiness spring to mind), subtle twists of electronics and bombastic woodwinds make the little wishes grander. While one might expect Brina to reach an enchanting peak in her adventurous arrangements, her presence on nylon-string guitar and vocals unfolds quietly.
What music communicates is the ineffable: spiritual transcendence. That quality can be found in the deep drones, gospel music, thumping punk, and the sugary sweetness of a perfect pop song without the need to articulate God with a capital g. Brina's Prece offers something greater than me, greater than us, greater than music itself.
Inspired by Brina's wonderful book of secular prayers, and another reminder to learn Portuguese, this 8 Tracks edition features new music from Brazil, a country that captivates my heart. Ever since I first heard Gal Costa's piercing voice, Antonio Carlos Jobim's sweet and lilting standard “Desafinado,” and Lula Cortes' trance-inducing psychedelics, the music of this South American country has been an object of my obsession. This list features Brazilian pop legends, current pop stars who have gone back to their roots, and some very, very saudade songs.
Luisa Brina, “18th Birthday (pra viver junto)”
This is, as far as I understand it, a prayer that recognizes that we must walk alone before we can walk together. “Oração 18 (pra viver junto)” emerges, like spring, hesitantly at first with fingerpicked guitar, pizzicato strings and timpani, segueing into a bouncy melody reminiscent of Pet Sounds' “Let's Go Away for a While.” Brina sings of the dawn of the self, meditating on the moon and stars, then calls the world to awaken, with the sounds of horns and war drums. In her small but ever-present voice, the prayer's percussive textures and production details blossom in unexpected moments, catching you off guard.
Sermon 18 (pra viver junto) YouTube
Milton Nascimento & Esperanza Spalding, “Outubro”
Milton Nascimento's voice is like a whisper on the wind, light enough to flow with you, yet balanced enough to let you follow its whims. In 1969, Nascimento released his American debut, Courage, featuring pianist Herbie Hancock, percussionist Airto Moreira, and producer Creed Taylor. The album blends the soft sophistication of bossa nova with lush, ambitious orchestration. On the upcoming release, Milton + esperanza, Nascimento and Esperanza Spalding reprise one of those tracks. A student of Portuguese and Brazilian music, Spalding's flexible arrangement reflects how “Outubro” is in many ways a song about two truths: we die, but we live again. Together, these two voices sound heavenly. Nascimento's vocals have grown significantly deeper, but they carry a weight of weathered wisdom. Similarly, Spalding not only brightens up the corners, but also intersperses Elena Pinderhughes' sparkling flute improvisations with scat singing that recalls the great Brazilian jazz singer Flora Purim.
Milton Nascimento, Esperanza Spalding – Milton + Esperanza (Official Audio Visualizer) YouTube
Anitta “Cria De Favela”
Anitta's Funk Generation is a tribute to her roots as a baile funk MC on the streets of Rio de Janeiro's suburbs. The album's “Funk Rave” is an essential listen, and the glitchy funk of “Sabana” feels like an alternate reality Anitta. But I keep coming back to “Cria De Favela,” which convincingly proves her legitimacy as a rapper capable of commanding the chaos of asphalt-shaking beats before quickly transforming into the reggaeton pop princess we know today. (NTS has released a great compilation of São Paulo's vibrant baile funk scene, if you're interested.)
Anitta – Curia de Favela (Official Audio) YouTube
Ayom, “Oksala – The Promise of Immigration”
Saudade is a complex, hard-to-define word in English, but the sentiment permeates much of Brazilian music. Portuguese writer Manuel de Mello once described saudade as “the joy of suffering, the disease of enjoying.” (Our colleagues at Alt.Latino spent an entire episode deciphering saudade, an episode I’ve re-read many times.) Leading this band with members from Cape Verde, Brazil, and across Europe, Brazilian singer and percussionist Habo Morales sings melancholic nostalgia through the diaspora. “Oxalá – Promessa do Migrante,” a song of longing for home in Morales’ native tongue, has you hearing smiles amid the tears. But the continent-bridging accordion and string arrangements on the edge of the sea not only make room to remember and renew her love, but also to celebrate the home she’s building now.
AYOM – OXALÁ, PROMESSA DO MIGRANTE Video Clip YouTube
Lau Lo: “Onde Eu Vou”
So much of saudade is tied to memories lost, imagined, or that don't yet exist. But what about the sights and sensations we only partially remember… through second-hand stories and hazy memories? That sun-stained bittersweetness envelops Cabana, the debut from São Paulo-born, Brighton-based Lau Lo. “Onde Eu Vou,” which roughly translates as “Where Are We Going?”, sounds like the laid-back late-night sessions that fueled Jorge Ben's 1970 samba-soul album, “Fôrça Bruta,” but filtered through Grouper's ambient grit and grain. A hauntingly beautiful portrait of the Brazilian diaspora.
Onde Eu Vou — Lau Ro (Official Video) [2024]
Youtube
Lasso, “Raiva Derramada na Estrada”
Not all of Brazil is soaked in saudade. Sometimes, as Lasso cries, o ventre sangra (“blood flows from the belly”). In three years, the Salvador-based band has released three 7-inch EPs of blisteringly fast, tension-shattering hardcore. This is music that shifts direction and stomps with a manic growl.
Oluan, “Real Grandeza”
Fuzzy, freaky Dinosaur Jr. riffs, but played on cheap amps. A funky rhythm section that studies the ghostly psychedelia of Broadcast. Synthesizers with their own rectangular melodies and sense of time. Ol'Ann's unruly indie rock loosens with faux-jazz chords and unusual grooves, creating a familiar yet funhouse-mirror atmosphere.
Real Grande The YouTube
Amaro Freitas “Encantados”
When I discovered pianist Amaro Freitas was from Recife, his bold approach to tradition immediately clicked. Pernambuco, the capital of a northeastern Brazilian state, is also the hometown of the late percussionist Nana Vasconcelos. Vasconcelos treated folk, fusion and jazz as a coherent whole, not separate entities. “It's like my left hand is Africa and my right hand is Europe,” Freitas told The New York Times, a subtle way of saying that while his rhythms may be samba or shake, his melodies are sublime. On the frenetic, zen-like “Encantados,” Shabaka's flute captures the rainforest voices that inspired Freitas, while Hamid Drake's life-giving drums bring them to life.
Encantados YouTube