Love your ears with these reissues of Brazilian avant-garde multi-instrumentalist Fernando Falcão’s revelatory albums from 1981 and 1987
That music can still provide light in the darkness is a comfort and a wonder. When you encounter a record (in this case two) for the first time that throws open the doors of delight and alters your perception? Well, that is something to be celebrated. Selva Discos and Optimo Music have thankfully rescued Brazilian composer and multi-instrumentalist Fernando Falcão’s colourfully experimental, essential first two LPs, Memória das Águas (1981) and Barracas Barrocas (1987), from the dustbin of history. These are works that are playful, human, wild and meticulously put together. Each track is a world unto itself, a marvel that demands further investigation, that is alive in the rarest of ways.
Afro rhythms and Latin grooves rub shoulders with the avant-garde across Memória das Águas. But that’s not all. Deconstructed classical music also meets Gallic outsider pop and French new wave scores (indeed Falcão lived in exile in France for a decade-and-a-half) over its intriguing and inventive 38 or so minutes. Even then it’s just scratching the surface. The record has such breadth and confidence of voice that it is difficult to reconcile with the fact that it was Falcão’s debut.
The waking dream begins with “Memória das Águas” which employs the use of sound sculptures; the resulting sonic output conjures a sense of listening in on another universe. Falcão transforms this exposed soundscape in the blink of an eye, allowing a melody to flow in that is so emotionally taut and beautiful as to rival George Delerue’s theme for Godard’s Le Mépris. But the chameleon-like musical environment doesn’t rest there; it turns in on itself again, with a mood shift accompanied by chanting that points towards Jocelyn Pook’s “Masked Ball” for Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut. Indeed Memória das Águas is a waywardly cinematic album. “Ladeira dos Innocentes” gets into a groove that won’t let go, its thrilling percussion and bursts of horn balanced through a sense of space. There’s an inescapable momentum alongside a laidback feel, ably assisted by whistling that wouldn’t be out of place on an Ennio Morricone track.
“Mercado (Gravado no Mercado Tanger)” is a welcome wound in the fabric of reality. The ambient roar and amplified bustle of the streets come to vibrant life. A solitary string weaves its way through the found sounds, guiding the listener before letting them explore on their own. There’s both a lightness and a depth to this experimental evocation of the everyday. “Curimão (Sons Onomatopaicos e Folk da Guiné)” is promiscuously percussive, seemingly loose and carefree whilst tightening its repetitive grip on the listener’s every move – and listening without movement is nigh impossible. A Brazilian chorus keeps the room vibes at the highest joy setting; the horn cries out, tugging at the dancefloor, before keeling over in mock exhaustion by track’s end. Falcão draws his debut LP to a close with “Danado Cantador (Balauê, Orquestra e Declamação) (À Fagner)”, its insistently delicate piano expanding into affirming horns and joyful shouting, opening out into the vastness.
If anything, Barracas Barrocas is even more cinematic than its predecessor. “As 7 Filhas Da Rainha Sumaia” sidles in like Jean-Claude Vannier exploring the brand new dawn. When the chorus bursts forth there is nothing to do but bask in delight. The title track is an expanding narrative folded into song format, bursting at the seams with ideas that are held in check by the musical flow, from gentle guitar into the lushest strings. Think John Barry meets Antoine Duhamel. Perhaps it is the soundtrack to some long-lost Brazilian adaptation of Nabokov’s Pale Fire, the layered beauty of the piece invitingly immersive. Whereas “Girandas” is a jaunty, flute-led theme to an oddly-premised underground sitcom.
Side two contains the formally audacious, shifting landscape of “Elas (A Girges Ristum)” (surely György Ligeti in Brazilian form), before employing a series of shorter cues. If by cues one means exquisitely brief, perfectly formed pieces of experimental music that contain entire musical universes. “7 Cavaleiro” sees Falcão out-Gainsbourg old Serge, whilst “Cancao Do Exilio” is a torch song of the blasted earth. The children’s voices, easy jazz and nursery rhyme flow of “Disse Alguem” takes the album over the edge with a real sense of earthy, visionary power, much like the album that precedes it.
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