can you feel it?

I once was in a class with a speaker who would often speak in a foreign language for stretches at a time. This teacher claimed that, even though we didn't know literally what he was saying, that you could still understand the spirit if you would just listen. This is, I feel, first-class horseshit. Half the time, those of us who speak the same language don't understand what we're saying to each other, by accident or by choice. A quarter of the time, I don't know what I'm saying - I'm using words to try to figure out what I'm thinking, translate these feelings or intuitions or whatever into the structure that's most appropriate for the situation.

(I recall, for instance, an anecdote from Michael Stipe about why he was unwilling to explain lyrics; when he was younger, he became very emotionally involved in a Bob Dylan song, only to find out in an interview it was about a dead dog on the side of the road Dylan saw. And, again, this is a language that both, nominally understood.)

[Subpoint: buying a falafel the other day, I saw an interview with Stipe where he felt the need to explain that "So. Central Rain" was about a relationship where he slept with both the male and female members after the breakup and realized it was a shit thing to do. "I'm sorry", indeed.]

Back to where I'm going with this? Are there situations where, let's say, a singer is so powerful that his or her voice carries an emotion that stretches beyond the need for language to comprehend? Sure, I'm willing to accept that, but as an exception, not as a default. By and large, even if you get the vibe, the specifics are completely lost.

Inspired by my recent work editing a music show set in Brazil, I recently picked up Soul Jazz's TROPICALIA collection, chronicling the acts involved in this short lived movement (short lived because it was broken up by the military government by arrests and deportations). There's an amazing-looking 56-page book that accompanies it, which I hope to read thoroughly through some day.

I often sell what the record stores called "world music" short - which is to say, overlook and ignore it - a lot of the time because a lot of my engagement with music is verbal. Words hook with me more than melodies. But this time I decided to focus and listen. First of all, this wasn't hard because the music was very awesome. But also, I was trying to hear this music not just as pleasant celebration but as act of revolutionary opposition, something so threatening the government had to step in to shut it down.

The track that first jumped out at me - partially because versions of it open and close the album, and partially because it is catchy as fuck - is "Bat Macumba", performed by Gilberto Gil and Os Mutantes. It's the Gil version that stuck with me, which is used here as a backdrop for visuals of Sao Paolo:


Although some may prefer the live, extended and unduly jammy versions of the tune by Os Mutantes on YouTube:

And some people might even want to see Of Montreal prove yet again that their choices of covers (if not their quality of performance) far outstrips their songwriting otherwise (which cuts off before the end, for those easily annoyed by that type of thing):


Anyway, over days I came to decide that its inclusion as bookends on this compilation had to have some significance, that this was in fact the heart of the Tropicalia revolution, and that it must be not just a joyful little ditty but a true call to revolution. And even though the words sounded pretty similar and repetitive to me, I figured they had subtle variances I was missing out on. So, finally, I googled the lyrics.

The result was largely disappointing. I found no clear explanation, although I basically stopped after finding this page, which provides the following account of "Bat Macumba":

equally playful lyrics that (on account of the dropped syllables) reference, among other things: Batman, Afro-Brazilian religion, and -- according to a friend who speaks Portuguese -- a command to smoke dope.

And hey: ultimately, in 1968, this may have been enough to get the military government up in arms. All I'm saying is: not what I guessed from listening.

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On an unrelated note, and part of the reason the above may seem half-assed and inconclusive: last week seven people, six students and a teacher, died in an unexpected flash flood while canyoning. The teacher was also a member of a local hip-hop group who I cut a music video for a couple years back, which you can find here. I met Tony a couple times, and he was a very good guy, and although I hadn't seen him for quite a while, I am saddened quite a bit by this. I understand that he died trying to rescue one of the students, which I fully believe.

I wanted to write something more about this, but I don't really know what to say that wouldn't be wasting words trying to make sense of the bundle of feelings in my head. The only words that I can fully articulate right now, really, are the obvious: life is fucking precious. Make use of it.