Unerring Light

Like a mythological phoenix, Trio Mocotó,
rises from the ashes with results that are aflame.

Bruce Gilman

The return of Trio Mocotó brings to mind the cherished scenery of their first full maturity as well as the historically important fruits of their early recordings with Jorge Benjor. More than a compatible and passionate meeting of colleagues—each with his own voice—both forthright and subtle—Trio Mocotó represents a whole movement. In the late sixties, this electrifying and animated sound factory created a counterpoint to the country's existence under the regime of a military dictator. And there were those of us who feared that the Trio Mocotó of those early days might never again raise its full voice, that the impediment of time and fashion may have wrought irreparable damage to the musicians, the formidable Brazilian rhythm machine, who set a new trend in musical styles, a new concept for small ensembles, and a new standard for São Paulo night clubs. That we were wrong, and glad to be wrong, became apparent with the release of Samba Rock.

Taken as a whole, the music on the new CD is representative of what we have come to expect from Trio Mocotó: the sound of exuberance, of happy involvement, and of going-for-broke. The new CD presents an homage to the past and achieves a maturity that represents a culmination of, rather than a contradiction to, their earlier work. Curiously, the Mocotó blend still sounds buoyant and still sounds adventurous. The trio's attitude, and one that they share with their audience, simultaneously demonstrates an awareness, or better, a reconciliation of tradition with a serious embrace of current technology. They know what they want to say, have developed the equipment to say it as they hear it, and are entirely without pretentiousness or compromise.

They are the kind of trio that, in short, has the range of emotion and imagination to sustain interest. The trio has continued to grow during the past 30 years, and this recording, to me, marks yet another stage in their mercurial trajectory, which started at the Boate Jogral, where chorinho groups, bossa-jazz trios, and singers performed romantic tunes. Even a cursory glance at the Trio's résumé, will present, over the course of thirty years, a career that has twisted and turned over alternately smooth and rugged terrain, seldom following a predictable path.

The Boate Jogral in São Paulo on Rua Avanhandava was a haunt for artists, intellectuals, and musicians. An incubator of new talent, it was also where the trio, Fritz Escovão (cuíca), Nereu Gargalo (pandeiro), and João Parahyba (timba drum set) worked as house musicians accompanying artists like Cartola, Clementina de Jesus, and Nelson Cavaquinho as well as visiting dignitaries like Duke Ellington, Oscar Peterson, and Earl Hines. A frequent denizen of the club, with whom the trio was remarkably attuned and forged a fruitful alliance and also engaged in furious rhythmic dialogues, was singer/songwriter Jorge Benjor, who in that era was still known as Jorge Ben. Together they were a loosely-knit clique of restless souls with something new and exciting to tell the world. The initial interaction between guitar player and trio showed signs of an incipient samba-rock style long before the term was coined. Jogral was the bedrock for a groove-infused style that became Benjor's trademark and established an ineradicable place for Mocotó in the annals of Brazilian popular music.

Says Parahyba, "Jorge started coming to the club where we played, and we started jamming on samba grooves with him. But he had a different way of playing, with a very strong accent, like rock. He used blues chords, and when I played the snare on two and four, he placed his accents together with mine. It was a modernization of samba, and we perceived that we were in the vanguard. We were building a new way to play samba that eventually everyone started calling samba-rock, but which was really more rhythm `n' blues put into the samba, a kind of samba-blues or samba-rhythm `n' blues, like samba meets James Brown. Then others, Tim Maia, Caetano, picked up on it because everybody loved Little Richard and James Brown. It was analogous to what happened with hip-hop or using samples at the beginning of techno."

Mocotó accompanied Benjor at TV Globo's fourth International Festival of Song in Rio de Janeiro, in 1969, and although only a backing band and basically unknown outside of São Paulo, the trio's authoritative command of their instruments and resourcefully passionate presentation created a maelstrom of excitement and tension. Feeling pressured to announce the, as yet, unnamed trio, the festival director asked who they were. Benjor, knowing the three loved slang and had been commenting on the lovely Mocotós (slang for women's thighs and the domains that lie adjacent) who frequented the Jogral, gave the director a catalytic name: "Trio Mocotó."

The following year (1970), Trio Mocotó backed Benjor's performance at the International Festival of Recordings and Music Publications (MIDEM) in Cannes, an event organized by the major European record companies to promote and present new talent from all over the world to a select audience of producers and reviewers. Being a festival exclusively for the recording industry, participating artists, as a formality, did not perform encores. After Benjor's set, however, when a standing ovation prevented Benjor and Trio Mocotó from leaving the stage, an astonished festival director, overriding the stage manager's protest, told the group, "Play. Please, play!" They performed, not one, but six encores, stopping only when one of Benjor's guitar strings broke. After the performance, André Midani, the CEO of Philips, conveyed that, among other famous musicians, Ravi Shankar, Ray Brown, and Quincy Jones had been in attendance, and he invited the group to dinner at an exclusive French restaurant, where, upon arriving, they were greeted by another standing ovation.

Continuing on a tour of Europe and Japan, Mocotó next traveled to Rome, where they performed with French singer Marie Laforêt and Egberto Gismonti at the Teatro Sistina. Backstage after the show, a soft spoken Brazilian, who was living in Italy to avoid the military dictator's censorship, expressed how much he had enjoyed their sound and invited them to play on his upcoming LP—Construção. Chico Buarque's famous song of exile, "Samba de Orly," speaks about someone who is living outside the country, but aches to return even though the situation inside Brazil is exhaustively corrupt. The trio's first single, not as a backing band, but as a solo ensemble, was released at this time and featured their voices accompanied by bass, guitar, and piano. "Coqueiro Verde" (Green Coconut), a romantic samba written by Jovem Guarda composers Erasmo and Roberto Carlos, topped hit parades throughout Brazil, broke preconceived notions about its composers, and displayed the trio's new vision of popular Brazilian music.

That the trio's style continued to expand is a process well documented on the best of Benjor's early albums: Jorge Ben (1969), Força Bruta (1970), and Negro É Lindo (1971). Their capacity to absorb and execute what Ben wanted while maintaining their own strong individuality is apparent on each of the albums. Força Bruta, however, stands out for the trio's authoritative command of their instruments and resourcefully passionate presentation. Recorded in one night, the LP presents an abundance of improvisation, tracks exceeding five minutes in length—unconventional for popular music at that time in Brazil—and the ensemble at one of its tight-but-loose emotional peaks.

In 1971, the trio made their second foray as a solo ensemble, releasing Muita Zorra! The album featured guest appearances and compositions by friends like Jorge Benjor, Roberto and Erasmo Carlos, and Ivan Lins. The trio toured Italy and Japan with Benjor again in 1972, then joined Vinicius de Moraes, Toquinho, and Marília Medalha for a series of recordings, a university concert tour, and a two month stint in Mexico.

Hints of their compositional gifts were revealed on their second LP on RGE in 1973, which contained not only one of the first moog synthesizer solos recorded in Brazil as well as arrangements by the maestro of Tropicália, Rogério Duprat, but also a virtuosic cuíca performance by Fritz of Burt Bacharach's award winning standard "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" from the motion picture Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The album confirmed their ability to communicate vigorous, unfettered emotion without ignoring the music's softer and more subtle possibilities.

By the mid-seventies, however, the music world was experiencing significant changes, reflecting, no doubt, the cultural tenor of the times, in which protest music predominated. Afro-soul bands that promoted a party atmosphere and sang about women, the beach, and celebrated the beauty of Brazil were no longer fashionable. Securing concert and club work became increasingly more difficult as the nightclub circuit seemed to have abandoned the trio, as had the record labels that had documented their early growth. When samba-rock's ebb in popularity was further accentuated by disco's growing popularity, the trio separated, each member following his own path.

Throughout the eighties, pop-rock dominated the Brazilian music marketplace, only to be followed by waves of sertaneja and pagode. Fritz studied tenor sax and trumpet and occasionally sang in bars for happy hour. Nereu, returned to work with samba groups. João, who went to work for his family's business, returned to music seriously only after meeting Croatian composer and producer Mitar Subotic ("Suba") in the nineties.

Although Mocotó's music had been wildly fashionable in its time, there has been a significant lag between its bold origination and its wider more universal acceptance. A quarter-century after the Jogral, radio stations in São Paulo rediscovered and started airing "Não Adianta," a track from Mocotó's 1975 LP, which had only been released in Italy, without the group's authorization. In addition, as European DJ's discovered and started sampling Mocotó's music from old vinyl sources, samba-rock emerged as a cult craze on the European dance circuit. Moreover, Brazilian as well as foreign DJ's, who had been sampling the trio's early recordings, were yearning to obtain the rights to remix Trio Mocotó tunes for new dance compilations.

By the mid-nineties, the evidence was clear, and the furious European demand for samba-rock and the Mocotó sound inspired Fritz, Nereu, and João to balance the responses of their ears, intellect, and emotions and to regroup. A reevaluation of the Brazilian music marketplace, which had given them a good bruising 23 years earlier, awakened their need for complete project autonomy, including many of the techniques, in terms of technology and production, that Parahyba had learned from Suba. Their objective was to synchronize their vintage sound with a progressive attitude and translate the Mocotó enthusiasm into a modern language.

Capturing the triumvirate of Brazilian soul in superb form, Samba Rock is an exercise in Gestalt wherein the overall result is greater than the sum of all the individual talents. Playing with a spirit, a level of energy, and a degree of commitment that are timeless and inspirational, the CD expresses not only a warmer emotional climate and a more robust, focused approach but also the trio's universal appeal. Samba Rock possesses that sense of intuitive rightness of form and texture that distinguishes all fine music.

Setting and shaping a mood that is mined throughout the CD, "Voltei Amor " (I Came Back My Love), is romantically spiced with reprocessed cymbal effects, a chorus of jazz guitar, a touch of vintage 1970's mini-moog, and plenty of Nereu's provocative pandeiro. Parahyba's drumming, always resourceful, is extraordinarily subtle and responsive, uniquely loose-jointed, fluid.

Emerging as a satisfying blend of samba, dance rhythms, jazz complexity, soul fervor, and Brazilian timbral color "Tudo Bem" (Everything's Cool), a Trio Mocotó signature tune, is definitively samba-rock, but comes very close to gafieira samba. Its seventies-style electric bass, syncopated big band arrangement, and Nereu's malandro-like voice-over establishes immediate communication with the audience. This re-recording of their hit single, remarkably fresh and original, is for dancing.

Also for dancing, but cheek to cheek, slowly and closely is "Pensando Nela" (Thinking About Her), a Latin samba, almost a samba bolero, written by an Argentine composer who has lived in Brazil since the beginning of the samba-rock era. João Parahyba comfortably lays down this Latin groove with the strong second beat of samba on his low tom-tom while Guga Stroeter's vibraphone, sounding more like a wind instrument, displays the uncanny ability to sing the melody. Stroeter's gradations of touch and minute rhythmic shifts give great expressivity to the line. And the choral refrain "tchu, tchu tchuru . .. ." is reminiscent of early recordings by Sérgio Mendes and Os Cariocas.

On the samba-rock masterpiece "Adelita," Fritz vamps on acoustic guitar Jorge Benjor-style, while Marquinhos Romero's piano improvisations call to mind César Camargo Mariano, father of this style. The lyrics are simple, but brass, piano, and guitar contributions are fiery and exciting. The tune packs a tremendous punch, illustrating a very tight and super-efficient band.

"Os Orixás" (The Divinities), resiliently inventive in a very organic way, is Afro-Brazilian candomblé music that juxtaposes the ijexá rhythm within the context of a Gil Evans arrangement. The tune celebrates the new century with a prayer for peace, for love, and for the quiet life. All of their musical innovations involve fusions of formerly distinct styles, but of all their mixtures the kind epitomized by Trio Mocotó on this tune sounds especially vital.

Reaching out past previous definitions and barriers, "Águas de Março" (Waters of March), is a sequel to Fritz's solo cuíca performance of "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" from their 1973 album. Drawing a stunning richness and depth of tone and color from his instrument, Fritz renders a tour de force tribute to Tom Jobim.

"Não Sei Porque" (I Don't Know Why) features Fritz's acoustic guitar work as well as the bite and sinewy phrasing of his cuíca. Slipping in and out for just the right emphasis, his cuíca execution is magnificent. In exemplary Trio Mocotó style, this new composition is sprinkled throughout with Korg synthesizer, mini-moog, clavinet, and Fender Rhodes.

Originally appearing on Jorge Benjor's 1969 self-titled album, "Kriola" (Creole) is a tribute to black Brazilian women and another samba-rock masterpiece. With electronic effects, lots of in-the-pocket Hammond organ, Nereu's vocal improvisation, and Nailor "Proveta" Azevedo's brass arrangements à la the Blues Brothers, this re-recording is anything but dull or conventional.

Although the title "A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê" sounds vaguely African, there is no literal translation. The tune is another ideal vehicle for Fritz's cuíca, and the most impressive playing here is his flowing solo that turns ideas inside out and upside down over many choruses. Written by Vinicius de Moraes and Toquinho, the tune, recorded and performed many times with Trio Mocotó, appears here as an homage to its composers.

Trio Mocotó's approach to the fusion of music and concept is vividly clear in "Kibe Crú," a molten fusion of samba-rock, free style rap, and boogie-woogie. This tune's suggestive lyrics recounts the story of an ailing girl who eats Kibe Crú (excuse the sexual innuendo) then falls in love and begins living a vibrant life. Featuring Arabic vocals, discreet drum programming by Rica Amabis, rapping by Max B.O., and Nereu's powerful and pleasing hands on pandeiro, the tune is shamefully celebratory.

Revolving around the dynamism between vocalists and soloist, "Nereu Nereu" is again music for dancing, but it's also a jewel for the listener. Proveta's tightly woven arrangement, with plenty of dynamic shading and a broad instrumental palette, has the whole group engaged in inspired melodic and rhythmic interplay.

Wordplaying on the Portuguese word kiss, "beijo," and Cyrano de Bergerac, Rita Lee's composition "Cyrano do Beijorac," makes clever allusions to cannabis. The trio plays with the kind of cohesiveness and attention to nuance that comes from the spirit and sheer joy of performing together for responsive audiences. Without further parading the trio's fusion credentials, "Mocotó Beat," a venturesome play of ideas and textures among all participants, is one of the most gratifying events on the CD. In the last track, "Fui" (I'm Out), as throughout the CD, everyone plays with an infectious, almost overpowering zeal. The music, sounding clear and flowing, reveals Trio Mocotó's thrilling collective spontaneity is back in its pristine, pure groove form.

I've rarely heard a CD with as much sustained, collective spirit as Samba Rock. Spirit, moreover, that is allied with technical prowess, originality, individuality, and yet, collective identity. This is fundamentally one of the most regenerating, and therefore important, recordings in years. Listeners will agree that Fritz, João, and Nereu have reunited for one of Mocotó's best performances. I spoke with João Parahyba about rhythm, musical innovation, and popular appeal. He was serene, surprisingly vigorous, and vulnerable.

Brazzil—What prompted you to develop the timba set?

Parahyba—Between '65 and '70, the night clubs started to break drummers. It was the end of bossa nova and samba-jazz. And by 1968, drum sets were all but forbidden in night clubs because all bossa nova and quartet drummers were starting to play a new kind of be-bop bossa and to improvise more. All the club owners were saying, "No, no more drums. They're too loud!" And they started to hire acts that played a kind of Bobby Short music. You know, a piano player who sang, or a singer and a pianist, or a singer with a pianist and a bass player.

This was the time when Brazilian music festivals started to gain popularity. Elis Regina, Jair Rodrigues, Caetano (Veloso), and Chico (Buarque), and everybody else, wanted to sing and play this music in night clubs. So I found a way to make a light drum set with the timba—a light conga-like instrument, similar to a small surdo, but conical like a wooden tan-tan. I sat on a small square bench and would grip the timba, which was lying on the floor, with my right leg and use my left hand to press the skin of the drum head, like you would press the skin of a conga, so I could have an open or closed sound. You can't do that with the foot pedal of a bass drum.

Using the timba instead of a bass drum gave the sound a more Brazilian quality. Together with the timba, I used a hi-hat, a snare, and a cymbal, which I played with brushes in my right hand. This sounded very light, like a small drum kit, but with Brazilian characteristics. This was perfect for Jorge Ben who played acoustic guitar and loved Little Richard, James Brown, and all that Motown stuff, and who started creating a new groove with Trio Mocotó that wasn't samba and wasn't rock. The timba drum set worked beautifully for him because it had the rhythmic punch and good tone, but lacked the overpowering volume of a drum set.

Brazzil—How did Jogral function as a pivotal cultural center?

Parahyba—Lots of clubs were presenting American influenced bossa-jazz. There were lots of trios and quartets, groups like Zimbo Trio and Luiz Eça's Tamba 4—groups that fused samba with jazz. Jogral started a new fashion of presenting exclusively Brazilian music. Cartola's return was at Jogral. He had been famous in the fifties for writing some traditional sambas, but he disappeared until some journalist (legendary Sérgio Porto, better known as Stanislaw Ponte Preta) found him washing cars on the street. And then in '68 or '69 that journalist brought him to São Paulo to record the album that restarted his career.

Cartola came to the club every night because Jogral was the only nightclub presenting live Brazilian music all night. These were vibrant times. With the decline of bossa-jazz, we started hearing music of the Jovem Guarda, of Erasmo and Roberto Carlos. Then in reaction to both the Jovem Guarda and to Brazil's political situation, Caetano, Gil, and Tom Zé started the hippie era with Tropicália. Everybody was against the government, the dictatorship, and many songwriters were composing protest music. But it was also the beginning of the black influence in rock with Jorge Ben, Trio Mocotó, Tim Maia, and Dom Salvador.

The leader of Banda Black Rio, Oberdan (P. Magalhães), a sax player, got his start playing in Dom Salvador's band together with Jorge Ben and us in '69. When we started playing the big music festivals, black music grew up. But we were all friends. Everyone at that time used to hang out at Jogral together—the Mutantes, Rita Lee, Tim Maia, Clementina de Jesus. Rock people together with samba people together with jazz people.

Brazzil—Your early recordings with Jorge Benjor and the more recent ones with Suba have had equally influential impacts. Do you see any similarities between theses artists?

Parahyba—Wow! This isn't an easy question. When I played with Jorge, he was trailblazing a kind of pure Brazilian modern music, with a primitive heart, a very strong beat, yet at the same time, acoustic. The difference was the pure, primitive feeling, Brazilian feelings. The similarity was his very open heart, you know? What I mean is that Brazilian soul music had an essence, but it also extracted some of its influences from American music. Artists have always been stimulated by others. This is how artists in every medium create, anywhere in the world, and this is probably the strongest similarity with Suba, who had no rules.

Brazzil—Was there anything mystical or spiritual about your work with Suba?

Parahyba—When Suba arrived in Brazil in 1990, I was the first musician he met. We started talking at twelve noon and didn't finish our conversation until four in the morning. We found that we were very close in mind, in heart, completely open without rules, without borders. When he passed away, we were just starting a project called Memória Mundi, which was like putting the history of Africa, Asia, Arabia, and America into the same pot. All people have universal or archetypal experiences.

There is definitely a collective unconscious or human soul or spirit that flies around the world connecting people. We can hear this in every kind of music. In Jerusalem, there is music that sounds like Brazilian music. There are people playing accordion music in Yugoslavia that you would swear sound like Brazilian chorinhos. This actually exists. Some European choral works describe experiences that parallel those of the Indians inside Amazônia, between groups that have never met.

Suba's mind was so open to this type of convergence that he could hear relationships among rhythmic patterns in Yugoslavia, Brazil, and the United States. He liked to create chaos, a structured chaos. He was the positive aspect of chaos in the universe. Forgive my metaphor, but he could group atoms from different planets and make new life forms. Suba opened my musical mind completely, set it on inverse, and opened it to the universe.

Brazzil—Where is samba-rock leading?

Parahyba—When Jorge (Benjor) first came to the Jogral and jammed with us, we started out playing a samba groove with him, but it wasn't lining up with what he was playing. Jorge was the first guy to use pentatonic scales with samba, so we mixed samba, with its emphasis on the strong beats, together with what he was playing on the guitar, which put the accent on the upbeat. It was different from Brazilian syncopation, and in the beginning, it borrowed ideas from American rock with its guitars and distortion. It adopted some blues ideas; it caught some of samba's old-style ideas and mixed all of these. It was innovative, a kind of birth of Brazilian Latin rock. I call it Brazilian soul music, but people today call it samba-rock.

If you listen to Santana's work from the seventies, you'll understand what I mean by Latin-rock. It's very difficult to talk about international categories for Brazilian music, but that's the kind of thing that was starting to happen in Brazil at this point, '68, '69. In the seventies, everybody in Brazil started making this kind of samba mixed with rock. The Mutantes looked into this and Elis Regina recorded some music like this as did Gilberto Gil and Caetano. Just like now, with electronic music. Today we're starting to copy famous American and English DJ's, and we have a lot of Brazilians, like DJ Marky, Amon Tobin, Patife, and DJ Dolores who are very, very young musicians with Brazilian roots and very electronic.

They're starting to catch sound samples from the seventies, from Trio Mocotó from Jorge Ben, and they're developing a new language. When you hear their music, you're able to recognize electronic music with Brazilian characteristics. It's funny because Brazilian hip-hop is very nice. Yeah, very nice. And Suba's CD and the one he produced for Babel with electronic tools and in an electronic language have created a new bossa. Everybody is doing something in this new language. No longer can you say, "This is jazz. This is rock. This is Latin." Musicians today put everything in a mixing pot, and they are creating, just like we did in the seventies. It's an exotic way to make music. That's what Mocotó has done in the new record.

Brazzil—Yeah, it's beautiful. One tune I really like is "Águas de Março." Fritz's cuíca playing never ceases to amaze me.

Parahyba—This is funny because Fritz and Nereu both started in music as samba school percussionists. When they came to São Paulo, to the Jogral, we played with a bass player and a bossa nova piano player who was very crazy. He loved Stan Kenton, he loved Thelonious (Monk), he loved Gershwin, he loved Dave Brubeck, you know? And in this context, Fritz started taking solos on cuíca, not just as a rhythm section player, but a soloist developing melodic ideas, improvising on the tune's melody and chord changes, like a front line horn player. He got this idea from jazz, and everybody was blown away.

Fritz used to play songs on the cuíca for Duke Ellington. It was so easy for him, that when we were preparing the new CD, I told him, "Fritz, your cuíca is a Mocotó trademark. No one in Brazil did this or does it." Cuíca is an instrument that is almost extinct. Today you see it only in the samba schools. I told him, "You're one of the best players in the instrument's history, and you need to record another solo tune." So we decided on this one as an homage to Tom Jobim, who along with Vinicius, was a very, very close friend of ours.

Brazzil—João, you began your career as a jazz drummer. How did you wind up playing in the bateria of Império Serrano?

Parahyba—In February 1969, Nereu said that since I had taught him and Fritz about jazz and contemporary music, that they we're going to teach me about samba school music and invited me to join them for Carnaval. It was my debut on the Avenue, and it was crazy because I was just a small, white, Paulista coming to Rio de Janeiro to play with the samba school. And the guys in the bateria just ignored me until Nereu told them to give me a repinique. But the director remarked, "No, he's white trash!" Then Nereu told him, "No, no, no, this guy is black inside." Once I started playing, the guys said, "Wow, maybe he's not so white after all." And, for me, this was a dream come true. I've been very, very, lucky from my beginning in music until now. Yeah, I've been in a lot of playing situations with people you would never believe a Brazilian musician would play with; for instance, Michel Legrand, Oscar Peterson, Bill Evans, Dave Brubeck, and Earl Hines.

Brazzil—Tell me about working with Vinicius.

Parahyba—For me, this is easy to talk about. He was just like a father for me because we started working together when I was only eighteen years old, and we stayed together for almost three years. Trio Mocotó toured Brazil with him, and we recorded a lot of music with Vinicius and Toquinho. Their partnership began with Trio Mocotó as their backing band. We recorded so many great tunes together; for instance, "A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê," "Canto de Oxum," "Morena Flor," "Tarde em Itapoã," and "Regra Três." But it's difficult to find their records with Trio Mocotó mentioned because at that time, sidemen were not given credit in the liner notes.

Brazzil—Why did Mocotó break up?

Parahyba—We didn't break up. We stopped because I needed to work with my family. I was the black sheep of the family and needed to prove that I was more than a hippie vagabond. I come from a wealthy São Paulo family, and the sons from families like mine, who study in the best private schools in Brazil, are expected to pursue meaningful careers in areas other than music. Music was seen as something for simple people who didn't study. But these were the sixties; lots of turbulent and crazy things were happening. We wore long hair. We protested against government corruption, just like in the United States. My older brother was living in London and kept sending me LP's by Traffic, Ten Years After, the Beatles, all kinds of new music.

I had always wanted to be a musician, my whole life, and then I met two guys, one black and one mulatto, who became my symbiotic brothers, which was the beginning of the fighting in my family. My father, who by 1975, had come to embrace Fritz and Nereu as friends said, "Look, you have a family now. Come to work with me." And he was convincing because by the end of '75, disco music had killed all live music, and we were losing our market. So I spoke with Fritz and Nereu saying, "Let's take a rest now, while we we're on top. We're very good, but the gigs are dying." We agreed to all follow our own separate paths, but we kept in close contact, always, like family.

Brazzil—What brought you out of semi-retirement?

Parahyba—A few interesting events started falling into place. First, the Brazilian DJ's discovered that Mocotó mixed samba, jazz, rock, and soul into a solid groove, and they started sampling our material. Then Béco Dranoff located us, and feeling certain that ours was the musical language for today, encouraged us to put out a new CD. It seemed completely outrageous because we always had our public from the seventies, all the people who used to like us, people who have since grown up, but I never imagined young people from dance music, drum `n' bass, hip-hop, and techno would be buying our CD and telling us, "Man, Trio Mocotó is pure groove. You guys are the best!" That's really hilarious because in the last three or four months, our new CD has been purchased most often by people between 15 and 25 years old. We're actually doing shows with young people from hip-hop, with rappers. This is really absurd, it's ironic, and it's fabulous!

Brazzil—How are you feeling about the new CD?

Parahyba—I love the record. I love "Mocotó Beat" because it's made for people who want a solid groove and who crave samples. I love Jorge's "Adelita." The arrangement was done by the trombone player in Jorge's band. What's most important for me on this CD, what makes me most proud, is the way it was recorded. When we started thinking about the project, I met with Mario Caldato. He's one of the biggest producers of electronic music in Los Angeles. He produced the Beastie Boys. Mario told me, "Oh, man, you have to make a CD that sounds "vintage." I said, "Okay, but what do you mean vintage?" He said, "The group goes into the studio and records live." I said, "We've always recorded that way. We go into the studio, and we just do it. All Mocotó's records have a groove that feels live because it is. We've never recorded any other way!"

I told Mario that I wouldn't want to use a lot of Pro Tools on our tunes with all that interfacing, MIDI sequencing, and all that sort of "virtual recording." I was concerned that we wouldn't capture Mocotó's joy, our fountain of energy. Recording track by track, musician by musician, often sets up something very cold, and that's not what Trio Mocotó is about. We are happy and happening on stage as well as in the studio. It's a show in the studio. We've never recorded two and three minute tunes. We do eight minute and ten minute tunes. I told Mario, "Man, I love technology. I use it today in my solo projects, but with Mocotó, I'd rather record everyone together."

And it was very crazy, but the results are excellent. There is a certain spontaneity that permeates the album and that could never have been designed or wished into or added to a recording. It's either there or it isn't. The last tune, "Fui," was a groove we set up with everybody playing just to fix something. It was composed at that time, live in the studio. Samba Rock is a very happy recording.

Brazzil—Why are Brazilian percussionists so valued abroad, but not as much in Brazil?

Parahyba—Music in Brazil is like football. It's so natural, so instinctive, that talent isn't appreciated. If you look at Jobim's career, you see clearly that he was a very, very gifted composer and arranger in the fifties and early sixties, yet he only became famous in Brazil after 1967, when he recorded Francis Albert Sinatra & Antonio Carlos Jobim. Brazilians have to be famous in the United States first in order to be recognized at home. Even Bebel (Gilberto) who is now famous around the world, is not famous here. Nobody plays her CD here. We have a saying here, "Santo de casa não faz milagres," that translates loosely as "Things from home aren't miracles." It's like saying, "The grass is always greener on the other side."

Brazzil—I know what you're saying. Carlos Malta and I went to hear Charles Lloyd, and I couldn't believe how reverential Carlos was, almost as if we were listening to Coltrane.

Parahyba—Yeah, but it's a completely different mind set. Carlinhos attended a school not many in the world have been lucky or talented enough even to visit, and he surprised everybody. Carlos started working with Hermeto when he was very young and stayed with him for years. As he was growing up, his mind was completely and genetically transformed by Hermeto. We've jammed with Hermeto many times, and let me tell you, sitting in with Hermeto is not what most players expect. It's nothing like reading through the changes of a tune for two or three choruses. When you jam with Hermeto, one song can be an hour and a half long, and when it's your turn to solo, everybody leaves, and you solo for forty minutes. I can verify that a player needs to be able to think and have many, many, many things to say musically in order to sustain himself for a forty minute solo. I'm not even mentioning the sheer physical stamina necessary. Malta, without a doubt, is one of Brazil's finest, a fantastic musician.

Brazzil—Could you talk about the way music, especially technology, has been affecting young musicians?

Parahyba—We have a lot of good musicians, young people, around the world who are just a little bit lost in the cycle of new music right now. Music is transforming into a new language, and nobody knows it yet. We're just at the beginning of the century, so something is going to evolve. It's like Esperanto, you know? Esperanto was the language invented so everyone could communicate with each other, and music has become our Esperanto. With globalization, music is becoming the world's primary language, our international language. Nothing is too radical for music. Music has no frontiers. You can look into music's eyes and see its soul.

You can play in Brazil and somebody else will feel it in Russia or in the United States. Words aren't necessary. Everybody understands: the Chinese, Portuguese, Russians, Brazilians. I'm making some music now with some Finish people. With today's technology, I can talk with you, I can talk with China in just seconds. Some people say that globalization makes you lose your roots. I don't agree. It's the best way to expose all the roots of the world for everyone who is interested. Today we can go into any library and hear everything. I can even see Chinese music. The world is open for your mind. It's a new universe, and the Mocotó groove is our small contribution.

Brazzil—Will this new language help people understand our world?

Parahyba—People will never understand the world as long as they're fighting. We don't need any more radical religions around the world. We need people, not countries. We need peace. To paraphrase the Beatles, "Happiness is a warm gun." You can fight with humor; sometimes that's the best weapon. Trio Mocotó wants to bring people together everywhere and make them shake and make them smile.

 

A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê Vinícius de Morais & Toquinho Eu caio de bossa Eu sou quem eu sou Eu saio da fossa Xingando em nagô Você que ouve e não fala Você que olha e não vê Eu vou lhe dar uma pala Você vai ter que aprender A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê Eu caio de bossa Eu sou quem eu sou Eu saio da fossa Xingando em nagô Você que lê e não sabe Você que reza e não crê Você que entra e não cabe Você vai ter que viver A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê Eu caio de bossa Eu sou quem eu sou Eu saio da fossa Xingando em nagô Você que fuma e não traga E que não para pra ver Vou lhe rogar uma praga Eu vou é mandar você A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê

A Tonga da Mironga do Kabuletê I'm pretty cool I am who I am I rouse myself Cursing in Nagô (an African language) You, who listen but don't talk You, who look but don't see I'll give you a hint You'll have to learn The Tonga of Mironga of Kabuletê The Tonga of Mironga of Kabuletê I'm pretty cool I am who I am I rouse myself Cursing in Nagô You, who read but don't learn You, who pray but don't believe You, who get in but don't fit You will have to live The Tonga of Mironga of Kabuletê The Tonga of Mironga of Kabuletê I'm pretty cool I am who I am I rouse myself Cursing in Nagô You, who smoke and don't inhale You , who don't stop to take a look I'll cast a spell on you I'm going to send you to The Tonga of Mironga of Kabuletê The Tonga of Mironga of Kabuletê

 

Suinga Sambaby Nereu Gargalo Tu pensas coisinhas bonitas de mim Menina, menina Tu pensas coisinhas bonitas de mim Menina, menina Lindos olhos você tem Cabelos longos também Não te troco por ninguém Menina te quero bem Suinga sambaby, Suinga Suinga menina, menina Sinto muito podes crer Agora me amarro em você Sou um homem de prazer Tu és o meu bem querer Suinga sambaby, Suinga Suinga menina, Suinga

Swing Baby You think favorably of me Girl, girl You think favorably of me Girl, girl You have beautiful eyes Long hair too I won't exchange you for another Girl, I'm fond of you Swing, sambaby, swing Swing girl, girl I'm sorry, believe me I'm attached to you I'm a man of pleasure You are my sweetheart Swing, sambaby, swing Swing girl, swing

 

Tudo bem Nereu Gargalo Tudo bem, novamente tudo bem Tudo bem e comigo também Você não está com nada nega Procura se ligar na minha A vida é muito boa Pra quem sabe curtir assim Tudo bem.. Vou te falar menina Estou louquinho sim Benzinho eu quero mesmo Ter você perto de mim

Everything is Fine Everything is fine, everything is fine again Everything is fine, with me too You've got nothing, sis Come with me Life is beautiful For those who know how to live it It's all right I'll tell you, girl I'm crazy for you Sweetheart, all I really want Is to have you around

 

Adelita Jorge Benjor Adelita Adelita amor Adelita Adelita magnética Essa garota tem suing do Rio de Janeiro Vai ver que é carioca e também sai no Salgueiro Essa garota tem suing do Rio de Janeiro Vai ver que é carioca e também sai no Salgueiro Ela é magnética Ela é magnética Ela é magnética Ela é magnética Adelita Adelita amor Adelita Sensual Bonita como uma rosa Angelical A primavera em pessoa A primavera em amor, ai A primavera em pessoa Primavera em amor, ai Quando ela passa por aqui E me olha com seu olhar inocente Puro adocicado e primaveril Eu me sinto deslocado que passo Da idade do lobo pra idade pueril Eu me sinto deslocado que passo Da idade do lobo pra idade pueril Ela é magnética Ela é magnética Ela é magnética Ela é magnética

Adelita Adelita Adelita love Adelita Magnetic Adelita This girl has the Rio de Janeiro swing She's probably a carioca and parades with Salgueiro This girl has the Rio de Janeiro swing She's probably a carioca and parades with Salgueiro She's magnetic She's magnetic She's magnetic She's magnetic Adelita Adelita love Adelita Sensual Beautiful as a rose Angelical Spring personified Spring turned into love Spring personified Spring turned into love When she passes by here And looks at me with her innocent gaze Pure and sweet like spring I feel so displaced that I move from my mature age to a childish one I feel so displaced that I move from my mature age to a childish one She's magnetic She's magnetic She's magnetic She's magnetic

Selected Discography:
 

Artist(s)	Title	Label	Date
Various	Black Rio	Strut	2002
Zélia Duncan	Sortimento	Universal	2001
Trio Mocotó	Samba Rock	Six Degrees	2001
Various	Samba Soul 70!	Six Degrees	2001
Trio Mocotó	Trio Mocotó	Movieplay	1975
Trio Mocotó	Trio Mocotó	RGE	1973
Various	Os Maiores Sambas Enredo	Philips	1972
Trio Mocotó	Muita Zorra!	Philips/Forma	1971
Jorge Ben	Negro É Lindo	Philips	1971
Chico Buarque	Construção	Philips	1971
Jorge Ben	Força Bruta	Philips	1970
Jorge Ben	Jorge Ben	Philips	1969

Web sites of interest:

Jorge Benjor
http://www.uol.com.br/benjor/nfindex2.htm  

Crammed Discs/Ziriguiboom
http://www.crammed.be/zir/index.htm

Six Degrees Records
http://www.sixdegreesrecords.com  

Trio Mocotó
http://www.uol.com.br/triomocoto

Bruce Gilman, music editor for Brazzil magazine, received his Masters degree in music from California Institute of the Arts. He is the recipient of three government grants that have allowed him to research traditional music in China, India, and Brazil. His articles on Brazilian music have been translated and published in Dutch, Spanish, German, Serbian, and Portuguese. You can reach him through his e-mail: cuica@interworld.net 

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