DEERHOOF’S DECEPTIVELY COMPLEX ‘MILK MAN’

Interviews

FOREWORD: Deeerhoof has managed to spread out its semi-avant experiments over several prodigious  albums. Though co-guitarist Chris Cohen left to concentrate on his own band, The Curtains, whose ’07 release, Calamity, collected an eclectic array of proggish psych abstractions, Deerhoof survived as a threesome. ’05s Runners Four and ’07s Friend Opportunity proved to be just as pertinently irresistible as the bands’ predeccesors. I spoke to Cohen in ’04 to promote Milk Man. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

 Unafraid to challenge melodic preconceptions, extraordinary San Francisco experimentalists Deerhoof possess the ambition, ability, and abandon needed for cultivating unexplored territories. Without compromising integrity, the cordial quartet’s ‘04 venture, Milk Man, places their skewered ideas and dissonant incongruities in more conventional arrangements.

Contrasting ‘03s critically praised step forward Apple O’ by being less reliant on recurring themes and bassist Satomi Matsuzaki’s piercing soprano chirps, the deceptively complex Milk Man deconstructs rhythms, rhymes, and rhapsodies while keeping a keen eye towards reaching uncharted futuristic dimensions.

Helping Deerhoof investigate non-conformist undertakings, skillful guitarist Chris Cohen (Curtains/ Natural Dreamers) has quickly established himself as a fierce counterpart to fellow axe bender John Dietrich. Now living outside the Bay Area in Central Los Angeles, he persuasively crystallized the combo’s secure foundation.

“I originally saw Deerhoof play in early 2000,” Cohen recalls. “We still perform songs from (‘96s) Menlo Park. The first guitarist, Rob Fisk, left by (‘99s more song-oriented) Holdy Paws.”

Gaining solidarity amongst Deerhoof’s core sector, the quietly reserved Cohen permanently joined the evolving troupe for Apple O.’ Though initially interested in drumming, at age eleven Cohen’s sister rented an electric guitar. When she went to summer camp he began fiddling around with it, figuring out chord progressions for the Monkees’ “Steppin’ Stone” and an unspecified Sex Pistols song.

“My dad worked in the record business as a talent scout for A & M in the ‘70s,” Cohen confirms. “He collected soft pop and middle-of-the road music from ’68 to ’78. My parents were into Broadway musicals and Classical, but also Edgar Winter and the Rolling Stones on the hard rock side. My dad’s world at work was the Carpenters, Herb Alpert, and “Theme From Young & The Restless.” We got a gold record for that.”

While Cohen was in formative band the Curtains, one of their members unexpectedly departed, allowing Matsuzaki and Deerhoof founder Greg Saunier (drums-keys) to collaborate live on a few short numbers. The successful endeavor provided convincing evidence to refurbish Deerhoof’s theretofore revolving lineup. Dietrich, who’d started the Natural Dreamers as an instrumental two-piece with Cohen, was already a guitar fixture by ‘02s respectable breakthrough, Reveille.

Just as Apple O’ was recorded spontaneously in one day and mixed over weeks, running the gamut from quietly spare to full-on instrumental dalliances with Cohen’s stereo-separated six-string on left speaker and Dietrich’s to the right, the precision-guided Milk Man was pieced together instinctively using highly versatile well-refined material. Meanwhile, Matsuzaki’s submissively fragile utterances expanded beyond mere angular lullaby anxiousness to sweltering panoramic immediacy, adding more expressive tonal variance on Milk Man. The ace in the hole, Japanese-born Matsuzaki is a precociously uninhibited diva whose quirky caterwauls, cadaverous quivers, and cozily coquettish quavers endearingly inhabit Deerhoof’s art-damaged abstractions.

Cohen claims, “Satomi’s always been into music, but had never been in a band. She may have blown harmonica in school as a kid. She moved to San Francisco to be closer to a music community. She was friendly with local band Carolina Rainbow – whom she translated for. To get a visa, she went to film school.”

Indeed, Frisco’s freeform atmosphere and loose-limbed ambiance inform the deviating fundamental vestiges probed by these shrewd conceptualists.

“It’s hard to get a full perspective, but San Francisco, like any coastal city, has many cultures bringing new peculiar ideas. There’s a lot of fog and hills,” he says before making a comparison to the glittery City of Angels. “L.A. is totally flat open desert, causing certain moods (to be conjured). It’s more desperate. My girlfriend believes San Franciscans are self-righteous liberals who think they are so much better educated, but there is a definite insularity. When I was younger, I thought local band Thinking Fellers Union were part of a cool experimental art-rock scene.”

Undoubtedly, Milk Man embraces such cerebral investigative whims. Yet despite being somewhat sophisticated in approach, each divergent vignette retains an accessible veneer. The neo-Classical “Giga Dance” precariously flirts with King Crimson-Soft Machine-Renaissance prog-rock ambience until a short pipe-whistled shanty passage crosscuts icy Sugarcubes-evoked melodicism. Bleating satellite probes prod the percussive bass-throbbed operetta “Desaparecere” and grisly guitar scrapes counter tingling chimes on the solemnly askew “C.” Resoundingly blissful interpolating glistened cosmic transience, the radiantly ceremonious “Rainbow Silhouette Of The Milky Way” grasps for twinkling stars with stammered piano plunks and mallet décor.

A hook-filled sparkling gem with goose step guitar repetition and a darting stop-start reflux; “Milking” may be Deerhoof’s greatest bid for commercial acceptance.

Cohen expounds, “We thought people would like to revisit “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah” with computer generated samples. Trumpeter Leo Smith played one note we pasted into a little melody. We wanted to make an easily likable song. We use it as a climactic concert closer.”

Perhaps Cohen’s variegated record collection offers evidence of his own stylistic diversity, even as he clears out undesired vinyl debris.

“I’m looking for stuff to get rid of,” he laughingly suggests. “I enjoy Eddie Gale’s Ghetto Music. He was an avant-garde trumpeter who did a Big Band album with a strange folk bend. Betty Carter is a wonderful singer and King Sunny Ade’s records are stunning. I want to play like him. In Nigeria, he’s the master. I have a lot of his one-off weird African releases. I also like Top 40 hip-hop radio. That’s the most groundbreaking music being done now.”

He continues, “There’s the Casual Dots, whom I’m really fond of. They do what we try to do with guitars – basic musical pleasures – scales and intervals presented plainly. And I love the new Bobby Conn record.”

As for his bands’ near future, the youthful savant advises, “Everyone in Deerhoof is into doing something that comes natural, inventing our own homemade system that makes sense to us.”

SLITS PIONEER ARI UP REVIVED AS ‘TRAPPED ANIMAL’

Interviews,

FOREWORD: Innovative German-born Brit punk, Ari Up, sadly died just months after our interview on October 20, 2010. She suffered from an undisclosed illness and is survived by three sons, her mother, and stepfather (legendary Sex Pistols guitarist Johnny Lydon).  RIP sweet angel.

 

Trailblazing ‘70s punk combo, the Slits, paid the cost to be the most revolutionary female band in a male-dominated subculture. Having the innate ability to dress up artless guitar debris with minimalist dub-reggae rhythms, the innovative lasses were initially violently attacked and verbally assaulted because their rudimentary approach leaned towards Jamaican rude boy juvenility, seemingly at odds with the snotty nihilist rebellion the Sex Pistols’ ilk possessed.

Undoubtedly, the Slits also upset moshing neo-Nazi Oi! boys hooked on violently chanted three-chord thrashers and therefore unwilling to accept the daring damsels who were distressingly labeled unwelcome meddling interlopers.

Sheer determination kept the Slits alive and the fact they shared the same philosophical values with a few obliging ‘so-called’ punks helped the weirdly detached forward-looking vagrants from becoming flash-in-the-pan enigmas. Instead of fading into obscurity, they set the foundation for a plethora of feministic crews such as South Bronx no wave beacons ESG, Swiss post-punk pilots Liliput, Brit-punk activists Delta 5, avant-funk lesbians Bush Tetras, and commercial pop charmers the Mo-dettes.

At age 14, Munich-born London-raised Ariana Forster became Ari-Up, lead singer of a formative group shaped by drummer Paloma Romero (now known as Palmolive). Though Palmolive left early on to join equally determined female coterie, the Raincoats, bassist Tessa Pollitt (a diehard reggae fanatic like Ari-Up) and guitarist Viv Albertine soon rounded out the impressionable trio. Meanwhile, Ari-Up hustled for money and lived as a squatter away from her bohemian family of dancers and musicians.

Though Ari’s grandfather was a “super-rich” publisher controlling Germany’s mighty Des Spiegel weekly magazine, the “tyrant” suppressed his flamenco-informed belly-dancing wife and blackmailed daughter, Nora (Ari’s mother), who’d soon promote Jimi Hendrix (amongst others), manage ‘70s Classical rockers Wishbone Ash and Taste, then marry Sex Pistols vocalist, John Lydon. Nora used her humble government-assisted domicile as a retreat for traveling musicians her daughter, Ari, would easily befriend.

The Slits first real breakthrough happened during 1977, when they opened for burgeoning punk ambassadors The Clash, Buzzcocks, and Subway Sect. Their provocative vagina lip-informed handle was nearly as audacious as the title of ‘79 debut, Cut (insert the letter N before T for proper repulsiveness). Furthermore, the titillating threesome posed nude for the front cover, coated in mud wearing only loincloths. By now, the Slits had begun to fruitfully articulate the same oppressive cultural deprivation as the Pistols-Clash-Damned triumvirate, but in a less clamorous manner.

With its carefree childlike whimsicality and crudely underdeveloped tunes, Cut bled streetwise do-it-yourself ethos into primitive-sounding tribal manifestos. A desolate Eastern-flavored 6-string figure, knock-knock percussion, and tinny cymbals back Ari’s self-destructive anecdote on the otherwise temperate opener, “Instant Hit.”

Indirectly, the Roches curiously quirky multi-harmonic playfulness infused the silly “So Tough.” Dub-styled discontentment “Spend, Spend, Spend” and deliriously screamed diatribe “Shoplifting” retained unfinished demo-like splendor. Throughout, Ari’s operatic vibrato reveled in amateurish enthusiasm.

Appearing during the early New Wave uprising, ‘81s equally raw Return of the Giant Slits EP may’ve felt out of place amongst the shinier gloss hitting underground airwaves, but its mischievous precision-guided snipes held up better. Haranguing sociopolitical message, “Walk About,” criticizes the treatment of indigenous Australian aborigines and probably gave Ari the motivation to live amongst the naked bow-and-arrow hunters of Borneo’s Dayak tribe before splitting time living in Brooklyn, New York and Kingston, Jamaica.

Ari took on the persona of singer-dancer Medusa thereafter, becoming a Kingston-based ‘80s hip-hop dancehall denizen who’d soon front famed British dub producer Adrain Sherwood’s New Age Steppers. She’d mother twins with a marijuana-dealing spouse and receive plaudits from loyal minions, some of whom thought she might’ve died over the years due to presumed inactivity.

But Ari’s Slits are back and better than ever, boasting a terrific lineup including Hollie Cook (Sex Pistols drummer Paul Cook’s daughter). Developing a more universal lyrical appeal less dependent on provincial sloganeering, ‘09s Trapped Animal (proceeded by a belated ’05 solo debut, Dread More Dan Dead) preserves the past while engaging the future. Busier arrangements and tidier production give each track brighter resonance.

Welfare, social injustice, and food stamp programs still concern Ari, as she deals with grownup “Issues” and downplays “Peer Pressure” with animalistic jungle yelps atop Latin-tinged piano and ska-influenced horns. Clanking percussion, dotted sax lines, and flittering flute suit reggae-fried call-and-response entreaty “Ask Ma.” And working class rave, “Partner Fom Hell,” benefits from an echoed melodica that intimates reggae great Augustus Pablo.

Onward, reggae toaster “Babylon” never lacks authenticity and “Reggae Gypsy” peculiarly leans towards the contemporary gypsy-folk of Gogol Bordello and Devotchka. Perhaps perky schoolyard howler, “Pay Rent,” best defines the Slits musical and cultural conviction, blurting out ‘we don’t wanna follow fashion’ in all its triumphant subversive glory.

After the Slits broke up, you took on the moniker, Medusa, and became a dancehall queen. How’d that turn out?

ARI-UP: I had an album, Dread More Dan Dead, which was invigorated by Kingston reggae and dancehall – a hybrid. It was under the Ari Up name but during the Medusa period. People wondered if I had died because the Slits evacuated this planet after two albums and seemed stuck in Siberian exile. That’s what happened to me, too. I was written off, but continued the revolution in isolation in Jamaica. I had given partial birth to the punk explosion but got more involved in the reggae revolution. The Slits were always a mixture of what we were seeing and feeling. They were thirty years ahead of their time. But I’m still a paranoid artist not making shit financially. (laughter)

The new album title, Trapped Animal, seems to indicate that despite all your rage you still feeling like a rat in the cage.
 

 

 

Definitely. That sums it up in one edited snippet. I have empathy for the underdog, whether societal, political, or money-wise. Humans are trapped like animals in many ways. “Issues” is based on a real experience of emotional abuse and “Ask Ma” is a bit tricky. Women created the men that are the ones we love. But mothers are sometimes to blame for how their sons act in a relationship. I’ve never been about segregation. When men are abusive and act like assholes they’re relieving anger on their wives because of a bad relationship with mothers. Anything that triggers that emotion is not good. Single moms are not the ideal situation.

Did you grow up feeling like the “Reject” described on the album?
 

 

 

I never felt like a loser despite the Slits struggling and being sabotaged by some people. We were rejected by society. But that’s why the media labeled us punks – degenerate losers. The media used punk before we could come to grips with the term. I remember Joe Strummer of the Clash at the Roxy club being turned off by the term. We never had low self-esteem.

How’d it feel when the Slits became largely influential for many up and coming indie artists?
 

 

 

People were influenced in a nice way. They gave credit and never ripped us off. They took our inspiration and created their own sound. The Slits have a unique sound anyway that’s hard to label and harder to duplicate. The Raincoats got Palmolive and intertwined our sound with their own. Siouxsie & the Banshees would never admit being affected by us but their tribal rhythms are similar and they took our drummer permanently. Later, bands like Hole were tributary. I heard Courtney Love called her band Hole because of the Slits. The riot girl movement, both apparently and transparently, paid big tribute on the TypicalGirls website. We have to be grateful for them keeping the Slits contemporary. But Madonna should’ve said something. She always rides on people’s coattails. She has admitted to being influenced by Blondie. But I don’t see why she couldn’t say she looked exactly like a tamed-down diluted version of our guitarist, Viv, after she went to one of our gigs. She could’ve worn a t-shirt to advertise us. The lace, torn-up dresses, ripped stockings with boots, hair ribbons…

What about ample-breasted Annabella Lwin of Bow Wow Wow, whose underage naked body found its way into various publicity shots courtesy of Cut’s album cover.
 

 

 

That was a typical Malcolm Mc Laren stunt. He managed us for a couple disastrous weeks. He was such an abnormal control freak. He was not a nice personality. He wanted to turn us into gimmicky female Sex Pistols. Then, he leeched onto Bow Wow Wow and, later, the hip-hop breakdance bandwagon. That’s cheesy.

-John Fortunato?

PORTSMOUTH BARLEYWINE

Beers A-Z

Luxurious bottled version is veritable godsend for wintry evening, 2010. Pureed black cherry fascination drapes rich fig-raisin-prune dried fruiting and sweet-Scotched sherry-burgundy-bourbon alcohol whir. Chewy brown-sugared honey-sapped molasses coating secures gooey medicinal cherry-candied stickiness, mild hazelnut-macadamia smidgen, and piney hop sop. Bruised banana, rum raisin, and caramel apple come along for the ride.

MOOSBACHER WEISSBIER

Beers A-Z

Murky golden-hazed hefeweizen with casual sweet ‘n sour banana-clove opening, spritzy lemon tartness and vanilla wafer pleasantry needs firmer body and less murky finish. Musty hard-candied lemondrop midst and washed-out banana bubblegum reminder regale fragile honeyed wheat base. Fizzy Seltzer-like flow diminishes astringent hop bittering of unassuming mediocrity.

BREWDOG DOGMA

Beers A-Z

Wavering spiced ale may boast kola nut, poppy seed, and guarana herbage, but these under-whelming elements barely register. Instead, brown-sugared chocolate malting, red grapefruit tang, orange-tangerine juicing, and floral hop spicing integrate with tertiary tea, hemp, and pine forest illusions. Barley-roasted heather honey sweetness validates citric malting. Nowhere near as innovative and enigmatic as label claims.

OS MUTANTES RETURN FULL FORCE ON ‘HAIH OR AMORTECEDOR’

Interviews

OS MUTANTESAdmirable anti-fascist South American hippie, Sergio Dias, gained international acclaim fronting Os Mutantes, rebellious bossa nova-based folk surrealists whose ceremonial Beatles-influenced Tropicalia clashed against politically-empowered authoritarian traditionalists during Brazil’s turbulent late ‘60s uprising. The Sao Paola-raised Dias, alongside percussionist-brother, Arnaldo Baptista, and female singing counterpart, Rita Lee Jones, helped devise an enduring musical style rooted in their country’s cultural heritage and inspired by contemporary absurdist pop.

Credited with being unintentional innovators of cut-n-paste technology, a sample-based technique utilizing electronic affects and tape loops made fashionable by ‘90s hip-hop heads, indie rockers, and bhangra tenets, Os Mutantes have been gloriously resurrected as a newfangled septet under Dias’ direction. Joining him on ‘09s kaleidoscopic elixir, Haih or Amortecedor (after several post-Mutantes ‘80s solo records) are fellow ‘60s Tropicalia rivals, Tom Ze and (to a much lesser extent) Jorge Ben. Together, they’ve updated, modernized, and redirected Tropicalia’s melodic sun-dazed ebullition and trenchant sociopolitical ambitions.

Highly inventive and endlessly lauded, Os Mutantes originally suffered at the hands of Brazil’s oppressive government, which imprisoned, then exiled to Britain in ‘69, esteemed activist musicians, Gilberto Gil and Caetano Veloso. In fact, Gil-Veloso’s rejoicing tribal affirmation, “Bat Macumba,” may best represent Os Mutantes, as its distorted guitar bluster, punctual rhythmic core, and catchy titular chorus coalesces past strategic ideas with newer studio elements.

Strangely, amidst Brazil’s chaotic unrest and in spite of suffocating military crackdowns, sinisterly hallucinogenic mantra, “Ando Meio Desiglado,” translated as ‘I feel a little spaced out,’ became their biggest Brazilian hit, despite surreptitiously illustrating marijuana’s narcotic uplift.

OS MUTANTES - COMPReintroduced via David Byrne’s culturally diverse Luaka Bop label, fabulous ’99 compilation, Everything Is Possible!, definitively captures the distended trio in all its early resplendence. Cryptic bedevilment, “Ave, Lucifer,” and phase-shifting sub-aquatic fugue, “Dia 36,” defy easy categorization. “Baby (1971)” finds redheaded temptress, Rita Lee, purring suggestively above Spanish guitar and cocktail lounge piano. On “Fuga No. 11,” a two-part neo-Classical orchestral, her reverberating multi-tracked coo reaches angelic heights. Elsewhere, a blistering Electric Prunes riff anchors “A Minha Menina,” an enchanting hand-clapped Trini Lopez knockoff entwined with “Peppermint Twist” shout-outs. And the entire ensemble goes percussive on electric-guitar injected escapade “Cantor De Mambo.”

Os Mutantes fans acknowledge ‘72s Mutantes E Seus Cometas No Pais Do Baurets was inspired by Santana’s Latin rock pyrotechnics. A few follow-up releases, continuing through to ’78, leaned evermore towards prog-rock ‘til Dias pulled the plug and began a prolific solo career beneath American radio’s tenuous narrow radar. Spurred to reunite by a new audience that included Beck and the Flaming Lips, Dias’ newly transformed Os Mutantes began appearing live in ‘06, receiving rave reviews.

OS MUTANTES - HAIHListening to Haih, it’s easy to relish these morphed mutants unexpected reawakening forty years beyond their Sixties commencement. Commanding cinematic opener, “Querida Querida,” offers fiery rock-driven six-string combustion and a busy cymbal/ hi-hat groove to juxtapose the silent-loud acoustic-electric exchanges permeating musty catacomb, “Teclar.”

Operatic gypsy folk diva, Bia Mendes, quick-spits rhymes opposite Dias on delightfully obtuse circus-like Vaudevillian scamper, “2000 E Agarrum.” Chanted organ-droned samba, “O Careca,” poses as smooth Jazz fusion and lovely summer retreat, “Anagrama,” sung by Mendes in a windswept mezzo-soprano, betters sentimental campfire lullaby “O Mensageiro.” Wispy soul-injected calypso, “Neurociencia,” gives salsa a psych-induced boost.

Beginning with a pithily offbeat version of “New York New York,” the rapturous South American crew held court for a sold out Webster Hall audience, October ‘09. Their captivating musical celebrations were delivered in a fun loving smiley-faced manner wherein the combo felt completely at ease.

Dias, the delighted, ripened, 58 year-old minister of Tropicalia, jokingly blamed the audience for demanding his reunion and comeback tour “thirty-five years later.” Dressed in scarf, long black coat, and knee-length boots, Dias strummed acoustic guitar, got electric for a few psychedelicized moments, and urged his minions to “get high” and enjoy some music.

Chipper harmonic exchanges between Dias and Mendes brightened the melancholic sentiments. Her operatic theatricality, wide-eyed facial expressions, and sassy sensuality deepened lounge-pop relaxants as well as surreal Beatles-informed rock. A few swaying bossa nova ballads drifted gorgeously into floral sun-parched romanticism. They even saluted Prez Obama with a catchy Latin cha-cha.

I spoke to Dias a few days after Os Mutantes’ invigorating Webster Hall show.

You’ve never lost your political edge. Clarinet-fluttered espionage blues investigation, “Baghdad Blues,” takes Saddam Hussein to task.

SERGIO DIAS: We always talk about things we see. The idea we had with Scheherazade and 1,001 Nights was basically what Baghdad was beforehand, flying carpets and all. Then you have so much destruction and ugliness. It’s a big loss to have Baghdad’s culture, the cradle of mankind, be devastated. I understand what it’s like in dictatorships because I was in Brazil. But the US has lost world respect since the Kennedy coup d’etat. When he died, Brazilian students went home from school for three days of mourning. I was 12. That’s the respect America was given. This wouldn’t happen now due to the overseas American policies. The fears and troubles America went through after World War II with Stalin and Communism pushed people to react. Brazil’s a sub-product. The coup d’etat we suffered was staged by Brazilian military and American government. America was unprepared to deal with a Cuban crisis the size of Brazil.

I understand the fear during nuclear proliferation but Baghdad’s not that kind of threat. The Gulf War is sadly more economical than political. Oil. Sometimes you’re accepted by another country, but America can’t force that. It’s worrisome due to negative antagonistic aspects. Everyone wants to be respected and America’s in a tight position. At the end of Haih, we merge the US, Russian, and Brazilian National Anthems to remind people how it was when the US had a match in terms of the world chessboard. Kennedy blockaded Cuba, snubbing Kruschev, who helped stop Nazi invasion but wanted foreign missiles. Much was at stake. There was a world threat. Now, I don’t think force is the best way to spread idealism.

Almost coincidentally, Dylan went electric when Os Mutantes concocted ‘60s Tropicalia. These revolutionary maneuvers were, at first, misunderstood. Worse, Brazil’s government exiled several promising artists.

 

Dylan’s problems weren’t as menacing as being tortured, getting deported, or my father being arrested working for a politician. Viet Nam was difficult, but men drifted into Canada as protest. In Brazil, if you insult the government, you die. After the Cold War, America had to deal with this crescendo of nuclear power, guns, and war. My first Casio organ was $200 but the price of technology came down. It’s the same with weapons. It’s not healthy how Israel is armed against Arab states. Third World countries need stability and look up to America’s leadership. When America thwarted the French Revolution and rid the grip of Britain, Lafayette returned to France and Jefferson’s ideas got deeply rooted in the French community. It created history much like ‘60s music did.

What’s “Samba Do Fidel” about? Its Latin percussion, vibes, and plinked piano create a red-hot Cuban rhythm.

 

We were in Miami when Fidel Castro fell ill. So there was a party happening. In reality, the song’s about the Brazilian government. It’s more political-oriented being that football still runs the country. They have elections the same year as the World Cup. It’s like a circus.

Explain the silly impromptu ditty you did about Obama at Webster Hall.

 

Obama’s already part of Brazilian folklore – Obama superstar. The poor guy just entered the kitchen and he has to cook with the instruments he’s been given. It’s great and liberating, an Afro-American in power. But so far, we have no idea what he wants to do. So I sang, ‘Obama, oh please, help us.’ There’s starving Third World people. What’s he gonna do? It was spontaneous.

Where’d you find exhilarating singer, Bia Mendes?

 

I’ve known her for 20 years. She sang backup for Rita Lee but lacked the license to kill which I gave her. I had to push her to center stage where she shines. It’s beautiful to see someone bloom in that way.

Her counterpoint on “2000 E Agarrum” is truly remarkable.

 

It’s an answer to “2001,” a song we did with Tom Ze. He’s my new partner for this album. We decided to do “2002.” When I counterpoint her, I’m invoking bossa legend, Dorival Caymmi, Brazil’s BB King. It’s a very famous trademark song of his so it’s a big collage.

What were Tom Ze’s general contributions?

 

The lyrics. I met him in 2006 when we did our first comeback Brazilian show. We invited him onstage to do “2001.” He’s very active and we became like peanut butter and jelly – one of my best collaborators. When we started in the ‘60s, I was 17. There was a huge seven-year age gap. I wouldn’t know how to talk to him. That’s no longer an issue. Songs flowed easily.

Where’d the title of the album, Haih, come from?

 

It’s Shoshone Indian language for raven. I wanted to get a raven as a pet to best my cat, who thinks he’s the center of the universe. I was checking if it was possible to get a raven but I think they’re an endangered species. So I stated making jokes about the raven idea. When it comes down to putting together an album cover, I was watching the Lewis & Clark Expedition. And this Shoshone girl who was saving all these diaries had a father named Lightning Crow. So this got tied together and one day while playing in the States, I was joking about transforming into a raven – letting out a loud caw. The band was cracking up. So it became an identity. Ravens are so close to the magical and mysterious. It has a lot to do with Os Mutantes. The LP originally had a butterfly, but that didn’t have the punch of the raven.

Was Gilberto Gil a mentor?

 

He had the Brazilian traditionalist style whereas Os Mutantes were into rock and roll forged through Tropicalia and technology. In terms of contributions to the movement, he was more tropical sounding. Gil’s a genius and probably enabled me to do a song like “2000 E Agarrum” due to his influence. On the other hand, he now plays electric instead of acoustic. It’s like a marriage. Who influences more, the husband or wife?

How much of an influence were the Beatles?

 

Beatlemania was very strong in Brazil. First time I heard “I Want To Hold Your Hand,” I immediately cut my hair like theirs. I wanted to be a Beatle and was in love with their amazing music. George is my Beatle. It took five tries to watch Concert For George. I was sobbing. He was part of my life that went away. An artists’ life is hard, being bombarded with so much. People expect so much then suddenly you’re dust like George Harrison or Ray Charles. Why didn’t the world stop when Ray Charles died? He invented Soul. His rendering of the Beatles “Yesterday” and “Eleanor Rigby” were perfect. Paul Mc Cartney must’ve been on his knees thanking God for Ray bringing those songs to earth.  

Word has it your mother was a concert pianist. Did she put you on your musical path?

 

Yes. We were cradled on Classical music. She was one of the best pianists I ever heard. She was the first woman to write a concerto for piano and orchestra. My father was a great poet and tenor opera singer. So my brother and I were always surrounded by the greatest Sao Paolo musicians and their culture.

Has Brazil’s social system improved since the Sixties?

 

Business fixed a bunch of problems, but socially we still have forty years of catching up. We were in the Middles Ages for years. There’s no democracy. Just the legacy of a corrupt government. It’s ugly and awful to see the new generation deal with this. But for three generations, Brazil was basically shutdown. Brazil needs to be freer and more honest despite economic problems. Culturally, piracy and the internet have ruined the record industry – which stopped the monopoly of twenty people in Rio De Janeiro. They had determined what people listened to. But payola still exists. The legacy of Brazil needs to be revitalized. We have to regain our identity and pride. We cannot accept the image being shown of police shootings and political turmoil. The mess must be cleaned up or politicians will continue manipulating votes. The Sixties gave us small seeds of what things could’ve been like if we were more loving instead of egotistical.

 

?-John Fortunato