Love and music

The last post was about food, so now it’s time for music. These are definitely my two passions ;)

And talking about passion, I never told you how me and my BF met. It was over three years ago, at another musician’s rehearsal at a London studio. He was there, tucked into the corner of a dilapidated sofa, quietly strumming his 7-string guitar. When we first started talking, he thought I was Portuguese. I wished he’d thought I was Brazilian but there was no way this paulistano* was going to take my attempted carioquês** for truly native… Oh well. It didn’t stop us from deciding to rehearse together with the view to maybe performing at some point. And believe it or not, it took us three months to take it to another level, although I still sometimes wonder whether this whole guitar trick wasn’t meant to seduce me in the first place. Bottom of the line is: it did, both romantically and musically; the latter is what I want to talk about.

A few guests appearances here and there, a number of intimate shows during our stay in Brazil, a performance in Prague… Little by little we were gaining ground. Winning London over is another kettle of fish, so we’ve been working really hard for the past year or so and finally it seems that all this effort is beginning to pay off. We’ve played at a few private events, wine tasting sessions, somewhere in Soho (but the place does not deserve attention so I won’t mention the name), and we are now getting regular gigs. Phew.

We decided to call our duo Polka Nova, which is a play on me being Polish and our main music style – bossa nova, as you might have figured out, served as the main course. We mix it with generous amounts of samba, lightly seasoned with some zesty jazz. See, I can’t even talk about music without thinking of food! It’s mostly covers of timeless classics and traditional songs that resonate with many Brazilians and non-Brazilians alike. But let me stop this babbling and let you get a taste (!) of our music on your own:

If you like it, then the next stop is to visit our facebook page and let us know by clicking the ‘like’ button. I will love you for this eternally. www.facebook.com/PolkaNovaLondon

And if you get so excited as to want to follow us on Twitter as well, we are here:

https://twitter.com/PolkaNovaLondon

Ok, done with this advertising!

* paulistano is someone who lives in the city of São Paulo, as opposed to the state of São Paulo; then it’s paulista

**accent from Rio de Janeiro 

Not suitable for vegetarians

After such a bloody long break, it’s hard to decide what to write about as it should be something that would justify the prolonged silence. My last post was hardly even a proper one – promise I’ll try harder. It is just that since coming back from Brazil (2 years ago!), nothing has impressed me so much as to make me want to write about it. I’m not saying all Brazilian things are better back there, but many of them are and no matter how hard we try, what we get here in London is only a substitute. Take Brazilian food. No bar or restaurant run by Brazilians themselves on the ‘terra da rainha’ (= the land of Queen Elizabeth, as they often call the UK) can compare with churrascarias* across the Atlantic. Although there is one that tries very hard. 

Being Brazilian, my BF gets meat cravings from time to time (ok, let’s not be diplomatic – often!) and it’s not enough to fry up a mountain of steaks; he wants real meat. By real he means proper Brazilian beef, prepared in a traditional way. I’m a meat-lover myself and I remember that what I had back in Brazil did not resemble the stiff, dry shoe-sole British beef usually becomes when you try to fry or roast it.  No, no, no. Brazilian meat literally melted in my mouth, inundating my taste buds with a flood of luscious meat juices mixed with delectably sizzled fat.  I am so getting hungry just thinking about it.

Source: http://redemeridional.liveradio.com.br/radio/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/picanha-1.jpg

Anyway, pra matar a saudade** of the ‘real meat’, we go to Rodizio Preto. There are a few in London, but we’ve been to the one in Shaftsbury Avenue, several times now. I’m not going to start praising them to the stars, but those guys know their business. The buffet offers an impressive choice of fresh salads, rice, beans, even feijoada*** itself. You could easily just eat the buffet food and be happy, but, frankly, that would be plain foolish. The meats that the waiters serve come in good quality and quantity – basically every few minutes someone turns up next to your table with another juicy cut. And the best thing is, you can actually ask them to bring you what you want. Picanha, maminha, lombo, costela de carneiro**** - they serve up to 15 different kinds of meat! 

Source: http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/02/7e/2e/d4/spits.jpg

I always finish off with corações de frango*****. I’ve loved them ever since I tried them at another Brazilian churrascaria in London years ago; soft, yet crispy, with plenty of flavour.

Source: http://culinaria.culturamix.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/196-300x450.jpg

There are, of course, plenty other venues where you can have meats served in the traditional Brazilian way, but choose wisely. You choices will, in most cases, be limited to the following: the wrong kind of meat, meat left to roast forever until it becomes dry, meat served every half an hour at best (apparently Rodizio Rico have a policy of purposely not serving meat too often…), poor choice at the buffet, unfriendly waiters. Been there, done that. I stick to Rodizio Preto. £19.90 may seem like a lot, but when you compare it with just about any main course at a good London restaurant, you’ll understand that you’ll be better off paying a few quid more for the ability to sink your teeth into prime beef (and other meats) WITHOUT limit. And if anyone from the restaurant happens to be reading this, please sponsor me :D. Rsrsrsrsrrsrsss…******

Source: Groupon 

*restaurants serving freshly prepared meat without limit

** an idiom literally meaning ‘to kill the longing’; so when you miss something or someone, you will try to ‘matar a saudade’ by doing that thing or being with that person, if that makes sense…

*** you will find an explanation here: http://thebraziliandream.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/reality-bites.html

****different kinds of meat, will explain in a separate post

*****chicken hearts

******a Brazilian equivalent of ‘hahahaha’ in written slang (consider the fact that initial ‘r’ is pronounced almost as the /h/ sound and you’ll understand)

Só canto samba (e bossa nova)

I can’t believe I actually didn’t write anything for the whole of 2013! I had a few ideas but there was so much going on in my professional life that blog writing was the last thing on my mind. Originally, 'the Brazilian dream' was meant to tell the story of my time in Brazil, but my everyday life in London is still very much “Brazilian”. As my BF is from São Paulo, I speak more Portuguese than my mother tongue to the point where I’ve begun mixing them up. Not surprisingly, my mind thinks Portuguese is on the same priority level as Polish and if you woke me up in the middle of the night I am not really sure which one I would speak, given that I also teach English…

Linguistic confusion aside, musically I can’t get more Brazilian than through samba and bossa nova; the two genres that identify my singing style. So folks, here’s a glimpse of what I do, never mind that I’m revealing my identity once and for all. Anonymous blog writing is so 2013…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewkM7_xFZQ8

Feel free to post your comments here or under the video on youtube. 

P.S. The title of the post vaguely alludes to "Só danço samba", a bossa nova (!) classic by Antônio Carlos Jobim

All that glitters in not gold

I got in quite by chance. I found out about the auditions through our samba school. Shall I be a dancer or a drummer? I pondered... At the school I was neither - I sang. I'd done some dance classes so I was pretty certain I could shake it. Not sure if I'd dare in front of the supposed 8 billion. Scrapped. As for drumming, I'd had literally one bateria class. Oh well, I've nothing to lose! Shake it, shake it, shake it, shhh-k-chk, shhh-k-chk, shhh-k-chk... I went for chocalho* because I discovered that playing it was quite similar to playing the "egg" - a small shaker that I had already mastered. Only a hundred times faster and with both hands.

And there I was, suddenly part of the 80-strong bateria, rehearsing twice a week for god knows how many hours in some horrid warehouse with acoustics that reminded me of Heathrow Airport during rush hour. Having to put up with delays, misconceptions, lack of organisation... and the worst sandwiches London had ever seen. All because I wanted to perform at the Olympics Closing Ceremony, representing Brazil during the 8 minutes generously assigned to the Rio Flag Handover team. Of course I was excited. It was going to be BIG, they told us, the whole world would be watching this greatest ceremony on earth.  

 

At every rehearsal I learned something new. How big the stage would be. Where we would stand. How many steps left, how many steps right. What great an honour it was. That our costumes would be golden. And our faces. That we would wear these huge drums over our heads. Hmmm... drummers with drums before them and drums above them.  Movements restricted by harnesses and antlers. Still expected to smile and dance (and play the drums!).

    Hanging around aimessly in plain sunshine duirng one of the final rehersals. Patience. 
 

I learned that people from various samba schools could play together and have fun.

With guys from Portela, one of the oldest samba schools in Rio de Janeiro  

 

I learned the meaning of the word volunteer (and wasn't impressed). Once I even learned, 2 weeks before the show, that I wasn't on the list anymore. They had taken in more people than needed in case some dropped out. I DIDN’T drop out. My name was just thrown out like a useless prop. Welcome to showbusiness.

 

My tears hadn’t dried when I got a call from the team congratulating me that I was back on the show. No joke. Pride in my pocket, I dragged myself to Dartford again and again, and then to Daggenham. Put on the harness. Check. Put on the golden costume. Check. Golden make-up. Check. Antlers. Check. The crown. Check. The drum. Check. Chocalho in hand. Check. There was only one occasion to see the Olympics stadium from the perspective of a performer and I didn’t want to miss it.

On our way to the stadium

 

And here's the video from the moments leading up to the show:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QfpqdxO1LVw

 

Try squeezing 8 weeks into 8 minutes. What do you get? Three seconds of excitement before they say “go” and a feeling you watched it all fast forward in HD and with lots of fireworks.   Boom, boom, done. My memory of that night includes switching the effing drums with someone next to me, just before the show, because they were all numbered and were going to light up in a special order; queuing nervously at the starting line waiting for the signal, that one second I caught a glimpse of Marisa Monte singing, and walking off the stadium.

Seconds before going in....

 

Good job they allowed us all back in when the official ceremony finished to celebrate with everyone who’d participated throughout the night and the medallists who joined the dancing crowd. Suddenly, the pressure now gone, I forgot all about the blood, sweat'n'tears that were the inextricable part of the preparation for the Olympics. I forgot, for that bit, about the frustration of hanging around aimlessly for hours on end before we got to practise, sweating in our golden attires and having to fight for our ancient right to have a cup of tea (and I mean fight!).  I didn’t feel the weight of the drum that kept bouncing off another drummer’s, the antlers didn’t bother me anymore, my gold-painted face didn’t itch. Shaking my chocalho tirelessly, absolutely elated, I was overcome by the ultimate sense of accomplishment. But the best thing of all was doing it with a bunch of really cool people who, like me, love Brazilian culture. Thank you fellow drummers and RFH participants. It was worth it.
 

 Pure bliss...

As for the show itself, it's not for me to judge, 'cause I didn't see it! You can't have a cake and eat it, eh, so I'm only catching up on it now. If you want a reminder of how it was, we start at 7 minutes into the video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iY6-TEOUwBQ

Source unknown or rather forgotten, but all rights (of the rightful owners) reserved.

 * a large powerful shaker made of wood or metal with a number of steel jingles

A Brazilian Dream... in London

London life indeed did suck me in (hope you enjoyed the silence). But if you think I’ve given up on my Brazilian Dream, think again. I am living it, every day, here under the grey sky, where the weather is cold and the beer is warm.

My BF finally came to the UK, 3 months after my return (!), and he is here is to stay. In the UK I mean, and hopefully by my side. And no, we didn’t have to marry.  He would have it stamped on his forehead that he is now Portuguese as well, if he could. That’s why it took so bloody long! So, I now speak Portuguese more than my mother tongue* (I even dream in Portuguese, for those of you who’ve asked me about it) or even English, and my exploration of Brazilian music has gained new heights. We rehearse regularly (did I ever say he’s a flippin’ good guitarist?), that is, if we manage to find time in our crazy, mutually exclusive timetables.

I continue to sing with Paraíso Samba School, doing gigs at least once a month**; not that it’s terribly creative – those enredos really are repetitive, mas uma coisa é*** – it’s good fun! I may come home nearly deaf, having stood next to the bateria during the show, hardly being able to hear my own thoughts, let alone my voice, but there seems to be a direct link between the intensity of rhythmic drumming and the level of endorphins in my brain. That’s why I do it. Oh, and also so that I can say I belong... Hey, you will surely agree that passing all these delirious crowds at the Notting Hill Carnival, waving at them while trying not to drop the mic, and basically giving it all, is not something you do every day. OK, I do it every year (this was my 3^rd time) and I am still not bored.

Photo by bellaphon

Can it get more Brazilian than parading in the carnival? Yes it can. Taking part in the Olympics closing ceremony beats it. Damn hard. And frankly, that deserves a separate post. Promise! A little teaser beneath, but what I want to say is – you will now be hearing news from Brazilian London. One thing though; I will be absolutely subjective, partial, biased and frank. If something deserves my praise, it will get it, if it’s below any standards, I won’t think twice about tearing it to pieces. You’ve been warned.

*Polish

**usually at Guanabara, the next one is this Saturday! http://www.paraisosamba.co.uk/events/

***one of my BF’s favourite phrases, which simply means “one thing for sure”

That Paulistan feeling

I’ve been back from Brazil for over two months now and the memories of my 4-month-long trip really seem like a dream... It looks like London life has sucked me in and is determined to keep its clutch on me with the cold, wet and jobless reality. My BF still in São Paulo (according to the latest news, he should be coming back to London in three weeks’ time, yay!), I have to resort to browsing through my facebook photo albums to remind myself that it all really happened. And my saudade is not just about him, it is, strangely enough, about the city, too. Just the other night I had a dream that I was going to perform as a singer with a group right there, in São Paulo. I woke up disappointed it wasn’t true. But then again, who knows; maybe someday!

Is it indeed that strange that I should miss Sampa, as it’s colloquially called? A city with lines of cars longer than from here to the moon, more rain in a week than London had this April (and trust me, it was a lot) and thousands of skyscrapers in an apparent fight for the last bits of sunshine, like thirsty plants in this urban jungle. I remember when, on my first, four-day-long, visit to this city, I asked my host: “So what is the landmark? Where is that place that everybody instantly recognises as pertaining to São Paulo, where people meet, the heart?” He seemed puzzled. What, no Paulistan Big Ben? I silently wondered. No Eiffel Tower? Not to mention Cristo Redentor. Let’s not even go there (there is a fierce competition between SP and Rio de Janeiro that I will talk about a bit later). I just couldn’t believe there isn’t anything characteristic that would help me create a mental image of São Paulo by means of just one token. “Avenida Paulista is quite famous” my friend didn’t give up. Right, a big street that runs through the whole city like a pulsating vein, never stopping pumping more traffic in and out of its borders. That didn’t even come close to meeting my expectations of this specific something.

I discovered what it is during my second trip which was ten times longer. It’s just not where I was looking for it. You know, with such Rio it’s easy; the overwhelming statue welcomes you from the top of the hill with its arms wide open (and says goodbye in much the same candid manner), the extreme heat hits you in the face right after you get off the plane, and walking along the ridiculously and undeservingly famous Copabana beach is bound to leave you with sunburn you won’t quickly forget. With SP, things are rather intangible. Relatively far from the sea, much colder and flat as an ironing board, it doesn’t have much to offer. At the first glance. But it’s enough to start walking the streets to notice. Or to feel, I should say. And four days are not enough to discover what I’m talking about. You need to come, take a bus, visit the MASP, gorge a coxinha*, get lost, lose your flip-flop when running in the sudden downpour, have a cold Brahma in a corner bar or dig into a feijoada after a roda de choro on a Saturday afternoon, get stuck in a traffic jam with a full bladder, leave for a party at 1AM and be sure you’ll still get there before the show starts, have another beer, chat with a taxi driver, watch at least one episode of Ratinho**, have a shot of cachaça to recover from the shock, see your friends play a gig with more swing than all your dance and music teachers put together, visit Museu da Lingua Portuguesa, sink your teeth into an indecently ripe mango and let the juices run down your chin, have one more beer, find out what guioza, hashi and shoyu mean, see live samba somewhere in Vila Madalena, eat in a kilo bar, forget what time of the year it is... and then we’ll talk. For the time being, enjoy this HD video (not mine) with views of the city and please, please, ignore the extremely naive music.

*a kind of pastry filled with shredded chicken (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coxinha)

**Programa do Ratinho, a Jerry-Springer-type TV show for the dumb masses

Aprenda a língua com música!

Olha que coisa mais linda
Mais cheia de graça
É ela menina
Que vem e que passa
No doce balanço, a caminho do mar

If you are one of those lucky ones able to understand those words (from "Garota de Ipanema" by Tom Jobim), don't bother reading the rest as this post is not meant for you. If, however, you're dying to find out what they mean and using google translator just doesn't do it for you, you've come to the right place. 

Why? Well, having brushed up on my Portuguese which is now more fluent than ever, with fresh colloquialisms and a myriad new expressions picked up straight from the streets, bars, clubs and educated daily conversations in Brazil, I am offering language classes. They're not just your regular (i.e. boring) repetitions of grammar or memorizing lists of words. No, no, no, no. The lessons I am now offering are a skilful combination of the language and... music. 

Senhoras e senhores, what some of you have been dreaming of - learning Portuguese through songs! This may come as a surprise to some, but I am actually a fully trained and experienced language teacher. So, it doesn't have to be the Girl from Ipanema we'll be working on, but any song in (Brazilian) Portuguese you like (I unwillingly accept even Ai se eu te pego, if that tickles your fancy) and soon you will not only be able to understand your the lyrics, but even hold a proper conversation with your Brazilian friends.  No miracles though.    If you don't do your homework, don't expect to suddenly start chatting like a carioca or a paulista (mineiro/baiano/pernambucano, etc.). 

The reason why I am offering this kind of classes (apart from the obvious), is that you learn the language a lot faster with music, as you will unconsciously repeat the melody in your head, which is bound to solidify words and idioms in your memory. This is how I learned Portuguese and I can assure you, it works. 

Interested? Drop a line at: portuguesethroughsongs@gmail.com

Mind you, the lessons are available in London only!

P.S. For any Brazilians out there who read the post anyway, pssst, I also give English classes.