Between the Staff Lines: Addressing Non-Musical Issues Through Music

A TRIP TO SALVADOR

A couple of months before moving to Sweden to start my master's studies I went on a trip to Salvador, Bahia. Salvador is known for having the highest proportion of Black residents among Brazilian state capitals.⁵¹, due to the large influx of enslaved people who arrived from Africa over several centuries in this city. This fact left a significant mark on the city's cultural life, which is considered, for instance, the capital of Candomblé. African heritage is evident in many aspects of life in Salvador, especially in the cuisine. Unlike other regions of Brazil, ingredients such as palm oil, okra, dried shrimp, coconut and pepper play a prominent role in local dishes. But what stands out most in Salvador is the cultural life, and more specifically the music. Having one of the biggest Carnival parties in Brazil, Salvador is the birthplace of world-renowned known groups like Olodum and Timbalada, which were responsible for preserving the African musical roots while creating new rhythms, markedly the samba-reggae⁵². These groups, like the escolas de samba in Rio de Janeiro, are true percussion orchestras, with dozens of members playing different percussion instruments such as surdo (three types of it), repique, timbal and tarol. Some of these groups, such as Filhos de Gandhi (Gandhi’s sons, in my translation), have a direct connection to the Candomblé tradition and musicality. 

It was during this trip that I took part in a very important festivity for the city: July 2nd, also known as the Independence of Brazil in Bahia. It is a civic parade with various groups of students, artists and workers who march through the main streets of the city, playing and dancing to celebrate the contribution of the people of Bahia to Brazil’s Independence. Several things stand out in this celebration for me. The first one is that Bahia’s crucial contribution to the process of Brazil’s independence is not a consensus from a historiographical point of view. The official history focuses the independence process on the southeastern region and on the figure of the Portuguese Emperor Dom Pedro I. However, it is clear how important this date is for the people of Salvador. This civic parade does not have the official top-down character of the parades that take place on Brazil's official Independence Day (September 7th). On the contrary, it is a true popular celebration, with the massive presence of Afro-descendants, youth, social movements and workers. Another notable aspect of this parade is the presence of fanfares, in which brass and wind instruments play a key role.

Two aspects left a strong mark on me from participating in this celebration: Realizing how rich and diverse the cultural life and the music created in Salvador are; and noticing the political awareness and resistance of the population in face of the official narratives that attempted to erase the contribution of Black people, women and the working class in the process of Brazil’s independence. These attempts of erasing the contribution of Indigenous and Afro-Brazilian people in many aspects of our culture, science and history is a remarkable fact inherited from the colonial times and still very strong in our society. These populations, when not directly attacked or marginalized, tend to be stereotyped and even fetishized. 

Looking back, I realize that this trip to Salvador had a strong influence on the music I developed during the master's program, as well as on the way I approached political, social, and environmental issues in my work.

THE CONCERT AS A RITUAL

Inspired by the role of music in Afro-Brazilian religions and by the richness of rhythms found in their ceremonies, I began developing the idea of the concert as a ritual. This happened precisely before my second semester concert, in the spring semester of 2024. I was curious to explore those rhythms and to compose with them, but I did not want to present them in a traditional concert form. I wanted the audience to immerse themselves in this music, having an experience that would go beyond mere aesthetic appreciation, bringing everyone to be part of a ritual. 

The drums in the traditions of Candomblé and Umbanda have the power to transport us to another state of consciousness. It is the sound of the drums, along with the chants sung collectively by the group, that evokes the orixás, guides, or spirits to manifest through the mediums (also called "horses," as they are believed to be ridden by these entities). It is important to point out that I had no intention of reproducing a Candomblé or Umbanda ceremony on stage, as it would be absolutely pretentious and even disrespectful of me to decontextualize the religions from their sacred spaces and practices. Nor did I intend to represent these religions, especially considering that, despite my great interest in their musical practices, I am not initiated into either of them. However, I aimed to bring this ritualistic aspect of music into my concert. I wanted the audience not to remain in a passive state of appreciation, but rather to feel internally moved and part of something greater. 

As previously described in the “Communication” and “Instrumentation” sections, for this concert I chose to work with a small percussion ensemble, incorporating instruments and sounds associated with Candomblé music⁵³, as well as with other Brazilian musical genres. At a certain point, I also played body percussion and sang chants dedicated to the orixá Xangô. Standing on stage without the guitar offered me a greater sense of physical freedom and enabled a more expressive use of my body. Furthermore, I employed poetry as a means to underscore the African cultural heritage present in Brazil and to help establish the scenic and ritualistic atmosphere I intended to evoke. The sustained cello drone served to lead the audience into a state of focused attention and meditation at the beginning of the performance. I also sought to use the acoustic guitar at certain moments as a percussive instrument, emphasizing the importance of rhythmic elements in my music.⁵⁴

In my third semester concert, in the autumn semester of 2024, I expanded the idea of the concert as a ritual by inviting the audience to interact directly with my music through an adaptation of the concept of circle singing. My proposal was, as a final musical piece, to give up all the instruments and invite the audience to sing with me. For logistical and spatial organization reasons, I did not organize the audience in a circle, as Bobby McFerrin and many other musicians and instructors usually do. Instead, I briefly explained the proposal to the audience and divided them into four different groups without asking them to move. I sang a simple first melodic line for the first group and repeated it several times with them, until they felt confident to continue on their own. Then I did the same with the second group, the third, and finally with the fourth group.

For creating and assigning these musical phrases, I had some ideas in mind:

1. Choosing one of the Brazilian rhythms I had practiced with my teacher Charles Raszl (in this case I chose ijexá);
2. Presetting a key (E major);
3. Creating very simple phrases in order to make them easy to sing, since the audience was heterogeneous, comprising musicians as well as individuals with no experience in singing or even in music;
4. Avoiding extreme high or low notes to prevent anyone from being left out;
5. Making it clear to the audience that anyone who found a part too difficult could sing one octave higher or lower (if they understood this concept and could make the transition on their own) or even switch to another group with a phrase that would make them feel more comfortable singing;
6. Treating the vocal harmony created as a foundation to sing a pre-chosen song, which was “Filhos de Gandhi” by Gilberto Gil.

In this way, I brought the concept of circle singing into my own world - the world of Brazilian rhythms and songs. I was able to blend preconceived ideas with a certain level of improvisation and risk, offering an interesting experience for the audience and, at the same time, a very enriching one for me. I felt truly entranced as I listened to all the voices together and sang with them. It was powerful and enjoyable. I received excellent feedback from my colleagues, highlighting how pleasurable and relaxing it was for them to simply sing together on a night when, for many moments, a high level of attention was required due to the complexity of the compositions and performances presented (we had two additional concerts that evening). 

I associate the state of flow achieved in that performance with the sensation we have when improvising freely or when deeply connected to our fellow musicians while playing together. I have experienced this sensation in many situations during my master's studies. This is one of my goals as a musician, being able to feel this way. When we are in the flow, the music sounds much better and there is an energy that the audience can feel and share. We can compare this state of flow in music to the spiritual experience of trance. This is precisely the point that connects my interest in the Afro-Brazilian religions with my craft as a musician.  

RECLAIMING THE COLLECTIVE ROLE OF MUSIC

In the history of Western music, particularly during the Romantic period, composers were elevated to an almost sacred status. They were regarded as geniuses with a direct connection to the divine, to the muses, and gradually distanced themselves from society, mastering increasingly complex techniques of composition and performance. As music started to be detached from collective contexts, it turned into a product of pure aesthetic and intellectual appreciation. Even today, the myth of the genius persists, creating a barrier between “ordinary” people and music-making. As a vocal and guitar teacher I have had countless experiences in which students of various ages came to me with a deep sense of fear toward the instrument, as if they were not capable of or even worthy of playing it simply because they did not belong to the realm of geniuses. My approach in these cases is always to try to find what about music makes that person feel joy and have fun. People do not need to be a genius (whatever this means) in order to sing, play an instrument, appreciate music and be happy with it. I also have this in mind when I elaborate a concert. 

My curiosity about body percussion - that led me to the classes with Charles Raszl and to bring this theme to my research scope - came from the fact that it is a very simple yet powerful tool to make music and to connect people. Anyone can clap, step and maybe produce some funny sounds with their mouth. Nevertheless, we do not see so many performers using those sounds on stage. Maybe they are considered too simple or too childish. But these features are exactly what I am looking for. The playful aspect. I want to show the public that you can make music using only your body, so music should not feel intimidating. It is for everyone. 

Some artists and groups that use these techniques and inspire me a lot are: Vanessa Moreno⁵⁵, Badi Assad, Barbatuques, and of course, Bobby McFerrin. For me, McFerrin is a perfect example of someone who is able to keep the playful aspect of music even when doing the most complex things. He once said: “I don’t like to think of myself as a performer, I like to think of myself as a singer who likes to hang out, have a party, a musical party, a musical feast of some kind.”⁵⁶ Vanessa Moreno, a young Brazilian singer and composer, is known for singing using a plastic bag as a musical instrument. She also brings a lot of techniques from body percussion to her performance. Hermeto Pascoal⁵⁷ is also known for making music with unexpected objects, such as a small plastic swimming pool. What I perceive in those artists, and in many others who I admire, is that they embody what my teacher Charles Raszl called in one of our classes “the pleasure impulse”. They are moved by the pleasure of making music and the audience feels that. They make their performance seem effortless (“Those who play never get tired”, Charles also said).⁵⁸ 

Inside the ceremonies of Candomblé and Umbanda, music has a function. In the Caboclinho celebration, music also has a function. In Carnival, music has a function. In all those contexts, the community is not only a passive listener but also active participants, playing instruments, singing, dancing, being part of the music-making. This is a shared characteristic of folk music across cultures worldwide. When I approach the concert as a ritual, I try to recall the collective role of music. When I invite the audience to sing with me in a circle song, I want everyone to feel they are part of the concert, and not only passive listeners.  After all, what is the point of making music if it is not for the sake of congregating with people? What is the reason that makes us want to learn an instrument when we are a child? What attracts us to music first? Is it a necessity of “showing off” abilities? Or is it the feeling of joy, of fulfillment, of expression, of communion? For me the answer is quite clear. 

BROADENING THE UNDERSTANDING OF BRAZILIAN POPULAR MUSIC

As a Brazilian musician living in a European country, I noticed that Bossa Nova is the first genre that comes to people’s minds when they think about Brazilian music. Of course, I get very proud when people come to me and talk about Tom Jobim and João Gilberto. They are also my idols. But I started to feel discomfort when realizing that many people still have an idyllic image of Brazil, as a place full of beautiful beaches, sexy women and colorful drinks, with a soft Bossa Nova song about boats, flowers and birds playing on the background. This does not at all represent our reality as a country. However, we must remember that there was an official effort of Brazilian authorities to sell to the world the image of a white, cosmopolitan, modern country through Bossa Nova. A tropical paradise with no racial or social conflicts. As part of this initiative, the Brazilian government funded a trip for several Bossa Nova musicians to New York in 1962. Renowned artists such as Tom Jobim, João Gilberto, and Vinícius de Moraes (who, in addition to being a musician, was also a diplomat) spent 10 days in the U.S., performing a celebrated concert at Carnegie Hall and forging key partnerships with recording labels and prominent jazz musicians. The impact of this investment can still be felt today, with Bossa Nova, 60 years later, remaining one of Brazil's main cultural export products. 

[Bossa Nova’s] origin, from the Rio de Janeiro middle class, also contributed to an organic capture by state agents, which favored the dissemination of the style in the US as a synthetic music that incorporated “native” and “modernizing” influences. This way, with financial, logistical and political support from the Brazilian government, through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the musicians benefited from privileged spaces that allowed them to foster important connections in the political field (with the most prominent example being the mentioned private concert for the president of the US and his family) as well as in the artistic and commercial fields.⁵⁹ 

In my opinion, the problem does not lie on the promotion of Bossa Nova itself as a cultural export product of Brazil. To me, Tom Jobim is one of the greatest popular composers of all time, João Gilberto was a true revolutionary performer and Baden Powell’s guitar playing is one of my biggest inspirations as a guitarrist. The problem lies in decontextualizing the genre from its real origins and erasing key figures in its creation and development. 

Johnny Alf, for instance - a Black and homosexual composer of poor origin who was Tom Jobim’s piano teacher and whom Jobim nicknamed 'Genialf' ('The Genius Alf') - was suddenly excluded at the last minute from the famous Bossa Nova musicians' tour in New York in 1962. According to the producer Nelson Valencia in an article for The New York Times in 2020, “There was a movement to promote Tom Jobim, who was rich, white, young, good-looking,” he said, and added that with Alf’s abilities, “maybe he was someone who could overshadow Tom Jobim.”⁶⁰

After numerous fruitful collaborations between Brazilian musicians and jazz artists, Bossa Nova eventually came to be regarded as just another form of jazz, which is a drastic oversimplification of its originality. Despite the undeniable and intricate relationship between the two genres, it is essential to emphasize that Bossa Nova originates from samba, a 100% Black and Brazilian musical genre.

Francesco Martinelli is an Italian professor and researcher in the history of jazz. We had a very interesting seminar with him at HSM in December 2024, in which he had the chance to talk about the music from the African Diaspora. An important information Martinelli provided in his seminar was about the transatlantic routes of the slave trade between 1600 and 1900. The number of people trafficked from Africa to America is estimated between 10 and 15 million. From this number of people, only 4% went to the US, while 40% went to Brazil and the rest went massively to the Caribbean and to other South American countries, such as Colombia. This fact contradicts the mainstream narrative that labels jazz as the music of the African Diaspora. As Martinelli said, when we think of “Afro-American musicians” we automatically think of a person from the US: Prince, Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, Duke Ellington. No one will say Gilberto Gil, from Brazil, or Bob Marley, from Jamaica. But in fact, we had much more African people coming to Caribbean and to South America than to the US, and they encountered relatively greater freedom to develop their African-rooted culture and music in catholic Spanish and Portuguese colonies in comparison to the Black populations living in the Southern US.⁶¹ 

How was jazz and history of jazz appropriated by white North-American historians and politicians in order to legitimize an “identity” trait and make viable a new imperialist discourse towards the poorer countries of South America during the 20th century? To whom this narrative interests?

We are in 2025, and Brazilian music abroad is still associated with the image created by the Bossa Nova musicians in New York in 1962. As a Brazilian artist living, studying, and performing outside my country, I feel a responsibility to show that even though Bossa Nova is undeniably important in Brazilian music’s history, we are much more than that. 

This is why I chose, for instance, to work more directly with Afro-Brazilian rhythms and use a lot of percussion on my concerts, stepping a little bit out of the classic jazz ensemble. This is also why I wanted to compose music inside other musical genres, such as baião, ijexá, and perré. I will for sure, as I did many times inside and outside the university, play Tom Jobim’s music. But I will also take the opportunity to play, for instance, the wonderful song “Eu e a brisa”, by Johnny Alf, and tell a bit of his story to the audience, as I did in my second mid-term examination. 

I will take the risk of exploring new fields, such as free improvisation, but I cannot forget that the music of my country, the music that has shaped me, comes from the drums of the enslaved people. Every artistic choice I take before my concerts is embedded with aesthetic and political concerns.  Race and coloniality became more than ever a lens that helps me understand my country and my place as a Brazilian artist in the world. 

LYRICS AND NEW THEMES

When taking a closer look at the lyrics of the songs I have composed over these two years of artistic research, some common threads easily emerge. These are new themes in my writing, awakened by the new experiences and insights I have had during this period.

The first of them is the theme of being a foreigner. In the song "Meu Lugar (My place)", I wrote about the experience of arriving in Gothenburg as a foreign student and musician, carrying all my artistic and emotional baggage, full of curiosity and expectation. There is also a description of a continuous process of self-discovery and identity search, understood here not as something tied to a specific place, but as something I carry within me wherever I go ("The crossing is what brings me / Closer to my harbor / Which is the whole wide world"). The theme of self-discovery and embracing new life experiences also appears in the song “Levando as horas (Carrying the hours)”, together with a melancholic feeling of loneliness.  

MEU LUGAR

Eu vim de longe pra cantar

Minha gente, meu lugar

E tudo o mais que apeteça

Eu cruzei pátria, rio e mar

Me perdendo pra me achar

Trazendo o sol na cabeça

Verso, voz e melodia

Tudo o que minha mãe dizia

Derramando na cidade

A beleza e a poesia

Perseguindo a liberdade

Como o pão de cada dia

Eu vou deixando florescer

Sigo atenta a aprender

Com quem cruzar meu caminho

A travessia é quem me traz

Pra mais perto do meu cais

Que é o mundo inteirinho

MY PLACE⁶²

I came from far away to sing
My people, my place
And everything else that pleases me

I crossed land, river, and sea
Losing myself to find myself
Bringing the sun in my head

Verse, voice, and melody
Everything my mother used to say
Pouring all over the city
Beauty and poetry
Chasing freedom
Like daily bread

I go letting flowers bloom
I follow, paying attention to learn
From those who cross my path

The crossing is what brings me
Closer to my harbor
Which is the whole wide world

LEVANDO AS HORAS

Levando as horas vou

Pr’onde o vento me guiar

Sem deuses ao meu dispor

Nem um ponto pra chegar

Dentro em mim a solidão

E o afã de procurar

Uma chama, um instante

E rios pra navegar

Levando as horas vou

Pr’onde o tempo apontar

Na trama do meu destino

Eu me perco a perguntar

Por que é que estou aqui?

Deve haver um algo mais

Ou o sentido da vida

É a vida e nada mais?

Na minha frente vejo o passado

E às minhas costas há um futuro

Mais eu vivo, mais percebo

O quanto o mundo é absurdo

Mais vale um pássaro na mão

Do que a floresta de pé

Liberdade pra cantar

Another central theme I explored throughout this thesis, which also emerged in a few of my songs, is the figure of the orixás from the Afro-Brazilian Candomblé tradition. They appear as symbolic figures representing human values or elements of nature. In the song “Canto pra Oyá (Chant for Oyá)”, the orixá Iansã - also known as Oyá - is portrayed as the force that seeks revenge on behalf of planet Earth, punishing environmental destruction, greed, and human cruelty. In “Chamego”, Yemanjá, the orixá of the seas, is invoked to bless a love story unfolding by the seaside, carried by the swinging rhythm of samba-reggae.

CANTO PRA OYÁ

Ah, me chama pra roda

Que se der na telha

Eu vou girar

Vou girar pra Oyá

Vou rezar para o mundo

Melhorar

Porque a coisa tá feia

O homem só quer saber

De explorar

E o povo sofrendo,

É fome e enchente

Pra aguentar

Justiça há de chegar

Sobre a terra e o mar

Oyá há de vingar

Toda a maldade

Ah, quando vão entender

Que pra humanidade perdurar

Há de se ter água pra beber

E ar pra respirar

E se o fogo insistir

Na floresta se alastrar

Pode ser que o amanhã

Não venha nos saudar

Sou filha de outro tempo

Fruto de toda a história

Seguindo os caminhos

Somos corpo e memória

CHANT FOR OYÁ

Ah, call me to the circle
If the mood strikes me
I’ll spin
I’ll spin for Oyá
I’ll pray for the world
To heal

'Cause things are looking grim
Man only wants
To exploit
While people suffer
It’s hunger and floods
To endure

Justice shall rise
Over earth and sea
Oyá will avenge
All the evil

Ah, when will they understand
That for humankind to last
There must be water to drink
And air to breathe

And if the fire
Keeps spreading through the forest
Tomorrow may not
Come to greet us

I’m a child of another time
Fruit of all history
Walking the paths
We are body and memory

CHAMEGO

Quando meus olhos fitam seu olhar

Sinto coisas que simplesmente

Não posso explicar

É sol, é sal, é luz

É vendaval

Água que brilha no mar

Meu presente de Iemanjá

Vem, comigo, meu chamego

Viver a vida, sem medo

Todos sabem que no amor

Tudo pode, tudo dá

Já não importa o que vão falar

Vamos juntos caminhar

Já abri meu coração

Se quiser é só entrar

CHAMEGO⁶³ 

When my eyes meet your gaze

I feel things I simply

Can't explain

It’s sun, it’s salt, it’s light

It’s a storm

Water that sparkles in the sea

My gift from Yemanjá

Come, with me, my love

Let’s live life, without fear

Everyone knows that in love

Anything is possible, everything works

It no longer matters what they’ll say

Let’s walk together

I’ve already opened my heart

If you want, just come in

Environmental concerns have also surfaced in my lyrics, reflecting recent events related to climate change, such as the 2024 floods in Rio Grande do Sul, resulting in hundreds of deaths and injuries, along with widespread destruction and material loss. The presence of this theme in my music also mirrors the discussions we had in several Seminars and Core Values classes, particularly those focused on the artist’s responsibility in addressing the urgent issues of our time. I was also inspired by the writings of Ailton Krenak, a Brazilian Indigenous leader, philosopher, writer, and environmental activist from the Krenak people.⁶⁴

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