KWCW

If you’re like me, you probably hate “World Music” if only because it reminds of your dad’s friend who smells like bad herbal tea, owns every Gipsy Kings record and swears by his Starbucks compilations. However, to confuse Soul Jazz Records’ Tropicalia compilation with that nonsense is to make a grave mistake. Sure, it does look you’re your standard what–indigenous-music-is-hip-this-week fare: it features artists from a specific country (Brazil) at a specific time (1968), and is supposedly representative of a specific genre (Tropicalia). But, whereas most world music (read: shitty world music) purports to be singularly unpolluted by filthy western sonic imperialism, Tropicalia’s most distinguishing feature is its at times dizzying hybridity. It is world music in its true sense, incorporating such disparate elements as British garage and psychedelic rock, Afro-Cuban jazz, Bossa Nova, and American proto-funk.

Some background on Tropicalia as a genre: it lasted roughly a year, and was spearheaded by song-writing partners Gilberto Gil and Caetano Veloso, whose collective contributions form nearly half of Tropicalia’s twenty tracks. Tropicalia’s lyrics are (allegedly, I don’t speak Portuguese) politically charged with rhetoric against the fascist dictatorship then governing Brazil. Stylistically, it’s hard to pin down, but there are some common threads that run throughout the genre: dense and often cluttered instrumentation, unconventional song structures, and up-beat tempos. Tropicalia is, despite its political content, feel-good music for a summer pool party you will never be cool enough to attend.

Among the record’s strongest contributors is Psychedelic Bossa Nova monstrosity Os Mutantes. Lead singer Rita Lee lends the band’s tracks a sense of Nico-esque calm. Meanwhile, the band indulges in Sgt. Pepper studio trickery and guitar solos as face-melting as anything produced north of the Panama canal. The record’s two stand-out tracks, though, come from Caetano Veloso. “Alfômega” is a bass-driven Meters-funk jam superimposed on to a Latin rhythm, and “Tropicalia” is the song you’ll somehow be angry at yourself for not having heard earlier. Other significant contributions include Jorge Ben’s lethally infectious “Take It Easy, My Brother Charles,” Gliberto Gil’s “Procissão” and “Bat Macumba”. The only disappointment, here, is the inclusion of several sub-par Tom Zé tracks. Zé once said, “I don’t make art; I make spoken and sung journliasm,” a statement whose consequences are, unfortunately, quite evident in his contributions to Tropicalia. Perhaps, for linguistic reasons, I just don’t have access to the strength and depth of his lyrics, but I’ve yet to hear lyrics good enough justify the flaccid Ennio Morricone impression he does on “Jimmy, Rend-se”. His contributions, though, are mere blemishes on an otherwise overwhelmingly good record.

If you need an indie-rock credibility-endorsement to embrace this record, you’ve got as many as you want. Tropicalia has been a sort of cause celebre among crate-diggers and hipsters since the mid-eighties, when David Byrne professed to loving Caetano Veloso in interviews. Kurt Cobain once publicly requested that Os Mutantes reunite. Hell, I’m sure some guy from Ya La Tengo likes Gilberto Gil. If you need way to convince yourself that it’s okay to buy a “World Music” compilation, then just remind yourself there’s no way your dad’s Gipsy Kings-loving friend would dig these freaks. And it’s not world music, because world music sucks.

Matt

This entry was posted on Friday, March 3rd, 2006 at 10:26 pm and is filed under World. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.