Through an examination of the recording Gargalhada (pega na chaleira), a chansonnette sung by Eduardo das Neves, the origin of the expression 'pegar na chaleira' (bootlicking) is traced, while some inconsistencies in the online catalogue of the Instituto Moreira Salles are revealed. Probably recorded in 1906, six years before the establishment of the Odeon plant in Rio, the piece was labeled a lundu, a paradigmatically Afro-Brazilian genre, in the 1915–26 catalogues. The music and laughter that Neves appropriates for himself were created by George Washington Johnson, the first black star of early sound recording, and reused in other Casa Edison (Brazilian Odeon) recordings on sale from 1913 to 1919. But while the former North American slave ridicules himself in accordance with white stereotypes, the self-designated Creole stages a satire on the behavior of upperclass men in Rio de Janeiro. In this process, the coon song turns into its antithesis., unedited non–English abstract received by RILM] Um exame do fonograma Gargalhada (pega na chaleira), cançoneta por Eduardo das Neves, expõe a origem da expressão “pegar na chaleira” e revela incongruências nos critérios de catalogação online do Instituto Moreira Salles. Provavelmente datada de 1906, a gravação aparece como um “lundu” em catálogos comerciais de 1915–1926, e as mesmas ideias musicais foram reaproveitadas em outros registros sonoros da Casa Edison comercializados entre 1913 e 1919. A música e o gargalhar que Neves reaproveita foram criados por George Washington Johnson, o primeiro astro negro da gravação mecânica. Mas enquanto o ex-escravo norte-americano se auto-ridiculariza de acordo com estereótipos brancos, o autodenominado “crioulo” encena uma sátira ao comportamento masculino das classes dominantes do Rio. Neste processo, a coon song transforma-se na antítese do gênero.
African American Research Center, Library, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign
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Examines a variation of samba called pagode baiano in several peripheral neighborhoods of the city of Salvador. Dance parties organized around this genre provide the context for the affirmation of a racial identity discourse as well as the reterritorialization of 'easy women', 'dishonest and lazy people', jobless people, homosexuals, and blacks. Pagode reintegrates aspects of traditional African manifestations found in Brazil, such as dance, call-and-response song, and the emphasis on polyrhythm. It embraces a sub-altern gender (feminine) and sexuality (homosexual) and undermines the hegemony of the macho. It exists as a musical experience whose feelings are particular and shared amongst certain subjects. Musicians and the public share a language and a way of speaking about themselves and others that reveal an emergent, imperfect citizenship.
Considers the role of music, both symbolic and material, in screen representations of Rio de Janeiro since the 1950s. The music of Rio's streets and hillsides has played more than a mere supporting role in the cinematic representations of the city across the last half-century. Embracing samba, bossa nova, MPB, soul, funk, funk carioca (a local variant of Miami bass), and rap, the heterogeneous voices of Rio's soundscape have arguably shaped audiences' understanding and imagination of its cultural geography and social dynamic as much as the films' visual narratives and dramas. The author discusses some key examples spanning the last 50 years, from Nelson Pereira dos Santos's Rio, Zona Norte (Rio, North Zone, 1957) and Marcel Camus's Orfeu negro (Black Orpheus, 1959), to Carlos Diegues's remake Orfeu (Orpheus, 1999) and Fernando Meirelles and Kátia Lund's Cidade de Deus (City of God, 2002). Taking as his point of departure the mythical narrative of Orpheus, he explores the representation of popular music as a force for social redemption, regeneration, and reconciliation. He interrogates the interplay of different musical styles and idioms, such as samba and bossa nova, on screen, and challenges one of the common assumptions about shifts in style and sound: the idea that the harder soundtracks of most recent films (centering on rap and funk carioca) correspond to a necessarily more realistic and truthful representation of the city, as opposed to the allegedly sentimentalized depictions associated with the bossa nova-influenced scores of Orfeu negro and Rio, Zona Norte. In cinematic representations of the city, Rio's musical identity continues to be performed in a dialogue between tradition and innovation, the local and the diasporic, with no song style being more real than any other.
Explores the neighborhood-based samba practices of working class Afro-Brazilians during the festas juninas (June festivals) in Bahia, Brazil. In contrast to Bahia's famous Carnival, a recognized site for activism, the festas juninas appear apolitical, seeming to lack overt resistance to color-based inequities that persist in Brazil despite national discourses of mestiçagem (mixing) and racial democracy. In recent years, however, June samba has (re-)emerged as a means for marginalized people to assert belonging in June events and festival narratives from which they have been excluded. Their activism draws on tactics used by Bahia's Afrocentric activist carnival organizations, but with important differences. Most notably, rather than placing Africa at the center of their interventions, June samba participants express new notions of Black Bahian subjectivity through the critically informed embrace of local Afro-diasporic traditions—especially a recently recognized UNESCO masterpiece known as samba de roda—and more cosmopolitan musical sensibilities.
African American Research Center, Library, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign
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Throughout Brazil, Afro-Brazilians face widespread racial prejudice. Many turn to religion, with Afro-Brazilians disproportionately represented among Protestants, the fastest-growing religious group in the country. Officially, Brazilian Protestants do not involve themselves in racial politics. Behind the scenes, however, the community is deeply involved in the formation of different kinds of blackness—and its engagement in racial politics is rooted in the major new cultural movement of black music. In this account, the complex ideas about race, racism, and racial identity that have grown up among Afro-Brazilians in the black music scene are explored. The author immersed himself for nearly a year in the vibrant worlds of black gospel, gospel rap, and gospel samba in order to better understand racial identity and the social effects of music. Delving into the everyday music-making practices of these scenes, it is shows how the creative process itself shapes how Afro-Brazilian artists experience and understand their racial identities. The results challenge much of what some people thought they knew about Brazil's Protestants, provoking one to think in new ways about their role in their country's struggle to combat racism.
Examines aspects related to the plural constitution of Afro-descendants informed by black discursiveness in Salvador, Bahia. This discursiveness is strongly marked by the role of black music and by the history of Afro-descendant Carnaval. This essay shows that these subjects are a product of modernization and operate in it, while giving it a specific configuration. Social agents as reflexive audience play a decisive role in the review and criticism of such modernity, pluralizing it and pushing the boundaries of democracy and of representation politics, in their demand for recognition and changes. Music, as discursive production and as sociability experience, plays a key part in this process.
