Bossa Nova: The Story of the Brazilian Music That Seduced the World by Ruy Castro
Authors: Ruy Castro
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recorded with Trio Surdina. It was clear that Sylvinha would have a brilliant future at the microphone if her family—or rather, her father—would allow it. There would have been much more sea bass with avocado sauce had João and Sylvinha’s relationship not progressed to the point of dangerously resembling courtship, and Mário did not like it. According to social etiquette of the time, a friend’s sister was off-limits, and to try and court her was anathema.
João wasn’t concerned about etiquette, mainly because it appeared that Sylvinha returned his feelings, and they began a passionate affair. Mário broke off his friendship with him, and at this, João and Sylvinha glimpsed a clear road ahead. She began to accompany him everywhere, sometimes wearing her public school uniform, and witnessed the quarrel with Acyr at the Murray that caused his departure from Os Garotos da Lua.
However, although Mário was unable to put a stop to the forbidden relationship, old man Paulo broke it up a few months later, with the weight of his paternal authority, when João had the temerity to announce that he wanted to marry his daughter. As he suspected that he would be shown the door, João did not go to Rua Farani to ask for Sylvinha’s hand in person, he sent another frequent visitor to the house, the broadcaster Macedo Neto, in his place. Macedo listened to Mr. Paulo’s refusal and his invectives against João Gilberto, and even became the target of a few insults himself. Mr. Paulo would not allow his daughter to marry a down-and-out from Bahia, who was incapable of repaying even the smallest loan and who lived his life spongingoff others. Sylvinha was forbidden to continue her relationship with that “good-for-nothing,” and Mário took it upon himself to ensure that it remained that way.
Sylvinha knew that João Gilberto was trying to become someone. The two were still dating in August 1952, when the opportunity arose for João to record his first solo track. It would be with the new recording company Copacabana, and he was given the luxury of having a string section sweeten the harmonies of the group that was to back him. The group, in turn, featured the sensational Jorginho on alto sax, as well as the pianist Britinho and the accordionist Orlando Silveira, the composer of the arrangements. He could not complain.
For his grand debut, João Gilberto picked two
samba-canções
which were hot off the press: “Quando ela sai” (When She Leaves) by Alberto Jesus and Roberto Penteado, and “Meia Luz” (Half Light) by Hianto de Almeida and João Luiz. All the songs’ composers were young and frequented the Murray. The recording was done in an atmosphere of celestial peace—almost on the first try, without hesitations, mistakes, or repetitions. Those who attended would never have suspected that it was João Gilberto’s first recording without the support of a vocal ensemble. It was as if he had spent his entire life preparing himself for that moment, and when the moment arrived, his heart barely skipped a beat.
Unless the doctor’s watch had stopped. Listening to this João Gilberto recording, one encountered confidence personified. His calm superiority when singing reminded one of Orlando Silva in his heyday, when not even a fly in the studio would disturb the “singer of the multitudes.” But it wasn’t just that. Everything about these two tracks reminded one of Orlando Silva: the easy projection of his voice, the variance, the vibratos, his manner of emphasizing certain words, the “sentiment,” and, at certain times, even his voice itself—including Orlando’s smooth and rounded
rr
s. It was as if the older singer, who was at the time going through his worst personal and professional hell—no voice, no success and no acclaim—had finally found his double in a Bahian native from Juazeiro.
João Gilberto’s discographies, which usually start their listings with the 78 r.p.m.s containing “Chega de
João wasn’t concerned about etiquette, mainly because it appeared that Sylvinha returned his feelings, and they began a passionate affair. Mário broke off his friendship with him, and at this, João and Sylvinha glimpsed a clear road ahead. She began to accompany him everywhere, sometimes wearing her public school uniform, and witnessed the quarrel with Acyr at the Murray that caused his departure from Os Garotos da Lua.
However, although Mário was unable to put a stop to the forbidden relationship, old man Paulo broke it up a few months later, with the weight of his paternal authority, when João had the temerity to announce that he wanted to marry his daughter. As he suspected that he would be shown the door, João did not go to Rua Farani to ask for Sylvinha’s hand in person, he sent another frequent visitor to the house, the broadcaster Macedo Neto, in his place. Macedo listened to Mr. Paulo’s refusal and his invectives against João Gilberto, and even became the target of a few insults himself. Mr. Paulo would not allow his daughter to marry a down-and-out from Bahia, who was incapable of repaying even the smallest loan and who lived his life spongingoff others. Sylvinha was forbidden to continue her relationship with that “good-for-nothing,” and Mário took it upon himself to ensure that it remained that way.
Sylvinha knew that João Gilberto was trying to become someone. The two were still dating in August 1952, when the opportunity arose for João to record his first solo track. It would be with the new recording company Copacabana, and he was given the luxury of having a string section sweeten the harmonies of the group that was to back him. The group, in turn, featured the sensational Jorginho on alto sax, as well as the pianist Britinho and the accordionist Orlando Silveira, the composer of the arrangements. He could not complain.
For his grand debut, João Gilberto picked two
samba-canções
which were hot off the press: “Quando ela sai” (When She Leaves) by Alberto Jesus and Roberto Penteado, and “Meia Luz” (Half Light) by Hianto de Almeida and João Luiz. All the songs’ composers were young and frequented the Murray. The recording was done in an atmosphere of celestial peace—almost on the first try, without hesitations, mistakes, or repetitions. Those who attended would never have suspected that it was João Gilberto’s first recording without the support of a vocal ensemble. It was as if he had spent his entire life preparing himself for that moment, and when the moment arrived, his heart barely skipped a beat.
Unless the doctor’s watch had stopped. Listening to this João Gilberto recording, one encountered confidence personified. His calm superiority when singing reminded one of Orlando Silva in his heyday, when not even a fly in the studio would disturb the “singer of the multitudes.” But it wasn’t just that. Everything about these two tracks reminded one of Orlando Silva: the easy projection of his voice, the variance, the vibratos, his manner of emphasizing certain words, the “sentiment,” and, at certain times, even his voice itself—including Orlando’s smooth and rounded
rr
s. It was as if the older singer, who was at the time going through his worst personal and professional hell—no voice, no success and no acclaim—had finally found his double in a Bahian native from Juazeiro.
João Gilberto’s discographies, which usually start their listings with the 78 r.p.m.s containing “Chega de
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