Back from California Brazil Camp

I have returned from a week of music among majestic redwoods, clear waters and warm summer air of Cazadero. I’d gone two years ago, when my CD was just a glimmer of possibility, and it was nice to be back with a few accomplishments under my belt. Of course, getting ready to go up was a bitch and I was complaining, but as soon as I reached Cazadero all my cares evaporated and I was enveloped by choro, samba, frevo, bossa nova, jazz, forró, samba reggae and so many other beautiful Brazilian styles. Sitting in Marcos Silva’s ensemble, learning tricky lines along with the horn section and dancing samba during the solos, I felt a sudden wave of happiness wash over me. Ever since I was a child, nothing makes me quite as happy as the sound of a band tuning up and rehearsing. I took several dance classes, some drumming with Mark Lamson, and learned a bit more about playing pandeiro (unfortunately, as John Santos himself told me, it was in conflict with the other way I’d been taught).

Perhaps the most inspiring class was every afternoon with Guinga, the stellar Brazilian composer who speaks so humbly and philosophically about his art. I sang my tune Down in the Everglades for him with Vince Mansel on guitar and Robert Kyle on sax, and he adored it and loved my voice. Then I spent two days shedding his song Orassamba and performed it for the student concert Friday night with the marvelous Capital on guitar and Rebecca Kleinman on flute. I tried to make it my own, realizing that in doing so I bring my American style into the equation—I don’t sound like Elis Regina, that’s for sure. The audience loved it, and I think Guinga liked it, but later he told me in Portuguese that I should translate it to English, that my Portuguese was a little strange. But some other Brazilians complimented me on it, one saying that even Brazilians can’t sing that song. Who knows how much I butchered the language, but I certainly learned what every word meant and tried to interpret it. I’ve been thinking of how to translate it. It would be quite a feat. I also want to find a recording of it to see how other singers have done it.

I met some awesome musicians along with many old friends. Some of the new folks include a wonderfully rich-sounding tenor sax player named Robert Kyle from So. Cal., a percussionist originally from Santos, Brazil but now in San Diego named Marquinhos Pereira, the hilarious percussionist Bobby Wallace, saxophonist Zach Pitt-Smith from the Bay Area, and the incredible rockin’ mandolinist Hamilton from Brazil.

I feel so refreshed. For a week music was all, there was no world, no tragedy, no time, no phone, no computer, no work, no newspaper, no car, no television, no radio. The primary form of communication was music, spontaneously being created in jams and classes, on the “favela” deck, in tents, on paths, in dancing bodies, by the river.

Someone said on the last day, “wouldn’t it be great if we could live here all year, and form our own society?” I said, “Yeah, but eventually we’d have to form a government, and councils, and laws, and bureaucracy, and pretty soon we’d be condemning people to death by stoning…” Ah yes, back to reality. Goodbye, Cazadero!