I was sorry to hear Sara Tavares (who I’ve written about on here before) had passed away yesterday. She had been diagnosed with a brain tumour a decade ago, but, as I understand it, had recovered. It seems to have come back recently, which I wasn’t aware of and I was shocked to hear she was dead.
Forty five is no age, and it’s a great loss to music. I hadn’t realised previously that she was also a former eurovision entrant, as well as all those awards and collaborative projects. She really achieved a lot.
Translation time! This song is fantastic and I love it. I first heard it as a small segment, used as the theme for a podcast called Assim se faz Portugal, hosted by Maria Rueff. the singer, Fausto Bordalo Dias, known simply as Fausto, is a well-regarded artist who has been making music for decades and is still going. He released his first album 5 years before the end of the dictatorship and soon after was drafted into the colonial war in Guinea, but he was a conscientious objector, and he went on to be active politically. And it really shows in this song, from a 1977 album called Madrugada dos Trapeiros (Dawn of the ragpickers).
The song is structured using the idea of a folk dance called a Roda or “Baile Mandado” (guided dance – you can see an example here, which gives you a better idea of what the song is building on), where everyone has their place and they’re being given instructions, but instead of dance steps, what’s happening is the usual round of the poor being oppressed because they are ruled by people from a different class who don’t share their values, but “o baile vai terminar” and I guess there’s a parallel between mandador (The person who calls the intructions at the dance) and the boss, going on in the first verse especially
Portuguese
English
Senhoras e meus senhores, façam roda por favor Senhoras e meus senhores, façam roda por favor, cada um com o seu par Aqui não há desamores, se é tudo trabalhador o baile vai começar. Senhoras e meus senhores, batam certos os pézinhos, como bate este tambor Não queremos cá opressores, se estivermos bem juntinhos, vai-se embora o mandador Vai-se embora o mandador
Ladies and gentlemen, Form a circle please Ladies and gentlemen, Form a circle please Each one with their partner There are no heartbreaks here If everything is working The dance will begin Ladies and gentlemen Stamp your feet right in time to this drum We don’t want oppressors here If we’re getting on well together The boss can leave The boss can leave
Faz lá como tu quiseres, faz lá como tu quiseres, faz lá como tu quiseres Folha seca cai ao chão, folha seca cai ao chão Eu não quero o que tu queres, eu não quero o que tu queres, eu não quero o que tu queres, Que eu sou doutra condição, que eu sou doutra condição
Do what you like Do what you like Do what you like The dead leaf falls to the ground The dead leaf falls to the ground I don’t want what you want I don’t want what you want I don’t want what you want Because I’m from a different class Because I’m from a different class
De velhas casas vazias, palácios abandonados, os pobres fizeram lares Mas agora todos os dias, os polícias bem armados desocupam os andares Para que servem essas casas, a não ser para o senhorio viver da especulação Quem governa faz tábua rasa, mas lamenta com fastio a crise da habitação E assim se faz Portugal, uns vão bem e outros mal
From old empty houses, abandoned palaces The poor make homes But now every day The well-armed police Clear the floors What are those houses good for If not for the gentry To live off speculation Whoever governs makes a blank slate But deeply regrets the housing crisis And thats how it goes in Portugal Some do well and others badly
Faz lá como tu quiseres, faz lá como tu quiseres, faz lá como tu quiseres Folha seca cai ao chão, folha seca cai ao chão Eu não quero o que tu queres, eu não quero o que tu queres, eu não quero o que tu queres, Que eu sou doutra condição, que eu sou doutra condição
Do what you like Do what you like Do what you like The dead leaf falls to the ground The dead leaf falls to the ground I don’t want what you want I don’t want what you want I don’t want what you want Because I’m from a different class Because I’m from a different class
Tanta gente sem trabalho, não tem pão nem tem sardinha e nem tem onde morar Do frio faz agasalho, que a gente está tão magrinha da fome que anda a rapar O governo dá solução, manda os pobres emigrar, e os emigrantes que regressaram Mas com tanto desemprego, os ricos podem voltar porque nunca trabalharam E assim se faz Portugal, uns vão bem e outros mal
So many people without work They don’t have bread or sardines And they don’t even have a place to live They wrap up against the cold Because people ate so thin Raging with hunger The government gives a solution It tells the poor to emigrate And the emigrantes that returned But with so much unemployment The rich can return because they never work And thats how it goes in Portugal Some do well and others badly
Faz lá como tu quiseres, faz lá como tu quiseres, faz lá como tu quiseres Folha seca cai ao chão, folha seca cai ao chão Eu não quero o que tu queres, eu não quero o que tu queres, eu não quero o que tu queres, Que eu sou doutra condição, que eu sou doutra condição
Do what you like Do what you like Do what you like The dead leaf falls to the ground The dead leaf falls to the ground I don’t want what you want I don’t want what you want I don’t want what you want Because I’m from a different class Because I’m from a different class
E como pode outro alguém, tendo interesses tão diferentes, governar trabalhadores Se aquele que vive bem, vivendo dos seus serventes, tem diferentes valores Não nos venham com cantigas, não cantamos para esquecer, nós cantamos para lembrar Que só muda esta vida, quando tiver o poder o que vive a trabalhar Segura bem o teu par, que o baile vai terminar
And how could anyone else, having such different interests, Govern the workers? If that guy who lives well Living off his servants has different values They don’t come to us with songs, We don’t sing to forget We sing to remember That this life only changes When power is held by Those who live to work Hold your partner tight Because the dance is about to end
Faz lá como tu quiseres, faz lá como tu quiseres, faz lá como tu quiseres Folha seca cai ao chão, folha seca cai ao chão Eu não quero o que tu queres, eu não quero o que tu queres, eu não quero o que tu queres, Que eu sou doutra condição, que eu sou doutra condição
Do what you like Do what you like Do what you like The dead leaf falls to the ground The dead leaf falls to the ground I don’t want what you want I don’t want what you want I don’t want what you want Because I’m from a different class Because I’m from a different class
I saw this in the same compilation as yesterday’s. The style is a bit lighter. The singers are Fernando Maurício (left) and Francisco Martinho (right). For me, the best thing is the staring match between the guy on the portuguese guitar and the guy on the vanilla guitar. Neither of those lads is backing down.
The song seems to date from the thirties or forties, when a song with a similar name – A Casa da Mariquinhas – was written by João Silva Tavares and sung by Alfredo Marceneiro. It tells the story of a house with shutters on the windows, which we are meant to understand is a brothel, and it was so popular it inspired a whole lot of similar songs about whorehouses. This is one, and it talks about the auction held after the closure of the house. Oh no! So I’ve listened to the sequel without hearing the original!
There’s a lot more background on this page if you want to know more.
Portuguese
English
Ninguém sabe dizer nada Da formosa Mariquinhas* A casa foi leiloada Venderam-lhe as tabuinhas
Nobody knew how to say anything About the beautiful Mariquinhas The house was auctioned They even sold the shutters
Ainda fresca e com gajé Encontrei na Mouraria A antiga Rosa Maria E o Chico do Cachené Fui-lhes falar, já se vê E perguntei-lhes de entrada Pela Mariquinhas, coitada
Still cool and with swagger I met in the Mouraria Old lady Rosa Maria And Chico do Cachené I went to speak to them, as you see And asked them right away About poor Mariquinhas
Respondeu-me o Chico: E vê-la? Tenho querido saber dela Ninguém sabe dizer nada As outras suas amigas A Clotilde, a Júlia, a Alda A Inês, a Berta, a Mafalda E as outras mais raparigas Aprendiam-lhe as cantigas As mais ternas, coitadinhas Formosas como andorinhas Olhos e peitos em brasa Que pena tenho da casa Da formosa Mariquinhas!
And Chico replied: And to see her? I was wanting to know about her Nobody knew how to say anything Her other friends Clotilde, Júlia, Alda Inês, Berta, Mafalda And some other girls They learned her songs The most tender ones, poor things Beautiful as swallows Eyes like black coals I feel such pity for the house Of beautiful Mariquinhas
Então o Chico apertado Com perguntas, explicou-se A vizinhança zangou-se Fez um abaixo-assinado Diziam que havia fado Ali, até madrugada E a pobre foi intimada A sair; foi posta fora E por mor duma penhora A casa foi leiloada
Then Chico, eager To ask questions, explained The neighbourhood got angry And started a petition They said there was fado There until the small hours And the poor woman was summoned To leave; she was put out And for the sake of a foreclosure The house was auctioned
O Chico fora ao leilão Arrematou a guitarra O espelho, a colcha com barra O cofre-forte e o fogão
Chico, outside the auction Bid for the guitar The mirror, the striped duvet The safe and the stove
Como não houve cambão Porque eram coisas mesquinhas Trouxe um par de chinelinhas O alvará e as bambinelas E até das próprias janelas Venderam-lhe as tabuinhas
Since there was no change because they’re trivial things He took a pair of slippers The license and the awning And from the windows themselves They sold him the shutters
Mariquinhas seems to be a woman’s name here, but generally speaking mariquinhas is a diminutive of maricas, meaning sissy or effeminate, so probably to be used with care.
The lyrics of this one remind me of X-Ray Spex: the idea that consumer society means everything – and everybody – is plastic and disposable. I can’t say I enjoyed it as much as X-Ray Spex, unfortunately, but each to their own. Chiclete is one of those annoying words that’s feminine in European Portuguese and masculine in Brazilian Portuguese. I think “Pastilha Elástica” is a more common way of describing chewing gum, but I guess it doesn’t sound as good in the song, so here we are!
Portuguese
English
E como tudo o que é coisa que promete A gente vê como uma chiclete Que se prova, mastiga e deita fora, sem demora Como esta música é produto acabado Da sociedade de consumo imediato Como tudo o que se promete nesta vida, chiclete
And like everything promising We see it like a chiclet That can be tasted, chewed and thrown away without delay Like this song is a finished product Of a consumer society Like everything promising in this life, chiclet
E nesta altura e com muita inquietação Faço um reparo e quero abrir uma excepção Um casse-tete* nunca será não, chiclete Pra que tudo continue sem parar Fundamental levar a vida a dançar Nesta vida que tanto promete, chiclete
And right now, and with a lot of agitation I make a correction and I want to make an exception It will never be a puzzle, chiclet So that everything continues without stopping It’s essential to go through life dancing In this life that promises so much, chiclet
E como tudo o que é coisa que promete A gente vê como uma chiclete Que se prova, mastiga e deita fora, sem demora Como esta música é produto acabado Da sociedade de consumo imediato Como tudo o que se promete nesta vida, chiclete
And like everything promising We see it as a chiclet That can be tasted, chewed and thrown away without delay Like this song is a finished product Of a consumer society Like everything promising in this life, chiclet
I’m in a translation mood again, and this one is a more traditional number: Lisboa, Menina e Moca by legendary fadista Carlos do Carmo. It’s pretty well known, and I hear it very often, so this is one of those songs to be aware of. The title is literally “Lisbon, Girl and Young Woman”, and he’s basically talking to the city as if it it was a girl and he was trying to – as the young folk say – rizz it up. It strikes me as a tiny bit cringe, but maybe that’s my cultural perspective. Let’s dive into the lyrics and see what it’s like. The version I’ve chosen is from an appearance on The Voice Portugal, and it’s notable because he breaks off part-way through to tell the young people in teh audience to stop clapping because it’s fado, not rock, which is a classic old dude move. That’s enough of your malarkey, Jack!
Portuguese
English
No Castelo ponho um cotovelo Em Alfama descanso o olhar E assim desfaço o novelo de azul e mar Á Ribeira encosto a cabeça Almofada da cama do Tejo Com lençóis bordados à pressa na cambraia dum** beijo
I put one of my elbows on the castle I rest my gaze on the Alfama And like that, I undo the knot* of blue and sea I lean my head on the Ribeira The pillow on the bed of the Tejo With hastily-embroidered sheets, in the cambric of a kiss
Lisboa, menina e moça***, menina Da luz que os meus olhos vêem, tão pura Teus seios são as colinas, varina**** Pregão que me traz à porta, ternura Cidade a ponto-luz, bordada Toalha á beira-mar, estendida Lisboa, menina e moça, amada Cidade mulher da minha vida
Lisboa, girl and woman, girl By the light my eyes see, so pure Your breasts are he hills, sea lady The call that brings me to the door, tenderness CIty with points of light, emroidered Towel by the seashore, stretched out Lisbon, girl and woman, loved City, woman of my life
No Terreiro eu passo por ti Mas na Graça eu vejo-te nua Quando um pombo te olha, sorri, és mulher da rua E no bairro mais alto***** do sonho Ponho um fado que soube inventar Aguardente de vida e medronho******, que me faz cantar
On the Terreiro, i pass by you But in Graça, I see you naked When a pigeon sees you, it smiles, you are a woman of the road And in the highest suburb of the dream I give you a fado that I knew how to invent Brandy made of life and fruit that makes me sing
Lisboa no meu amor, deitada Cidade por minhas mãos, despida Lisboa, menina e moça, amada Cidade mulher da minha vida
Lisboa on my love, laid City by my hands, undressed Lisbon, girl and woman, loved City, woman of my life
*Novelo usually means a ball of thread or a cotton reel, but can mean a complicated thing, so I’m thinking he’s talking about a knot that he’s undoing, rather than a cotton reel – it just seems to make more sense in the context but I could be wrong.
**I couldn’t make any sense of this and thought he was saying “dei um beijo”, but that ain’t it chief! He’s just comparing the lightness of a kiss to the lightness of the material. There’s an explanation of all this needlework metaphhor here if you want to know more.
***I’m, translating moça as woman, not young woman, because I think it sounds better. FIght me! By the way, Menina e Moca is also the name of an early portuguese novel by Bernadim Ribeiro. Maybe there’s a link?
****Eesh! How to translate this? I think he’s saying she’s a woman who lives by the side of the sea – the second meaning given on Priberam – and that woudl make a certain amount of sense.
*****Referring to the Bairro Alto neighbourhood, of course, a wretched hive of wine and fadory if ever there was one
Lena D’Agua is a singer who seems to have been around since the seventies and was a member of a truly unmemorable eurovision band back in the glory days of 1978, but what drew my attention to her is that her latest album was largely written by Pedro Da Silva Martins, who wrote a lot of Deolinda’s best stuff when they wre around. I don’t think it’s quite up to Deolinda standards, but it’s pretty good. Have a listen! The video is a bit cringe though so feel free to look somewhere else while you’re at it. I don’t go to many parties, but if that’s what they are like, I don’t think I’m missing much.
Portuguese
English
Inda* vou ganhar o Festival Com uma canção de macramé Hei de fazer capa num jornal A pavonear um jacaré**
I’m still going to win the festival With a macramé song I’ll probably make the headlines Showing off to an alligator
Espero que te caia a boca ao chão Q’eu estou pronta para a grande festa E tu de charuto e roupão Com um arpão espetado na testa
I hope your jaw hits the floor because I’m ready for the big party And you with your cigar & fancy clothes With a harpoon stuck in your forehead
Espero ainda ser um furacão Ter uma cintura de ballet A arrastar as joias pelo chão Acenar de um porsche com chofer
I still hope to be a hurricane To have a ballet waist To drag jewelry across the floor To wave from a chauffer-driven porsche
Espero que te caia a boca ao chão Q’eu estou pronta para a grande festa E tu de charuto e roupão Com um arpão espetado na testa
I hope your jaw hits the floor because I’m ready for the big party And you with your cigar & fancy clothes With a harpoon stuck in your forehead
Espero ainda ter algo carnal Na minha poltrona de chalé Matar esta fome canibal Qu’eu ando tão farta de café
I still hope to have something carnal In the armchair at my chalet To satisfy this cannibal hunger Becaue I’m so tired of coffee
Espero que te caia a boca ao chão Qu’eu estou pronta para a grande festa E tu de charuto e roupão Com um arpão espetado na testa
I hope your jaw hits the floor because I’m ready for the big party And you with your cigar & fancy clothes With a harpoon stuck in your forehead
Espero que te caia a boca ao chão Qu’eu estou pronta para a grande festa E tu de charuto e roupão Com um arpão espetado na testa Estou pronta para a grande festa
I hope your jaw hits the floor because I’m ready for the big party And you with your cigar & fancy clothes With a harpoon stuck in your forehead I’m ready for the big party
* Seems just to be a shortened form of Ainda
** OK, the translation makes no sense. There are a couple of alternative explanations according to the Dicionario Informal: I think the most likely one is that she’s talking about cigarettes, since that’s quite a strong motif in the video, so maybe she’s on the front of the newspapers posing with a fag? But there are a few alternative definitions that she could be referring to. Giving an ugly woman a makeover? Posing with a patient who’s been waiting a long time for an operation???
I posted a rap featuring Sam the Kid a while ago, but I need to prove I’m down with the kids, so here’s another! I think last time I used too many asterisks, so I’ll try and use links where I can this time.
This one is called “Também Faz Parte”. The first verse, by Sam the Kid himself, is really hard and I suspect I am getting quite a bit of it wrong. Mundo Segundo’s verse is much easier to follow.
Portuguese
English
(Sam the Kid) Quando a vida ficar vazia, faz ela virar poesia O passado passou ‘pa trás, o teu prazo passou num dia O fracasso tá ali na porta, quase dormiu na merda Ele passa uma vida morta, e abraça que é o fim da meta É o massacre que só humilha, cansado que o sol não brilha Arrasado e ele só dormia a pensar abraçar a filha E os homens levam-me os tropas Boy, na zona é só desfalques Paka limpa só funciona noutros palcos Gravatas invisiveis não querem mais milionários E tornam impossíveis cenários imaginários Mas não tiram minha mística, sou atração turística Desmistifico quem pensa que em bairros só há marginais, todos iguais Por mais que inoves, a tua sina é ser da mesma escória E putos trazem uma visão nova para a mesma história Pais falidos fazem mais bandidos Quem patrocina agora a casa é o filho de pais maridos Um gajo na boa vem Ramona, a gente “esfaina” Na estrada, a gente espalha a zona, a gente “shaina” A judiciária que espreita por ‘tar na área É suspeita a missão diária para ver toda a nossa área desfeita Novas doutrinas, que alteram rotinas à procura de vidas londrinas Um boy obrigado a ter emigrado e o bairro ainda é unido e bravo Onde eu gravo o meu vídeo, agrado o passado p’ra no futuro ser lembrado Esse é o meu fado
(Sam the Kid) When life is empty, turn it into poetry The past is gone behind, your goal passed in a day Weakness is there at the door, almost asleep in the shit He lives a dead life and embraces the end It’s the massacre that only humiliates, tired because the sun isn’t shining Devastated and he was only asleep, dreaming of hugging his daughter And men bring their crew to me Homeboy, in the neighbourhood, there’s only the hustle Too clean only works on other stages Invisible neckties don’t want more millionaires And make imaginary scenarios impossible But they don’t take my music, I’m a tourist attraction I demystify anyone who thinks that in the neighbourhood there are only marginalised people, all the same No matter how much you innovate, your destiny is to be the same scum And kids bring a new vision for the same story Skint parents make more criminals The person protecting the house now is the child of married parents A cool guy, here comes a police car, the people “It’s fine“* In the street, the people spread out, the people “Shine!” The Judicial Police that look to be in the area It’s suspicious , the daily mission to see our whole neighbourhood pulled apart New doctrines, that alter routines, in search of London lives A homey forced to emigrate and the neighbourhood is still united and brave Where I’m recording my video, I thank the past to be remembered in future That’s my fate.
Também faz parte Pensei num péssimo indício e disse-o P’ra vir encarar à pressa ou começa no sacrifício Em cada fim há um início, em cada início uma história É hipótese duma nova trajetória, porque a glória (x2)
It plays a part too I thought of a bad sign and said it To come face to face with it in a hurry or start with sacrifice In every end there is a beginning, in every beginning a history It is the chance of a new direction, because of the glory (x2)
(Mundo Segundo) Também vim do bairro mas não do bloco, eu cresci na ilha Onde a miséria aponta o foco mas onde há fome há partilha Onde um prato dá para quatro, um quarto p’ra família inteira Duas camas, berço, terço na mesa de cabeceira Um ordenado, uma pensão, rendimento de inserção Uma criança como um dom num castelo de papelão Um futuro que não sorri numa bela face trancada como Um livro que não li com informação que faltava Mas não deixei de ser eu, fui do breu ao apogeu Fui do meu pequeno quarto aos palcos do coliseu Tudo faz parte, eu luto. Dizem que a vida é prostituta Mas apaixonei-me por ela a ver se a relação resulta Num certo ponto de vista, podem me chamar masoquista Mas não sou apologista de vitórias sem conquista Tenho sonhos numa lista, mais uma linha que se risca Na verdade só se despista aquele que se faz à pista Porque eu corro por desporto mas não me alimento de vento Fiz muito trabalho à borla, respeita o meu orçamento Direto sem ornamento, não político de parlamento Lamento não minto em detrimento que sinto por dentro Do ventre até ao jazigo, imperfeito assim prossigo Se partir, digam ao mundo “fechei a página deste livro” Em cada fim há um início, em cada início uma história É hipótese duma nova trajetória, porque a glória
(Mundo Segundo) I come from the hood too, but not the block, I grew up on the island, Where misery directs your focus, but where there is hunger there’s sharing Where a plate is enough for four and a bedroom for a whole family. Two beds, a crib, a rosary on the bedside table A wage, a pension, a social security payment A child like a king in a cardboard castle A future that doesn’t smile on a beautiful face, locked like A book I didn’t read, full of information I need But I didn’t stop being me, I went from the darkness to the heights I went from my little bedroom to the stage of the Coliseu Everything plays a part. I fight. They say that life is a prostitute But I fell in love with her to see if the relationship is a success From a certain point of view, you can call me a masochist But I’m not an apologist for victories without conquest I have a list of dreams, one more line gets crossed out In truth, only the person who stays on track loses the track Because I run for sport but I can’t eat the wind I did a lot of work for free. Respect my budget Straight up, without ornament, not a politician in parliament I’m sorry I don’t lie to the detriment of what I feel inside From the cradle to the grave, imperfect, I do it like that If you’re leaving, tell the world “I closed the page of that book” In every end there’s a start, in every start there’s a history It’s a chance of a new direction because of the glory
Também faz parte Pensei num péssimo indício e disse-o P’ra vir encarar à pressa ou começa no sacrifício Em cada fim há um início, em cada início uma história É hipótese duma nova trajetória, porque a glória (x2)
It plays a part too I thought of a bad sign and said it To come face to face with it in a hurry or start with sacrifice In every end there is a beginning, in every beginning a history It is the chance of a new direction, because of the glory (x2)
* This is possibly fanciful. Nobody I spoke to knew what this word and the quoted word at the end of the following line mean. The best guess was that they were portuguesified versions of english words If you want a more chilled version of that to cleanse the pallet, you could try this acoustic version by A Garota Não. The lyrics are heavily cut to make it fit the format but it’s really nice, as most of her stuff is.
After looking at that Da Weasel rap the other day, I thought maybe I’d try another so here we are. I returned to this video which I mentioned in passing a year or so ago. I thought the song was called Classe Crua, but Classe Crua is the name of the band, which is composed of Sam the Kid (he’s the white guy) and Beware Jack (tall hair). This song has a “feat” on it – with a guy called Chullage (woolly hat, big beard) (feat is short for “featuring”). Chullage is a form of Chulagem, the quality of being a Chulo: a pimp or a vulgar person.
It’s a challenging translation. It’s got crioula, french, english and street slang all the way through it, mixed together like a big old liguistic stew.
Portuguese
English
Marés Frias, vento Forte, balançam o meu suporte Mas ganho equilíbrio na balança! Já não escrevo só reporto fotografias no meu bloco Imagens são a melhor referência Bad feeling não me move Só balança o meu suporte O beat entra, o flow cospe O beat entra, o flow cospe O beat entra, o flow cospe
Cold seas, strong wind, shakes the ground I’m standing on But I gain stability from the instability I don’t write, I only report photographs of my block Images are the best reference Bad feeling doesn’t move me Just shakes the ground I’m standing on The beat enters, the flow spits The beat enters, the flow spits The beat enters, the flow spits
Velho mar, barcos novos, velhos jogos, novos modos Velho passaporte, novo avião, nova escala Velho mapa, novas rotas Dou a volta ganho pernas como centopeias Descansa, tenho o nirvana nas veias Tiro-te as teimas, a cena é phat como Baleias Palavras bem usadas são uma Uzi, uma arma Calma, a nova expressão apaga o velho trauma São chagas da nossa Aura, mágoas da nossa alma Chakras do nosso karma Não há vivalma Que fique indiferente e se ficarem indiferentes Dá-me tempo “deixa-me rir” como o Jorge Palma O Sociólogo da nova escola, com a velha guarda A criar modas por aí a fora Com a velha fórmula na nova montra Keep it real p’ra zona aos que trocam sprints por maratonas
Old sea, new boats, old games, new styles Old passport, new plane, new scale Old map, new routes I go far a walk I get legs like centipedes Chill, I have nirvana in my veins I’ll take away your stubbornness, the scene is phat like whales Well used words, I’m an uzi, a weapon Calm down,the new expression wipes out the old trauma They are wounds on our aura, injuries on our soul Chakras of our karma There’s no living soul That will be indifferent, and if they’re indifferent Give me time, “let me laugh” like Jorge Palma* The sociologist of the new school with the old guard Creating methods out there With the old formula in the new shopfront Keep it real in the sone for people who swap sprints for marathons
Marés Frias, vento Forte, balançam o meu suporte Mas ganho equilíbrio na balança! Já não escrevo só reporto fotografias no meu bloco Imagens são a melhor referência Bad feeling não me move Só balança o meu suporte O beat entra, o flow cospe O beat entra, o flow cospe O beat entra, o flow cospe
Cold seas, strong wind, shakes the ground I’m standing on But I gain stability from the instability I don’t write, I only report photographs of my block Images are the best reference Bad feeling doesn’t move me Just shakes the ground I’m standing on The beat enters, the flow spits The beat enters, the flow spits The beat enters, the flow spits
Beware! I wanna be there Onde toda a gente é gente, e o que é bom é freeware Mas buéda** gente ’tá a ver magenta, a follow the líder Buéda gente vive à tangente A swallow o que houver Nhãs*** brodas usam a cabeça só p’ra por new wear E dizem-me “Chullage é uma new era” (Chulagi dja bu era) Deixam links, fazem clicks Bebem pink, fazem pics E mandam comments ‘Pa que te piques e o views atinjam peaks Na broda, been there Coolest monkeys in da jungle HM ou Pull And Bear Broda couldn’t bear Muita câmara Muito filtro, muito share, muito flair Tanto fait-divers**** Teresa May ou Tony Blair Same old same old, nique sa mere***** Novos governos, mesmo xaxos****** Novos alunos, as mesmas praxes Novos beats, os mesmos baixos Novos mc’s os memo chachos******* Tudo a tentar o encaixe Mas já nada sai da caixa Tudo tão aprumado que parece tudo Tão saído do terceiro Reich Versos controversos ‘Pa poder dar nas views Essa medalha tem reverso Tudo o mesmo point of view Buéda flow mas não é diverso Trágico como em Lampedusa Brodas acabam imersos Há uma festa no terraço Duma casa sem alicerces Fuck’em Fecho a matraca******** E alinho os chakras Escrevo linhas sacras Cansado de tantos wankers Galinhas e bácoras Meu pensamento entra no train A curtir Coltrane E mando rimas só por treino Giants steps A love supreme Estou fora do frame Ponho os fones, subo o gain, expulso o pain E mando um grito Tenho buéda fantasmas e por eles não tenho escrito Tens buéda fantasmas daqueles que te têm escrito Estás tipo Mc’Donalds Já vens da América feito Aqui só foste frito Digo o que sinto Novo ou proscrito E não preciso de ser seguido nem subscrito Já não rappo Só vomito Nunca omito Meu commitment Quando debito Foda-se Sam granda beat Foda-se Beware obrigado pelo convite!
Beware I wanna be there Where everybody is us and what’s good is freeware But a lot of people are seeing magenta to follow the leader A lot of people live at a tangent And swallow whatever there is And the brothers only use their heads to put on new wear And they tell me, “Chullage, it’s a new era” (Chulagi dja bu era) They post links, they make clicks They drink pink, they take pics Why do you bite, and your views hit peaks No brother, been there Coolest monkey in the jungle H+M or Pull and Bear Brother couldn’t bear Lots of camera Lots of filters, lots of shares, lots of flair Lots of other stuff Teresa May and Tony Blair Same old same old. fuck their mother New governments, same assholes New students, same hazing rituals New bears, same baselines New MCs, same guys Everything trying to fit in But now nothing gets outside the box Everything is so polished it all seems To have come from the Third Reich Controversial verses To be able to get views This medal has another side All from the same point of view Lots of flow, but it isn’t diverse Tragic like in Lampedusa Brothers end up immersed There’s a party on the terrace Of a house with no foundations Fuck ’em I’m shutting my mouth And aligning my chakras I write sacred lines Tired of so many wankers Chickens and piglets My thought gets on the train Enjoying Coltrane And rap some rhymes just for practice Giant Steps A Love Supreme I’m outside the frame I put on my headphones, turn up the gain, expel the pain And I let out a scream I have so many ghosts and because of them, I haven’t written You have so many ghosts the kind that write you You’re like McDonalds You came from America, ready made You were fried here I say what I feel New or forbidden And I don’t need to be followed or subscribed I don’t rap I just vomit I don’t omit Mu commitment When I debit Fuck it, Sam, great beat Fuck it, Beware, thanks for the invitation
[Refrão: Beware Jack] Marés Frias, vento Forte, balançam o meu suporte Mas ganho equilíbrio na balança! Já não escrevo só reporto fotografias no meu bloco Imagens são a melhor referência Bad feeling não me move Só balança o meu suporte O beat entra, o flow cospe O beat entra, o flow cospe O beat entra, o flow cospe
[Refrain by Beware jack] Cold seas, strong wind, shakes the ground I’m standing on But I gain stability from the instability I don’t write, I only report photographs of my block Images are the best reference Bad feeling doesn’t move me Just shakes the ground I’m standing on The beat enters, the flow spits The beat enters, the flow spits The beat enters, the flow spits
** Lots of english in this verb, but lots of slang too. Buéda gente seems to be “bué da gente. Bué is slang derived from africa. I think it’s maybe not that new. I think bué fixe (“very cool” dates back a while, but bué is generally a reinforcer so it indicates a lot of something or very much something
My daughter has been telling people her favourite portuguese music is “Eu Tenho Dois Amores” by Marco Paulo, and she’s even sung the opening line to me a couple of times, but nothing could prepare me for the real thing.
I see a lot of people in the comments are nostalgic for it, and I get that: music that reminds you of a time and a place is always special. And I have to admit, the lad has or a set of pipes on him. But, as someone hearing it for the first time in 2023, it’s pretty cringe. The hair style, the little dance, the fact that he is singing about his two girlfriends who are completely different because um… they have different hair colours… Well, that’s the eighties for you, I suppose!
I had one of those moments on social media where I see something I don’t really understand and I have to go off and unravel the mystery and learn something along the way. It started with this Instagram post from Cinema São Jorge:
I guessed the origin, although I haven’t seen it for years. It’s from the pinnacle of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl movie era, 500 Days of Summer:
And I guess they’re excited because it was July the 31st, the day Quim Barreiros, accordionist and master of Música Pimba has decreed to be the best day to get married. Why? Because “depois entra agosto” (then comes August). It’s explained in this Sapo article but they’re not explaining it quite well enough for a non-native, so let me unravel the pun in all its corny glory.
“A gosto” is used in recipes in the way “to taste” is used in English recipes. Season to taste =Temperar a gosto, or you could just have “(a gosto)” in place of a specific quantity after the name of the ingredient (see this absolutely disgusting recipe, for example), meaning as much or as little as you like. So when he says “depois entra a gosto”, he’s just saying after you get married you can enter (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) whenever you please.
Luso 