The Radio Started to Play

When you drive around in a cab in Addis Ababa, they play Ethiopian music . . . surprise.  And you’re often find yourself listening hearing the glorious music you’ve always enjoyed from this country from the early seventies, Alemayehu Eshete and Mahmoud Ahmed.  And driving around in a cab in Delhi the drivers will have on a radio station that is playing Mohammad Rafi and Lata Mangeshkar and its wonderful.  Today, after checking in to my hotel and colleague and I hopped into an Uber here in Sao Paulo.

I clarified with the driver in a faltering mix of Portuguese and Spanish if our destination was about ten minutes from here and he suggested it was more like an hour away.  I showed him where I thought I was going and he was very reasonable about it, now that his twenty five dollar ride was suddenly reduced to a five dollar jaunt.  And about the time we’d clarified everything and had our proper direction sorted, the radio started to play Jorge Ben.  I mentioned the name to the driver and he confirmed eagerly, turning the tune which I didn’t otherwise recognize up.

And as we began to rattle through various Brazilian music luminaries he shared a few opinions which I suspect will stay with me forever.  “Gilberto Gil?  Sure he’s great.  But Jorge Ben is up here and Gilberto Gil looks up to him.  He’s up here.”  I referenced an album where they both sing together with just two acoustic guitars improvising duets on the spot and I began to imagine the relationship between the two stars differently on account of what this driver had just asserted so emphatically.  

Tim Maia?  I kept pronouncing it the way it’s would sound to someone reading the name in English.  He didn’t recognize the name and I almost gave up when suddenly he became animated and pronounced the name properly in Portuguese.  “djim maeia?  He’s up here.  Way up here.”  I have long enjoyed his music but I wouldn’t have been able to place him precisely in the pantheon of local perception, until now. 

And as we drove through the wealthy Jardins neighborhood the conversation turned to Bolsonaro, the new president.  Our driver hated him.  No one likes him, he suggested.  Had nothing good to say about the president, and pointed to buildings we were passing saying, these people, they love him.  We pulled up to building that didn’t look right.  And he was very kind about walking us down the road to find precisely the correct tower.  It was a short ride, but I don’t think I’ll ever listen to Jorge Ben and Tim Maia the same way again.

Friday, 3/22/19