Up
early, jet lagged, waiting for the sun to rise over Lisbon. My little one is up too. But the older sister is still sleeping
so we’re sitting in the dark with our devices. Predictable perhaps, but I am listening to the Queen of Fado,
Ms. Amalia Rodrigues, sing “Estranha Forma de Vida” from 1965, which translates
into, “A Strange Form of Life,” here on my second morning in Lisbon. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFgctURyGp4
Yesterday my girls and I were walking up the steps to
Lisbon’s castle. “How much
further?” “It’s not far, you can see the walls, there.” “I’m tired.” “Me too!” And then, from off the side was unmistakable sound
of “Fado” or “fate” being sung from a little restaurant tucked conveniently off
the side of the road, on the way up the hill. I’d had it in mind to try to go to see some live music with
the girls, that night, somewhere in the Alfama. And their fatigue and my thirst and the mournful sound
converged there in the sun and it became clear that we were stopping for a while.
“A Tasouinha” is the name of the joint, if you’re ever in
town. A weathered older gent on
acoustic guitar with fat cigar fingers, and a younger fella in black on what
appeared to be a twelve string “Portuguese Guitar” which has the characteristic
high end, double picked sounds, tight but not too tight to bend and weep were up there strumming by the kitchen. The
singer was a lady whom we later learned was Mafalda Ferreira. It is her CD I have on now is a rough,
live recording she calls “Outra Lado”, or “Another Side.” And where as I could have played a
recording of this music for my girls, one hundred times before hand, it was not
difficult to get my daughters to concentrate now, in the live moment. There she was and the songs she offered
were so undeniably . . . sad. “Why do
you think it sounds so sad? Why is
she so sad?” “She probably has
something she really needs to say.”
Bingo. With only her
voice; 可歌可泣[1].
And I tried to get them to imagine this same mournful sound
bouncing off the same city walls, beneath this castle for generations and
generations. They are both taking
classes to perfect their singing. Consider
this voice. Here was such a strong
female singing, echoing about the courtyard, without any kareokee microphone
and only two simple acoustic instruments to invoke these powerful gusts. And in their own way, with a silent
acknowledgement and they considered this young woman’s power. And that was enough.
I’ve been enjoying so much music this past year for the
nominal fee of $10 per month with Rdio and it struck me how far I’ve come from
actually thinking of buying music. I ordered and soon had a plate of olives, when a gentleman took
the informal stage before the musicians, following Ms. Ferreria who'd taken a break and off to the side. This man, Jose Matos
also delivered an emotional set, dodging waiters, up next to the restaurant’s
cart used for bussing dirty dishes.
And it was he, who came around our table with his CD to sel after the
set. I had no hesitation to support
him, though I wished I might have been able to support Ms. Ferreira as well. And, on queue she did the rounds of the tables, once
Mr. Matos had finished. Now I did
hesitate, but I wanted the girls to hear her voice again, so I dug deep into my
pocket and got another 15 Euros for her and her career. Listening to her now a third time, I'm glad I did.
Listening to them now, Mr. Matos who looks quite a bit more
dapper on his CD jacket, clearly cut his disc in a studio, where as Ms.
Ferreria’s effort was a collection of roughly spliced live songs, interrupted
by plates clanking and sidebar conversations, (fortunately in Portuguese) that
all seem to make her sad songs, sound even sadder, her attempt to carve a life
out as a contemporary Fado singer, playing for tourists, a more acute struggle.
Today we’ll drive over to Sintra and perhaps up to
Porto. And hopefully this budget
renal service I’m using will have at least a DVD players inside so we can
listen to Ms. Ferreria and Mr. Matos and their queen, Ms. Rodrigues who was
born in grinding poverty in 1920 and who was able to use the tradition of "fate" to rise to
international recognition, and whose double CD I also bought thereafter at the
Castle Gift Shop, even though it is probably available on Rdio. We’ll listen to them over and over till
it forms a subliminal Madeline reference point capable of invoking a shadow of this time, off
somewhere in the future when these Portuguese blues, unexpectedly settles into our
ears.
[1] kěgēkěqì: lit. you can sing or you can cry (idiom); fig. deeply moving
/ happy and sad / inspiring and tragic
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