Moro em Lisboa mp3, Abito a Lisbona
...c'e' una sola citta',
tra due braccia d'acqua,
acque che abbracciano Lisbona,
il vento del mare ci fa
promesse di viaggi,
vento fresco che richiama
le nostre anime assenti,
Abito a Lisbona,
e cosi' scorre il pomeriggio...
Que outra cidade
Levantada sobre o mar
A beira rio
Acabou por se elevar
entre dois bra�os de agua
um de sal, outro de nada
Agua doce, agua salgada
Aguas que abra�am Lisboa
E' em Lisboa
Que o Tejo chega ao mar
E' em Lisboa
Que o mar azul recebe o rio
E essa brisa que nos faz
Promessas de viagem
Brisa fresca que reclama
as nossas almas ausentes
Suave cidade do sal do mar
Moro em Lisboa
E a tarde cai
Per sentire le altre canzoni, visitate Madredeus - O Paraiso
1 commento:
Madredeus’s “Faluas do Tejo” (or Why The Tagus Isn’t Really A River)Although there is no such thing as “world music”, an infinitesimally small percentage of the music produced by this planet, wherever it’s from, does occasionally achieve world-wide circulation and popularity.
It might seem a paradox that the music and musicians that manage to reach and move vastly different cultures and musical traditions are invariably those which are more clearly the product of a particular corner of the world.
The most internationally and eternally appreciated popular music – meaningful and lasting to human beings from all over – is never the result of a cold, conscious attempt to create a universal musical language, based on the basest common denominators.
Think of Jazz, Cole Porter or Frank Sinatra, Jacques Brel, Carlos Gardel, Caetano Veloso, Ute Lemper, The Beatles, Paco de Lucia, Pino Daniele, Elvis or Johnny Cash… Think of the great and universally celebrated British pop bands so unashamedly associated with, for instance, Liverpool or Manchester. Think of New Orleans; Manhattan; Paris or Brussels; Buenos Ayres; Bahia; Berlin; Naples; Memphis; or, if the actual city and birthplace are too vague, of Senegal, Andalusia, Ireland, the Yemen…
This brand new record from Madredeus – a Portuguese band which, although there’s no other more successful in the whole of Portugal (a relatively small, poor and unknown country, after all), has its greatest audience abroad – is absolutely Portuguese.
But not only that: more than any other of their many recordings,
“Faluas do Tejo” (the long, low riverboats typical of the wide,
ocean-like Tagus estuary) is a brilliant, beautiful, accurate musical and lyrical portrait of the luminous, wistful, melancholy, shabby but heart-breakingly charming city that, day after day - no matter how long you’ve lived here or how short your stay – will always be Lisbon.
And I mean “charming” in the most ancient, evil (yet ultimately blessed) spell-binding and addictive sense. Like most of my friends (Pedro, Teresa and the other members of Madredeus specially included), the fact that I’ve been living here for almost 30 years doesn’t stop me from missing it every morning and evening, as if Lisboa was thousands of miles away or even a figment of our imagination.
The one Portuguese word everyone should learn is “saudade” and even though I wrote a whole PhD thesis about it, I’m still at a loss to explain the bittersweet longing (confusingly much sweeter than bitter) it so well describes and represents. I only know that, in the English language, “nostalgia” is the worst way to approach it and that “homesickness” is the best.
“Saudade” is indeed “homesickness”, but only if “home” and “sickness” are stressed without the slightest contradiction or medical connotation - as if the two words were happily married and, despite all the fighting and friction, were still (even more) in love with each other after all these centuries and slowly realized they couldn’t live apart. Finally, this “homesickness” which is “saudade” needs to be qualified by the apparently illogical fact that those who feel it, with all the ease and habit of breathing are already home - but unable to forget the joys of the past and the promises it left for the future, as if the present was entirely and permanently absent from life and time.
No matter how hard I try to explain it, I’ll fail miserably. Thank God I now have the luxury of being able to give up completely and
nonchalantly say that even someone who doesn’t know that Portuguese is a separate language, who’s never heard Portuguese or Brazilian music, will now be able to understand “saudade” and Portugal and Lisbon and our most Portuguese and universal music, simply by the pleasure of listening to “Faluas do Tejo”.
Until Madredeus started making music, only our greatest singer – Amália Rodrigues – was able, thanks to her sheer genius and strength, to move, say, Japanese, Italian or American audiences who were hearing her voice and the Portuguese language and music for the very first time. What’s extraordinary is that these newcomers from all over the world were touched not one single tear, heartbeat or spine-tingle less than her oldest and most loyal Portuguese fans.
Teresa Salgueiro and the superb musical poets and poetic musicians of
Madredeus, led almost imperceptibly by the lyrical and musical genius of Pedro Ayres Magalhães, have finally produced – after more than one
masterpiece – a work of art which will probably last forever and, like all such works (which may be few but feel like everything), is not only beautiful but universally beautiful, while being – Amália excepted, though no longer alone – one of the most genuine and modern expressions of what Portugal’s always truly been about:
Not about Portugal or the Portuguese; not even about Lisbon, so obviously and longingly (if sometimes mistily) reaching towards the
Atlantic and all the other oceans: but about the whole world, set to music. Knowing that its particular beauty and reason for living and dreaming is not in the colour or sparkle of its eyes but in the intensity, steadfastness and unswerving direction – or sweet obsession - of its gaze.
Outwards, from deep inside. Like this record.
Portugal – and its most authentic music, art and poetry - isn’t about Portugal at all. But it takes more than a little genius to let this secret out. And share it openly, without hurting its delicate mystery.
Start listening and you’ll almost certainly be amazed by how quickly you’ll forget all these unnecessary words.
Miguel Esteves Cardoso
Lisbon, 2005.
Italy Concerts in February and March 2005:
27-Feb Catania - Auditorium delle Ciminiere
28-Feb Roma - Opera di Roma
02-Mar Milano - Thetre Smeraldo
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