Following in the steps of Jorge Ben, who began incorporating elements of funk and soul into samba music in the early 60s (eventually creating whole new genres that became integral to Brazil’s Black Movement), Roberto Santos (aka Di Melo, “tell me”) didn’t enjoy the international name recognition that many of his more prolific peers did. Perhaps it’s because until 2016, Di Melo was his only full-length release. Still, if the measly two copies of the record currently available on Discogs with a starting price of $732.56 are any indication, the record has since attained its well-deserved holy grail status.
Santos was born in the Pernambuco region of Northeastern Brazil, moved to São Paolo in the late 60s, and was signed to EMI/Odeon in 1974. Other than that, I haven’t found much information about him, and it’s not totally clear why he didn’t continue to release music on the heels of Di Melo, as he’s written more than 400 unpublished songs. From what I gather, he was in a severe motorcycle accident in the 80s that almost left him a paraplegic, after which there were widespread rumors that he had not survived, which might have contributed to his long hiatus. There’s a short documentary about him here from 2011–though it doesn’t have English subtitles, it’s well worth flitting through even for non-Portuguese speakers for its amazing archival footage, as well as some beautiful contemporary footage of him serenading his small daughter in their kitchen.
Sonically, Di Melo is rich and complex, effortlessly winding between funk, samba, tango, jazz, soul, and regional folk. Hermeto Pascoal (!) contributes, though it’s not clear in what capacity. Eight of the twelve tracks are original compositions. It’s a wildly ambitious debut effort, and, as seems to often be the case with Brazilian musical wunderkinds, it succeeds at all of its efforts. I’m far from an expert on Brazilian music, so rather than make uninformed statements, I’ll encourage you to listen to it–it’s a pleasure from the enthusiastically syncopated, brutally grooving opener “Kilariô” (which, as I understand it, was the biggest hit at the time of Di Melo‘s release) all the way to the sunny, cowbell-flecked cakewalk closer “Indecisão.” In between, the unbothered, sinewy “Se O Mundo Acabasse En Mel” (previewed below) is my personal favorite. Ideal warm weather listening.
Thank you Silva for the reminder about this terrific record!
Di Melo – Di Melo, 1975
Following in the steps of Jorge Ben, who began incorporating elements of funk and soul into samba music in the early 60s (eventually creating whole new genres that became integral to Brazil’s Black Movement), Roberto Santos (aka Di Melo, “tell me”) didn’t enjoy the international name recognition that many of his more prolific peers did. Perhaps it’s because until 2016, Di Melo was his only full-length release. Still, if the measly two copies of the record currently available on Discogs with a starting price of $732.56 are any indication, the record has since attained its well-deserved holy grail status.
Santos was born in the Pernambuco region of Northeastern Brazil, moved to São Paolo in the late 60s, and was signed to EMI/Odeon in 1974. Other than that, I haven’t found much information about him, and it’s not totally clear why he didn’t continue to release music on the heels of Di Melo, as he’s written more than 400 unpublished songs. From what I gather, he was in a severe motorcycle accident in the 80s that almost left him a paraplegic, after which there were widespread rumors that he had not survived, which might have contributed to his long hiatus. There’s a short documentary about him here from 2011–though it doesn’t have English subtitles, it’s well worth flitting through even for non-Portuguese speakers for its amazing archival footage, as well as some beautiful contemporary footage of him serenading his small daughter in their kitchen.
Sonically, Di Melo is rich and complex, effortlessly winding between funk, samba, tango, jazz, soul, and regional folk. Hermeto Pascoal (!) contributes, though it’s not clear in what capacity. Eight of the twelve tracks are original compositions. It’s a wildly ambitious debut effort, and, as seems to often be the case with Brazilian musical wunderkinds, it succeeds at all of its efforts. I’m far from an expert on Brazilian music, so rather than make uninformed statements, I’ll encourage you to listen to it–it’s a pleasure from the enthusiastically syncopated, brutally grooving opener “Kilariô” (which, as I understand it, was the biggest hit at the time of Di Melo‘s release) all the way to the sunny, cowbell-flecked cakewalk closer “Indecisão.” In between, the unbothered, sinewy “Se O Mundo Acabasse En Mel” (previewed below) is my personal favorite. Ideal warm weather listening.
Thank you Silva for the reminder about this terrific record!
The first of three records by Paraíba-born poet, percussionist, and composer Fernando Falcão, recorded in Paris in 1979 and released independently two years later. I realize that I’m a broken record, but this one is truly uncategorizable–and while that word can frequently connote records that are too challenging to be fully enjoyable, too ambitious for their own good, or just plain incoherent, Memória Das Águas is an utter pleasure from beginning to end.
“What?” you will think to yourself when you listen to it, which you should. “Who is this guy? Had he been quietly making music for decades under a pseudonym before releasing this? How else does something this orchestral in scope spring out fully formed on the first try? Why does he share a name with a 
An ambitious and highly effective combustion of ambient jazz and a slew of musical traditions, whirlwinded together with dizzying, almost violent enthusiasm by Swedish jazz percussionist Per Tjernberg. Gamelan textures, Indian tabla, Aboriginal didgeridoo, Gabonese and Cameroonian sanza and mbira humming, Japanese strings, African flute, oud, and drums from too many countries to name.
While writing this post I realized that Tjernberg is also responsible for 
Odd that this is my first Ichiko Hashimoto post, given how much I admire her work–though her catalogue covers so much ground that it’s hard to know quite where to start. A trained jazz pianist, composer, and singer, Hashimoto was one half of 
A classic. While 
Sublime collaboration between Silvio Linardi (who’s collaborated with David Sylvian, 
I was deeply saddened to hear of the passing of legendary jazz trumpeter (and occasional zither player) Kelan Phil Cohran at the age of 90 on Wednesday. While his accomplishments are too significant to fully do them justice, he played trumpet with Sun Ra and His Arkestra, co-founded the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians (AACM), was a respected educator (one of his students was a young Maurice White), opened the Afro-Arts Theater in Chicago, and invented the Frankiphone (aka space harp), an electric mbira. He also recorded extensively with The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, a group composed of eight of his sons. Cohran was still regularly performing live until quite recently.
