Rio Blog: April 7-13, 2008

Os meus amigos~ All goes well in the Cuidad Maravihosa. “Marvelous City” – a common nickname for Rio – Cariocas aren’t shy about proclaiming their love for their hometown. I’m writing this on Tuesday instead of Monday, because of various adventures yesterday that will have to keep until next week. And it is – wait for it – raining to beat the band! It is raining so hard that I’ve closed one side of the window and the shutter on the other side and it still managed to blow in and soak a pile of music while I was eating lunch. But I am happy to report that there were actually 3 sunny days this past week, and I managed to squeeze in an hour on the beach during one of them.

Last Monday though, April 7, was terrible weather too – cloudy & rainy all day. I stayed indoors writing, grading, and waiting nervously for my online exam to start. It’s such a cool thing – that I can give an essay test to my class all together at a specific time in a specific place and still be thousands of miles away. But of course ever since Friday I have been emailing everyone involved – students, test proctor, technical gurus who will check in at the start to be sure everything is working – to make sure everyone remembers everything. So I await 5:00 (actually 6:00 in Rio), when the test is to magically open for the students at their computers, with bated breath.

[An aside – being in a foreign country makes one keenly aware of language. And I am constantly being asked to explain American English. For instance, why do we alone choose to call the gorgeous aubergine an "eggplant" ? – what does it have to do w/ eggs? – and what does a "relationship" have to do w/ boats...? So as soon as I typed "bated breath" I wondered where that phrase came from. And now, moments later, I am pleased to report that "bate" means "to moderate or restrain (a variation of "abate"), and that "with bated breath" means, as I intended, "in a state of suspenseful anticipation." I also learned that the first citation in the Oxford English Dictionary is from 1596 as found in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice i. iii. 125 'With bated breath, and whispring humblenesse.' But I digress...]

My worries about the test prove to be unnecessary, as it all works perfectly, and neatly typed often fascinating essays begin popping up on my computer screen as soon as students finish writing them. Truly fantastic. On Tuesday I practice bandolim & email students in the morning – my seminar students are working on final papers and are required to send in progress reports and I email back advice, and I’m in “conversation” with my advisees who are preparing to register starting this week. I take myself off to my favorite Edson Folk museum by the Catete Palace for a break in the afternoon (the sculpture of the Mayday dance comes from there), and walk around a bit in the Gloria neighborhood until the rain drives me home. I head for Trapiche in the evening and this time none of the regulars are there – rats! It starts an hour later than usual too, and the 4 young players who are filling in are really good, but I do miss the glorious sounds of Eduardo on sax and Rui on clarinet.

Wednesday I meet Paulo Sa at the Conservatory downtown and sit in on a couple of his classes. I take my bandolim down for him to look at and he confirms that I do need a wider bridge (um cavalete mais lardo), and I should go to the famous shop Ao Bandolim D’Oro and tell them that I need to wait while it is done. Apparently a collapsing bridge is a fairly common problem w/ bandolims so most players opt to lessen their anxiety and also lessen the sound a bit – but sometimes increase the bass – by putting on a bridge that is about 3 times as thick as the original one. Given a street name I manage to find the shop and they say that if I return at 8:30 tomorrow they can fit a bridge for my instrument in an hour. So I will. Sergio has told me in the morning that it’s Mirian’s birthday, so I stop on the way home to buy her a cheerful yellow flowering plant in a pot, and later write her a card. When I get home there are great preparations for a party, and Mirian’s daughter, a couple of friends, and the charming Maizie and Tom (yes, I know that I said his name was Joel last time, but all Brazilian men seem to have 2 first names that they use interchangeably if they like them both) all soon arrive. We eat upstairs on the glorious rooftop deck – hither-to unknown to me, as “upstairs” is Mirian’s private domain. Marcelo has cooked a feast and we eat and talk until late.

Thursday morning I am at O Bandolim D’Oro slightly after 8:30 – having got off the bus a couple of stops too late and walked a long way in crowds of commuters. I pick out a couple of bridge templates and am directed upstairs to the workroom where Oswaldo promises he will take care of it, and by 10:30 I have a new bridge, and a new tailpiece and am on my way. I go to a few stores in centro looking for a long-sleeve shirt, as my ever-practical daughter read last week’s log and suggested that if I longed for one I should just buy one. It seems obvious, but also somehow wrong to me, and that opinion is supported by the results of my search. There ARE no long-sleeve shirts in Rio stores, except for some entirely frumpy sweat shirts that seem to proclaim, “well if you insist… ” Really – if there’s even a 3/4 length sleeve on one side, the other side is shoulderless & sleeveless – as if there’s a law that the total number of sleeves can never reach even 1 full-length. Although they do have some jackets that would be at home in New England in the early fall. I begin to check out people in the street, and nope, no long sleeve shirts. It’s somehow anti-Carioca to wear long sleeves. Maybe it’s a pride thing, or maybe denial, but it seems I must remain sleeveless.

In the afternoon I get a haircut – tired of endless clips to keep my unruly tresses in order. I just took a picture of myself because I can’t quite believe the results. I have achieved my childhood dream of having a mop of curly hair – a tad Shirley-Temple-ish – and quite a change from my usual straight New England locks. Actually my Rio friends always look in amazement at pictures of me “up north” with straight hair, so I guess my hair is another aspect of my life that changes when I come to Brazil. When I was a kid I used to believe that what was in your brain caused your hair to look like it did, so maybe my new hair look is really just a symptom of my new Rio mind.

The events of the day are not over yet, because today I will go to the mysterious music party I agreed to attend on Sunday. Marijo has already called and I confirmed so I head out by cab, in the rain, to her place in Ipanema. Then we continue on together to alt-Leblon, to the amazing house of her sister and brother-in-law for his weekly music party. Every Thursday he holds a musical evening – kindof a roda da chamber-music. Musicians, many from the symphony, come when they can – he never knows who will show up – and sight-read Mozart, Vivaldi, Schubert in quartets, quintets, whatever is called for.

The house is astonishing – built on a hill with many levels and we head to the second or third floor of maybe five, with a grand music room w/ two pianos, 6 music stands & chairs set up, a pool & deck – apparently there’s a tennis court on the roof, plants everywhere, and giant windows and glass walls that somehow give the illusion that you are outdoors while keeping you from the rain. And Stefan, our charming host, greets me w/ – don’t I know you? didn’t you play in Cecilia Mireiles Hall? And it turns out he was at Luiz’ piano concert there in August when I played. And he loved it so much that he invited Luiz to give a private concert at his house for his friends, unfortunately after I left. Oh my gosh – I am meeting an actual patron of the arts!

Maryjo and I are the first to arrive. Stefan is an older man who doesn’t play anymore himself, but has a glass case full of bowed strings that his guests will play, and a huge library of sheet music. A pianist arrives soon and we play a couple of choro and then the strings descend. Soon I am playing the oboe part on a Vivadli concerto with 2 violins, piano, and cello – what fun! We have a break for a fabulous dinner, more musicians arrive, more Vivaldi is played, then Mozart, then a reprise of a couple of choro at Stefan’s request when his wife Chris, Maryjo’s sister, arrives home from a late meeting, because she loves choro. The classical musicians are enthusiastically impressed. I am invited to Chris’ birthday party on May 1st, but, alas, I will already be back in the US. The musicians are so interesting – from England and Bosnia as well as Brazil. The small daughter of a violist falls asleep on the sofa as her father plays. We leave at 11:30, as the group is taking a break for snacks before continuing to play – usually, I’m told, until 1:00 AM. We are such wimps in the US with our 2-hour rehearsals! Chris sends us each home w/ a flower and Stefano extends an invitation to return any Thursday.

But Thursday is still not over, because when I return home there is email – a student crisis about advising, and a very interesting email from Zeca Louro. “I need to tell you that your website is awesome, really impressive. It is a work of love to Brazilian music and your instrument, the bandolim. I decided to place a link of your page on mine, which is Loronix. I hope you appreciate. Please tell me what you think about it. We have a really active community there and people will be delighted to get along with your art. Respect. zeca”

So I go to this website and it is amazing. Zeca has a put a huge collection of out-of-print Brazilian LPs online. He is doing this to preserve lost Brazilian music, to keep it from disappearing and to let other people in the world know about it. We exchange some emails, and he says, when I ask, that most are from his personal collection, about 1/3 are from the biggest collector of bossa nova LPs in Brazil, and a few are from people who go to his site. And there I am as a musician link. I wonder how he found me? But then I have a student’s inquiries to answer and, as he is registering in the morning, spend over an hour reading the course catalogue online, getting his transcript, marveling all the while that I can actually do this at 1:00 AM in Rio, and send him off an email of advice.

And the next day the sun slowly comes out from behind the morning clouds. I contemplate working in the morning & going to Ipanema in the afternoon, but maybe it will begin to rain! So I opt for an hour on the nearby Urca beach instead, and then practice and commune online w/ my RWU students in the afternoon. Saturday is EPM that starts w/ a roda, and continues w/ my two bandolim classes – this week w/ Afonso Machado who is substituting for Pedro Amorim. EPM looks like a ghost town – the directors Mauricio & Luciana are out, Marcilio & Rui are in Sao Paulo to play the Elizeth Cardosa musical, the percussion teacher is out – but we carry on. I play Brejeiro & Cochichando by heart for Afonso, earning snaps from my Bandolim 2 class, and in Bandolim 3 we learn the polca Santina by ear, and I do pretty well picking it up.

Bandao is hot – oh, yes, it’s miraculously still sunny- for the 2nd day in a row! I’m heading out for a sanduiche at the break but get picked up by Luiz and Marcia-guitar and we drive to Bar Urca for their scrumptious fish soup, and some very tasty bolinos de bacalau and pastiles do camarao (codfish balls and fried triangles of dough filled w/ shrimp). AnF isn’t practicing because M&M have a gig, and Pablo can’t come into town, but Rafael is there & he & Romulo & I play in a pick-up roda that turns out to be a lot of fun. I wander back to Urca, stopping for an Acai on the way at Laguna lanche – my regular lunch spot that got preempted for Bar Urca.

Sunday I meet R & Mariana at 8:30 AM & we are off to Mage to record, unfortunately missing my beloved Sunday-morning Sao Salvador roda. Starting w/ an idea of 2 tunes, but no rehearsal – and Pablo hasn’t even seen one of the pieces – we manage to arrange and record two very beautiful tracks for the CD – the waltz Flor do Mal, w/ Mariana & I as soloists, and Pixinguinha’s Desprezado, where R & I alternate the tune. I am really proud of us! And now we are on the way to a full CD. We arrange to go back on Friday afternoon so I can put down my last tracks before leaving. It is nice to be starting some tunes, instead of just putting down my parts on the nearly-full band tracks as I did when I first arrived. We chat, laugh, pretend to sob extravagantly at the so-beautifully-sad waltz (written in 1912 w/ lyrics from the suicide note of a famous poet), eat lunch w/ Pablo’s family partway through, and I arrive back in Urca 12 hours after I left, to eat some left-over dinner, chat & sleep.

Monday is my trip to Niteroi for an inspiring music session w/ Marcilio, and tonight I am going to Trapiche to hear him play, but those tales will have to wait until next week. I’m in my next-to-last week here on this trip, but I am so used to my 2-country commuter schedule now that I don’t even mind. I’ll be back mid-June until the end of July. But then it will be hard to leave, because I won’t be able to return for 5 months. My portugues is really improving, all on its own with seemingly no effort on my part. I understand nearly everything, and can figure out a way to pin enough words together that I can say mostly anything I want to, though frequently in a convoluted way. I go back and forth between portugues & ingles w/ my bi-lingual friends, and I often think in portuguese now – how did that happen? When did the ubiquitous packages of Trident gum begin to register in my brain a “tree-DEN-chee”? When did I become Marilene (mer-rah-LAY-nee) – I don’t know. I translate constantly as I walk, and my instinctive replies are no longer in English. Cuidad Maravihosa indeed!

There are fewer pics this week – somehow it didn’t seem right to whip the camera out in many of the places I found myself, or I simply forgot. I hope all is well in your neck of the woods. It is supposed to rain here until Saturday and then a cold front is coming through. But this is Rio, so cold is relative, and I doubt will even approach a New England version of chilly. But I may wish again for long sleeves…

ate a proxima semana!
m

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