PIXINGUINHA (1898 - 1973) On May 13, 1888, (25 years after slavery was abolished in the United States), while the Brazilian King was away, Princess Isabel signed the “Golden Law” which freed all slaves in Brazil without compensation to their owners. Ten years later a black Brazilian born Alfredo da Rocha Vianna, Jr. was destined to experience discrimination in both his private and professional life. His grandmother called him “Pinzindim” which is said to mean, “Good little boy.” This evolved into “Pixinguinha” (pronounced, “Pish-in-GUI-nia”). It is hard to overstate the importance of Pixinguinha’s impact on modern music. A genius of samba and a musician’s musician, he dedicated himself to choro and never compromised his standards of excellence. He was a composer, arranger, virtuoso instrumentalist, band leader and teacher; Pixinguinha was Brazilian music. Primarily known as a virtuoso flautist, Pixinguinha in fact recorded more on saxophone than on flute. He opted for the tenor sax in the early 1920s when they began playing in larger venues and he realized that his band, the “Oito Batutas” (Great Eight), needed a bigger sound. Pixinguinha became the musical ambassador for Brazil. When the King and Queen of Belgium visited Brazil in 1920, the Oito Batutas played for them. Pixinguinha went on to delight the European aristocracy when the group toured there in 1922. In 1940 the renowned conductor Leopold Stokowski asked Heitor Villa-Lobos to select a few musicians for a series of recordings that would present the best of Brazilian Popular Music. Among the first musicians Villa-Lobos contracted was a musician with sparkling original melodies — Pixinguinha. In July, 1972 he lost his beloved wife, Albertina. On February 17th, 1973, while attending the church baptism of his grandson in Ipanema, Pixinguinha died. The next day newspapers ran this headline, “THE HEAVENS CRY!” His funeral was attended by thousands who spontaneously began singing his famous composition Carinhoso. Pixinguinha has been called “The Cole Porter of Brazil” and he is recognized as “The Father of the Choro.” He is an icon of Brazilian music and his music is enthusiastically played today by all musicians in South America. The word “choro” in Portuguese literally means “a cry” which probably refers to the lilting or “weeping” qualities of the solo instrument, which was usually a flute or clarinet. When asked about the influence of Pixinguinha, he replied, “He’s a genius: a blessing and an inspiration for my life.” — Antonio Carlos Jobim “If I had to write the whole History of Popular Brazilian Music in 15 volumes, it wouldn’t be enough at all, no question. But if I only had to write one and only word, then I would only select that one: Pixinguinha.” — the Brazilian musician and historian, Ary Vasconcelos “The choro is definitely the most developed and sophisticated genre of all Popular Brazilian Music. There are millions of choros existing but the very best are definitely by Pixinguinha.” — the Brazilian composer, Radames Gnattali Russ De Angelo LOVE STORY I was twelve years old when I first discovered popular Brazilian music. Or perhaps I was younger, I think I was actually nine years old. Or younger even, possibly four years old. Yes four years old, of course: that was when Black Orpheus came out, the cult film of the French director Marcel Camus, a contemporary of the Nouvelle Vague in cinema, of Bossa Nova in music, Oscar winner for Best Foreign Film in 1960 and of the Golden Palm at the Cannes’ Festival the year before. So I was definitely four years old when I first encountered Brazil for the very first time, and that will be the “official” date going forward. Black Orpheus! This movie whose soundtrack (especially that, without a doubt) will mark the minds of so many generations. Did you know that to this day the expression Bossa Nova remains the least inaccurate Portuguese translation of the Nouvelle Vague? The musical-film and Franco-Brazilian loop of those years could not have been closed with more panache. It was only a little later that I made this popular Brazilian music my own, at an age, still very young — I was scarcely fourteen years old — I had the privilege to be accepted at the Ecole Normale de Musique de Paris in the class of Alberto Ponce. Back then I was leading a kind of double life: studying classical guitar “in the open” and, learning this MPB (the Brazilian abbreviation for Popular Music in Brazil) the rest of the time, almost secretly and totally self-taught. While I sight-read the set pieces at the Ecole Normale, I cleared the ground for this terra incognita that was full of promises with Baden Powell and Elis Regina LPs as my only comrades-in-arms. In short, parallel lives where Tarrega and Joao Gilberto were “great buddies” and where the old Silvius Leopold Weiss had a Love Affair with Queen Elis. It makes me smile when I think about it. It was also by deciphering the written texts on the back of records and by intoxicating myself with the song lyrics until I had an overdose that I, in fine, learned to speak Portuguese. The Portuguese of Brazil of course, this language imbued with musicality. Simply learning the basics provided me with the same jubilation as the one I felt when getting through a rebellious chord chart by Joao Gilberto or the joy I had when I imagined playing in duo with Tom Jobim on piano. Brazil! The country where everything is one. This land where the language is music and the fruits are instruments. There, even the dogs syncopate when they bark. Right from the start this MPB began to speak to me in a very familiar and casual tone, while I, still in awe, addressed it with reverent respect. Decades later, I feel it so strongly fixed inside me, that when I say I encountered this music at the age of 4, I am afraid it’s actually a “white lie”. Okay. It’s now time for a complete confession. Here goes. I have always had the firm belief — an intimate and first-rate belief — that I encountered this MPB way before Black Orpheus. For the same reason that to this day J.S. Bach remains the only flaw in my (nevertheless) sincere atheism, Brazilian music is the “weakness” that makes me swallow the existence of previous lives. That’s it, I have said it, I have “come out”. It’s true, I was completely crazy about it. As we all know, France, this country where I live and that I like, has some unquestionable qualities for which the whole world envies us. Besides, don’t our German neighbors, at times of happiness say: Glücklich wie Gott im Frankreich (happy as God in France)? Not so bad, all the same! Nonetheless, it is possible that these national virtues can live under the same roof — nobody’s perfect, not even France — with some minor shortcomings of…shall we call it a “cultural nature”. In the first row of these minor shortcomings I would place what I call “the self-adhesive syndrome” which can be summarized as follows, I quote: “A tendency consisting of the adhesion (preferably hasty) of a label on the forehead of all artists committing themselves to a clearly identifiable path, even for a limited time. In this case, even worse, if the latter persists in taking this same clearly identifiable path, woe betide him for his image will therefore become indelible”. End of quote. Isn’t this “self-adhesive syndrome” a little scary? That’s why, without a doubt, for a long time — much too long when I think of it — I have guarded against the resurgence of these all-too-meaningful musical experiences, allowing only some irrepressible and possibly unconscious Brazilian shadows of the past to slip mezza voce into some of my works, no more. I would acknowledge that the great Francophile and at the same time “serious” composer of 20th century Villa-Lobos (“the white Indian of Brazil” as he used to call himself) would be my ideal alibi during these years of popular Brazilian shortage. Muito obrigado Senhor Villa-Lobos! Time has passed and so has the concern for an image, completely. The desire and the appetite to do, on the other hand, have remained intact, even increased. And it is thanks to the three minutes of a choro by Alfredo da Rocha Vianna, Jr, played by one of the participants in an unforgettable Master Class in Lisbon in 2007 (thank you Virgilio Gomes) that I had the sudden realization, or I should say, I felt the urgency of an indispensable reunion with this music so dear to my heart. Thus this choro, trivial but luminous, awoke a whole world that was lying dormant in me for aeons. But with such a nimble eye· And it is to this choro and this alone that I owe the idea of this arrangement project — arrangements of a minute part of a brilliant work — it is to this choro and this alone that I owe the creation of the recording that I am presenting to you here featuring the music of someone I consider as one of the greatest melody makers of all time: Alfredo da Rocha Vianna, Jr, otherwise known as Pixinguinha. Roland Dyens — March 7, 2009 (translated by Farinaz Agharabi) In memory of my father Robert Dyens, painter (1930-2004) and my brother Bruno Dyens, painter and designer (1969-1993) These arrangements by Roland Dyens are available in print, exacly as recorded (GSP265) from Guitar Solo Publications: www.gspguitar.com