By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
Toked-up Brazilian psychedelic trio Os Mutantes records a definitive version of sambamaster-gone-hardcore Jorge Ben's "A Minha Menina," with echoed giggling, fuzz guitar and Sandra Deestyle boy-girl lyrics, which they punctuate with shoo-be-do-wah-yeahs of a nature both more convincing and light-hearted than Lou Reed would accomplish on Loaded a couple years later. This isn't "Won't Get Fooled Again," or even "Eve of Destruction"it's deeply felt formal theater, like Ruben and the Jets. It rocks percussively, it smells pretty good, you mimic their giggles. But perhaps the laughter is in contempt. Is '50s rock'n'roll some stand-in for an oppressive regime? You can never tell with those life-is-theater folks. (Why else would anyone wear sunglasses indoors?)
The world was on fire, and Brazil responded with a brainy lap dance. How often can you fuck to satire? "A Minha Menina" can be found on Os Mutantes's self-titled first LP, finally out domestically along with the next couple (1969's Mutantes and 1970's A Divina Comédia Ou Ando Meio Desligado, all with well-meaning if kinda cheesy packagingwhy no Portuguese lyrics? Why aren't the songwriters in the CD booklet?), as well as on World Psychedelic Classics One: The Best of Os Mutantes: Everything Is Possible, a well-considered Mutantes compilation (solid liner notes) coming out this week on David Byrne's (of course, of course) Luaka Bop label.
World Psychedelic Classics 1: Brazil: The Best of Os Mutantes: Everything Is Possible!
Luaka Bop/Warner Bros.
The approach of these CDs isn't all that different from the meaningful frou-frou that was the Tropicalia movement at the time, and, in fact, Mutantes, as awe-inspiring as they were, are consistently overrated just a wee bit, what with the pretty girl (singer Rita Lee, future '80s star, topless on the cover of Divina, yes, yes y'all), the punchy guitars and the fact that a lot of the Brazilian material from this period is just now getting a hearing in this country. It's the first LP that really makes the reputationa petri dish for the Tropicalia experiment, it rocks harder, pre-Santana, then almost anything from Tropicalia's moment, save some Jorge Ben.
But, like much Tropicalia, Os Mutantes the album also throws a pretty good change-up. Last year's Tropicalia 30 Años box of Mutantes, Veloso, Gal Costa, et al. has turned a lot of heads 360 degrees, and those of us who grew up listening to the scrape of Milton Nascimento buffing Paul Simon's toupee and Neil Schon soloing off Flora Purim's vulva are undergoing considerable psychiatric readjustment. And the supply would appear endless, just as with Moog records a half-decade ago. Sure, Veloso was singing about flying saucers more deeply than anyone this side of Screaming Jay Hawkins's Reichian therapy. But you mean to tell us that Sergio Mendes was recording psychedelic drumming suites in the '70s? That Egberto Gismonti recorded the first Stereolab LP? That Hermeto Pascoal forged the great pathway between Charles Mingus, Enoch Light, and Amon Düül I? And that these aren't even Tropicalia artists, per se? Although Os Mutantes was more of a band, you'll find Brazil's orchestrations of the time more subversive than Mutantes' guitars, more so than even George Martin's orchestrationseasy-listening as an avant-garde.
Great art doesn't always stand the test of time, but it does seem to come back for a proper misunderstanding. The Beatles really were the Monkees, and Tropicalia, like much hip-marginal stuff these days, lays Le Historia del Rock on an olive branch of equal jokey seriousness with, say, Philly teen and Everly crooners, lounge (at the time, a nonsense term), "ethnic" and "folk" traditions (more nonsense terms), yé-yé melancholia, and the usual avant-pitstops. And Tropicalia seems the one music capable of bringing together the tight-sphinctered Devo-haircut thrift-store sophisticates with the funky-ass white-boy grad-school primitives.
But as Chuck D put it, "We're all the same. No we're not the same." And speaking of civil war, civil war made Brazil, for awhile, the world's largest debtor, but musically, the world seemed to return the favor. In their pop-'60s eclecticism, the first two Os Mutantes records could be Elephant 6 releases, even if they cover the Francois Hardyidentified "Le Premier Bonheur du Jour," Swingle Singersstyle. They heard the connections back then. Why are we snobs only hearing them now?