A certain song
— Marighela's ghost has come back, shame on being Brazilian.
— Do you prefer the ghosts of Artur da Costa e Silva and of Medici?
— The King’s thousandth goal would be better.
— Huh?
— Pelé, the thousandth goal in Maracanã! He drew a foul in the area, penalty. It hit the right corner and ...
— Left!
— His right, left of the keeper. Twenty-nine years, one thousand goals, Maraca crowded.
— He’s the King!
— If it's to remember 69, let's remember the Kings.
— Do you miss the monarchy?
— Santos against Vasco da Gama, unforgettable.
— But the judge stole it.
— Sérgio Moro, right?
— He was from the Northeast, you know.
— What?
— The judge, from Pernambuco. He signaled the penalty, but the King threw himself.
— Folks, Marighela was murdered by DOPS agents, blasts of machine-gun ...
— Aw, what the hell, let's talk about football, which is better.
— Okay, but you know that at the time of the murder, your King's team was playing?
— And who won?
— Santos and Corinthians, at Pacaembu.
— Was it a tie?
— The murder was announced through the loudspeakers in the stadium and the crowd shouted enthusiastically, commemorating a person's death.
— Not of a person, no! Of a killer. He was a Communist, Northeastern, a race that must be exterminated.
From that moment I could no longer wait for my destination stop. There was no other option but to listen – given the volume at which they spoke – to this group’s conversation. I got out before, there were three stops left, but it was impossible to stay in the same wagon. The fierce spirits of the strangers made me hesitate in any attempt at a dialogue.
Distraught for having descended into a region that I did not know and, above all, for having been silent in the face of this discussion, it took me a long time to locate myself.
Still a little aimless, I came across a small tavern, a «fado vadio», a woman singing:
«...abre as asas passarinho que eu quero voar …»
«... spread your wings little bird because I want to fly ...»
I immediately recognized the composition by Tuzé de Abreu and connected with two other women: Suely Rolnik sings Gal Costa.
Almost 10 years ago, a dossier on the thinking of Gilles Deleuze was published in a Brazilian magazine. This dossier contains a text by Suely Rolnik who, among other things, writes about a meeting between her and Gal Costa. Or, if you like, an encounter with a timbre in the invention of a body. It was the late 1970s and, exiled in Paris, Suely began to inhabit the French language, also as a protection strategy in the face of the trauma of the dictatorship in Brazil. The French language, as she claims, had become a «clandestine shelter», perhaps even a nest. The decision, which had never before been considered, to return to Brazil came about when singing such a song.
Much applauded, the fado singer is asked to go on.
Without hesitation, she continues:
«...fundarão o seu reinado
dos ossos de Brasília
das últimas paisagens
depois do fim do mundo...»
It was Gal, no longer the Gal of India, but the lysergic Gal of 1969. Even with all the censorship, a number of unique records were released that year in Brazil. For me, one of the most visceral is this one. A world gushing through the pores of Gal. The psychedelic cover, the lyrics, the form and the force, the effects, the guitar. I think, without any romantic nostalgia for a time that I have not lived, about the urgency and radicality of many of the works, in music, in cinema, in the visual arts, in theater, in dance ... in life, that, nevertheless, resist.
«...depois do fim do mundo...» «... after the end of the world...» the fado singer emphasizes.
In 2019, Brazil in flames, with other weapons and strategies, many worlds to be invented, others extinguished. There is no definitive conquest.
After the end of a world.
Lost, I decide to take a taxi:
– Good afternoon, where to?
On the radio, Elza Soares sings:
«...Eu quero cantar até o fim
Me deixem cantar até o fim
Até o fim eu vou cantar
Eu vou cantar até o fim
Eu sou mulher do fim do mundo
Eu vou cantar, me deixem cantar até o fim...»