Copyright

by

Daniel Sherwood Sotelino

2006
Choro Paulistano and the Seven-String Guitar:
an Ethnographic History

by

Daniel Sherwood Sotelino, B.A.

Master’s Report
Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of

The University of Texas at Austin

in Partial Fulfillment

of the Requirements

for the Degree of Ethnomusicology

Master of Music

The University of Texas at Austin

May 2006
Choro Paulistano and the Seven-String Guitar:
an Ethnographic History

Approved by
Supervising Committee:
 Dedication

To

Dr. Gerard Béhague

Friend and Mentor

Treasure of Knowledge

1937–2005
 Acknowledgements

I would like to express utmost gratitude to my family–my wife, Mariah, my

brother, Marco, and my parents, Fernando & Karen–for supporting my musical and

scholarly pursuits for all of these years. I offer special thanks to José Luiz Herencia and

the Instituto Moreira Salles, luthier João Batista, the great chorões Israel and Izaías

Bueno de Almeida, Luizinho Sete Cordas, Arnaldinho at Contemporânea Instrumentos

Musicais, Sandra at the Music Library of UFRJ, Wilson Sete Cordas, the folks at Ó do

Borogodó, and everyone at Praça Benedito Calixto, Sesc Pompéia, Pop’s Music, and

Cachuera. I am very appreciative of Lúcia for all of her delicious cooking. I am fortunate

to have worked with the professors and instructors at the University of Texas-Austin: Dr.

Slawek, my advisor, who truly encourages intellectual exploration; Dr. Moore for his

candid observations; Dr. Hale for his tireless dedication to teaching; Dr. Mooney, for

wonderful research opportunities; Dr. Dell’Antonio for looking out for the interests and

needs of students, and for providing valuable insight; Dr. Antokoletz, Dr. Pearsall, and

Dr. Heine for hammering Western music notation and history into my head without too

much pain. Finally, I send many praises to my friends and colleagues at the University of

Texas who made all of this worthwhile and fun; you are too many to name; you know

who you are.

May 2006

v
 Choro Paulistano and the Seven-String Guitar:
an Ethnographic History

Daniel Sherwood Sotelino, MMusic

The University of Texas at Austin, 2006

Supervisor: Stephen M. Slawek

This is a study of choro in São Paulo, with a brief ethnography of seven-string

guitarists. Studies of choro have routinely favored Rio de Janeiro, the birthplace of choro.
This work focuses on São Paulo because it has a rich choro tradition, as well as an active
and creative contemporary choro scene that has frequently been overshadowed by Rio de
Janeiro’s.
There are three main parts to this study. The first part provides background
information, including the major guitarists that have contributed to the development of
the guitar’s role in choro, and brief reviews of the most important literature on the subject
of choro. The second part discusses São Paulo, my methodology, and the music scholars
that have informed this study. The second part is the analytical base for the study, in
which I examine the song, “Sampa” (1978), by Caetano Veloso, and interpret the uses,
functions, and concepts of choro, drawing from Alan Merriam. Part II also includes a
brief discussion of the resurgence of choro in the 1970s. This work proposes that choro
has as its principal functions both musical and social education. The musical education
choro provides is aural, notational, historical, and improvisational. The social education
choro provides is one of an idealized mythological “racial democracy.” The third and
final part is a brief ethnography of the contemporary choro scene in São Paulo, with a
focus on seven-string guitarists, and a descriptive account for the contextualization of
choro.

vi
 Table of Contents

Introduction......……………………………………………………………………………1

I The Spring, a History....…………………………………………………………...7

1) Style, Genre, or Performance Practice? Defining Choro..…..…………..……...8
2) Sátiro Bilhar to Dino 7 Cordas, a History of Choro Guitar.…….….…...…….18
3) The Mystery of Choro, a Survey of the Literature...……….…………………31

II The River, a Transition....……………………………………….……………….43

4) Sampa...……………..……..……………...………………….……………….44
5) Approach..…………………….…….………………………….……………..54
6) Transcending Racial Discrimination...………………………….…………….81

III The Ocean, an Ethnography..……………………………………….…………....91

7) Rodas, Saraus, and Concerts in São Paulo…….......…………….……………94
8) Seven-String Guitar Chorões in São Paulo..…....………………….………...106

The Water, Conclusions...…………………………………………………….………...113

Glossary..……………………………………………………………………….………117

List of Sources………………………………………………………………….………120

Vita……………………………………………………………………………………...124

vii
 Introduction

The rhythms of this popular music intrigued and fascinated me. There
was, in the syncopation, an imperceptible suspension, a lazy breath, a
subtle rest, that was very difficult to capture.

(Darius Milhaud, Notes sans musique, 1945, my translation)

Choro is a unique and influential music because chorões (choro musicians)

continue to blur the lines between folk, popular, traditional modern, erudite, classical, “by

ear,” written, improvisational, and composed musics. Choro is probably the most

important Southeastern Brazilian musical practice from the late nineteenth century that is

still active and vital in contemporary national and international soundscapes. Choro is

consensually recognized as one of the most important forms of Brazilian music.

Choro has played an integral role in the creation of Brazil’s Southeastern popular

and art music since the 1870s, thirty years before recording technologies were available

in Brazil.1 It has influenced and inspired generations of Brazilian artists, and at the turn of

the twentieth to the twenty-first century, choro has become audible in global

soundscapes, as well as a subject of study for musicians and scholars of diverse

nationalities and cultural backgrounds. While continuing to develop and change through

well over a century, choro has maintained clearly identifiable links to the aesthetics and

performance practices from its late nineteenth century roots.

1
According to the popular music historian, Humberto Franceschi, “The general
consensus is that the first record made in Brazil was ‘Isto É Bom’ (‘This Is Good’), a
lundu composed by Xisto Bahia, and performed by Baiano, on Zonophone disk #10,001”
in 1902 (my translation of Franceschi, 94).

1
 Most works about choro acknowledge the important influence of Northeastern

Brazilian musicians and one guitarist from São Paulo, Garoto, on the emergence and

development of choro. However, all works on the topic of choro focus on the marvelous

city in Brazil’s Southeast, Rio de Janeiro. Rio de Janeiro is usually understood as the

cultural and political capital of Brazil from 1763, when the colonial administration of

Portuguese America relocated to Rio, until around 1960 when the political capital of

Brazil was moved to Brasília. Yet, by 1889, with the end of the Brazilian monarchy, and

the establishment of Brazil as a republic, São Paulo had become the economic center of

Brazil thanks primarily to its coffee production. As a result, São Paulo became much

more populous and diverse. By 1894, São Paulo’s economic elite had consolidated

national political power with the election of Prudente de Morais as President of the

Republic. Currently, Brazil has such a rich and diverse cultural heritage that it would be

both impossible and ridiculous to designate any one Brazilian city as the “cultural

capital” of the nation. Nonetheless, both São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro remain in the

spotlight as cultural references both nationally and internationally.

There are three main reasons this study focuses on choro in São Paulo:2 a) São

Paulo has a long history of choro, a musical style that is central to the city’s music

tradition; b) there has been relatively less research about choro conducted in São Paulo as

compared to Rio de Janeiro; c) São Paulo is the city with which I am most familiar

because I was born and raised there.

2
For more general studies of choro, see Henrique Cazes’s Choro: do Quintal ao
Municipal (1998), André Diniz’s Almanaque do Choro: A história do chorinho, o que
ouvir, o que ler, onde curtir (2003), and Tamara Livingston-Isenhour’s & Thomas
George Caracas Garcia’s Choro: A Social History of a Brazilian Popular Music (2005).

2
 The reason most studies of choro focus on Rio de Janeiro is that it is the birthplace

of choro, and remains the most important center for choro activity in the world. I am not

criticizing the fact that most studies have focused on Rio de Janeiro; after all, this is only

natural given its history and contemporary choro scene. Instead, I am merely adding to

the available literature on the subject by choosing to examine choro in São Paulo. Further

studies could examine choro in Brasília, Salvador, Santos, Recife, Porto Alegre, Belo

Horizonte, Austin, New York, Berkeley, Tokyo, or other parts of Brazil and the world.

I have chosen to use the seven-string guitar as a springboard for three reasons.

First, many Brazilians view the guitar, despite its Iberian origins, as their national

instrument, overlooking, in so doing, other likely candidates such as the pandeiro,

cavaquinho, and berimbau. Even though this study does not examine the guitar as a

national symbol and focuses on the seven-string guitar (which is still much less common

than the six-string), the fact remains that guitarists in Brazil (whether six- or seven-string)

are interpreted by many as representing what is most “Brazilian” (whether there is such a

thing or not) in any given ensemble. Second, as an amateur guitarist, I gravitated toward

guitarists during my fieldwork. Third, and most importantly, the seven-string guitar is the

instrument that is most closely identified exclusively with choro. Other instruments that

are intimately linked to choro, such as the pandeiro and cavaquinho, are also typically

found in samba and other genres. While the seven-string guitar is used in Brazilian

samba, North American jazz and metal, it is in choro that the seven-string guitar has

found its role as an essential component. In North American jazz and metal, the seven-

string guitar is typically an electronically amplified instrument. In samba and choro, the

3
guitars are acoustic. In samba, jazz, and metal, the seven-string guitar is neither required,

nor typical. It is from choro that this instrument has become nearly inseparable. The

seventh string, essential to the low-end baixarias that the guitar provides, contributes to

the fullness of the ensemble’s sound. These baixarias are played faster than is usually

possible on a bass guitar or upright bass and fill in four or five half-steps (depending on

tuning) below the range of a six-string guitar. The seventh string also provides the

possibility of lower-end and rapid-paced counterpoint. Improvised and composed

counterpoint and baixaria on the seven-string guitar have become hallmarks of any choro

performance. While metal, jazz, and samba are often performed without a seven-string

guitar, choro is usually performed with a seven-string guitar in a professional concert

setting or an informal roda. Even when choro is played without a seven-string guitar, six-

string guitarists are aware that to have the full sounding ensemble, the seventh string is

desirable.

This is not to say that the six-string guitar does not play an important role in the

choro ensemble. For a study of the role of the six-string guitar in choro see Chapter III of

José Paulo Thamaturgo Becker’s Master’s report entitled, O Acompanhamento do Violão

de 6 Cordas no Choro, a partir de sua Visão no Conjunto Época de Ouro3 for the

Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro, 1996.

This report is divided into three main parts, “The Spring, a history,” “The River, a

transition,” and “The Ocean, an ethnography.” The water metaphor serves the purpose of

emphasizing that choro is fluid, and in constant change, but is composed of some basic

3
The title can be translated as “The Accompaniment of the 6 string guitar in Choro, from
the perspective of its role in the ensemble Época de Ouro.”

4
common elements. The historical section is referred to as a spring, because it is the

emphasis on the history of choro that separates it from other styles of performance in

Brazil. Chorões inevitably refer to historical figures in discourse, and play old

compositions during sets. In this sense, most chorões are aware of the importance of the

historical legacy as a source for choro, even if they are not completely familiar with the

historical facts themselves. Historical fact and springs also have share the characteristic

of mystery in that we cannot know all of the historical figures that have influenced choro,

just as we cannot know every drop of water that led to the formation of a spring. The

analytical and methodological portion of the work is referred to as a river because it is a

link between the historical past and the contemporary present. Granted, this is just my

link, and many other possible rivers may flow from different springs. The ethnographic

part is referred to as an Ocean because São Paulo is like an ocean of urban life. When

flying over it with a bird’s eye view from an airplane, there appears to be no end to the

cityscape that is São Paulo. It expands in all directions beyond even the horizon, similarly

to the ocean. Further, even the choro universe of São Paulo seems infinite, with people of

all different backgrounds learning of the genre at an unpredictable pace.

Part I, “The Spring, a history,” is divided into three chapters. The first chapter,

“Style, Genre, or Performance Practice?” provides a definition of the term choro, as well

as a brief discussion of the earliest chorões. Chapter 2, “Sátiro Bilhar to Dino Sete

Cordas,” explores the development of the role of the guitar in choro from its earliest

stages through the end of the twentieth century. Chapter 3, “The Mystery of Choro,”

examines what I used as the five main book-length publications on choro in my research.

5
 Part II, “The River, a Transition,” also includes three chapters. Chapter 4,

“Sampa,” analyzes the lyrics of Caetano Veloso’s song of the same name as a starting

point to examine questions of Paulistano and Brazilian identity. Chapter 5,

“Methodology and Analysis,” provides a discussion of relevant ethnomusicological

theory and how it has influenced my methodological and analytical approaches, and

tackles the recurring theme of resurgence throughout the history of choro as a basis for

understanding its present role. Chapter 6, “Transcending Racial Discrimination in Latin

America,” returns to the question of identity, focusing on the maintenance of Brazil’s

nationalized “racial democracy” concept, and how this plays out in the roda de choro.

Part III, “The Ocean, an Ethnography,” has three chapters, as well. Chapter 7,

“Guitar Chorões in Sampa, some Musicians,” includes brief portrayals of some of São

Paulo’s seven-string chorões. Chapter 8, “Rodas and Concertos, on Context,” provides

descriptions of some places where choro can be found in São Paulo at the beginning of

the twenty-first century, as well as a discussion of musical context. Chapter 9, “The

Water, Conclusions,” concludes the study with final thoughts on the functions, concepts

and interpretations of choro in the vast and diverse soundscape of São Paulo’s music.

6
 PART I: THE SPRING, a history

Choro represents the foundation of our music. To play, to understand, to

be, to think Brazilian music, everyone must cross by the concept and the
music of choro.

(Egberto Gismonti, http://www.brazil-Brazil.com/musjun98.htm)

In urban Southeast Brazil’s musical universe, choro is the bridge between art and

popular; the birthplace of the creative process; the core of its language. Many Brazilian

musicians consider the choro to be the most important musical expression of the country.

While choro had become increasingly popular from the time of its conception in the

1870s through a boom of creativity and performance in the 1940s, it began to take a back

seat to other forms of popular music in the 1950s as bossa nova emerged on the national

and international mediated music scene. Although choro never recovered its place as the

most popular form of music in Brazil, in the 1970s–80s it experienced a resurgence that

has kept the music quite alive through the beginnings of the twenty-first century.

7
 Chapter 1: Style, Genre, or Performance Practice? Defining Choro

One of the central issues surrounding the term choro is its etymology (cf. Cazes

1998 and Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia 2005). Scholars are uncertain as to the origins of

the term “choro” but offer various theories. David Appleby believes that choro earned its

name from the verb chorar (to cry), because of its melancholy phrasing. However, this is

misleading, because choros are alternately energetic and joyous, such as Pixinguinha’s “1

x 0,” or full of sorrow, such as Pixinguinha’s “Carinhoso.” Gerard Béhague suggested

that “choro” might have emerged from the Afro-Brazilian dance, xolo. According to

Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia, “no evidence supports this connection other than

orthographic mutation” (60). The most compelling etymological theory for the word

comes from Ary Vasconcelos who suggested that choro came from people shortening the

term choromeleiro. Choromeleiros were musical fraternities that included the wind

instrument, charamela, during colonial times in both Brazil and the Iberian Peninsula

(Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia, 60). “Over time, the term,” choromeleiro, “came to

designate any musician, regardless of instrument, who played in an ensemble that

included charamelas. Eventually, the flute supplanted the charamela as the wind

instrument of choice” (Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia, 61). The inclusion of the flute led

to the formation of what is now recognized as the traditional choro ensemble.

There are various theories to explain the origins of the term, but in the following

chapter, I will focus on what the term actually means and how it is used in contemporary

Brazilian culture in reference to music.

8
 Often choro is referred to as chorinho. Adding “inho” or “inha” to most nouns in

Portuguese creates the diminutive form of the word. Brazilians often use chorinho and

choro interchangeably, but most chorões, scholars, and music critics prefer the term

choro because chorinho can be interpreted as derogatory. In some cases, I did observe

chorões using the term “chorinho” in reference to their own particular style of playing,

but in a self-effacing manner.4 For the vast majority of cases, in emic settings, the term

used was choro, and for this reason, I will discuss the term choro (and not chorinho) in

this chapter.

Defining Choro

Dr. Gerard Béhague defined choro as follows:

A term with various meanings in Brazilian popular music. Generically

choro denotes urban instrumental ensemble music, often with one group
member as a soloist. Specifically it refers to an ensemble of chorões
(musician serenaders) that developed in Rio de Janeiro around 1870. One
of the first known choros was organized by the popular composer and
virtuoso flautist Joaquim Antonio da Silva Callado (1848–80). In the mid-
19th century the instrumental ensemble generally included flute, clarinet,
ophicleide, trombone, a cavaquinho (a type of ukulele), guitar and a few
percussion instruments (particularly tambourine). The repertory of choro
ensembles consisted mostly of dances of European origin performed at
popular festivities. For the serenades the band accompanied sentimental
songs, such as modinhas, performed by a solo singer. No special music
was composed for the choros at that time, but such designations as polka-
choro and valsa-choro indicate the nationalization of European dances in
Brazil.
In the 20th century the choro or chorinho has been closely connected with
other popular dances of urban Brazil such as the Maxixe, the tango
Brasileiro and the Samba. All have the same rhythmic patterns
(syncopated binary figures), although tempo and instrumentation are

4
“False modesty” or “falsa modéstia” is a common trait among many chorões, who
consistently underestimate their musical ability in conversation.

9
 distinguishing features. The originality of the choro of the 1930s and
1940s, for example those the Velha Guarda band of “Pixinguinha”
(Alfredo Rocha Viana), lies in the typical virtuoso improvisation of
instrumental variations and the resulting imaginative counterpoint
(Béhague, 2004, Grove Music Online, “Choro”).

The key to Béhague’s definition is in the opening sentence of the passage: choro

is a “term with various meanings in Brazilian popular music.” The reason for this being

that choro is used most frequently to describe an acoustic instrumental performance

involving a small ensemble, usually including pandeiro, guitar, cavaquinho, and a soloist,

with a common repertory of Brazilian compositions, which can be referred to as choro

standards. While the compositions that are typically considered to be of the choro genre

are in duple meter with syncopated accompaniment, in rondo form, and contain at least

one modulation to the dominant and back to the tonic, these structural characteristics are

not always employed. Furthermore, a choro ensemble will often perform a popular

samba, a traditional waltz, a maxixe, or a choro lacking some of its designated structural

“requirements” (such as use of the rondo form), while maintaining a choro feel in the

performance. This feel derives from a combination of musical technique with personal

musical accent. Usually, the soloist is highly virtuosic, and strives to display sentiment;

there is often a contrapuntal second musician who dialogues with the first musician with

virtuosity and harmonic understanding; the pandeirista mixes a metronomic steadiness

with a swung and syncopated malícia, without losing the clear sense of downbeat

throughout the entire piece; the cavaquinista provides syncopated and fast harmonic

accompaniment alongside playful malícia; and the guitarists execute rapid-fire baixarias,

10
counterpoint, and accompaniment, without overpowering the soloist, while filling out the

lower-end of the harmonic scheme.

Most chorões and scholars would agree with Béhague’s statement that the

“repertory of choro ensembles consisted mostly of dances of European origin performed

at popular festivities.” In other words, it is probable that the term “choro,” at its coining,

was used much in the same way it is used in contemporary times, that is, in reference to

the musicians and their own personal flavors of performance practice, and not to a

particular genre of music with specific structural traits. While choro eventually became

its own genre in the early twentieth century, and the term can still be used in reference to

genre (that is, a form of music with particular musical characteristics), in the latter part of

the twentieth century, and into the twenty-first century, the term’s main use has been to

refer to a style of performance executed by choro musicians. The original choro aesthetic

was based on borrowing from European dance styles, such as the polka and waltz and

mixing them with early Brazilian rhythms, such as the maxixe, tango brasileiro, modinha

and lundu.5

In sum, Choro was at first a style of playing music. In the 1910s, it became
a defined musical form. Choro as a genre usually has three parts (in
modern times, two) and is characterized by its necessary modulation.
More recently, Choro has again come to mean a way of phrasing,
applicable to various types of Brazilian music. Use of the rondo form, has
become less strict (Cazes, 21, my translation).

Today chorões emphasize the fact that choro is “a style of playing music,” and

that the musical structure itself is not as important. It is common to hear popular music

5
For more on modinha and lundu see Araújo, 1963, and Livingston-Isenhour and Garcia,
2005, Chapter 2.

11
songs, especially sambas, converted into the choro style of performance. It is also

common for choro musicians to accompany MPB and samba singers. The main reason for

this is probably that samba and choro are both musically and historically very closely

related. In fact, Pixinguinha, who is commonly referenced as the main figure, or even the

embodiment of choro, is also frequently recognized as one of the early creative geniuses

of samba (despite the fact that his instruments–flute, clarinet, and saxophone–are not

typically thought of as samba instruments). The basic duple rhythm played by the

pandeiro in both samba and choro is frequently the four-stroke pattern referred to as

partido-alto. Chorões and sambistas often use similar syncopated phrasing in the melodic

and harmonic instruments. Choro and samba have influenced each other for over a

century. Most musicians who play choro also play samba, although the inverse is not

necessarily true because the samba universe is so much more populous than that of the

chorões. Nonetheless, there are some notable musical differences. In conversation in July

2005 with Izaías de Bueno Almeida, he pointed to the melodic range of choro being

much wider than that of samba. He noted that samba is composed to be sung, while choro

is composed for musical instruments, thus allowing for a wider range and more freedom

in the melody. According to Izaías, more freedom in the melody also allows for slightly

more sophisticated harmonies. Nonetheless, while choro does include modulations, most

chorões argue that choro harmonies are not complicated, since modulations are usually to

the dominant or relative minor.

The extensive range of musical characteristics of the pieces chorões play means

that choro should be considered a style of performance, as well as a genre. In addition to

12
pieces labeled as choros, there are many examples of waltzes, tangos brasileiros,

maxixes, and polkas, to name a few of the genres that chorões typically perform. These

genres vary in time signature, types of rhythmic cells executed by each instrument,

harmonic progression, tempo, and form.

For the purposes of this study, I will examine choro as a performance practice,

and use the term choro in reference to a particular style of execution, rather than a genre

with specific musical characteristics that can be identified on staff paper. I will analyze

choro as the scope of the performance practice that is typically heard when present at an

event referred to as a choro event in common Brazilian discourse, such as a concert

advertised as such, or an informal roda de choro, where the musicians gather with the

intent of performing choro music, which typically includes other genres of music such as

waltzes, polkas, sambas and maxixes.

For the sake of clarity, I will point to a few musical characteristics that are

typically found in a choro performance. The first is the instrumentation. While there are

inevitably many varieties of ensemble formations, at the beginning of the twenty-first

century a typical choro group consists of one pandeiro, one cavaquinho, one or two

guitars (of which one is usually a seven-string), and one or two soloists, usually flute,

clarinet, saxophone, mandolin or harmonica. The second is the dominance of

instrumental music over song. The third is the fact that most choro performances tend to

prioritize performance of the choro genre of music, which is in duple time, and typically

in rondo form, with at least one modulation to a closely related key, although most choro

ensembles perform at least one waltz (triple time) and, often, a samba or maxixe (which

13
do not require a modulation) in the course of a concert or informal roda. The fourth is the

baixaria executed on the guitar. While these characteristics are important, it is the overall

stylistic approach, including melodic sensitivity, dynamics, timing, and technique that is

emphasized by chorões.

Early choro

Livingston-Isenhour and Garcia provide a fairly detailed account for the origins

and early development of choro in Chapters 4 and 5 of Choro: A Social History of a

Brazilian Popular Music. Chapter 4 argues that choro had three main sources, all of

which were Afro-Brazilian–choromeleiro ensembles, barbeiro (barber) ensembles and

fazenda (plantation) bands. Choromeleiros were musicians who performed on

charamelas, and other wind instruments, and eventually in everyday discourse, any

instrumental group was referred to by the shortened version of choromeleiro–choro

(Livingston-Isenhour and Garcia, 60, from Vasconcelos). “The choromeleiro came to Rio

de Janeiro and became a part of its cultural life in the 1830s” (Livingston-Isenhour and

Garcia, 61). For the purposes of this study, it is important to note, the “guitar had been a

part of the choromeleiro since its introduction to Brazil during colonization” (Livingston-

Isenhour and Garcia, 61). The barbeiros were versatile professionals who also worked as

musicians, and based their ensembles on the terno (trio of guitar, cavaquinho and flute).

Fazenda bands were also common, as a demonstration of wealth (Livingston-Isenhour

and Garcia, 62–63). According to Livingston-Isenhour and Garcia, all of these groups

14
were composed almost entirely of Afro-Brazilians and were of seminal importance to the

eventual formation of choro.

Most scholars usually include Joaquim Antonio da Silva Callado, Analecto de

Medeiros (flautists), Chiquinha Gonzaga, and Ernesto Nazareth (pianists) among the

earliest important chorões.6 This is surprising because while the flute is still common in

contemporary choro performances and recordings, the piano makes only infrequent

appearances. Nonetheless, these four musician-composers were fundamental in

developing the early aesthetic and musical form of choro from which guitarists,

mandolinists, saxophonists, clarinetists, and other instrumentalists have drawn inspiration

for generations. Of these four earliest sources of choro, I will elaborate only on the

flautists.

Various sources agree that the beginnings of choro as a unique musical genre go

back to Joaquim Antonio da Silva Callado in 1870 (Béhague, Livingston-Isenhour &

Garcia, Pinto, Tinhorão). This is probably because of the weight given to the year as a

starting point for Alexandre Gonçalves Pinto’s book O Choro, published in 1935, and

until recently the only book about choro specifically. The most comprehensive published

historiography on choro, Henrique Cazes’ Choro: Do Quintal ao Municipal (1998),

points to 1845 as an important date for choro because this was the first time the polka

was danced in Brazil (Cazes, 19), and choro would eventually develop from a Brazilian

manner of phrasing the polka. While Cazes does not specifically refer to 1870 as the

6
For more on the specific history of early choro, and these particular artists, see Henrique
Cazes (1998, chapters 1–4), Livingston-Isenhour and Garcia (2005, chapters 4 and 5),
and Mariza Lira (1978).

15
conception of choro, he does emphasize Callado’s influence on the style of performance

that would eventually be referred to as choro. Livingston-Isenhour and Garcia (59)

attribute the 1870 date to the formation of the Joaquim Antonio Callado’s ensemble,

Choro Carioca, based on the common popular music terno orchestration (a trio including

guitar, cavaquinho and flute). The difference was that Choro Carioca featured two

guitars, allowing for baixaria to be executed by one of the guitarists. Livingston-Isenhour

& Garcia also report that Callado “was one of the first well-known musicians to play

polkas in the new choro style, over which he exerted considerable influence. Not only did

he provide the musicians in his group with the harmonic progressions for the pieces they

performed, but he also demanded that his guitarist provide a baixaria when they played”

(67). This crucial piece of information solidly couches the baixaria as not only an

essential element of choro, but also as one of the original elements.

Analecto de Medeiros was the leader and founder of the Banda do Corpo de

Bombeiros (Band of the Fireman Corps) (Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia, 70), which was

one of the most recorded bands of the beginning of the twentieth century (Franceschi). In

contrast to Callado’s compositions, which highlighted virtuosity, Medeiros “relied upon

straightforward pieces composed for the limited abilities of his band members”

(Livingston-Isenhour and Garcia, 59). Medeiros was “one of the first to compose and

arrange pieces with formal scoring that would have been unnecessary in the orally

transmitted choro of the roda” (Livingston-Isenhour and Garcia, 59). Chordophones such

as guitars were seldom used in Medeiros military bands. Although he is understood as

one of the creators of choro, when one listens to his military bands, the parallels do not

16
seem to go much further than the musical structure of the tunes played, because the

orchestration and loose malícia of his contemporaries are not audible, as might be

expected in a comparatively larger ensemble.

One can note even with these early chorões a pattern emerging of contemporaries’

different approaches, and perhaps even rivalries (though frequently indirect and not

understood as such). Medeiros and Callado were both flautists, but with dramatically

different resources available to them, and with contrasting approaches to their music. The

contrast between Chiquinha Gonzaga and Ernesto Nazareth is also noteworthy. Both

were pianists, but had extremely different conceptions of how to present their music,

using different stylistic devices and even using different terminology to describe similar

musical forms.7 This gives insight to the loose definitions of choro, historically, and the

notion that its essence is fluid, like water.

7
For more on these pianists, see Cazes (Chapter 4) and Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia
(Chapter 4, 72-79).

17
 Chapter 2: Sátiro Bilhar to Dino 7 Cordas, a History of Choro Guitar

Long before the emergence of Choro, and the choro style of playing, the
guitar was already a popular instrument that had accumulated significant
presence in every type of music outside of the elite classes (Cazes, 47, my
translation).

Since the guitar was considered only an accompanist’s instrument in the

nineteenth century, little is known of the first choro guitarists. Nonetheless, the guitar has

been a significant instrument in the creation of Brazilian popular music since colonial

times. Afterall, the guitar is of Iberian origin and was imported to South America along

with the Portuguese and Spaniards. Antonio Callado’s quartet, Choro Carioca (the first

choro ensemble in Brazil) formed in 1870, featured two guitars (Livingston-Isenhour &

Garcia, 67), but there is no further record of significance about the guitarists in the group

beyond Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia’s statement that Callado “demanded that his

guitarist provide a baixaria when they played,” (67) as noted in the previous chapter.

While pre-recording era choro guitarists are only seldom referred to by name in the

literature, there is no doubt that guitarists played the role of harmonic and contrapuntal

accompanists from the beginnings of choro. The importance of the guitar in choro had

already solidified by the time Batista Siqueira coined the term “quarteto ideal” to

describe the four instruments that should comprise every choro group–namely flute,

cavaquinho, and two guitars (Cazes, 47). It is obvious that this “ideal quartet” is the same

formation that Callado established in 1870 in his ensemble, Choro Carioca.8

8
The pandeiro as an essential instrument in a grupo regional did not develop until the
early twentieth century in the hands of João da Bahiana (cf. Cazes, 79–83).

18
 The first recordings of music referred to as choros date to 1907 (Cazes, 19). Cazes

has observed that the guitar style of that time, while including the baixarias, did so in a

much less exuberant fashion than is done today. In other words, the guitar served

primarily as a harmonic accompaniment, and secondarily for contrapuntal embellishment.

Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia define baixaria as follows

The hallmark feature of choro style is an elaborated, usually improvised,

bass line played on the lower strings of the six- or seven-string guitar. In
the terno, the guitar is expected to provide both a chordal rhythmic
accompaniment and a bass line. The bass line, or baixaria (from baixo,
bass), is created using a number of stylistic resources: filling in the tonic
and dominant chords with scalar runs, utilizing a walking bass (i.e.,
stepwise motion reinforcing the beat), inserting melodic or rhythmic
responses to the soloist or cavaquinho player, and improvising
contrapuntal melodies, riffs, and pedal points (6).

Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia provide a more detailed explanation for what they

refer to as baixaria that does Cazes’ (perhaps because Cazes is not a guitarist). Cazes

dates the first baixaria to the first choro recording (1907). Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia

argued that the first baixarias date “from 1914: the waltz “Falena” by Chiquinha Gonzaga

(6). Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia provide a more rigorous definition for what exactly a

baixaria is, and this could explain the discrepancy in dates for the first baixarias. While

the more elaborate and improvised lines have become the “hallmark” of choro, Cazes,

citing to earlier dates, demonstrates that the ingredients for the baixaria were already in

place with the first choro recording, and Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia’s pin-pointing a

later date refers to a more developed and virtuosic form of baixaria.

It was not until great virtuosic guitarists such as Garoto, Canhoto da Paraíba, and

Dino Sete Cordas, and the guitar repertoire composed by Heitor Villa-Lobos, that the

19
guitar earned a place in the spotlight of choro instruments alongside flute, saxophone and

mandolin. This chapter briefly discusses the pioneering chorões in Rio de Janeiro and São

Paulo.

I do not purport to cover all of the important choro guitarists since the mid-

nineteenth century that have influenced São Paulo’s chorões. In fact, missing from the

following exposition are Armandinho Neves (1902–1976), Jayme Florence, a.k.a. Meira

(1909–1982), Antonio Rago (b. 1916), César Faria (b. 1919), Canhoto da Paraíba (a.k.a.

Francisco Soares de Araújo, b. 1928), Antonio D’Áurea (of Conjunto Atlântico), and

Raphael Rabello (1962–1995) to name a few. Neither do I wish to imply that those

described in further detail below are of more importance than those in the short list

above, nor even the many chorões not listed. Instead, I seek simply to provide a trajectory

for the reader to follow some of the chronology and major steps in the development of the

choro guitar, the seven-string guitar, and how it arrived in São Paulo with the following

figures as references.

Pioneers from the Nineteenth Century:

Sátiro Bilhar (1860–1927) and Quincas Laranjeira (1873–1935)

Sátiro Bilhar, originally from the state of Ceará, and Joaquim Francisco dos

Santos, a.k.a. Quincas Laranjeira, from the state of Pernambuco, are two of the earliest

choro guitarists recognized for their exceptional musical abilities in Rio de Janeiro. While

Sátiro Bilhar was an amateur who played essentially only his three compositions with

great skill, Quincas Laranjeira was preoccupied with “serious” music, and was a classical

music scholar and teacher of the Tarrega method. Quincas Laranjeira was referred to as

20
the grandfather of the modern guitar in a 1929 edition of the magazine “O Violão”

(Cazes, 48).

Note the recurring fluidity and contrast associated with the development of early

choro. Callado and Medeiros played two dramatically different roles in the establishment

of choro as a form of music; Gonzaga and Nazareth had contrasting ideas about

presentation and other concepts; and Bilhar and Laranjeira had distinct pedagogical

backgrounds (self-taught and formally schooled, respectively) that influenced their

repertoire and style of play. Yet all of these musicians are considered of historic

importance to the early development of choro, and each is respected for his and her

contributions by present day chorões, who, to varying degrees, accommodate the

influences of these pioneers.

João Pernambuco (b. November 2nd, 1883, d. October 16th, 1947) and
Catulo da Paixão Cearense (Oct. 8, 1863, d. May 10th, 1946)

João “Pernambuco” Teixeira Guimarães was born in Jatobá, in the quasi-desert

inland of the state of Pernambuco. When he moved to Rio de Janeiro in 1904, he brought

along a repertoire of “authentic music from the sertão9” (Cazes, 48, my translation). João

Pernambuco was a guitarist-composer, and worked as a public servant. He quickly

developed into a sought after accompanist, performing alongside the popular singer,

Catulo da Paixão Cearense, and in 1919, as a member of one of the most important

Brazilian musical groups of all time, Pixinguinha’s “Os Oito Batutas.” João

9
Semi-desert interior wilderness of Brazil.

21
Pernambuco’s compositions for guitar have a substantial following, in large part due to

Turíbio Santos, a respected classical guitarist, who continues to perform his work.

When João Pernambuco worked alongside Catulo da Paixão Cearense they

dedicated much of their musical production to reviving an older style of Brazilian popular

music from the eighteenth century known as modinha. The modinha is an important

precursor to choro10 and excellent studies have been written on the topic (cf. Araújo

1963). Although modinha is a sung genre, its similarities to choro can be seen in the

frequent use of rondo form, as well as the use of similar instrumentation: the guitar,

cavaquinho, and flute, known as “the terno (trio) pau e corda” (Livingston-Isenhour &

Garcia, 26). In fact, Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia argue that in contexts in which choro

guitarists played accompanying roles, “the only discernible difference between choro and

modinha was the vocal part; the harmonic language and musical style were often

identical” (27).

Perhaps most interestingly, however, is the attempt by João Pernambuco and

Catulo da Paixão Cearense at the dawn of the twentieth century to revive a century old

tradition. This search for the authentic through music of the past is another recurring

theme found in choro. While Catulo da Paixão Cearense and João Pernambuco were

reviving the modinha, both were considered chorões. Other efforts by chorões in

connecting with history came along via Heitor Villa-Lobos in the 1920s, Jacob

Bittencourt in the 1950s and 1960s, and at the national level through mass mediation in

the 1970s, and this pattern of connection to the past persists to this day.

10
For more on the influence of modinho upon choro, see Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia
22–27.

22
Tute (1886–1957)

“The first great accompanist in typically choro style was Arthur de Souza

Nascimento, also known as Tute” (Cazes, 49, my translation). Tute is recognized as the

first to have introduced the seven-string guitar in Brazil. His work firmly established the

seven-string guitar in the orchestration that would be frequently used from thereafter. He

recorded extensively with legendary choro artists, such as Chiquinha Gonzaga, Luperce

Miranda and Pixinguinha, although his name does not appear on most personnel credits

(Cazes, 50).

Such was the respect for Tute’s skill as a chorão, that Dino Sete Cordas (the man

who crafted the role of the seven-string guitar into its modern form) did not have a seven-

string guitar made for himself until after Tute’s death (Cazes, 50).

Violão Clássico (b. March 5th, 1887, d. November 17th, 1959)

Heitor Villa-Lobos is by far Brazil’s most famous art-music composer, and is one

of the world’s leading composers in guitar works. One of his most famous compositions

for guitar is Choros No.1, which was published in 1920. Villa-Lobos spent many an

evening participating in rodas de choro at the beginning of the twentieth century. “As a

chorão-guitar player himself, there is no doubt that this firsthand experience represented

a true musical education and an aesthetic affinity that remained strong throughout his

adulthood” (Béhague, 4, 1994). Choro as a style is perhaps the single most important

external source (among an eclectic and even comprehensive variety of influences) for his

musical formation, inspiration, innovation, and creativity.

23
 Villa-Lobos played a key role at the São Paulo Week of Modern Art in February

of 1922. This event in São Paulo marked not only the centennial of Brazilian

Independence, but also the artistic shift in Brazilian literature, art, and music toward a

modern and nationalistic movement throughout the entire country. Villa-Lobos was “the

music representative,” and his significance and ideology can be best understood through

José Miguel Wisnik’s essay, O coro dos contrários, from 1977 (Béhague, 12, 1994). This

week was significant because it established artistic, literary, and musical trends for

decades to come. Mario de Andrade discussed at length the musical objectives and

perspective of the modernist movement in Ensaio sobre a música brasileira (1928). It

was through his connection to the modernist movement in Brazil that Villa-Lobos

originally established not only his position as a nationalist composer, but also choro as a

nationalist music.11

China

In 1911, Otávio Viana (a.k.a. China) recorded a number of tunes playing guitar

alongside his brothers, Léo and Pixinguinha, in an ensemble called Choro Carioca (the

same name, but an entirely different group from Callado’s original choro quartet), led by

Irineu de Almeida (Cabral, 19). Alfredo da Rocha Viana Filho (a.k.a. Pixinguinha) is to

date considered by the vast majority of chorões to be the most important creative genius

11
For an excellent source on Villa-Lobos biographical information, nationalist ideology,
and musical language, see Gerard Béhague’s Heitor Villa-Lobos: The Search for
Brazil’s Musical Soul (1994).

24
in Brazilian music, both for his unique compositional style and improvisational technique

as a soloist and, especially, as a contrapuntal accompanist.

Henrique and Léo, Pixinguinha’s older brothers, were both guitarists and were

responsible for introducing Pixinguinha to music by teaching him the cavaquinho. In

Pixinguinha’s own words, “Thank God, I always had a good ear. I would play a C major,

a G major, everything taught to me by my brothers” (Cabral, 23).

There are photographs of China with what appears to be a seven-string guitar (cf.

Cabral, 33), and it is possible that China was playing the seven-string guitar

contemporarily with Tute. If this is ever confirmed, China can be noted alongside Tute as

one of the first sete cordas (seven-string guitarists) in Brazil. China performed

extensively and composed several pieces with Pixinguinha, especially at the beginning of

Pixinguinha’s career.

The significance of Pixinguinha’s contribution to choro and Brazilian music in

general cannot be overemphasized. He is credited by most scholars, including Hermano

Vianna, with being one of the founding fathers of samba, and is descibed by the Brazilian

popular guitar virtuoso Baden Powell as “the composer of the century” (Cabral, 14).

Anyone interested in improvisation, choro, early samba, Brazilian composition, and

Brazilian popular musics would be wise to learn as much about Pixinguinha as possible.

There are some excellent books on the topic including Pixinguinha: Vida e Obra (1997)

by Sérgio Cabral, and O Mistério do Samba (1995 translated to English as The Mystery of

Samba), in addition to significant sections dedicated to the composer in Choro: A Social

25
History of a Brazilian Popular Music (Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia, 91–98), and

Choro: do Quintal ao Municipal (Cazes, 53–64, and 71–77).

Unfortunately, little else is published about China beyond his role as a performer

and composer alongside Pixinguinha. Basic facts of his life remain a mystery.

Garoto (b. June 28, 1915, d. May 3, 1955)

Aníbal Augusto Sardinha (a.k.a. Garoto) is the most celebrated name associated

with the guitar of São Paulo, and is one of the key figures in the development of choro in

the first half of the twentieth century. Outside of choro circles, Garoto is most often

associated with Carmen Miranda as her accompanist, but he was also a star in her act. In

the world of chorões, Garoto is respected as one of the most innovative and virtuosic

musical talents of Brazilian music.

Garoto’s music education began in São Paulo in 1926, and by 1927 he was

already one of the most popular chorões in São Paulo, playing guitar and banjo, as well as

singing in the group “Conjunto dos Sócios.” In 1930, he “formed a duo with guitarist

Aimoré, and the two were inseparable for many years” (Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia,

112).

The following three paragraphs are a paraphrased translation from Cazes (91–92).

In 1936, some famous musicians from Rio de Janeiro, including Sílvio Caldas,

Romualdo Peixoto (Nonô), Luís Barbosa and Araci de Almeida, were invited by Radio

Record, São Paulo’s major radio station, to perform at Teatro Santanna (in São Paulo). At

the time, there was a certain disdain for São Paulo musicians on the part of these

26
musicians from Rio. At first Garoto picked up his Hawaiian guitar, and was interrupted

by Sílvio Caldas, telling him he might sound bad playing that instrument. Then he picked

up the mandolin, and was interrupted again, “Do you think you’re going to sound good

on the mandolin? Look, we’re from Rio, where Luperce Miranda plays.”

Garoto was furious, and he grabbed his tenor guitar, and Aimoré picked up his

guitar, and they began to play without accepting further interruptions. The music took

hold, and there was nothing else to be said.

São Paulo has frequently been criticized for its “low quality” samba. In fact, in

1960, the bossa nova poet, Vinicius de Moraes, described São Paulo as “the tomb of

samba.” To this day, São Paulo is criticized for its alleged low quality samba. Thanks to

Garoto and other great chorões of São Paulo, the discredit to São Paulo’s choro scene

disappeared decades ago.

[Garoto’s] choros are notable for their subtle yet effective blending of the
rhythmic and melodic aspects of choro with the harmonic sophistication of
jazz. In this respect, he prepared the ground for bossa nova, although he
did not live long enough to witness its development (Livingston-Isenhour
& Garcia, 112).

João Gilberto, the father of the violão gago (stuttering guitar) that sparked the

bossa nova movement in the 1950s, said “Garoto is extraordinary, his guitar is the heart

of Brazil” (Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia, 115). Evidently, Garoto’s influence stretched

far beyond choro circles.

Garoto’s popularity and performances spread throughout southern Brazil and

Argentina, and by 1938 he moved to the cradle of choro, Rio de Janeiro, where he

worked for Rádio Mayrink, and became acquainted with Carmen Miranda and Laurindo

27
Almeida. In 1939 Garoto went to New York City as a member of “Bando da Lua,” which

accompanied Carmen Miranda. He frequently listened to and jammed with American jazz

musicians, and caught the attention of Duke Elington, Art Tatum, and others. In 1940,

Garoto returned to Rio de Janeiro, where he remained for most of the rest of his life

(Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia, 113).

According to Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia,

As a composer, Garoto revolutionized the choro genre. His pieces exhibit

a new harmonic sophistication while retaining many of the rhythmic and
melodic characteristics of choro. Garoto’s musical palette consisted of a
wide variety of styles and genres, including choro and samba, jazz, and
classical music, and he blended these influences with a masterful ease [...]
Garoto’s compositions were unlike that of any choro musician before him.
He had a strong influence on musicians of his time, and his style was a
clear precursor to the harmonic language and subtlety of bossa nova
(114–115).

Garoto’s influence as both a composer and performer are persist in contemporary

Brazilian popular music. His compositions are perhaps best kept alive by Paulo Bellinati

who released an album and two music books recovering Garoto’s work from old tapes

and manuscripts. Although Garoto was not known as a seven-string guitarist, he was

perhaps the most important choro guitarist of São Paulo, and possibly the most important

Brazilian choro guitarist. His music extended well beyond not only São Paulo’s city

limits, but transcended the style of choro itself.

Dino Sete Cordas (b. May 5th, 1918)

Horondino José da Silva is the single most important name associated with the

Brazilian seven-string guitar. His nickname can be translated literally to Dino Seven

28
Strings. Dino is best known for his work with Jacob Bittencourt’s professional choro

ensemble, “Época de Ouro.” Jacob Bittencourt (a.k.a. Jacob do Bandolim) is, alongside

Pixinguinha and Waldir Azevedo, the most popular chorão of all time. Jacob was known

for his perfectionism, discipline, and strict rehearsals. Época de Ouro’s recordings from

the 1950s and 1960s, featuring Dino Sete Cordas and Jacob do Bandolim serve as the

principal model for choro performance to this day.

It is thanks to Dino Sete Cordas that the seven-string guitar has become an

integral instrument to any regional. A typical regional consists of a pandeiro, a

cavaquinho, a soloist, one six-string guitar, and one seven-string guitar. Although the

seven-string guitar had come into use at around the time of Dino’s birth, it was not until

after Tute’s death, when Dino took up the seventh string, that the seven-string guitar

became an indispensable instrument in choro performance. Every seven-string guitarist in

Brazil owes the rich heritage of seven-string virtuosic accompaniment, improvisational

technique to Dino Sete Cordas. He is consistently cited in conversation with chorões as

the main articulator of the seven-string guitar to date.

For more on Dino Sete Cordas, consult Márcia Taborda’s thesis for the

Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro.

Luiz Otávio Braga (b. March 29th, 1953)

Luiz Otávio Braga is a professor at the department of music education of the

Instituto Villa-Lobos of Uni-Rio (Universidade do Rio de Janeiro). He is a seven-string

guitarist and music instructor. He was a key figure in the ressurgence of choro in the

29
1970s, playing in groups such as Galo Preto and Camerata Carioca. As a musician, he has

made two indispensable contributions to the development of the Brazilian seven-string

guitar. First, he was part of the choro group, Camerata Carioca, which was a sophisticated

ensemble of perfectionists, concerned not only with virtuosity and technique, but also

sound quality. As a result, in 1979, he developed the first seven-string guitar with nylon

strings, making the seven-string guitar more closely related to the classical guitar (Cazes,

170). This innovation has become the norm for most seven-string guitarists in Rio de

Janeiro, and has spread to São Paulo as well. Braga developed an instructional method for

teaching the seven-string guitar, and had it published in 2002. Both of these contributions

are crucial to the position in which the seven-string guitar finds itself today, as a more

sophisticated, yet more popular instrument.

30
 Chapter 3: The Mystery of Choro, a Survey of the Literature

Choro is an essential ingredient of Brazil’s musical heritage, yet there are only

four books written exclusively on the topic. In comparison, there are endless volumes

published on the topics of North American jazz and Brazilian samba. Even older

Brazilian styles of music, such as modinha and lundu, had received more attention in

academic publications than choro until very recently.

The first book on choro was Alexandre Gonçalves Pinto’s O Choro:

Reminiscências dos Chorões Antigos, originally published in 1936. Pinto’s monograph

was, for about sixty years, the only book about choro, and is still the only work that

addresses choro at the turn of the nineteenth to twentieth century specifically. The

literature on choro has expanded significantly since Editora 34’s publication of Henrique

Cazes’ Choro: Do Quintal ao Municipal in 1998. In 2003, Jorge Zahar Editor published

Almanaque do Choro: A história do chorinho, o que ouvir, o que ler, onde curtir, by

André Diniz, and in 2005, Indiana University Press released the first in-depth book about

choro in the English language–Choro: A Social History of a Brazilian Popular Music, by

Tamara Elena Livingston-Isenhour and Thomas George Caracas Garcia.

Choro is usually at least mentioned in works that discuss the history of samba or

Brazilian popular music, and in some cases is given a full chapter or significant section,

for example pages 107–125 of Música Popular: Um Tema em Debate, by José Ramos

Tinhorão (1997), and pages 29–35 of Music in Brazil (2006), by John Murphy. In

addition to segments in studies of Brazilian music, and the publications cited in the

31
previous paragraph, there have been a handful of biographies written about specific choro

musicians, such as Pixinguinha: Vida e Obra, by Sérgio Cabral, Jacob do Bandolim, by

Ermelinda A. Paz, Waldir Azevedo: Um Cavaquinho na História, by Marco Antonio

Bernardo, Chiquinha Gonzaga: Grande Compositora Popular Brasileira, by Mariza Lira,

as well Heitor Villa-Lobos: The Search for Brazil’s Musical Soul, by Gerard Béhague.

There are also several master’s theses and dissertations by Brazilian scholars such as José

Paulo Thaumaturgo Becker, Marcus de Araújo Ferrer, Samuel de Oliveira, Márcia

Taborda, Andrea Ernest Dias, Marcelo Verzoni, Sérgio Luiz Jesus, Luiz Otávio Braga,

Luiz Felipe de Lima, and Paulo Puterman (Diniz, 88).

What follows are brief overviews of five books. Four of them are included

because choro is the main topic of the book. I have also included a discussion of

Hermano Vianna’s O Mistério do Samba, which is a study of the development of samba

into a nationally representative music. Some noteworthy absent studies include the

biographies mentioned in the previous paragraph, as well as A História Social da Música

Popular Brasileira (Tinhorão, 1998), A Casa Edison e Seu Tempo (Franceschi, 2002),

and two articles that discuss Brazilian popular music genres and choro in the journal

Ethnomusicology by Béhague (1973) and Livingston (1999), respectively. Although the

following books do not by any means cover all of the important literature on the topic of

choro, this chapter should provide the reader with an overview of the development of

studies in choro.

32
O Choro: Reminiscências dos Chorões Antigos, Alexandre Gonçalves Pinto, 1936

This book was republished in a facsimile edition in 1978. Pinto provides brief

descriptions and anecdotes about various chorões of the pre-1930 era. The book is a

“profile of all the chorões of the old guard, and a large number of chorões of today, facts,

and customs of the old music parties.” As a musical study, the book has little to offer

beyond information about who played what instrument. From an anthropological

standpoint, Pinto does offer a window into early twentieth century Rio de Janeiro, with

descriptions of chorões’ personal histories, professions, and character traits.

Perhaps the most salient point to be made about Pinto’s work in relation to this

particular study is that Pinto wanted to “revive the great musicians who have fallen into

obscurity” (Pinto, Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia translation, 42). It is noteworthy that the

recurring topic of revival is evident here again, as it was with João Pernambuco’s and

Catulo da Paixão Cearense’s attempts to revive the modinha of the 18th century, at the

beginning of the twentieth century; as well as the efforts to revitalize the popularity of

choro in by Dino Sete Cordas’ and Jacob do Bandolim’s ensemble, “Época de Ouro,”

resisting to the bossa nova movement in the 1960s.12

O Mistério do Samba, by Hermano Vianna, 1995

O Mistério do Samba is a historical and theoretical study of the development of

samba as the national music par excellence for all of Brazil, with its birthplace being Rio

de Janeiro, yet including influences from various regions and ethnicities. This should be

12
For more analysis of revival in relation to choro, see Tamara Livingston’s

33
an important source for any study of choro because it discusses the relationship between

early twentieth century chorões and samba. It also addresses questions of music and

identity, and specifically Brazilian samba as a national symbol.

I have included Vianna’s book in the discussion, not only because Pixinguinha,

the greatest creative genius of choro, is seen as one of the main pillars of influence upon

which rests the emergence of samba, but because Vianna’s discussions about identity and

nationalism are relevant to choro as well. In fact, The Mystery of Samba, is one of the

finest social histories on the music of any nation, one of the most significant studies of

samba, and an excellent source for the discussion of nationalism, identity, and culture of

Brazil.

At the center of the discussion is the figure of Pixinguinha. Pixinguinha is

recognized unanimously as the most creative force in the development of choro.

Pixinguinha mastered all aspects of choro, including musical form, phrasing style,

composition, instrumentation, and contrapuntal technique.

Vianna begins with the premise in Chapter 1 “O Encontro” (“The meeting”) that

chorões of the early twentieth century were of the underprivileged classes and they had

close contact with the intellectuals of the upper middle-classes. Vianna paints a picture of

Rio de Janeiro in the 1920s as a place with a similar disparity in distribution of wealth

between rich and poor as contemporary Brazil; but a Brazil in which the rich and poor

were in much closer contact, sharing both commercial and residential neighborhoods,

unlike Brazil in the twenty-first century where the wealthy can have virtually no contact

34
with the impoverished due to gated communities, armored cars, private security,

exclusive businesses, and helicopter transportation.

The meeting to which Vianna refers in Chapter 1 is recorded only in a brief

newspaper article and a diary entry by the Brazilian anthropologist Gilberto Freyre. The

occasion included intellectuals of the privileged class–Sérgio Buarque de Holanda, one of

Brazil’s most influential historians to date; Prudente de Moraes Neto, the grandson of

former Brazilian president Prudente de Moraes; Heitor Villa-Lobos, the most

recognizable Brazilian name in art music; Luciano Gallet, the classical composer and

pianist–and the sambistas of the lower classes–Patrício Teixeira, Donga, and Pixinguinha.

Donga and Pixinguinha are credited as two of the most important figures in the creation

of both samba and choro.

There is no way to communicate the historical significance of the individuals

present at this meeting. Nonetheless, I will use a rough analogy. Imagine an informal

gathering including anthropologist Margaret Mead, historian Charles Beard, composer

Aaron Copland, jazz artists Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington, among a few others. A

meeting of this sort in the United States, with such recognizable names from different

intellectual fields, economic and racial classes, and geographic origins is almost

unfathomable. Further, had any such meeting taken place in the United States or Europe,

chances are it would not have taken nearly seventy years for a scholar to take notice and

write about it.

This meeting in century-old independent Brazil was possible because Rio de

Janeiro was an exceptionally special and centralized city in 1926. At that time, Rio de

35
Janeiro was the economic, historical, intellectual, cultural and political capital of the

nation. By 1926, the United States already had several different “capitals,” including

Washington D.C., Philadelphia, New Orleans, Detroit, Boston, and San Francisco, to

name just a few.

Vianna comments on this important meeting in 1926 in Rio de Janeiro, that went

virtually unnoticed until the publication of O Mistério do Samba in 1995:

That “night of guitar music” could serve as an allegory, in the

carnivalesque meaning of that word of the “invention of a tradition”: the
traditional use of samba to represent and define Brazil’s cultural and racial
“hybridity.” Too much should not be made, perhaps, of the naturalness of
the episode. Its seeming triviality is obviously constructed. It has the feel
of foundational myth. Still, the fact that the gathering was not transformed
into myth, nor remembered as something extraordinary by the participants
or their biographers, shows that they regarded the even as an everyday
occurrence, unworthy of a more careful record (2).

Vianna uses this meeting as a springboard to discuss the development of samba,

but especially for a discussion of Brazilian race relations and national identity. Vianna

discusses Freyre’s valorization of black Brazilians, which was unique in a time where the

general concept of progress in Brazil was based on a theory of “whitening” the

population into civility13. The valorization of black Brazilians generated much

controversy, but, ultimately, the undeniable creative influence of Afro-Brazilians on the

music of Brazil became a virtue to be honored and upheld in Brazilian culture on a

massive scale, sparked by modernist intellectuals such as Mário de Andrade, Gilberto

Freyre, and Heitor Villa-Lobos, and represented musically by samba, with choro as one

of samba’s essential direct precedents.

13
Further commentary on race relations in Brazil can be found in Chapter 6,
“Transcending Racial Discrimination.”

36
Choro: do Quintal ao Municipal, by Henrique Cazes, 1998

The title can be translated as “Choro: from the backyard to the Municipal

Theatre.” This is the most important historiography of choro to date. Cazes basically

writes a chronological history of choro with some important focal points involving

instruments, personalities and language. This is the main historical reference for my

report because it is comprehensive and includes discussions of practically all of the

important aspects and people that are and have been important in choro since its

beginnings towards then end of the eighteenth century. The book also includes a fabulous

discography at the end.

Cazes writes from an emic perspective. As a distinguished chorão, with many

recordings and performances himself, he is at home in the choro scene of Rio de Janeiro

and knowledgeable of the development of choro since its beginnings. Cazes shares some

insightful anecdotes about chorões and is not hesitant to opine on controversial matters

such as the role gender plays in the roda.

Cazes admits (as an insider), “Even today the relations between most women

(wives of chorões or not) and the roda of choro are not very good” (114). Since I am

relatively new to the choro universe, I do not proclaim to know as much about gender

relations in the roda as Cazes does; however, I do think some of his declarations are both

insensitive and irresponsible, although perhaps well-intentioned. Cazes criticizes women

who go straight to the kitchen upon arrival at a domestic roda. He states his disdain for

women who sleep for hours on the couch, sometimes even snoring, while chorões are

playing, and once awake again, like to express their profound respect for the musicians

37
and their music. He also complains of wives who cheer on their husbands in the roda and

enjoy voicing opinions that, sooner or later, make clear their profound ignorance of

choro. Cazes warns of the danger of women who sing or shake empty beer cans and

threaten to transform the roda into a pagode jam session of questionable taste. Cazes even

criticizes women scholars who go to rodas de choro when they do not follow up on their

initial interest, and never listen to choro again (Cazes, 114–115).

It is possible that Cazes’s apparently sexist stance is ultimately well-intentioned.

After all, his initial critique is not directed at women, but at the fact that rodas de choro

have become infamously known as open almost exclusively to men. He closes his tirade

against female faux pas in the roda with a fairly neutral statement, observing that lately

more women have been welcomed into the roda. He follows this neutral statement with a

compliment to the cooking abilities of the wife of one of his chorão friends, Álvaro

Carrilho. In a superficial reading, it would appear that Cazes is arguing that women are

good for choro as long as they are in the kitchen and keep their mouths shut. However,

Cazes implies that he advocates a more gender neutral roda de choro, and it seems that he

might be challenging women to become more active in rodas de choro. His respect for

“true” choronas (women chorões) is evident in his critique of the gender exclusive nature

of the roda, and the importance he gives to Chiquinha Gonzaga in the earlier chapters of

his book. This may be an optimistic read of Cazes’s tirade, but in my fieldwork, it was

clear that women were not only participating in rodas, but they also were treated with

respect and encouraged in their musicality. In my fieldwork, I found that in São Paulo

38
there are several all-female groups that are being well received throughout the city, as

well as at informal male-dominated rodas.

My final critique of Cazes’s book is directed not only at Cazes, but at dozens of

Brazilian writers who continue to write valuable historiographies and insightful studies

with scholarly ambition, but do not include two items usually found at the end of an

academic work 1) a general index, and 2) a bibliography. I do not know if the authors,

editors, or publishers are to blame for this shortcoming, but as a researcher, I find the

exclusion of these useful items to be a great hindrance.

Cazes, similarly to Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia, discusses a resurgence of choro

in the 1970s (although Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia use the term revival), which will be

discussed in Chapter 5.

Almanaque do Choro, by André Diniz, 2003

This work aspires to be simply

an introduction to the universe of choro, with texts about the instruments,

iconography covering more than a century, basic discography and
bibliography, chronology, addresses of stores and bookstores, in addition
to some videos and locations to hear the genre (Diniz, 11, my translation).

This is a brief book that covers the basics of choro in a fairly elementary style.

Diniz covers five eras of choro: 1) its beginnings in Rio, 2) Pixinguinha, 3) the radio

days, 4) choro popularization in the seventies, 5) contemporary choro. There is also a

chapter about sung choro. This book was extremely useful for finding out where to go

hear choro in São Paulo city. Although some of the sites have become obsolete or

39
inactive, most of the sites mentioned were active in featuring chorões. This is an excellent

introductory source for the field, despite its frequent oversimplifications.

Diniz also discusses the role of choro in the 1970s, not as a resurgence (Cazes) or

revival (Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia), but as a popularization. This demonstrates a

general consensus that choro was on the rise in the 1970s, although each author describes

this ascension in different terms.

Choro: A Social History of a Brazilian Popular Music,

by Tamara Elena Livingston-Isenhour and Thomas George Caracas Garcia, 2005

This is the first book in the English language about choro, and just the fourth

published book about the nearly century-and-a-half year old Brazilian musical

performance practice. Livingston-Isenhour also has an article published in the journal

Ethnomusicology about music revivals, in which she discusses choro extensively (1999).

Both authors are guitarists with thorough knowledge of Villa-Lobos’s guitar

compositions, the music that originally attracted them to the topic of choro in the first

place. Garcia explains that he “decided to focus [his] work in Rio de Janeiro, the cultural

capital of Brazil and the place of origin of choro” (xi). While Rio de Janeiro is

indisputably the birthplace of choro and an important cultural reference point for the

nation, other cities are strong candidates for cultural capitals of Brazil as well, including

Salvador, Recife, and São Paulo.

The authors are ambitious, yet successful, in their endeavor to explain choro to a

non-Brazilian audience. They approach choro from various angles. Chapter 1, the

introduction, defines choro as a genre and performance practice describing musical

40
characteristics, such as orchestration, melody, harmony, rhythm, form and style. Chapter

2 provides an historical account–both musical and social–leading up to the development

of choro. The authors examine the role of race and class in nineteenth century Brazil and

their impact on music and identity. Chapter 3 explains the roda, the main context for

choro performance, by discussing its roles throughout history as well as its ethos. Chapter

4 describes the early history of choro in Rio de Janeiro, including a discussion of the

etymology of the word “choro,” theories about the Afro-Brazilian influence on the style

from its very earliest stages, and the most important early chorões. Chapter 5 examines

the professionalization of choro, and its identification with modernism and nationalism in

the 1920s, 30s, and 40s. Chapter 6 follows the musical development of choro, and some

of the main creative forces behind these developments through the 1950s and 1960s.

Chapter 7 is entitled “The Choro Revival,” and includes a theoretical discussion of

revivals, describes the events that promoted the re-popularization of choro in the 1970s,

and concludes with the argument that choro’s revival began to decline in the 1980s.

Chapter 8 provides an overview for the contemporary choro scene, with descriptions and

explanations of performances, festivals, recordings, choro education, and choro as an

international phenomenon. The final chapter examines the relationship between choro

and the classical music tradition in Brazil. Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia also include a

CD sampler with their book.

One of the best passages in the book is “The Spirit of Choro: Malícia.” Malícia is

a challenging concept to translate into English, and Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia

provide a strong explanation, and select the word to describe the spirit of choro. While

41
the authors refer to this concept as a “stylistic marker of early choro,” it is doubtlessly an

important influence on the shaping of the contemporary choro aesthetic, as well. While

malícia may no longer be as prevalent and observable in choro today, its influence is

seminal. The authors are correct in describing malícia as connected to Afro-Brazilian

culture, the concept of malandragem and sly wit.

The authors also have a concise and precise description of choro as a genre on

pages 11–12, the most important point being that “Choro is, of course, more than its

musical components” (12). In other words, while one can describe choro in terms of

rhythm, harmony, counterpoint, instrumentation, and mode, choro is much more than the

sum of these parts, and often the parts do not follow the definitions described by music

theorists and musicologists.

Livingston-Isenhour and Garcia’s book is a crucial contribution to choro studies.

This is not only because it is the first book in English on the subject, but because its

scholarly approach examining the musical, cultural, and social realities surrounding choro

provides an innovative and lucid account of a fluid and diverse practice that is nearly

one-hundred and fifty years old.

42
 PART II: THE RIVER, a transition

With a population of nearly eighteen million people, São Paulo is, by far, the

largest city in South America, and is the fourth largest city in the world.14 Evidently, it is

unrealistic and impractical to provide a full account for the history and cultures of São

Paulo in an ethnomusicological study about choro. This portion of the report provides an

idea of some of the cultural characteristics of São Paulo. In Chapter 4, I examine the

lyrics to Caetano Veloso’s song, “Sampa,” and an excerpt from Peter Robb’s A Death in

Brazil. In Chapter 5, I explain my particular methodology and analysis by discussing

relevant ethnomusicological theory. Finally in Chapter 6, this portion explores questions

of race and racial discrimination, with special attention paid to the concept of “racial

democracy” and how this applies in the context of choro.

14
This population estimate includes the metro area, plus the immediate surrounding area
of the city (http://worldatlas.com/citypops).

43
 Chapter 4: Sampa
Sampa, Caetano Veloso, 1978 Sampa, my translation, 2006

Alguma coisa acontece no meu coração Something stirs in my heart

Que só quando cruza a Ipiranga e Avenida São Only when crossing Ipiranga and avenida São
João João
É que quando eu cheguei por aqui eu nada It’s that when I arrived around here, I
entendi understood none
Da dura poesia concreta de tuas esquinas Of the hard concrete poetry of your street
corners
Da deselegância discreta de tuas meninas Of the discrete inelegance of your young ladies
Ainda não havia para mim Rita Lee I had not yet discovered Rita Lee
A tua mais completa tradução Your most complete translation
Alguma coisa acontece no meu coração Something stirs in my heart
Que só quando cruza a Ipiranga e avenida São Only when crossing Ipiranga and avenida São
João João

Quando eu te encarei frente a frente e não vi o When I stared at you boldly and couldn’t see
meu rosto my own face
Chamei de mau gosto o que vi, de mau gosto, I called what I saw in bad taste, in bad taste,
mau gosto bad taste
É que Narciso acha feio o que não é espelho Because Narcissus thinks anything that is not a
mirror is ugly
E à mente apavora o que ainda não é mesmo And the mind is appalled by what is not yet
velho familiar
Nada do que não era antes quando não somos Nothing that was not here before, when we
mutantes aren’t mutants
E foste um difícil começo And you were a difficult start,
Afasto o que não conheço I avert what I do not know
E quem vem de outro sonho feliz de cidade And those who come from another pleasant
dream of a city
Aprende depressa a chamar-te de realidade Learn very quickly to call you reality
Porque és o avesso do avesso do avesso do Because you’re the opposite of the opposite of
avesso the opposite

Do povo oprimido nas filas, nas vilas, favelas From the oppressed folks in lines, in villages,
slums,
Da força da grana que ergue e destrói coisas From the power of the money that erects and
belas destroys beautiful things
Da feia fumaça que sobe, apagando as estrelas From the ugly smoke that arises, erasing the
stars
Eu vejo surgir teus poetas de campos, espaços I see poets emerge from your fields, spaces
Tuas oficinas de florestas, teus deuses da chuva Your forest workshops, your gods of rain
Pan-Américas de Áfricas utópicas, túmulo do Pan-Americas of utopian Africas, tomb of the
samba samba
Mas possível novo quilombo de Zumbi But possibly the new quilombo of Zumbi
E os Novos Baianos passeiam na tua garoa And the New Bahians stroll in your misty
drizzle
E novos baianos te podem curtir numa boa And new Bahians can enjoy you leisurely

44
 “Texts reflect mechanisms of psychological release and the prevailing attitudes

and values of a culture, thus providing an excellent means for analysis” (Merriam, 208).

In this chapter I provide a feel for São Paulo, one of the largest cities in the world, by

discussing the following two texts: Caetano Veloso’s “Sampa,” and an excerpt from Peter

Robb’s non-fiction, A Death in Brazil. The purpose of this chapter is to contextualize São

Paulo on a micro level by examining how choro is associated with the city, using Caetano

Veloso’s lyrics in “Sampa” as a springboard; and on a macro level through the lens of

Peter Robb.

Sampa

My translation does not nearly capture Caetano Veloso’s poetic prowess, but is

more of a content-oriented translation. First, I will explain some of the key references in

the song.

“Sampa” is an affectionate nickname for São Paulo. Ipiranga and São João are in

the central neighborhood of São Paulo, and are synonymous with the city’s history of

ebbs and flows, fast-paced economic growth and decline. Rita Lee, a paulistana, has been

remains one of Brazil’s most famous rock stars. She is also one of the central figures of

the tropicalista movement. The term “mutants” refers to Rita Lee’s rock/tropicalista

group, “Os Mutantes,” that incorporated modern sounds and recording techniques in the

late 1960s; innovating Brazilians’ concepts of popular music, and revolutionizing notions

of national and individual identity. Aside from the Greek mythological figure, Narciso is

a common name for Brazilians from Northeastern states, such as Bahia. The name

45
“Narcissus” is rare amongst Southeasterners. Veloso uses the 2nd person singular “tu”

(you) throughout the entire song. “Tu” is rarely used in São Paulo, where “você” (you) is

much more common. The use of the name Narciso and the second person “tu” emphasize

the narrator’s status as a migrant. Although, the nickname “Sampa” sounds phonetically

almost identical to the word “samba,” the famous Brazilian poet and bossa nova artist,

Vinicius de Moraes, once referred to São Paulo as “the tomb of samba,” (Cazes, 91) in

reference to what he considered a lack of musical vitality in the megalopolis. Quilombos

were communities of runaway slaves that survived in the Brazilian inland wilderness.

Zumbi (1655–1684) was the warrior-king of the greatest quilombo of all, Palmares,

which lasted almost the entirity of the seventeenth century (wikipedia.org). Zumbi is both

a historical and mythical figure, that can be described as a composite of Harriet Tubman

and Ogum (the Candomblé15 god of war). The “Novos Baianos” were an influential

Brazilian rock band in the 1970s, that incorporated elements of traditional Brazilian

music, especially samba and choro into their version of rock’n’roll. They are credited

with contributing to the resurgence of choro in Henrique Cazes’ “Choro do Quintal ao

Municipal.” Southeastern Brazilians also use the term “novos baianos” to describe

migrants from the Northeast of Brazil, in search of work and economic prosperity, to

Southeastern metropolitan areas, such as São Paulo.

The fact that Veloso is able to compress such a wide range of themes into a three

minute song is truly admirable, but it also reflects the rapid paced life that is a

characteristic of São Paulo, and one of the traits that makes it such a unique city. The

15
Candomblé is a widespread polytheistic Afro-Brazilian religion (cf. Pierre Fatumbi
Verger 2002)

46
basic story line of the song is that of a Bahian migrant to São Paulo who is suffering from

culture shock. But as the song carries on, Veloso notes the paradoxical qualities of São

Paulo: it is reality because it is the opposite of opposite opposites; from the starless sky,

and oppressed slums, poets emerge. And that is the reality of São Paulo–it is an

intimidating, violent, and poor city, but it is also auspicious, cultured, and cosmopolitan.

The most mysterious part of the lyrics comes at the end: “Pan-Americas of

utopian Africas, tomb of the samba/But possibly the new quilombo of Zumbi.” Veloso

acknowledges the internationality and diversity of São Paulo, which is an obvious point,

but he also sings of utopian Africas, and the possible new quilombo of Zumbi. These

phrases clearly point to a social/racial revolutionary potential in São Paulo that may be

distinct from the rest of Brazil.16 However, since Veloso is the lyricist, it is likely that he

is also referring to a theatrical piece entitled “Arena conta Zumbi.” Arena was a theatre

troupe that Veloso was working closely with in the mid-1960s when he and his sister

Maria Bethânia first came to Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo from Bahia. Although Veloso

had no direct involvement with the piece on Zumbi, he worked as a contributing

composer with Arena on the pieces immediately preceding (“Opinião”) and following

(“Arena canta Bahia”) “Arena conta Zumbi.” “Arena conta Zumbi” was deeply

significant to Veloso and is strongly associated with São Paulo in his memory, since it

was debuted in São Paulo during the time period Veloso dwelled in that city. The show is

seen by many intellectuals, including Brazil’s most celebrated actress, Fernanda

Montenegro, as “the most important show in the modernization of Brazilian theatre”

16
For an expanded discussion of race, see Chapter 6.

47
(Veloso 1997, 83, my translation). According to Veloso in his memoir on tropicalismo,

Verdade Tropical, “Arena conta Zumbi” told the story of the great slave rebel, Zumbi dos

Palmares, in a glamorized fashion, despite featuring leftist and Marxist aesthetic concepts

such as collectivity–the protagonist, Zumbi, was played in rotation by each of the actors

(Veloso 1997, 83).

In those final verses, Veloso also refers to São Paulo as the “tomb of samba,” an

infamous phrase coined by bossa nova poet Vinicius de Moraes in 1960 in critique of São

Paulo’s rigid samba and lack of musical creativity. Yet, Veloso juxtaposes this phrase

with choro-canção musical characteristics. Choro-canção is closely related to early

samba. The question to be pondered here is: why does Caetano Veloso, a musician with

incredible versatility and a strong tendency towards the vanguard choose to use

traditional choro, of all of the possible musical genres he experimented with and

developed, to express his thoughts on São Paulo, the industrial capital of South America,

and one of Brazil’s greatest symbols for modernity an “progress?” Further, why is this

the only song he has composed and orchestrated in the choro tradition?

In order to best reflect the ideas expressed in the lyrics, Veloso might have used

baião, a northeastern rhythm, to relay the fact that he is narrating the impressions of a

migrant Bahian to the megalopolis. A “música caipira” (hick tune) from São Paulo’s rural

interior might have seemed regionally appropriate. He could have used rock’n’roll, an

immensely popular style of music in São Paulo since the 1950s. He might have used a

progressive tropicalista sound in homage to Rita Lee; or electronic techno or dance

music, so popular in São Paulo’s late night clubs from the late seventies through the

48
beginning of the twenty-first century. He could have used a church organ to reference

São Paulo’s roots in Jesuit monasteries. He might have orchestrated a rhythmic a capella

chant in reference to the black slaves who worked on São Paulo’s enormous coffee

plantations; or a country tune in reference to the cattle ranchers. Any, or even all, of these

possibilities to express what São Paulo is musically might have seemed more

representative of São Paulo. After all, neither is choro a paulista creation (having

originated in Rio de Janeiro), nor is choro a technologically advanced music. Why in all

of the possibilities did he choose choro?

I will not put words into Veloso’s mouth, and unfortunately I have not had the

opportunity to interview him. Nonetheless, I think Veloso chose a choro-canção for this

song about São Paulo, which has practically become the unofficial anthem of the city,

because choro is strongly associated with São Paulo. There are at least three different

reasons São Paulo has strong ties with choro.

The first possible reason for associating choro with São Paulo is historical

context. At the turn of the nineteenth to the twentieth century, when São Paulo first

became the economic power of Brazil because of the coffee boom and then through rapid

and massive industrialization, the most popular music in Brazil was the music of the

chorões, who performed on countless recordings as early as 1907 (Cazes, 42) and were

broadcast throughout the entire country starting in 1922 (Diniz, 31). The collective

memory of this era remains vivid: one of the best-selling choro albums of recent years is

entitled “Café Brasil,” and features various celebrity-status MPB artists accompanied by

the traditional group from Rio de Janeiro, Época de Ouro, suggesting that there is still a

49
strong connection in Brazilian discourse between choro and coffee, and thus, choro and

São Paulo. By using a choro-canção, it is plausible that Veloso seeks to evoke in the

paulistano listener a tone of nostalgia for a simpler and more stable time in São Paulo’s

history. This nostalgia is also conveyed by the migrant, but the migrant feels longing for

a different place (Bahia), while the paulistano feels longing for a different time period

(the early twentieth century).

Another possible reason for the use of a choro-canção is that by the 1970s, when

the resurgence/repopularization/revival of choro that Cazes, Diniz, and Livingston-

Isenhour & Garcia refer to was in full swing, São Paulo’s great economic capital had

drawn major media conglomerates to the city. These same media giants promoted

festivals, and competitions of various musics, but in particular “traditional” choro. In this

sense, throughout the country choro became associated with São Paulo, even though

many, perhaps even most of the musicians who appeared on these broadcasts were not

paulistanos or even paulistas.

The third, and most important reason, is that choro is an integral part of São

Paulo’s musical heritage. Choro has been a significant performance practice in São Paulo

for over one hundred years. The veterans Israel and Izaías Bueno continue to perform

with traditional instrumentation and repertoire, yet creative improvisational technique,

and sometimes innovative instrumentation, as well. Many of São Paulo’s younger

generation of musicians have embraced choro because it is both fun and challenging to

play, it is both popular and erudite, it is both written and improvised. Choro is such and

50
important part of Brazilian music in general, that it is inevitably found, nurtured,

explored, performed and created in the greatest Brazilian city of them all, São Paulo.

From a compositional standpoint, Veloso may have chosen to use the choro-

canção genre for “Sampa” for any these reasons and perhaps others. Ever a master in

capturing, predicting, and expressing popular music trends, Veloso composed and

recorded “Sampa” at a time when choro was at the height of its popularity during the

resurgence in the late 1970s. “Sampa” was released in 1978 on Veloso’s album, “Muito,”

just one year after “Brasileirinho,” Brazil’s first national choro festival in 1977 (Cazes,

153).

Omissions

As a São Paulo native, it is useful to look at outsiders’ impressions of São Paulo

to see what stands out about this city where I grew up. Many traits I may take for granted

may be of particular interest, highlighted in a visitors observations. The most striking and

concise description I have found of São Paulo follows:

For the world, Rio goes on being Brazil. São Paulo lacks Rio’s splendor of
place but it has the sex and drugs and the violence, a lot of money and
even more people than money. A Jesuit mission station in the sixteenth
century, inland from Portuguese coastal power and near the índio souls
God wanted, for centuries it stayed a little inland cattle town. Its tough and
cruel settler bandeirantes were the first Europeans to penetrate Brazil’s
interior on their long slaving forays against the índios. The hills around
São Paulo were perfect for coffee shrubs and in the latter days of slavery
São Paulo was transformed by money from the worldwide coffee boom.
The European immigrants flooded in to replace the slaves. A million
Italians, hundreds of thousands from Portugal, from Japan, from Syria,
from Germany, these were the first. São Paulo created and supplied its
own demands, and when industry came to Brazil it came first to São
Paulo. Now twenty million people make São Paulo maybe the fourth

51
 biggest human agglomeration on the planet. Rio is huge and lovely and
terrifying. São Paulo is huger and more terrifying and not lovely at all.
The immensely rich hover over the city’s canyons in their own helicopters,
fluttering at sunset between the corporate tower and the gated residence.
São Paulo has more private helicopters than any other city in the world,
more armored limousines, more armored ordinary cars, more armed
security personnel and more desperate people than any other urban center
on the face of the planet (Robb, 2004, 14–15).

Robb’s ability to capture relevant historical facts, and some of the unique

characteristics of the city is uncanny. There are of course countless omissions in such a

brief statement about such a complex place. Nonetheless, this is an accurate and succinct

impression of São Paulo. Although the disparity and injustices of the city may not be

exactly what most chorões have on their mind when they are in a peaceful roda on a

Sunday afternoon with their friends, the massive city is part of their quotidien life. People

who live in São Paulo feel it. We can all see the helicopters avoiding the traffic, and

carjackings next to us in traffic. We all know of people who have been murdered at the

hands of burglars, drug dealers, or police brutality. We must all confront our morality

when we see homeless beggars, street kid addicts, desperate thieves, deceptive

tranvestites, diseased prostitutes, and corrupt affluence in our streets and public spaces.

This is the tragedy of São Paulo, and chorões in São Paulo face this every day just as

every one else does, but they can escape the reality with a sweet melody or beat at a

spontaneous or regular roda, or on their own in their imaginations or when they pick up

an instrument.

Although choro may appear to be a luxury or an escape from reality, it is also an

important part of the social fabric of the city, and is instrumental in the education of the

hundreds of people who attend rodas on a regular basis. There is a roda ethic which

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subscribes to a racially democratic concept, and emphasizes education in musical and

historical matters, as well as respect for both experts and novices. The roda is a much

needed (though frequently overshadowed) classroom in an overwhelming and often

misguided city.

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 Chapter 5: Approach

In any weather, at any hour of the day or night, I have been anxious to
improve the nick of time, and notch it on my stick too; to stand on the
meeting of two eternities, the past and future, which is precisely the
present moment; to toe that line. You will pardon some obscurities, for
there are more secrets in my trade than in most men’s, and yet not
voluntarily kept, but inseparable from its very nature. I would gladly tell
all that I know about it, and never painting “No Admittance” on my gate.

(Henry David Thoreau, Walden, 1854)

Thoreau captures one of the challenges that face ethnographers thoroughly in the

above passage. Ethnographers are curious and often anxious to discover the mysteries of

the culture they are studying. Ethnographers are bound to the present moment, but always

thinking of both the past (previous studies), and the future (the eventual ethnography to

be written). Ethnographers must inevitably confront the obscurities of culture, and the

inability to express some of those secrets no matter how much they study and write. This

chapter will provide the reader with a background on my approach to fieldwork and

analysis by exposing my thoughts on the principal ethnomusicological texts that have

informed this work with the hope that some of the obscurities of my ethnographic work

can be revealed.

Anthropology of Music, Alan P. Merriam, 1964

Alan Merriam presents a concise and articulate framing of the development of the

field of ethnomusicology, from its early beginnings in the 1880s to the time he was

writing the early 1960s at the beginning of his seminal book, Anthropology of Music.

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This is an extremely useful summary, which helped immensely with my overall

understanding of the field and its concerns.

Merriam raises a key complication facing ethnomusicologists, even today, in the

very opening sentence of Chapter 1. “Ethnomusicology carries within itself the seeds of

its own division” (Merriam, 3). The meaning of this division, however, has changed over

time. At first, the original division was between Darwinian evolutionary sound theorists,

and music cultural geographers (with a hint of anthropology). The sound theorists sought

to explore and describe the sounds as an isolated phenomenon, separate and unrelated to

any other aspect of human existence, concerned primarily with comparing, classifying,

and ranking hierarchically different exotic musics. Meanwhile, the cultural

ethnomusicologists are described “to be shaped by the same theoretical currents which

shaped anthropology” (Merriam, 4). At the time, that meant a concern with geographic

regional factors. In other words, the question of “where rather than upon how or why”

(Merriam, 5) were emphasized. There are hints of criticism in Merriam’s framing of both

the evolutionary ethnomusicologists and the geographic ethnomusicologists.

While there is criticism, it is noteworthy that Merriam elaborates a discussion of

the roots of ethnomusicology, because this implies that although the original methods

may have had flaws, they were necessary and important steps towards the development of

ethnomusicology into what Merriam would argue ethnomusicology should be. Merriam

suggests a clearer focus on the hows and whys of music, that is, process-oriented

ethnomusicology rather than a “static geographic distinctiveness” (Merriam, 5).

Nonetheless, while it is in fact crucial to shift the focus of ethnomusicology toward a

55
more process-oriented methodology, it is important to make explicit that questions of

geography and science must also be remembered and taken into consideration, because in

order to fulfill Merriam’s “basic aim, which is to understand music” (Merriam, 7), we

must involve geography and science in addition to other factors, such as culture and

religion.

Merriam simultaneously recognizes the importance of, yet is critical towards,

ethnomusicological preservation, geographic music appreciation, music as

communication, and technical music descriptions. In his final analysis, “the aims and

purposes of ethnomusicology do not differ markedly from those of other disciplines the

ethnomusicologist shares both with the social sciences and the humanities the search for

an understanding of why men behave the way they do” (Merriam, 16).

Merriam’s contribution in Chapter I is a brief, coherent, and opinionated fleshing

out of the field of ethnomusicology, articulating both its flaws and accomplishments from

its beginnings in the 1880s, through the time of his writing in the 1960s. In the last few

words of the chapter, however, the reader may be left with an unsettling feeling that little

has been resolved concerning the direction and specific purpose of the field.

Merriam’s characteristic directness in his opening paragraph is again apparent in

Chapter II. While acknowledging the “dual nature” of ethnomusicology with one foot in

anthropology and the other in musicology, Merriam claims that “a fusion is clearly the

objective of ethnomusicology and the keystone upon which the validity of its contribution

lies” (17). It is no small concern raised in this first paragraph. Merriam immediately

56
places the entire “discipline” of ethnomusicology in check. While asserting

ethnomusicology’s potential validity, he has ambitiously set out to prove its validity.

Merriam begins this challenging task by assessing differences and similarities

between humanities and science, or art and science. This ambiguity is extremely

problematic. Merriam falls victim to a careless interchange between humanities and art.

This disregard for a distinction between art and humanities is probably partly due to the

fact that the two are so tightly knit together. Nonetheless, a distinction must be made.

While Merriam makes the claim that “humanities are usually held to include the arts,” it

is unclear whether when he refers to “humanities” he means “the study of arts” (21), or

the practice of arts themselves. In any case, the reader is faced with the problem of

discerning whether Merriam is making his major distinction between arts to science, or

humanities to science, or both humanities and arts to science. Merriam is also unclear

about his distinctions between Sciences and Social Sciences, practically equating the two.

Therefore, the reader is left with the vague idea that ethnomusicology exists somewhere

in between the sciences and humanities, or as I will point out, somewhere within four

broad disciplines).

Merriam does suggest that there is “a valid distinction to be drawn between the

process of creating art and the artistic outlook, as opposed to the study of each of these

processes” (20). However, his terminology remains vague throughout the entire

discussion.

In order to clarify, I will frame each of the four broad disciplines–Art,

Humanities, Social Sciences, and Sciences–by examining their contents and practices. In

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the following four paragraphs, I will show how sound (especially musical sound) can be

interpreted through the lenses of all four of these broad disciplines by describing, then

provide concrete examples of each. In addition, I will supply an example of how

ethnomusicologists can use each broad discipline.

The Arts apply the practice of creation to the content of feeling–the act of creative

expression. Arts generally include, visual arts (such as painting, sculpture, and

photography), and performing arts (such as drama, music, and dance). One concrete

example of the arts using sound content includes music creatively expressed by the artist

through the practice of performance or composition.

The Humanities apply the practice of critical analysis to the content of human

creativity (such as a musical performance or recording), in an effort to understand (study,

contemplate, analyze, then theorize about) objets d’art and human creativity as

expressions of feeling and thought. Humanities generally include critical analysis of

fields such as religion, philosophy, and literature. One concrete example of musical

sound content in the humanities is a review of a music album or score written by a

musicologist, music theorist, or music critic.

The Social Sciences apply the practice of understanding to the contents of the

functions, workings and tendencies of collective social and cultural structures. Social

Sciences are generally understood to include disciplines such as anthropology,

economics, and psychology. An ethnomusicologist seeks to explain how a given

community’s music sounds, and how and why music emerges, lives, functions, and

affects the given community. An ethnomusicologist studies musics and their functions as

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organs within the body of a social structure. One concrete example of musical sound

content in the social sciences is the ethnomusicologist who studies the music of a

communal ritual and seeks to explain music as a specialized function of the ritual as a

whole. It is important to note here that ethnomusicologists, in addition to being social

scientists, also rely on the application of the other broad disciplines in order to understand

musical structures, for example. However, I am simply providing an example of an

ethnomusicologist working within social scientific methodology.

The Sciences apply the practice of observing a phenomenon, hypothesizing,

collecting data, and analyzing the data in order to form a conclusion on the nature of the

observed phenomenon. Sciences are generally understood to include disciplines such as

biology, chemistry, and physics. One concrete example of musical content through a

scientific lens is the acoustic engineer who examines the aural conditions in which to

reproduce an idealized musical sound.

Ethnomusicologists (and, in my view, any competent scholar) must rely on

different fields and modes of thinking from the broad disciplines at varied times and in

diverse contexts. Ethnomusicologists must have a strong grasp of Art, so that they

themselves may be musicians17, in order to hear music with the ears of an artist.

Ethnomusicologists must apply critical analysis from the Humanities in order to evaluate

performance from a critical point of view and understand structural and tonal content (it

is important that ethnomusicologists be aware of their subjectivities and limitations).

Ethnomusicologists depend on Social Sciences in order to be competent at fieldwork, and

17
Cf. Mantle Hood’s notion of bimusicality in The Ethnomusicologist, 1971.

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to understand and theorize about the socio-cultural functions of music within a

community. Finally, ethnomusicologists need Sciences to understand how musical

instruments are built, sounds produced, and technology is employed during fieldwork.

Although Merriam is ambiguous in his articulation of the distinctions between the

four broad disciplines, he clearly argues for interdisciplinary studies of music. Ultimately,

Merriam advocates the study on “three analytic levels–conceptualization about music,

behavior in relation to music, and music sound itself” (32). This is the essential point, and

it is extremely important to keep in mind as an ethnomusicologist.

Despite the distinctions between the broad disciplines, it is crucial to acknowledge

the close relationship and even mutualism between each of the four broad disciplines.

Music can be examined through the lenses of each of the broad disciplines in various

ways, as portrayed above. Ethnomusicologists must recognize the value of an

interdisciplinary approach, and not confine themselves to the social sciences. Instead, as

Merriam advocates, ethnomusicologists are better informed by listening to music through

a varied spectrum of disciplinary lenses.

The most useful lenses Merriam provides in relation to the study of choro are the

lenses of concept, use and function. Use “refers to the situation in which music is

employed in human action” (Merriam, 210). For choro, the roda is the use, which can be

presented in contexts of both informal camaraderie, as well as performative contexts,

including competitions, radio, and concerts.

Function “concerns the reasons for its employment and particularly the broader

purpose which it serves” (Merriam, 210). In the case of choro, the functions are both

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entertainment and educationally oriented. In terms of entertainment, choro is used

informally and formally as seen above. In terms of education, choro provides musical and

social education. The music education choro provides is wide reaching, including

questions of orchestration, literacy, improvisation, composition, and history. The social

education choro provides is based in the roda ethic, which, in turn, is derived from

historical factors, and a concept of racial democracy. Chorões recognize the choro ethic

as an ethic of mutual respect for all musicians in the roda. They recognize the function of

history as it provides education on past composers, and their contributions, but also as a

window into the history of Brazil as a nation. “Function, in particular, may not be

expressed or even understood from the standpoint of folk evaluation” (Merriam, 210).

This does mean that function cannot be understood from the emic perspective; it simply

means that sometimes function is not understood from the emic perspective. One function

that was never explicitly expressed in my fieldwork was that of the roda as an

embodiment of racial democracy, although racial democracy is doubtless a concept that

chorões are familiar with and in most cases, probably endorse.

I propose that the roda de choro is a school for music, but also for racial

democracy. The history of choro with many important figures of various ethnic

backgrounds sustains the concept of a Brazilian racial democracy. The behavior of

chorões in performance and in every day interaction perpetuates this same concept. And

the roda itself transforms the myth of a racial democracy into a reality because of its ethic

of mutual respect (at least temporarily). In the next chapter, I will explore what this myth

of racial democracy means, and how it works or does not work in the roda de choro.

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How Musical is Man? by John Blacking 1973

Music is a synthesis of cognitive processes which are present in culture

and in the human body: the forms it takes, and the effects it has on people,
are generated by the social experiences of human bodies in different
cultural environments. Because music is humanly organized sound, it
expresses aspects of the experience of individuals in society.
It follows that any assessment of human musicality must account for
processes that are extramusical, and that these should be included in
analyses of music (89).

If ever there was a concise, comprehensible, and irrefutable argument in defense

of ethnomusicology, and more specifically ethnomusicological fieldwork, this is a strong

candidate. Blacking’s words here are designed to make the case that music is really more

than just music. Blacking argues that the study of music inevitably includes the study of

the extramusical. This type of reasoning provides the foundation from which social and

historical research of musicians of choro springs.

Blacking expands on this point by providing a strictly musicological study of a

Venda children’s song. He proves that this kind of analysis is ineffectual because it does

not “recognize the peculiarities of different musical systems” (90). At this point, Blacking

begins to account not only for the peculiarities, but also the cultural practices of the

Venda musical universe. Characteristically, Blacking does not stop once his point has

been made. Instead he begins to speculate about the creation of these Venda songs. He

states “processes of creation were probably unconscious [...]. But [...] they are now

learned by conscious imitation rather than by osmosis” (97). Why exactly Blacking

ventures into speculations about conscious vs. unconscious here remains a mystery to me.

He could have simply referred to the creative process to make his next point, which is

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that “principles of the creative process cannot always be found in the surface structures of

the music, and many of the generative factors are not musical” (Blacking, 97–98).

Blacking weaves apparently inconsequential Venda peculiarities into a discussion

addressing broad generalizations about human understanding and creation of music. The

result is Blacking’s unique style, and the framing of an effective method. One particularly

noteworthy point is the example of it being commonplace for Venda to apply new words

to a same melody, giving the Venda a cultural sophistication in this skill that might be

less prominent elsewhere. His point here is that music and cultural upbringing are

intimately related. I can attest to the fact that I will probably never be entirely

comfortable with scored notation on a Western staff, because I was not exposed to scores

from a young age. A similar phenomenon is the difficulty (though not impossibility) in

attaining fluency in a foreign language once beyond a certain age. In other words, in

general, one will be most comfortable in one’s mother tongue.

Blacking makes one point after the next arguing convincingly that music should

not be studied in a vacuum as an isolated phenomenon, but instead that music is just one

organ within a cultural body, and in order to understand the musical organ, we must

understand how the musical organ interacts with the rest of the cultural body.

I do, however, question Blacking’s statement, “You cannot really learn to

improvise” (100). If Blacking is arguing here that, once past a certain level of maturity

one cannot become as fluent in improvisation as one who has grown up improvising, I am

inclined to agree. However, I must question Blacking’s word choice that one cannot learn

how to improvise. Just as I am learning to read score at a later age, I can acknowledge

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that I may never become fluent, but I most certainly can and do learn. Similarly, although

I may never learn to improvise with the ease and creativity in the choro tradition as gifted

chorões such as Izaías Bueno de Almeida, I certainly am capable of improvising in my

own way, and can attest that my choro improvisation has improved dramatically over the

course of the past year, since acquiring my own seven-string guitar.

Blacking also writes “the essential differences between music in one society and

another may be social and not musical” (102). This is his key argument. Once read, it

seems self-evident, but the truth is this statement has broad reaching implications, and

presents a profound challenge to purely comparative musicological studies.

Not surprisingly, one of the key distinctions that might be more social than

musical has to do with one of the functions of music in society. Blacking points out that,

Some music expresses the actual solidarity of groups when people come
together and produce patterns of sound that are signs of their group
allegiances; and other music expresses theoretical solidarity when a
composer brings together patterns of sound that express aspects of social
experience (104).

This point unveils one of the most important social considerations surrounding

music. The distinction here is between an authentic human solidarity and a theoretical

solidarity. This is a serious and legitimate attack upon hierarchical societies, and the

current division of labor. The solidarity that Blacking refers to can be applied to choro as

well. Choro, however, represents a synthesis of the two types of solidarity Blacking

discusses: theoretical and actual. While actual solidarity in the concept of racial

democracy is observable and felt in the roda, the theoretical nationwide racial democracy

is yet to be achieved.

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 One of the most beautiful ideas Blacking discusses in this chapter is that there “is

evidence which suggests that, [...] human creativity [...] is in fact a collective effort that is

expressed in the behavior of individuals” (106). Music in groups provides perhaps one of

the most convincing pieces of evidence that human creativity is often collective. Blacking

has more than enough evidence to support this argument both with his examples of

childhood Venda songs learned almost through osmosis, and “When they share the

experience of an invisible conductor” (107). Not surprisingly, these same ideas can be

applied to a roda de choro. While the roda highlights the soloist, any choro connoisseur

knows that the roda experience is an absolutely collective effort. For example, in many

cases chorões told me that they listen to the contrapuntal accompaniment of

Pixinguinha’s clarinet, or the seven-string baixaria on Dino Sete Cordas guitar, at least as

closely as they listen to the soloist.

I disagree with Blacking’s fatalistic argument that music can only “confirm

situations that already exist” (108). I am not sure how to refute the argument, but I

certainly think that music can bring on new situations that have not previously existed.

Further, I think that music at its best is transcendental and can expose entirely different

and new concepts, ideas, and even ways of perceiving reality.

Blacking argues that despite the “fact” that music can do little more than

perpetuate something that is already there, the very survival of humanity may depend on

music. This is a complicated argument that may deserve further exploration, because, if

true, humankind’s survival may depend on the study of how exactly humanity depends on

music.

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 Ethnomusicology has the power to create a revolution in the world of
music and music education, if it follows the implications of its discoveries
and develops as a method, and not merely an area, of study (Blacking, 4).

Ethnomusicological revolution may appear to be anything from an ambitious

idealistic dream to an attempt at radicalism coming from an academic. However, in my

view Blacking is firm in his conviction with reason. In order to respond appropriately to

this quotation, please forgive the following reflexive indulgence.

Who knows when I was first introduced to music? Perhaps I was even capable of

hearing music before leaving my mother’s womb. Whenever I first heard music I cannot

recall. I do remember spelling my last name for the first time as I sat in the back of the

family Honda Accord driving across San Francisco’s Bay Bridge. I recall going to the

movie theatre for the first time, and crying as Bambi’s mother died in the forest fire, I can

even reminisce riding a bicycle without training wheels for the first time when I was six

years old. But music for the ears is more analogous to food for a hungry stomach. One

may not recall the first time that hunger was satisfied with nutritious motherly milk, but

in a way, one never forgets. Music is a part of life that is always here, present beyond

memory.

Yet, somehow, in my elementary and high school educational upbringing, music

was not central. Every day I learned how to formally analyze two languages. I learned

histories of various nations. I learned math and physical education. But I had to go out of

my way to learn music. Despite the constant mediation of music through radio, cassettes,

records, and television, I had to make detours from my daily routine in order to spend any

quality time with music. Why did music seem so academically distant if my school had a

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music teacher, and even a school band? I was never encouraged to study music in school

by anyone, not peers, and not teachers. Thankfully, my mother bought me a guitar at age

thirteen and I haven’t let go since. However, the little music I did learn how create I

learned informally, primarily on my own, and by ear.

Why didn’t I learn music formally? Firstly, we were only given one forty-minute

session per week in elementary school, and once in middle and high school, music in a

classroom setting was even less frequent. But it was not just the lack of time dedicated to

music; it was also the how music was presented. We were left with no room for

creativity. We had no access to musical instruments. We were expected to sing whatever

the teacher had decided. We had no input. So, the music was usually of no interest.

Nonetheless, somehow the potential revolution of ethnomusicology is already

taking place in my life. I have had to seek this revolution out; I have been chasing down

opportunities in the world of music for the past ten years. Finally, the opportunity has

presented itself. I am in an environment where I can focus on music, all because of the

existence of ethnomusicology in a formal academic setting.

Ironically, I spent much of my “music time” at the University of Texas - Austin

studying those musics which ethnomusicology is not typically understood to

study–namely Western Tonal Harmony and Baroque music (which are important

supplements to understanding musical form and structure). However, if the only way to

study music in an academic environment were the way it is presented in most Western art

music classrooms, I would quickly gather my pencils and guitar, and move elsewhere.

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Thankfully, ethnomusicologists have been creating space for alternative approaches to

the teaching and learning of music for the past 120 years.

In my studies of ethnomusicology I was able to find a style of music that

synthesizes anthropological concepts and aural traditions with some of the skills I learned

in the study of the Western canon and music composed on Western staff. Choro is an

excellent interdisciplinary musical example. It combines a rich socio-historical topic with

Western notational scores, and improvisation.

Similarly to Western cult of the personalities (whether rock stars, jazz legends, or

art music composers), choro also has a list composers and performers that are recognized

as part of the canon of choro geniuses. Turning again to Blacking,

We talk freely of musical genius, but we do not know what qualities of

genius are restricted to music and whether or not they might find
expression in another medium. Nor do we know to what extent these
qualities may be latent in all men (7).

It is perhaps impossible to know to what extent qualities of musical genius exist in

all men. Nor do we know to what extent qualities of mathematical, or athletic, or any

other kind of genius exist in all men. However, in the current academic system, we are

probably more effective in locating mathematical genius, or athletic genius, than we are

of pinpointing musical genius. This is for two main reasons 1) music has become

virtually inseparable from the score in our Western Heritage, and 2) since music must

account for contexts and tastes, it is extremely challenging, if not impossible, to assess

musical genius objectively. This is not to say the assessing genius objectively should be

the central concern of any academic discipline.

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 Ethnomusicology is contributing immensely to freeing Western Academia from

the music = the score equation, by supplying courses that do not even use scores

(reflecting the numerous scoreless musical systems throughout the world). Further,

ethnomusicology welcomes different types of musicians into academia, and in so doing

nurtures a variety of musicians who would otherwise have no academic opportunities.

These musicians are capable of contributing to the understanding of music in invaluable

ways, and may eventually contribute to holding “out hope for a deeper understanding of

all music” (Blacking, 31).

Chorões in informal rodas rarely use scores as references, although written music

on a Western staff is undoubtedly an important part of the choro tradition. Choro is

unique in the sense that it mixes scored composition with aural improvisation extensively

and intensively. It does so extensively because hybridism between aural and scored music

is observable in a wide variety of contexts, from the informal roda to the formal concerts

at municipal theatres and cultural institutes. Choro combines the scored and aural

practices intensively because choro is profoundly improvisational, as well as deeply

valued for its scored compositions by Brazilian art composers such as Heitor Villa-

Lobos, Antonio Carlos Jobim, and Egberto Gismonti (to name a few).

Blacking’s work has provided a foundation from which ethnomusicologists from

predominantly outside of standard Western trained tradition can present their works. This

is particularly valuable for the study of musics outside or partially outside of the Western

art musical heritage such as choro.

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Speech, Music, and Speech about Music, Charles Seeger, 1977

The ambition of Seeger’s project in this chapter cannot be underestimated: “The

core of the undertaking is the integration of speech knowledge in general and the speech

knowledge of music in particular [...] with the music knowledge of music” (16). At this

rate, the reader might expect to be touched with irrepressible musical composition

inspired directly from and while reading this article. Of course, this is not what happens.

However, Seeger does successfully frame and problematize the relationship between and

overlap of music and speech; no small task. This work is relevant to any study of music,

and I have thus included a discussion of it here.

Seeger begins his theorizing by distinguishing between different “modes” of

speech. He names these modes affective, reasoned, and discoursive.

Affective speech is concerned with “the recognition and assertion of value” is

“end-motivated” (Seeger, 17). The affective mode is perhaps the most paradoxical and

complicated of modes. While the affective mode has as its central goal reality or truth, it

can never reach this goal absolutely. Seeger argues that the “affective mode pits a belief

in nonspeech and the knowledge of inner experience against speech knowledge and social

values. However, (though Seeger might disagree) one can understand affective

discourse’s goal as itself. That is, the practice of communication about metaphysical

truths as the end in and of itself. The affective mode of speech seems to be the most

applicable to music, and especially to choro, where inner experience and improvisation

are valued.

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 The reasoned mode is explained as “origin-motivated” and is the discourse of “the

great sciences” (Seeger, 17). Again, although absolute truth is ineffable, the practice of

the reasoned mode is to assist in unveiling truths, uncovering “cause and effect.” Given

the register of his book, Seeger’s writing reads as almost entirely in this reasoned mode

of discourse, despite his claiming otherwise (18). The irony is that it is difficult to discuss

music, its composition, production, and effects on people in this mode, but, as Seeger

asserts, “that is worthwhile, that is, valuable” (17). Seeger also recognizes that this

assumption that “the pursuit is worthwhile” (19) is a purely subjective value judgment. In

other words, the reasoning behind the scientific mode of discourse is based upon the

affective mode’s subjectivity. My report on choro in São Paulo and seven-string guitarists

is based in the reasoned mode of speech, as it is an academic study.

The third mode is the discoursive mode, which is described as generalized, the

mode “of daily life, of common sense” (Seeger, 17) of practicality. Perhaps Seeger claims

that his “essay pretends to be written in that variant of the discoursive [as a] scientific

criticism” (18), in order to signal to the readers that they should understand his essay as

less absolutist. Much of the fieldwork for this study of choro was conducted in the

discoursive mode of speech, simply getting directions to new locations, and

accomplishing simple goals such as scheduling interviews.

Interestingly, Seeger associates the affective mode to religion and mysticism;

reasoned discourse to science; and discoursive mode to humanities. I find these

generalizations practical and to an extent refreshing in a day when few scholars write

with such ambitious scope and far reaching implications. Yet, at the same time, one

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should be mindful that the modes of discourse can and do overlap, especially in the field

of ethnomusicology, where music is primarily affective, and ethnography combines both

the discoursive (social) and reasoned (sciences) modes.

Directly following the definitions of these three modes of discourse, Seeger

presents the reader with a diagram of the location of the different modes within a large

square. Again, Seeger states ambitiously and matter-of-factly, “The large square

represents the total potentialities of speech communication” (18). This statement is quite

contestable. How can, and why would someone box in and limit the potentialities of

speech? It is also contestable that the “ultimate goal” is critique. Nonetheless, the

diagram is useful, and his point, illustrating the location visually and explaining through

writing the relationships of these different discourses, is well articulated, if perhaps

limiting.

After much theoretical justification, Seeger finally states his proposition “to

achieve [...] a fitting together of the affective and reasoned modes of speech

communication in a single unified model of their relationship to music and its

communicatory process” (19). But Seeger disregards the discoursive mode of speech

which is so crucial to successfully accomplishing fieldwork.

Seeger states “communication will be understood here to name transmission of

energy in a form” (19). Further, a human can choose to communicate through tactile,

auditory, or visual modes. Seeger suggests that there is overlap between the three using

Venn diagrams and placing musics and spoken languages within the realm of auditory.

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 Seeger then summarizes the “principles of criteria for judgment [...] every

musicologist operates in” (23), while recognizing the overlap and synecdochal

characteristics of each principle. He briefly delves into the problematics of synecdoche

within communication and music, an extremely complicated discussion, then presents the

principles.18

The principles he presents are fairly unproblematic and reasonable, to Seeger’s

merit, because these are not easy to explain. Seeger successfully describes sixteen

principles of the human relationship to communication, again no small task.

Seeger’s essay, “Speech, Music, and Speech about Music” is a foundational paper

that tackles a broad range of tasks. Seeger lays out the problematics, complications, and

some of the potential effects of the discourse on the relationship between speech and

music, and how they are used to communicate. In this study of choro, it is important to

discuss some of Seeger’s ideas about speech and music, because the incompatability

between speech and music certainly applies, and there is no way to fully translate the

experience of a roda de choro, or improvising on a seven-string guitar through the

limiting mode of spoken or written word.

Toward a Reassessment of the Ethnomusicologist’s Role in Research, Gourlay, 1978

In addition to examining “the concept of the ethnomusicologist” in different

theories of research method, Gourlay proposes to articulate a “research model which

18
It is worth noting that Seeger acknowledges song as a separate form with a separate set
of implications.

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allows for Blum’s contention that ‘any ethnomusicologist, like any of his informants [...]

is subject to particular social constraints.’” (1)

In his first elaboration, Gourlay explains three forms of constraints–personal,

situational, and universal. These are practical concepts in articulating the limitations of

ethnomusicology as a field of study. In fact, these constraints seem to work for other

social sciences as well. Nonetheless, they are “crucial to the evolution of theory” (2) in

ethnomusicology and perhaps can be applicable to other fields of study also.

The first broadly criticized constraints are those directed at Alan Merriam.

Gourlay argues that Merriam eliminates the ethnomusicologist. That is, in his quest for a

perfect balance between musicology and anthropology, Merriam eliminates the

ethnomusicologist by focusing strictly on musicology and anthropology, instead of

ethnomusicology, which ideally would be a constant synthesis of both disciplines, instead

of a two part analytical study, one musicological and one anthropological. Gourlay values

Merriam’s theoretical contribution to the field as “an advance nearer to its solution” (5).

However, Gourlay is unforgiving in his critique of Merriam’s methodological proposition

when he argues that our “object is not to reject Merriam’s aims but to demonstrate the

impossibility of their realization within his accepted frame of reference” (5).

In my understanding, Merriam does not eliminate the ethnomusicologist at all.

From my perspective, Merriam’s idea of what an ethnomusicologist does is simply

different from Gourlay’s. To Merriam, the importance of ethnomusicology lies in its

potential balance between musicology and anthropology. This is not an unreasonable

idea, especially if one considers how the different lenses of anthropology and musicology

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provide potentially complimentary objective insight into a music and its culture. Whereas

for Gourlay, this balance between two fields is not the field’s goal, neither is it even

possible to be so objective. Further, Gourlay values the subjectivities of the

ethnomusicologist. In this work I have tried to achieve some balance between a reflexive

and subjective approach by including discussion of my personal approach and the works

that have influenced this study, but I have also striven to communicate some of the

consensual points of reference amongst chorões objectively.

Perhaps more urgent is Gourlay’s critique of Merriam turning a blind eye to the

performer and performance. This, indeed, is of great concern and is a much more incisive

criticism. As Gourlay points out on page 9, Merriam does not even include

“performance” in his index, and when it finally is included in a later publication, it

reported as one-sided (through the musicological and pedagogical lenses). However, this

may just be a semantic difference, because although “performance” is lacking in

Merriam’s index, Merriam’s discussion of function, use and concept are each applicable

to performance. Not only are they applicable, in my understanding, the ideas of function

and use are specifically for the analysis of culture through the examination of

performance.

Gourlay’s concern to reintroduce the ethnomusicologist is well taken. His starting

point, as mentioned above, is that we are all subject to various constraints. These

constraints then provide us with certain subjectivities, approaches, and “world views.”

Instead of trying to eliminate the subjectivities and “world views” of the

ethnomusicologist, Gourlay advocates embracing them, making them explicit and raising

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awareness of them for both ethnomusicologists and their readers. I have striven to make

some of my “world views” explicit throughout this study.

Further, Gourlay proposes a dialectical approach to ethnomusicology. Gourlay’s

dialectical approach may be more realistic than Merriam’s search for perfect balance

between musicology and anthropology, but it is not necessarily much more effective in

terms of actual methodology or results. In other words, I am of the opinion that Gourlay’s

dialectical approach can be synthesized with Merriam’s supposedly impossible anthropo-

musicological approach. That is, Merriam and Gourlay are not mutually exclusive, but

may build off of each other.

While Merriam’s ideas tend to be more theoretical, academic and presentationally

oriented, Gourlay stresses the fieldwork side of the study, and is a precedent to the

reflexive approach to ethnography that is explored by Barz, Cooley, et al (see next

section). Gourlay’s dialectical notion applies directly to how the ethnomusicologist

behaves, inquires, studies, and learns in the field during the preparatory period and the

research process. However, I think Gourlay’s notion of a dialectical approach should be

stretched further into the presentation process particularly when considering Merriam’s

methods. It is true that Gourlay is in fact using a kind of dialectical approach in this

theoretical writing by making reference to Merriam and others’ methodologies. Yet

beyond this theorizing, Merriam’s approach could benefit quite a bit from Gourlay’s

dialectical proposition by applying these dialectics directly to Merriam’s anthropology

and musicology dichotomy. That is, the dialogue between musicology and anthropology

is valuable in the study of ethnomusicology. Gourlay’s dialectics apply not only to

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ethnomusicology, but also to musicology, anthropology, and perhaps various other fields,

and the dialogues that can exist between each. These dialectics reveal the valuable

flexibility and interdisciplinarity of ethnomusicology, and along with Blacking’s and

Merriam’s ideas, provide the basis for my approach to choro studies.

Shadows in the Field, Gregory Barz & Timothy Cooley, 1997

Another text that had a strong impact on how I approached this project is Shadows

in the Field. Ten ethnomusicologists contributed to make Shadows in the Field a

thorough examination of the crisis that ethnographers were facing at the end of the

twentieth century. Cooley states that the current ethnographic crisis is in fieldwork, and

not in representation (as Seeger argued in his incompatability between speech and music

argument). In this study of choro the challenge of representing music through the written

word is still quite present, as there is no way to completely communicate the experience

of participating in a roda. However, some of the experience can be represented through

conceptualizations such as use, function, and concept, and musical examples are provided

in the accompanying soundtrack.

The more challenging question is: what is the value of the fieldwork experience?

The authors of Shadows in the Field consensually respond that at least a partial answer to

this question lays in the dialogic interaction between the field researcher and the

community being studied.

At the heart of this polygraphy is the question of the ethnographers agency in the

field. According to the authors, the scholar is understood as a “social actor” (Barz &

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Cooley, 4). In choro studies, I think this idea is especially relevant in resolving both

Seeger’s crisis in representation, as well as the proposed crisis in experience. There is no

way to represent choro unless one understands its culture, and the best way to understand

choro, is to participate in the roda. As Kisliuk points out, “there is much one can only

know by doing” (Barz & Cooley, 17). In the roda, the scholar inevitably contributes to

the communal sound, as well as the its ethic. Admittedly, I did not spend nearly as much

time as I had hoped participating in rodas, and spent more time observing them.19

Although in an ideal study, more time would have been spent in the roda,

acquiring more fluent bimusicality as proposed by Mantle Hood, the fact remains that the

ethnographer (in this case, myself) is a social actor. Although I feel indebted to them, in

the sense that “‘informants’ give, ‘researchers’ take” (Barz & Cooley, 208), I was able to

establish sincere dialogue and friendly rapport with my informants. My role as a social

actor remained, as I was expected to participate in dialogue, socializing, making and

listening to music.

I also took the step of becoming a consumer of their music, purchasing, cds,

instruments, and attending concerts. Even though this is not typically recognized as the

work of a “social actor,” I believe the consumer side of music study is often overlooked.

It is certainly the case for the luthier, João Batista (from whom I bought a guitar), that

people like myself are part of the reason he is able to make a living off of his fine craft,

19
Tamara Livingston-Isenhour and Thomas Garcia were able to participate in many
rodas, and share some of those experiences in their excellent study Choro: A Social
History of a Brazilian Popular Music.

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since each guitar is worth at least R$1000 (US$430), which equals the sum of over three

months worth of Brazil’s minimum wage (R$300, about US$130).

In short, even in a study with limited amounts of time spent in the field,

ethnographers must recognize their roles as social actors in the community, and the

implications whether musical, social, or financial.

Revival

At the beginning of the twentieth century, João Pernambuco and Catulo da Paixão

Cearense began an effort to revive the modinha through performance. In the 1930s, Pinto

tackled the resurgence of choro with his pen. In the 1950s and 60s, choro mandolin

virtuoso Jacob Bittencourt attempted to rescue choro from the overpowering wave of

bossa nova, jazz and rock’n’roll. Although many scholars would not label Jacob’s efforts

as a revival, most would agree that he was resisting the musical change that bossa nova

implied. According to Cazes, Diniz, and Livingston-Isenhour & Garcia, the major revival

of choro came in the 1970s. I am forced to ask, when was choro not experiencing a

revival? In various conversations with Dr. Gerard Béhague, he told me to carefully

examine the question of revival in relation to choro.

Garcia and Livingston-Isenhour argue that there was a choro revival in the 1970s.

This is an argument that is also endorsed by Henrique Cazes in his book Choro: do

Quintal ao Municipal (1998), although he uses the term “resurgence.” Dr. Béhague made

the point that there was no revival because there was never a decline of chorões who

continued to play and perform. The fact that Altamiro Carrilho, Jacob do Bandolim and

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Waldir Azevedo, perhaps the most influential, and recognized names in choro second

only to Pixinguinha, produced a healthy amount of recording in the fifties and sixties is

not ignored by Cazes, Garcia and Livingston-Isenhour. However, they insist that there

was a resurgence in the 1970s.

While choro may have become more visible again in the seventies, after bossa

nova dominated national and international media broadcasting throughout the sixties, it is

important to recognize that choro continued to be a major force of Brazilian music

throughout this time period with Jacob do Bandolim, Altamiro Carrilho, and Waldir

Azevedo in Rio de Janeiro, and the famous Conjunto Atlântico in São Paulo. I am not

denying that groups such as “Novos Baianos” contributed to a repopularization of choro

in the 1970s. However, choro has a long history of resurgences, revivals and resistance,

as is evidenced by the work of Pinto, Jacob do Bandolim, the efforts of TV Bandeirantes,

and cultural institutions such as Instituto Jacob do Bandolim, Instituto Moreira Salles,

and Cachuera. It is also fundamental to understand that along with resistance in choro,

comes a tradition for innovative creativity evidenced by a wide range of artists from

Antonio Callado, to Chiquinha Gonzaga, to Pixinguinha, to Dino Sete Cordas, to Raphael

Rabello, to Israel Bueno de Almeida, to Hamilton de Holanda. Choro is an aural paradox

of simultaneous resistance and innovation,

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 Chapter 6: Transcending Racial Discrimination

This chapter examines the concept of racial democracy as a form of

multiculturalism, and proposes that the roda de choro has the potential for realizing racial

democracy in a land where racial democracy is little more than a myth.

After Women’s Liberation, the Civil Rights Movement, and the Sexual

Revolution, multiculturalism emerged as one of the dominant progressive ideologies in

the Western Hemisphere, originally as a direct attack upon notions of male white

supremacy.

There are two contesting central branches of multiculturalism. The first is a

tendency towards racial hybrid ambivalence; I will call this “colorblind”

multiculturalism. The second is a tendency towards essentialism; I will call this

“essentialist” multiculturalism. Neither of these discourses allows for the fulfillment of

liberation. I will argue for a synthesis of these two multiculturalist discourses as a process

of liberation that can be witnessed in a roda de choro.

One of the great assets of colorblind multiculturalism is that it provides a forum

from which to acknowledge identities, including historical, racial, sexual, gendered,

religious, cultural, political, ancestral, social, economic, national, professional, and

generational, to name just a few. Hybridization in the forms of mulataje and mestizaje,

run the risk of erasing this acknowledgement, by making ancestry and cultural praxis

nebulous.

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 Multiculturalism within a capitalist framework offers a tempting and powerful

financial incentive: if one works hard, independent of race, it will eventually pay off.

Whether or not this philosophy is true or not is irrelevant. What is important here is

simply that the financial incentive exists, and is endorsed by hegemonic power structures.

The central critique to colorblind multiculturalist discourse is that it has been

appropriated by the wealthy and politically potent elite and is now being used to

perpetuate a system of suppression and domination. In Latin America, the overwhelming

majority of wealthy people are white people who have benefited (consciously or not)

from centuries of holocaustal enslavement, violent oppression, humiliating exploitation,

selective genocide, and judicial impunity, all to the great demise of other peoples,

especially Native Indians and the African Diaspora. Despite its good intentions, the

current vogue discourse of (colorblind) multiculturalism, within the frames of mulataje

and mestizaje, is still to the advantage of wealthy elites, who in São Paulo, and most

other places, are overwhelmingly “white.”

Through the globalizing capitalist system, it is socially tolerable and politically

acceptable to discriminate based on social class positioning and/or material wealth, even

while upholding multiculturalist discourses. Paradoxically, yet cunningly, the very same

discourse that condemns racism and endorses tolerance and diversity simultaneously

justifies discrimination based on social class, which is historically a direct result of racial

interpolation. This paradox plays itself out much differently in a roda de choro. Social

and economic status have little or no bearing on the respect given to musicians in the

roda. Racial or ethnic background have no wieght either as far as I could observe. In fact,

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even musicians’ skill levels do not establish an elite class in the roda. Outside of the roda,

skill level is recognized and lends authority to great chorões, but in the roda, even the

great chorões are contributing to a collective sound, just as the novices are. Naturally a

musician with a higher degree of skill will contribute more, but this does not place her or

him in a separate exclusionary class, as race or economic status do on a macro level in

society. Gender roles are more complicated as women are still striving to gain equal

footing in the roda, but even gender inequality is being challenged in the roda as female

groups and intergender groups are becoming more common.

In one of my first graduate school seminars, “Identity Politics in Latin America,”

taught by Dr. Charles Hale (Autumn 2003) in a session that included Jafari Allen as a

guest speaker, one concern in class discussion was that through discourses of mulataje

and mestizaje, we risk witnessing the death of blackness under the guise of

multiculturalism. According to Allen, this idealistic and utopic multiculturalist

cosmovision, presented through notions of mestizaje and mulataje are accepted forms of

multiculturalism, while in fact functioning as adapted modern versions of “whitening.”

Allen’s concern is legitimate because even in supposed egalitarian states, such as Cuba,

and in imagined racial democracies, such as Brazil, racism, homophobia and sexism

persist in daily life and are evident in hierarchical power structures, such as political

organs and economic status.

Kim Butler critically explains the notion of “whitening” as the mixing of white

Brazilians with other races, with the implied belief that whites, allegedly the superior

race, would eventually whiten Brazil in Freedom’s Given, Freedoms Won. This

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“whitening” was endorsed by many intellectuals, such as Euclides da Cunha at the turn of

the nineteenth to the twentieth century, and was central to concepts of Brazilian identity

and nationality.

One of the keys to combating discrimination (racial, sexual, economic, or any

other) is through identity politics. Unlike the dominant discourse, however, identity

politics go deeper than acknowledgement. Identity politics demand consideration and

respect for, knowledge of, connection to, and “radical becoming” through history (in the

case argued by Allen), race, sex, culture, and music. This consideration, respect for, and

knowledge of are embodied in the roda de choro, where there is a respect for the past, a

consideration for fellow chorões, and a knowledge of music, regardless of racial identity,

and thus a legitimization and concrete example of racial democracy.

In my interpretation, identity politics, particularly through cultural activities such

as a roda de choro, can be used as a strategy for repossessing multiculturalist discourse in

order to combat discrimination based on socio-economic class (which, as discussed

above, is directly associated with race), with the ultimate aim of producing an egalitarian

society, or at least one of equal opportunity.

In contrast to “color-blind” multiculturalism enforced through financial

discrimination and discourses of nationalism, mulataje, and mestizaje, I am suggesting

that there is space for a multiculturalism that takes into account a meticulous analysis of

identity politics. In order to imagine this progressive multicultural experience, a profound

examination of identity politics must include (but is not limited to) consciousness of

ancestral-cultural heritage, such as the historical narrative of choro, that includes mulatos,

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Afro-Brazilians, and European Brazilians as key contributors, self-making, and the ability

to “feel free” (Allen). Nonetheless, this progressive multicultural identity politics runs

certain theoretical risks, and one direct problem with choro is its lack of a historical

narrative in relation to native Brazilian indigenous peoples, as well as immigrants from

Middle-Eastern and Eastern backgrounds, and in this study, especially the Japanese who

are so prevalent in São Paulo. One way to incorporate Middle-Easterners, at least, would

be to deepen the discussion on the origins of the pandeiro, which has Middle-Eastern

origins, or to include an indigenous flute as part of a choro ensemble, for example.

In regards to ancestral-cultural heritage, one risk is guilt or shame of one’s past.

Racial guilt can be present in anyone independent of race. In order to overcome this

shame, I suggest studying histories of one’s own ancestry as well as that of others, in

efforts to come to terms with and affect our present differences towards a more inclusive

society. But the historical side is just one aspect of the choro ethic, and is not the focal

point. The focal point is the roda itself, as a space for transcending the racism inherent to

Brazilian social inequality, and realizing a community of racial democracy through

musical expression.

Once the realization that the present is valuable occurs, there is the opportunity

for intimate musical exchange becomes a reality. This exchange is what has kept the roda

de choro alive for almost a century and a half, and is what continues to attract new

musicians, and transcend racial and economic barriers on a daily basis.

Self-making is deeply connected to both cultural-ancestral past and the intimacy

of the present, but also includes a consideration of potential selves (an awareness of the

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future). Some of the dangers of self-making include self-deception and vice. I think the

prime antidotes to dangerous self-making are health praxis (literal health, such as

physical exercise and a balanced diet), social consciousness (represented by political

activism, engagement with the community, friendship, responsibility for one’s actions),

and especially mental creativity (to which choro has the potential of contributing

immensely).

“Feeling free” and liberation are thus made possible through the process of

learning of cultural-ancestral histories, healthy and conscious self-making and

transcendent intimacy. Healthy and conscious self-making are not part of the choro

hidden curriculum, but cultural-ancestral histories, and transcendent intimacy through

collective creative rodas certainly are part of choro’s objectives and results.

While colorblind multiculturalism overemphasizes the present essentialist

multiculturalism prioritizes the past. Neither of these discourses on multiculturalism

provides us with the means to overcome racism. Ultimately, one viable solution to racial

discrimination is for individuals to actively seek their own liberation, while respecting

and encouraging others’ processes of “feeling free.” This does not signify the social death

of Brazilianness, Paulistanness, Aboriginess, Africanness, Arabness, Asianess,

Europeanness, Jewishness, Indianness, Mestizaje or Mulataje. These ancestral

connections to racial identities are both socially and individually constructed and

interpolated, and will continue to be passed on from one generation to the next.

According to social scientist, Jonathan Warren, race is not a fixed biological trait,

but is instead a fluid, shifting, and subjective form of identification that requires

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imagination. What Warren refers to as “posttraditional Indians” are (as Warren himself

points to) not necessarily seen as Indians at all by the state or the society in which they

live. This is problematic because different people are using different definitions and

conceptualizations of race. Race, then, involves subjective understandings.

Based on this conceptualization, it is striking that Warren is so clear about

posttraditional Indian separativeness. This type of racial uniqueness my be passé. Warren

may be right: as a Brazilian of predominantly (or perhaps exclusively) European descent,

I may be unaware of my own racisms; but this does not mean that I am not willing to not

stand up against racial discrimination. Growing up in São Paulo, I could not even count

the times I had to confront peers on their racist attitudes. So far, I have only proven

Warren right by reacting defensively to uphold my large emotional investment in a racial

democracy. Nonetheless, there are some hard cold facts. Our current president, Luiz

Inácio Lula da Silva was the most voted for president in the history of the world. People

in Brazil do vote independent of their race. This is not to say that there is no racism in

Brazil, because that would be obscenely off the mark. I, personally, witnessed racism in

Brazil of kinds: from child pranks and bad jokes to disappropriation, racial exorcism,

marginalization, and disenfranchisement. It is true, race problems in Brazil persist. But I

do not see how Warren is remedying the situation by belittling the Movimento Negro in

Brazil (which still exists and goes through ebbs and flows), for example.

Warren has fearlessly confronted the problem of racial discrimination against the

Indians of Brazil, pointing to inconsistencies and corruptions of Brazilian society and

governmental agencies. But one might also recall that there are people in Brazil who are

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fighting for Indian rights, and Afro-Brazilian rights, and Women’s rights and the rights of

the landless. The social and economic problems in Brazil are so grave that Warren may

think he is fighting this battle alone with the Indians against the rest of Brazil. I don’t

think that is the best way to be thinking about the problems of inequality and injustice in

that country.

This is not to belittle the work of Warren and the posttradition Indians who have

struggled to win back rights, and continue to struggle with inequalities and racial

discrimination every day. In response to some of Warren’s criticisms I felt an obligation

to defend some of the work that has been done in Brazil to uprise, and strengthen the

cause of a more egalitarian nation. One place where racial democracy occurs is in the

roda de choro. It does not matter if someone is a postraditional Indian, a mulato, a

mestizo, an Afro-Brazilian, or a Euro-Brazilian in the roda de choro. What matters in the

roda, is aural experience and creativity, to which all, independent of race, are welcome to

contribute.

There are millions of Brazilians who refuse to allow racism to bring them down;

there are millions more who stand up for the rights of people of different races, simply

because they feel it’s the right thing to do. It is a long and arduous and often discouraging

battle in a country where land reform is screamingly urgent, and the distribution of

wealth is an embarassment. But, a practice such as choro does contribute to some degree

of racial solidarity, even if it is fabricated, in a country that faces such serious inequality.

Warren states, “most racial subalterns [...] fail to grasp how white supremacy

underpins their economic and social marginalization” (Warren, 270). If this is true,

88
Warren and others have taken important steps to cast light on this shadow. However, in

my experience, “racial subalterns” are well aware of the link between race and

marginalization. I have heard many people of different economic stati, and of similar

racial self-identification acknowledge the question of race as a chief contributor to the

determination of socio-economic status.

Warren’s work is courageous, and brings to light many aspects of Brazilian

Indianness. It is truly a long needed victory on behalf of Brazilian Indians and Warren to

make explicit and concrete the resurgence of Indian and Indianness in Brazil. It is crucial

to the Indian of course, but also to the country as a whole. What I do not share is the

notion that most people are just allowing racism and [male] white supremacy to continue

in Brazil. Especially when it comes to Afro-Brazilians I found it hard to swallow

Warren’s criticisms. It might have done more for the cause against [male] white

supremacy if Warren had remained focused on the object of his study (the resurgence of

the Brazilian Indian), instead of trying to make sweeping arguments that belittle the cause

of Afro-Brazilians and other black and mixed people throughout the continent.

In order to overcome racism, while avoiding the traps of both essentialist and

colorblind multiculturalism, I think of identity politics as a process rather than a product

or essence. During this process of liberation, there is a tightrope of identity formation to

be walked that involves balancing, on the one hand, ancestry, cultural heritage, social

politics, and genealogy, and on the other hand, self-making, individuality, personal

politics and intimacy. Choro shares with many other musics the potential to contribute to

processes of liberation for individuals on the mental, bodily, and spiritual planes because

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of its rootedness in cultural history, its creative compositional technique, its emphasis on

spontaneous improvisation, and the ethics of the roda.

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 PART III: THE OCEAN, an ethnography

Having grown up in São Paulo may seem to provide an automatic insiders

perspective on my subject matter–choro paulistano. While being a paulistano certainly

moved my project along faster than it would have gone otherwise, my relationship to

choro in São Paulo was practically that of a complete outsider. Virtually all I knew about

choro concerned Rio de Janeiro, i.e. from recordings and books, and some performances I

saw while I lived in Rio de Janeiro in 2002. In other words, in order to establish an

understanding of choro in São Paulo, it helped that I was a native of the city, however,

since choro is a universe unto itself, I was studying the subject matter from an etic point

of view.

The basic methodology I followed was to read as much as I could about choro in

from the UT Benson library, before I left for São Paulo in late May, 2005. I knew I had to

cover the historical background before I arrived, not only in order to be prepared for what

I was about to observe, but also because the Benson Library is one of the few places in

the world where such a great amount of resources about Brazil and Latin America are at

one’s finger tips. Many of the Brazilian publications available at the Benson are not

easily accessed in Brazil.

While in São Paulo, my routine consisted of reading the “Folha de São Paulo”

newspaper, not only to be informed about world events, but also to search for articles

about choro, and look for performances and rodas. Choosing places to see choro was

logistically complicated. For example, some of my friends mentioned the “Ó do

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Borogodó” bar, but I was hesitant to go there with friends, at least at first, as I was to

conduct field-research. Since the city is immense, arriving from point A to point B is not

always the easiest process. Even though I did have access to a car, and I am familiar with

the city, mapping complicated routes became a regular activity, and essential for any

outing. Since the city is dangerous, it is wise to know exactly where one is going before

venturing out.

My typical methodology once at performance, was to do the following things,

though not necessarily in this order:

• Introduce myself to the musicians, and explain my project.

• Ask for permission to record on Minidisk and/or take photographs.

• Trade contact information.

• Request an extensive interview in the future. If that was not

possible, I would ask as many questions as I could on site usually

during an intermission.

• Find a location with relatively good acoustics for the best possible

recording.

• Observe the people in the audience.

• Take mental or field notes on the physical surroundings.

• Observe the musicians body language.

• Enjoy the music.

In addition to reading the history, the newspaper, and attending performances, I

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conducted interviews both in person and via e-mail. I only recorded four extensive

interviews, but conducted several shorter interviews on location with notebook in hand,

and sometimes simply trusting memory.

Another important step was to acquire a seven-string guitar. This allowed me to

begin to understand the technical aspects of the instrument, and to participate in the roda

at “Contemporânea Instrumentos Musicais.” Although I attended many rodas, I only

participated in one roda at Contemporânea because my familiarity with the repertoire was

limited, and because playing choro by ear is very challenging, and I was not yet familiar

enough with the repertoire, which often included many obscure choros in addition to the

choro standards. On average at every performance or roda, I only recognized about four

out of twenty-five tunes.

My overall methodology can be described as observational reflexivity. I applied

basics of participant observation as I learned them at Swarthmore College’s department

of Sociology and Anthropology, and The University of Texas at Austin’s department of

Ethnomusicology. The main ethnographers that guided my methodology in the field were

A. Merriam (1964), K. Gourlay (1978), B. Jackson (1987), and Barz & Cooley (1997).

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 Chapter 7: Rodas, Saraus, and Concerts in São Paulo

Chapter 7 provides my (partial) overview of the paulistano choro scene, and a

discussion of its context. During any given week, there are frequently multiple choro

events all over the city, and below is just a taste of some of the places where choro

occurs, and is influenced above all by what was logistically possible for me, and not by

any order of importance or priority. For example, notably absent is any discussion of

Villagio Café which is one of the principal venues for choro in São Paulo.

I will describe both rodas and concerts. The word roda is typically used to

describe an informal gathering where chorões gather to play music together. This word is

also used in other musical practices in Brazil such as capoeira and samba. The word can

be directly translated as wheel, but in the context of performance is more similar to our

use of the words circle, or ring. Concerts can be understood as a presentational practice

with a clear line between audience and performer. I attended rodas at a musical

instrument store, and the house of a luthier. The concerts took place at bars, cultural

centers, and community stages.

Ó do Borogodó, Rua Horácio Lane, 21, Pinheiros, São Paulo

The “Ó,” as locals refer to it, is a happening place in Vila Madalena, an old but

youthful and hip neighborhood in São Paulo. The Ó do Borogodó features live musical

performances every night of the week, and on weekends packs in eighty people, well

beyond what U.S. fire marshalls would consider to be safety capacity. It is a relatively

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small bar that has enjoyed being the center of a fad among São Paulo’s well-educated

middle-class youth for live music and particularly choro and samba. Amongst a crowd of

predominantly twenty to thirty year olds, there is the occasional middle-ager,

accompanied, as well as the occasional teenager in the midst of discovering the

paulistano night life.

I was able to go down to the Ó only one night while I was there, but the name

came up frequently in conversations with chorões and appears regularly in periodicals

and blogs announcing musical venues for the week. The evening I was present, the group

performing was tight, and managed to deliver beautiful melodic solos, and impeccable

choro accompaniment, despite the frequent chatter amongst the audience, and the

mediocre sound system.

Ó do Borogodó represents one of the most informal settings for choro

performance in that people are expected to talk, dance, and spill beer as the music is

played. Although there is a clear divide between audience and performer, the performers

do not sit on a stage, but instead sit in chairs just as everyone else does. The only

difference is that they are performing on instruments that are amplified through the bar’s

mediocre PA system. On occasion, a sixty-year woman with a raspy, but contagious

voice grabs a microphone and sings samba to the flawless accompaniment of these

fantastic musicians.

Choro in this context is performative, but informal, and the expectations of

technical perfection are left aside because of the noise from clinking glasses and chatter.

Nonetheless, the performers are professional in their behavior and execution, and are paid

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for their services, as they do bring in quite a crowd. The use of choro in this context is

performative, the function is entertainment for the audience, and entertainment as well as

financial gain for the musicians and business. Broader functions of education, as

discussed in chapter 5 are not directly applicable in the Ó do Borogodó context. The

concept of racial democracy dwindles in this context, as well, because there is a

significant cover charge, and the predominantly Afro-Brazilian working class of São

Paulo cannot afford to spend the evening at a place such as the Ó. Despite the

predominantly white audience, there is no racial or ethnic profiling at the door. Any and

all are welcome as long as they can pay their check.

The chorões who play at the Ó are usually well-known amongst the choro

community. The night I attended included seven-string guitarist, Zé Barbeiro, a well

respected chorão who appears as the main representative for the seven-string guitar in the

documentary “Violões do Brasil” (Taubkin, 2004). Zé Barbeiro is of mixed racial

ancestry. The soloist was a Brazilian man of predominantly European descent who

played flute, clarinet and saxophone, unfortunately I was unable to understand his name

because of the chatter. The cavaquinista was a Brazilian man of predominantly African

ancestry named Ildo Silva, and the excellent pandeirista was Roberta Valente, a Brazilian

woman of predominantly European descent. This is a racially and gender integrated

group, and each musician performs with some of the most respected regionais of São

Paulo. In the little time I spent with them, it was clear that racial (and gender) democracy

in their roda was a reality. However, it is important to note that this racial democracy is in

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a greater context of Brazil’s shameful distribution of wealth, especially towards Afro-

Brazilians, and Indigenous peoples.

Bar Brahma, Avenida São João 677, Centro, São Paulo

Bar Brahma was founded in downtown São Paulo in 1948. In the 1950s and 1960s

it was popular amongst musicians, poets, and intellectuals, including samba legends such

as Ary Barroso and Adoniran Barbosa, as well as then future president (now former

president) Fernando Henrique Cardoso. In the 1970s and 1980s, downtown São Paulo

suffered an economic depression, and the area became dangerous, and by 1998, the

business folded. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, the bar reopened with a

retro 1950s look, but with a modern infrastructure (paraphrased translation from

www.barbrahma.com.br).

The venue hosts a wide range of musical acts, from jazz, to samba, to choro, and

MPB. The regular choro act is led by a young mandolinist by the name of Danilo Brito,

who is accompanied by the tight knit group of veterans, featuring seven-string guitarists

Clóvis Carvalho Varanda Paulista. Danilo Brito is a virtuoso, and winner of one of

Brazil’s most prestigious music awards, the Prêmio Visa.

The group is technically precise and highly professionalized. I attended two of

their performances, and noticed that their repertoire was similar both times. Although

there was some improvisation, the musicians stuck closely to what was evidently a pre-

rehearsed script.

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 Bar Brahma has become a significant tourist attraction in downtown São Paulo for

its typical Brazilian food and music, and even includes a Sunday morning tour of

downtown for lunch patrons. Despite its catering towards tourists, the majority of

costumers were paulistanos when I attended. However, one might argue that since

downtown São Paulo was avoided for an extended period of time by middle class locals,

they too may be considered, in a sense, tourists to the downtown area.

Although, the uses and functions of choro at Bar Brahma are similar to those at Ó

do Borogodó, namely for-profit entertainment, the context is quite different. Ó consists of

a significantly younger population, and is a contender in the night club scene of São

Paulo. Bar Brahma has a middle-aged patronage, and when showcasing choro, is

focusing primarily on lunch-time clientele.

SESC Pompéia, Rua Clélia, 93, Água Branca, São Paulo

The SESCs are community centers that can function as parks, musical and theatre

venues, dance halls, health centers, sports facilities, cafeterias and beer halls. SESC is the

acronym for “Serviço Social do Comércio” (Social Service for Commerce), and was

started on a federal level in 1946 under the Dutra presidency in efforts to ameliorate the

quality of life and sense of community amongst employees of the commercial and service

sectors (www.sesc.org.br).

SESC Pompéia is just one of thirty different Sescs spread throughout the state of

São Paulo, but it is the one that showcases chorões more frequently than the others, often

once or twice a month. I was fortunate enough to see the legendary “Época de Ouro”

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perform there on the first night I’d arrived in São Paulo for the winter of 2005 on

Saturday, May 28th, as well as the quartet “Chorando as Pitangas” about five weeks later

on Tuesday, July 5th.

Época de Ouro was originally founded by Jacob do Bandolim in 1964, and their

performance featured seven instrumentalists playing acoustic bass, seven-string guitar,

six-string guitar, pandeiro, cavaquinho and mandolin. The show carried a tone

professionality. This was the only choro performance I attended where all performers

wore suits and ties. The musicians were technically flawless and the group was lead by

the young Bruno Rian on mandolin. After the concert, some of the audience members

came to greet and compliment the musicians. The young mandolin virtuoso reacted

humbly to compliments, and asked if the sound was not too “enjoado”

(nostalgic/nauseating). The group certainly had performed well within the parameters of

the choro performance practice, in a controlled environment, but the audience members

speaking to him, replied, that the traditional sound is what the audience expected and

hoped for.

The other group I saw perform was the São Paulo based quartet “Chorando as

Pitangas” featuring Luizinho Sete Cordas on seven-string guitar, Ildo Silva on

cavaquinho, Roberta Valente on pandeiro, and Vítor Lopes on harmonica, with a guest

appearance from Dudu on flute. Though not as explicitly formal as “Época de Ouro,”

“Chorando as Pitangas” was equally professional.

Neither of these shows had financial profits as an objective. The “Época de Ouro”

concert cost only $5 (equivalent to US$2 at the time), and the “Chorando as Pitangas”

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concert was free. In the SESC Pompéia context, choro was performed with clear lines

between audience and performers, and choro was functioning on both entertainment and

educational levels. Musicians made a point of citing the name of each piece, often

described some of the structural and rhythmic characteristics of the music, and

occasionally explained the historical background of the tunes.

Both groups showcased virtuosity, and improvisation. Both were firmly

conscientious of their sound being interpreted as a preservation of tradition, and both

were interracial groups. The audience was also interracial and, as is unique to free or low-

cost shows at SESCs, people of different economic backgrounds were present, though the

audience was probably predominantly middle-class.

Praça Benedito Calixto

Praça Benedito Calixto is a public plaza in Pinheiros, the same neighborhood as Ó

do Borogodó. Since 1987, there has been a weekly Saturday fair at the plaza featuring

arts, crafts, food, and music. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, the weekly fair

is usually swarmed with humanity all day. There is capoeira, sales of art and antiques,

and in the middle of the plaza a group of choro regularly performs. Of all the choro

performances I attended, this is the one where the lines between audience and performers

is most ambiguous. In the previous performance context, the line is very clear; in the

following rodas, there is essentially no line between audience and performer, as anyone

can pick up an instrument and participate, and there are no microphones or other

amplification.

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 The regional that performs at Praça Benedito Calixto usually consists of some

elder musicians who have already retired. The group is led by a man named Canário.

Younger chorões frequently make guest appearances, and have the opportunity to plug

into the PA system. The audience also sometimes participates by dancing, and

occasionally playing small percussion instruments, such as tamborim. Canário’s regional

has been paid by the organizers of the fair during certain periods. According to the

group’s guitarist Wilson Sete Cordas, most recently the group has played without pay,

however. Many people dance to the familiar choro rhythms at Praça Benedito Calixto.

Although many stay for hours as the musicians perform, most simply listen momentarily

as they walk to the next stand looking for food, antiques or craft works.

In this context, the audience is mixed racially and socio-economically. Many

people at the fair are tourists, but most are locals, simply out enjoying a Saturday

afternoon. The context of this roda is relaxed and loose, and although some people

participate by tapping on a tamborim or shaking an empty beer can to the rhythm, there is

a sense that some the group sitting down near the microphones is the core group of

musicians.

Sarau at João Batista’s home

João Batista dos Santos started working as a guitar luthier in 1974 for the largest

guitar producer of Brazil, Giannini (est. 1900). He is originally from Paraíba, but has

been in São Paulo and his shop is in the neighborhood of Vila Nova Alba in São Paulo,

less than 100 yards from an immense favela. Even his student line of instruments (the

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least expensive from his shops) are professional-grade and all solid jacarandá paulista20

bodies. He offers a variety of solid tops, for a range of sounds, and high quality neck and

tuning pegs. Most serious choro guitarists, cavaquinistas, and bandolinistas in São Paulo,

including Luizinho Sete Cordas, Israel and Izaías Bueno de Almeida use João Batista’s

instruments.

After having searched for a seven-string guitar on Avenida Teodoro Sampaio, an

avenue in São Paulo that is the address of dozens of musical instrument retailers, I was

concerned that I would not find a guitar that suited my need for a high-quality, solid body

guitar. When I first met João Batista I tried out some of his guitars in his luthier’s shop,

and could not put down a cedar-topped rosewood solid body seven string guitar. After

João Batista waited patiently as my brother and I tried out his guitars and asked him

questions for nearly an hour, I bought the guitar. It is a wonderful instrument, though it is

not timbred. I left my six-string Epiphone classical guitar for João to repair, and when I

returned to pick it up, conducted an extensive interview with him discussing choro

musicians and the structure of guitars. One of the key points João Batista made about the

development of the role of the seven-string guitar is that seven-string guitarists have

reached such high degrees of ability that the six-string guitar is slowly losing its place as

an essential part of the choro ensemble, because the seven-string guitarists are frequently

able to play both roles. In my fieldwork, most groups I saw did include two guitars,

although in fact, a few had only one guitar, and it was a seven-string.

20
Jacarandá paulista is a variety of Brazilian rosewood. Connoiseurs all over the world
recognize Brazilian rosewood as among the finest quality for guitars.

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 About two weeks after our second meeting, I was invited to a barbeque at João

Batista’s house. I happened to be at Luizinho Sete Cordas house conducting an interview,

when João Batista called to invite Luizinho. Luizinho told me I was welcome to join as

his guest. Fortunately, I ran into João Batista again at a Saturday roda de choro at

Contemporânea, where he confirmed the invitation and provided directions to his house.

Being present at João Batista’s house that Sunday was a real honor and privilege

for me. Among the other guests were Israel and Izaías Bueno de Almeida, the talented

brothers that I would see perform again at Cachuera. A pianist, brought along her

electronic Yamaha keyboard. Luizinho Sete Cordas’s son, a talented young mandolinist,

and his regional from Campinas made a late appearance. Unfortunately, Luizinho himself

did not show. As a guest at this social event, I did not bring my recording equipment, nor

my field notes, but did exchange some contact information at the end of the day. The

following is reported from memory, and from notes taken after the fact.

I was the third guest to arrive. A young cavaquinho player, and another

client/friend of João’s had been there chatting comfortably for some time. After about

another half hour Izaías arrived with his brother, Israel, and Israel’s girlfriend, along with

the keyboardist. Izaías had barely stepped foot into João’s house when he said, “Vamos

tocar?,” (“Let’s play?”). He already had his bandolim out of its case and tuned by the

time João’s wife arrived with a glass of whiskey for him. The atmosphere was relaxed,

the food was delicious, fresh fish and rice dishes, and everyone was in good spirits. Israel

and Izaías have been playing together for over fifty years, and their communication was

quick and precise. The repertoire choice included the bossa nova standard, “Chega de

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Saudade,” with Israel’s girlfriend as vocalist, with my occasional harmonization. Many

musicians argue that “Chega de Saudade” is structurally a choro disguised as a bossa

nova because of its harmonic and melodic characteristics. They also played typical choro

standards and lesser known ones, but also waltzes, and a beautiful solo guitar piece by

Israel.

After everyone had eaten, and was back to the instruments, the younger

generation arrived, full of energy and excitement to play with the veterans. The young

men put on quite a show, kept up well with the Buenos, and were clearly awe-struck by

the Buenos’ virtuosity. As the night wound down, and I said my good-byes, I could not

have been happier to be alive. I felt that after all the years I spent living in São Paulo, I

finally had a community outside of my school friends that I could identify with.

Contemporânea, Rua General Osório 46, Santa Ifigênia, São Paulo

Contemporânea is a musical instrument shop in downtown São Paulo.

Contemporânea has been hosting Saturday rodas since the early 1960s, making these

gatherings the longest standing roda de choro in all of São Paulo. Chorões of all ages and

skill levels come to Contemporânea to listen to and perform choro in the back room for

several hours every Sunday. The roda is nationally famous, and often chorões from out of

town who are in São Paulo will stop by to contribute to the sound. In this roda, the lines

between audience and performance practically disappear. Anyone can pull up a chair and

fiddle around on their instrument. The roda at Contemporânea was the only roda in which

I participated. Although my familiarity with performing the choro repertoire is still in its

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early stages, the veterans and regulars were supportive, encouraging me to sit in and play

for as long as I wished.

The roda at Contemporânea is a roda where the music is so strongly in the

forefront that concepts such as racial and gender equality can surface. The musicians

have no interest beyond the production of music in the choro tradition. Racial, socio-

economic, gender, and even generational barriers essentially evaporate into thin air as the

musicians perform, improvise, laugh, and help each other get through the music. The

roda at Contemporânea presents a possibility of true solidarity amongst people of all

different backgrounds, through the common ground of choro. I am not arguing that choro

is the only music that has the potential to break down the aforementioned barriers, but it

is truly an incredible experience to participate in a roda, where music is the ultimate

priority, and socially constructed divides fall to the side. I realize this reads as an

idealization and romantization, but the fact remains. Sadly, as soon as one leaves the

roda, socio-economic status, and racial inequality reemerge into consciousness (or

subconsciousness).

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 Chapter 8: Seven-string Guitar Chorões in São Paulo

This chapter presents three seven-string guitar chorões currently in São Paulo

based on available literature and fieldwork conducted in June, July, and August of 2005.

Contemporarily, the most traditional orchestration for choro performance is that

of the regional. A typical regional consists of a pandeiro (basically a tambourine with a

drum heard), a cavaquinho (basically a ukulele), a soloist (usually a flute or mandolin),

and two guitars, one six-string, and one seven-string. Perhaps what is most distinctive

about the instrumentation of a regional in relation to other musical genres is the use of

the acoustic seven-string guitar. However, it is not the seven-string guitar that guarantees

a choro aesthetic. Instead, it is the mode of playing, the feeling, and the spirit brought to

the roda from each musician. Nonetheless, the seven-string guitar that was introduced by

Tute in 1920 has become as essential an instrument to choro as the pandeiro itself. The

seven-string guitar is a versatile instrument, at times working to embellish a composition

using both improvised and pre-composed baixaria (short quick bass lines that accompany

the melody in counterpoint, and are often highlighted during a breque in which all other

instruments rest), at times as a harmonic accompaniment, and more recently as the lead

soloist itself.

From Projeto Violões do Brasil (Taubkin) we can note that the seven-string guitar

is present throughout the entire country of Brazil. It is especially present in the major

urban areas of the country.

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 Most groups today include either an extremely skilled seven-string guitarist who

is able to provide contrapuntal embellishment, especially on the low ends, and seamless

harmonic accompaniment simultaneously. Occasionally, the seven-string guitarist will

even play the role of soloist, while other instruments cover the harmonic accompaniment,

or the groups have another harmonic accompanist, such as a cavaquinho or a second

guitarist, while the seven-string guitar provides baixaria (low-end counterpoint).

The Brazilian seven-string guitar is essentially the same as a classical six-string

guitar, but with a slightly wider neck to accommodate an additional C-string below the

low E, providing four more half tones which are used primarily for baixaria, or quick

melodic lines in the lower register of the instruments as both fundamental counterpoint,

and improvisational embellishment. The instrument can also be used as one might use a

more common six-string guitar, for harmonic accompaniment or by the group’s lead

soloist.

Israel Bueno de Almeida (b. November 1st, 1943, São Paulo, SP)

Israel spent most of his career working as a bank employee, and currently works

as a copy editor at the sheet music archive for São Paulo’s “Teatro Municipal”

(Municipal Theatre), which is one of the most important art music archives in Brazil.

In his childhood, Israel’s first instrument was the cavaquinho, with which he

learned choro alongside his brother, Izaías. With the emergence of bossa nova in 1958,

Israel picked up the guitar. Israel played bossa nova throughout the sixties. He played in

several groups experimenting with a variety of genres, but eventually moved back to

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choro, the music that he claims is “in his blood,” joining the famous choro ensemble

“Conjunto Atlântico” from 1960–1968. Israel and Izaías have always been open to

experimenting and expanding the choro repertoire. In the 1970s, they even recorded an

LP with Beatles songs performed in a choro style, featuring choro improvisation, and

instrumentation. Israel finally switched to the seven-string guitar in 1974 or 1975.21

In our the interview, Israel recognized that during the military dictatorship

(starting in 1964), choro experienced a resurgence in popularity because it is a

predominantly instrumental genre. While protest music from artists such as Chico

Buarque, Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil resulted in exile, choro musicians “could not

offend the authorities.” Because of this ressurgence during the nationalistic dictatorship,

many scholars have associated choro with Brazilian nationalism. Israel, however, told me

that he believes choro has no political ideology or commitment.

Israel now works closely with his brother, Izaías, and is one of two seven-string

guitarists in the group, “Izaías e seus Chorões.” Edmílson Capelupi is the second seven-

string guitarist in the group, and is a respected musician and music scholar, having edited

dozens of Pixinguinha’s choros for publication in O Melhor de Pixinguinha, a book of

sheet music. I was fortunate enough to catch “Izaías e seus Chorões” at Cachuera (a

cultural center in Perdizes, São Paulo) on July 30, 2005. Their performance was the most

musically sophisticated concert I witnessed in the choro performance style during my

fieldwork in June–August 2005. “Izaías e seus Chorões” simultaneously maintain a

strong tie to the choro style of performance in terms of instrumentation, repertoire and

21
He was unable to pinpoint the year during our interview.

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phrasing, yet, they are also innovative in their improvisation, and arrangements,

particularly in the work of the guitars. Edmílson and Israel, both play seven-string

guitars, both improvise constantly, yet coordinate baixaria phrases in parallel thirds of

great beauty. The group also included Haroldo Capelupi (Edmílson’s brother) on

cavaquinho, and Zequinha on pandeiro. Izaías himself is a virtuoso on the mandolin, and

many consider him to be the most talented living chorão soloist of São Paulo.

The performance was formal, and audience members were asked not to dance

before the concert began. The request was justified as being within the tradition of choro.

I was surprised because, every other choro performance I’d attended had included at least

some dancing in the audience. In my interview with Israel, he explained that the request

for no dancing had not been for the sake of the musicians, implying that dancing is

perfectly acceptable during choro performance.

Luizinho Sete Cordas (Luís Araújo Amorim, b. October 31st, 1946, Marília, SP)

Luizinho Sete Cordas is recognized by many chorões as the heir to Dino Sete

Cordas’s throne of the seven string baixarias. To see Luizinho perform is to witness a true

force of human creativity. Luizinho has performed with many famous Brazilian

musicians, and is usually requested to accompany visiting popular music celebrities from

out of the state of São Paulo, when they come to São Paulo to perform shows, or to

record.

Luizinho and his family live in a humble home in the neighborhood of Largo do

Taboão in São Paulo. Perhaps the most striking thing when arriving at his house is the

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large number of small dogs that come to greet visitors. Luizinho was born in Marilee, a

small town in the interior of São Paulo, but his family moved to Santos when he was very

young, and that is where he was raised.

He finally moved to São Paulo in 1980. Luizinho is one of the few chorões in São

Paulo who has made a career strictly as a musician. Most chorões hold other jobs and

play music in spare time, or for extra cash on weekends. Luizinho has been playing

professionally for over twenty-five years. In addition to appearing in numerous concerts

and TV shows, Luizinho also teaches the seven-string guitar from his home.

Luizinho and his family were very welcoming for my interview. Most of the

interview was spent discussing the declining status of choro in contemporary São Paulo.

Luizinho was critical of mass media, including radio and television, and the “low-

quality” of the music that is currently popular throughout Brazil. As is common practice

with any seven-string guitarist, Luizinho improvises, but he also frequently reads music

from staff paper during performance. If Luizinho is not the first, he is one of the first

seven-string guitarists to write down his entire part on staff paper. He has file cabinets

full of transcribed materials for the seven-string guitar, and has hopes of eventually

publishing a book. Two seven-string choro guitarists have already published seven-string

guitar methods, Luiz Otávio Braga (see chapter 2), and Marco Antonio Bertaglia (see

below).

Marco Antonio Bertaglia (b. November 17th, 1962, São Paulo, SP)

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 Marco Bertaglia studied music on guitar starting at age 12. In the mid-1980s,

Bertaglia picked up the seven-string guitar. He always had a diverse repertoire ranging

from popular to classical. Bertaglia started his own music school in 1987, when he also

joined the respected “Regional do Evandro,” a traditional choro group from São Paulo,

performing on the seven-string guitar. In 1997, he joined “Grupo Nosso Choro,” an

instrumental quintet. He continues to teach, record, and perform with the aforementioned

groups, as well as solo (Bertaglia, 2002).

Bertaglia is the author of the first instructional book published specifically for

seven-string guitar. The first edition was released in September, 1999. The book includes

two cds, and the book is divided into seven parts–scales, how to set up chords, bass

exercises, bass cadences, chord illustrations, listening, and musical pieces with scores and

tablatures.

The book is designed to be useful to any level of guitar player who is unfamiliar

with the seven-string guitar. On page 11, there is a particularly revealing illustration to

show that the book can be used by even the most inexperienced novice. The illustration is

of the fret board of the guitar, with the letter names produced by each string while

pressing each fret. Page 12 is dedicated to the same concept, but this time illustrated with

letters, tablature and a musical staff. Page 12 also includes a description of rhythmic

values, such as whole notes, half notes, quarter notes, etc... as well as whole rests, half

rests, etc... There is even a definition of tablature. Pages 11–14 essentially describe how

to read the music printed in the book. It is truly elementary, but useful if it is the first time

a student is picking up a guitar, or if the student cannot read any type of music, scored or

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tab. Pages 15–21 are dedicated to scales, with fingering positions, tab and score, for every

key represented by key signature and staff. Pages 22–37 are where the book becomes

particularly useful to a seven-string guitarist. It is in this section where Bertaglia explores

arpeggios of various different chords. The reason this is so important is that one of the

most common ways to construct the baixaria for a choro is to arpeggiate chords

throughout the piece. While Bertaglia does use a variety of rhythmic cells in the bass

exercises, the bulk of the book is spent on the fairly banal scales, and most basic theory.

It is surprising that there is literally no discussion of syncopation, swing, or

individual musicality throughout the entire publication. Bertaglia’s book is a dry, but

accurate and useful representation of the fundamentals of the seven-string guitar.

Bertaglia makes no mention whatsoever of the improvisation that is so highly regarded,

and essential to the seven-string guitarist.

Nonetheless, it is an important publication because Bertaglia’s O Violão de 7

Cordas can be used as a practical guide, and has the potential to teach a great deal about

the instrument to the guitarist who does not have direct access to a teacher.

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 The Water, Conclusions

Choro is an excellent form for the teaching and learning of music, and

ethnomusicology because of its healthy synthesis of sound structure, score,

improvisational technique, aesthetics, musicality, history and possibility for innovation.

This study serves as an introduction to the history and current state of choro in São Paulo,

and the role of the seven-string guitar. The breadth and depth of material yet to be

explored goes far beyond.

The fluidity between art and popular, improvisational and written, is what

distinguishes choro from other Brazilian and World Musics. Choro is an inspiration to art

music composers such as Radamés Gnattalli and Heitor Villa-Lobos, yet it travels all the

way to the spring of contemporary Brazilian popular music. Similarly popular musicians,

such as Roberta Sá and Zé Renato continue to draw inspiration from choro, performing

and recording with talented choro ensembles, such as “Trio Madeira Brasil” to provide

accompaniment to their commercially successful albums.

Luizinho Sete Cordas, Luiz Otávio Braga and Israel Bueno de Almeida bridge

improvisational-based Brazilian popular music to the written tradition of Brazilian erudite

(art) music. All play choro, which is typically considered a popular music, yet each has

incorporated different elements of erudite music into their choro practice. Luizinho Sete

Cordas transcribes his guitar parts to staff paper, and performs reading off the score. Luiz

Otávio Braga revolutionized the seven-string guitar by switching to nylon strings as is

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used in the classical concert guitar tradition. Israel Bueno de Almeida works as a score

copy editor for São Paulo’s Municipal Theatre.

Choro has come to be a cultural representative of Brazil because of its musical

quality and early influence on samba, but also because of its ability to transcend the

social, political, economic, and racial barriers that Brazilian confront on a daily basis.

Rodas de choro also can be interpreted to represent a physical setting for the

enactment of the “racial democracy.” The concept of a racial democracy in Brazil is

difficult to swallow because the country has only recently been democratized, having

been under a military dictatorship from 1964–1985. Further, according to Edward E.

Telles, Afro-Brazilians and Brazilians of mixed ethnicities continue to earn little more

than 40% of what Brazilians of European descent earn on average (Hanchard, 86). This

embarrassingly uneven distribution of wealth, and recent political democratization makes

racial democracy little more than a myth. Yet, the (often subtly or even imperceptibly)

hostile racial environment in Brazil cannot impede the roda de choro from bringing music

and solidarity to life, even for fleeting periods of time.

Another concern is the gender gap in choro. Authors such as Henrique Cazes have

reinforced stereotypes of Brazilian women in the kitchen, although their intentions may

be to encourage more women to participate as choro musicians. In São Paulo, all-female

groups, such as Balaio de Gato, and individual women such as Roberta Valente

participating in rodas, are increasingly common, and this should not be a surprise in a

performance practice that owes much of its early creativity to an Afro-Brazilian woman,

Chiquinha Gonzaga.

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 Although there is much disagreement amongst purists such as José Ramos

Tinhorão and Jacob do Bandolim, and modernizers such as Lindolpho Gaya and Israel

Bueno de Almeida, none can deny that choro is a steady balance between tradition and

innovation. Starting with earliest chorão, Antonio da Silva Callado, and into the present

day, choro incorporated older music traditions, as well as new practices, the written

music on staff paper, as well as improvisation. I think that this equilibrium between

tradition and innovation is the water that composes choro. It is not the pandeiro,

cavaquinho, guitar instrumentation, or the rondo form or common time that makes choro.

It is an awareness of tradition and the ability to bring tradition to life through new and

creative sound.

Most of the musicians discussed in this work play choro because they love the

music, and do not for any major financial gain or for nationalistic political purposes.

There are certainly countless musicians whose voices are not represented in these pages.

The brief ethnography in the third part of this work serves as an estuary that presents the

reader to the ocean of possibilities of contemporary choro in São Paulo.

Choro has proven to be a valuable resource from which to learn about São Paulo’s

music, history, culture, and race relations. Anyone who ventures into the universe of

choro will encounter some of the questions of identity, and musical practice presented in

this report, such as the history and development of choro, race relations in the roda, and

the fluid nature of choro as both an aural and written tradition. Choro is not by any means

the only representative music of São Paulo or Brazil. It is not even strictly Brazilian, but

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it does provide a window into Brazil’s past, present, and future, as chorões all around

Brazil construct a roda ethic and musical practice on a daily basis.

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Glossary

Baixaria: accompanying counterpoint on the low end of the seven-string guitar, usually in
rapid descending tonal scales, sometimes highlighted with rests from the other
instruments.

Bandolim: mandolin, most often the lead solo instrument, usually to execute the main
melody of a piece, and for improvisation, but also used as an accompanying instrument or
for counterpoint occasionally.

Bandolinista: mandolinist.

Berimbau: a monochordal instrument used in the Brazilian martial art/dance form,

capoeira.

Breque: Break. A musical rest, often at the climax of a piece used in choro and samba.

Cavaco: a Brazilian steel-string ukulele, used mostly as a high-end accompanying

instrument providing harmonic and rhythmic support, though sometimes used as the lead
solo instrument. Also frequently used in samba and pagode. The four strings are usually
tuned D-g-b-d, although alternative tunings are often used.

Cavaquinho: the diminutive for cavaco. Although there are two standard sizes, one larger
(cavaco) and one smaller (cavaquinho), the terms are often used interchangeably.

Cavaquinista: one who plays the cavaco or cavaquinho.

Chorão: a musician whose main musical performance practice is choro.

Choro: a late nineteenth century style of acoustic music that is usually instrumental,
based on a written score, but which incorporates improvisation. A choro piece has two or
three parts, and one or two modulations, and is most often performed in 2/4 time,
although some chorões incorporate waltzes into their repertoire on occasion. Typical
instrumentation includes one pandeiro, one cavaquinho, one six-string guitar, one seven-
string guitar, and two of the following instruments alternating between lead soloist and
counterpoint: mandolin, clarinet, flute, saxophone or harmonica.

Choro-canção: a song with choro characteristics, such as form, instrumentation, and

baixaria, but with the addition of sung lyrics.

Chorões: plural of chorão; choro musicians.

Cozinha: kitchen, used in reference to the rhythmic and harmonic section of a choro or
samba grou In choro this includes the pandeiro, cavaquinho and guitars.

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Favela: Brazilian urban shanty-town.

Flauta: flute, most often used as the lead soloist, most often the lead solo instrument,
usually to execute the main melody of a piece, and for improvisation, sometimes used for
counterpoint.

Gaita: harmonica, most often used as the lead soloist, most often the lead solo instrument,
usually to execute the main melody of a piece, and for improvisation, sometimes used for
counterpoint. Also used in Brazilian rock’n’roll.

MPB: acronym for Música Popular Brasileira. MPB is an umbrella term used to include
various popular music styles of Brazil, and is regarded with a certain degree of prestige.
In most hip circles, MPB represents the best of Brazil’s music and culture, and many
extraordinarily popular forms of music such as Rock Nacional, Funk, Hip-Hop, Brega,
Pagode, Sertaneja, are usually not considered to fall under the MPB category. On the
other hand, what is considered MPB is hard to define, but can be understood best perhaps
as hybrid radio-friendly studio genres with explicit references to Brazilian musical traits,
especially samba rhythm (although Samba School Carnaval music is not typically
conceived of as MPB, but instead as a whole separate form).

Pagode: a radio-friendly commercial form of samba with pop music aspirations.

Pandeirista: one who plays the pandeiro.

Pandeiro: a tambourine with a drumhead. Typically the only percussion instrument used
in choro, provides a steady 2/4 accompaniment, often with improvised ornamental
malandragem.

Pau e corda: literally “stick and string,” an expression used to describe ensembles that
used flute, cavaquinho and guitar, the original formation of the choro ensemble derived
from modinha groups. See terno.

Paulista: of the state of São Paulo.

Paulistana/o: of the city of São Paulo.

Pauta: the staff; the score; sheet music.

Regional: originally used to describe local groups that performed live on radio stations to
provide accompaniment and sound filler, which were frequently comprised of chorões,
the term is still used to describe a choro ensemble.

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Roda: literally means wheel. Usually an informal gathering of chorões loosely assembled
in a circle or semi-circle for playing, improvising, and teaching music. “Roda” is also
used to describe capoeira and samba gatherings.

Roda de choro: Usually an informal gathering of chorões loosely assembled in a circle or

semi-circle for playing, improvising, and teaching music.

Samba: the main musical expression of Brazil, typically in 2/4 time, with several verses
and a refrain, used for the highly organized and massive Carnaval competitions, as well
as for informal block parties.

Sambista: a musician who plays samba.

Sarau: an informal gathering of choro musicians, a site where the roda is formed.

Sete cordas: short for “violão de sete cordas” (seven-string guitar or seven-string
guitarist).

Tamborim: a small single headed drum used in samba schools, typically with a diameter
of 4 inches, and short metallic body, that is struck with nylon or wooden sticks, usually in
syncopated and quick rhythms.

Terno: the original modinha ensemble and seed for the first choro groups, the terno was a
trio of flute, guitar and cavaquinho. This type of ensemble was also called pau e corda.

Violão: guitar, arguably the main instrument of Brazil. Choro often uses both one six-
string and one seven-string guitar. The six-string typically provides harmonic
accompaniment, while the seven-string usually executes low-end counterpoint baixarias.

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List of Sources

Andrade, Mário de. Ensaio sobre a música brasileira. São Paulo: Livraria Martins
Editora, 1962.

Araújo, Mozart de. A modinha e o lundu no século XVIII : uma pesquisa histórica e
bibliográfica, São Paulo: Ricordi Brasileira, 1963.

Barz, G. F., and T. J. Cooley. Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in
Ethnomusicology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Béhague, Gerard. The Beginnings of Musical Nationalism in Brazil. Detroit: Information

Coordinators, Inc., 1971.

________. Heitor Villa-Lobos: The Search for Brazil’s Musical Soul. Austin: Institute of
Latin American Studies, 1994.

Bernardo, Marco Antonio. Waldir Azevedo: Um Cavaquinho na História. São Paulo:

Irmãos Vitale, 2004.

Bertaglia, Marco. O Violão de 7 Cordas. São Paulo: by the author, 2002.

Braga, Luiz Otávio. O Violão de 7 Cordas. Rio de Janeiro: Lumiar Editora, 2002.

Butler, Kim D. Freedoms Given Freedoms Won Afro-Brazilians in Post-Abolition São

Paulo and Salvador. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2000.

Cabral, Sérgio. Pixinguinha: Vida e Obra. Rio de Janeiro: Lumiar Editora, 1997.

Cazes, Henrique. Choro: Do Quintal ao Municipal. São Paulo: editora 34, 1998.

Franceschi, Humberto. A Casa Edison e Seu Tempo. Rio de Janeiro: Sarapuí, 2002.

Freyre, Gilberto, The Masters and the Slaves: a Study in the Development of Brazilian
Civilization, 2d ed. Translated by Samuel Putnam. New York: Alfred A. Knopf,
1956.

Gourlay, K.A. “Toward a Reassessment of the Ethnomusicologist’s Role in Research.”

Ethnomusicology 22, no. 1 (January, 1978): 1–35.

Hanchard, Michael, ed. Racial Politics in Contemporary Brazil. Durham: Duke

University Press, 1999.

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Holanda, Sérgio Buarque de. Raízes do Brasil, 26th ed. São Paulo: Companhia das
Letras, 1995.

Hood, Mantle. The Ethnomusicologist. New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co., 1971.

Jackson, Bruce. Fieldwork. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1987.

Lira, Mariza. Chiquinha Gonzaga: Grande Compositora Popular Brasileira, 2d ed. Rio
de Janeiro: Funarte, 1978.

Livingston, Tamara, “Music Revivals: Towards a General Theory.” Ethnomusicology 43

no. 1 (Winter, 1999): 66–85.

Livingston-Isenhour, Tamara E. and T.G.C. Garcia. Choro: A Social History of a

Brazilian Popular Music. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005.

Merriam, Alan. The Anthropology of Music. Evanston: Northwestern University Press,

1964.

Milhaud, Darius. Notes sans musique. Paris: Julliard, 1949.

Paz, Ermelinda A. Jacob do Bandolim. Rio de Janeiro: Funarte, 1997.

Pinto, Alexandre Gonçalves. O Choro. Rio de Janeiro: Funarte, 1978.

Robb, Peter. A Death in Brazil: A Book of Omissions. New York: Henry Holt and
Company, LLC, 2004.

Seeger, Charles. Studies in Musicology, 1935–1975. Berkeley: University of California

Press, 1977.

Taubkin, Myriam. Violões do Brasil. São Paulo: Ministério da Cultura, 2004.

Tinhorão, José Ramos. História Social da Música Popular Brasileira, Brazilian ed. São
Paulo: editora 34, 1998.

Turabian, Kate L. A Manual for Writers of Term Papers, Theses, and Dissertations, 6th
ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996.

________. Música Popular: Um Tema em Debate, 3d ed. São Paulo: editora 34, 1997.

Veloso, Caetano. Muito (Dentro da Estrela Azulada). “Sampa,” PolyGram, São Paulo,
1990. Compact Disc.

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________. Verdade Tropical. São Paulo: Editora Schwarcz Ltda., 1997.

Verger, Pierre Fatumbi. Orixás: Deuses Iorubás na África e no Novo Mundo, 6th ed.
Translated by Maria Aparecida da Nóbrega. Salvador: Corrupio, 2002.

Vianna, Hermano. O Mistério do Samba, 5th ed. Rio de Janeiro: Editora UFRJ, 1995.

________. The Mystery of Samba. Translated by John Charles Chasteen. Chapel Hill:
The University of North Carolina Press, 1999.

Warren, Jonathan W. Racial Revolutions: Antiracism & Indian Resurgence in Brazil.

Durham: Duke University Press, 2001.

Wisnick, José Miguel, O coro dos contrários: A música em torno da semana de 22.
Livraria Duas Cidades, São Paulo, 1977.

Interviews

Araújo Amorim, Luiz, (Luizinho Sete Cordas). Interview by author, 8 July 2005
Largo do Taboão, São Paulo. Digital Video recording. Interviewee’s residence.

Batista, João. Interview by author, 6 July 2005, Vila Nova Alba, São Paulo. Minidisk
recording. Interviewee’s luthier shop.

Bueno de Almeida, Israel. Interview by author, 3 August 2005, São Paulo. Minidisk
recording. Arquivo Artístico do Teatro Municipal.

Galdino da Silva, Arnaldo. 22 July 2005, Santa Ifigênia, São Paulo. Minidisk recording.
Contemporânea Instrumentos Musicais.

Websites

www.allbrazilianmusic.com

www.barbrahma.com.br

www.brazil-Brazil.com.br

www.cachuera.org.br

www.choroensemble.com

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www.choronobalaiodegato.com.br

www.cliquemusic.com.br

www.clubedochoro.com.br

www.folha.com.br

www.ims.org.br

www.jacobdobandolim.com.br

www.jbinstrumentos.com.br

www.marilynnmair.com

www.mikemarshall.net

www.museuvillalobos.org.br

www.musicabrasileira.org

www.pracabeneditocalixto.com.br

www.samba-choro.com.br

www.sesc.org.br

www.wikipedia.org

www2.uol.com.br/encmusical

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 Vita

Daniel Sherwood Sotelino was born in São Paulo, Brazil on March 30, 1979, the son of

Karen Catherine Sherwood Sotelino and Fernando Barreira Sotelino. After completing

his work at Escola Graduada in São Paulo, Brazil, in 1997, he entered Swarthmore

College in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania, where he received the degree of Bachelor of Arts

and completed Swarthmore College’s secondary school certification in 2001. During

2002 he was employed as an administrative assistant at the Instituto Moreira Salles in Rio

de Janeiro, Brazil. In July 2003, he married his wife, Mariah Peelle Sotelino. In August of

2003 he enrolled at the Graduate School of The University of Texas at Austin where he

worked as a Teaching Assistant and Graduate Research Assistant in the School of Music

(2004–2005), and as an Assistant Instructor in the Department of Spanish and Portuguese

(2004).

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