When an artist you don’t particularly like releases an album you don’t particularly like, it’s not exactly a big deal because the bar was set pretty low to start with. But when you generally like what someone’s done up to a certain point–when you’ve even seen flashes of unmitigated brilliance in their work before–and they release a stinker, it hurts.
So it’s not an easy task sitting down to Carlinhos Brown’s latest disc. I’d like to say something nice about A Gente Ainda Não Sonhou, and I’m having a hard time. It’s not because Brown is a bad musician, writer, arranger, or producer; when he’s on, he does any of the above as well as anybody else working in Brazil right now, and could teach any number of his contemporaries a thing or two while he’s at it. Problem is, his career trajectory has been a series of peaks and valleys since he first arrived on the scene with his solo debut, and this isn’t one of the peaks.
The artist’s first album, Alfagamabetizado, goes down easy, though it’s anything but easy listening. It sounds exactly like what it is: someone who’s been honing his skills, woodshedding for years behind the scenes and paying his dues with the likes of Lee Ritenour, Caetano Veloso, and Sepultura (yes, you read correctly), someone who’s got an awful lot to say and decides to say nearly all of it at once. This isn’t “World Music,” that treacly crap that springs up like weeds in many a Starbucks or Putamayo compilation. It’s roots music that’s rooted nearly everywhere, with one foot in Samba, and the other tapping from time to time on funk, Mangue, rock, jazz, bloco… It’s a spirited disc, with even the missteps sounding good ’cause if nothing else, Brown stepped boldly.
The brilliance of Alfagamabetizado was followed by a misstep in the form of Omelete Man. Had it been his debut, ironically, it would’ve been a good album, but it pales in comparison with its predecessor in the same way that you don’t want to chase a good scotch with cheap beer. But that disc was followed by two that took the artist’s sound off in new, and fruitful, directions. Bahia do Mundo: Mito e Verdade had the pop sheen that Omelete Man too often overdid, but it was held in check by the kind of experimental flourishes that had anchored the debut disc. Carlinhos Brown é Carlito Marron, on the other hand, charged headlong–or maybe “feet first” would be more appropriate–into a style that was danceable but entirely unselfconscious, not breaking down boundaries between samba, salsa, merengue, and other styles, so much as simply declaring them irrelevant.
So we know that Brown’s capable of better than this. How bad is it? Mostly, the album just smolders along, but not in a sultry, slow-burn sort of way. It’s more like a damp squib; you keep waiting for the thing to ignite, and it never quite does, mostly just loping along. I didn’t bother seeing how many bpm the songs had, but the album’s rarely more agressive than a mosey. That’s not to say that I mind the occasional ballad or midtempo number, but at least on albums past they were enlivened by off-kilter arrangements (like “Covered Saints” on the first album) or goosebump-inducing harmonics (as with “Vilões Satisfeitos” from Bahia do Mundo…). That, and they were offset by stuff that could’ve set the dead to dancing. This, on the other hand, is music by which to paint the town beige.
Even the disc’s standout tracks only manage to stand out because the rest of the disc has, sadly, underperformed so badly. ”I Loved You Right Away” is a retread–same music, different lyrics–as “Crendice”, from Bahia do Mundo. “Guarana Cafe” sounds like an outtake from Brown’s earlier, superior collaboration with Marisa Monte and Arnaldo Antunes (Tribalistas). The sole exception is “Te Amo Familia,” which takes a second or third listen to reveal itself because it’s mired in the same tempo that plagues most of the rest of the album.
The final verdict: Brown has composed, played, and recorded music that’s pretty much ensured his place in Brazil’s musical history, and that makes a strong argument for his being better known beyond those shores. You won’t much of that here. Begin at the beginning, with his debut album (or even at the beginning of the beginning, with his group Timbalada). Dip your toes into the albums that follow, but save this one for last… and hope that the artist feels, and sounds, a bit more like his old self sometime soon.