—Drew Denny

Up next, the Comedy Stage North presented short, dry delights by L.A. genius Matt Braunger and Todd Barry, Mr. “Crazy Dogs” from Flight of the Conchords, who spent a good portion of his set making fun of Matthew McConaughey. Comedian Reggie Watts really tore the house down, rambling between different accents, a sampler and an electric piano. His sideways slant on comedy with short musical distractions evoked classic Steve Martin in a fresh way, albeit bigger and hairier and possibly funnier. I tried in vain over the next couple days to snag an interview with him, but no dice. Hope he doesn’t wind up making movies with Hilary Duff.

Os Mutantes were next, with Sergio Dias dressed up like Richard Pryor at a late sixties wedding. I got a good look at him as I sat waiting for the show to start—in L.A. I’m not used to the ground being wet, so I basically gave myself a through-the-pants bidet treatment while simultaneously casting an attractive set of cheek prints in the grass. The other kind of grass made its impression on my section of the audience, rolled by some middle-aged Patagonia-wearing Seattleites, one of whom asked me if I was “from Brazil,” since I seemed to know the songs so well. Actually I was just mesmerized by the beauty of spoken Portuguese punctuated by English comments about Dias’s love of Obama and his apology to Argentina for Brazil’s crushing 3-1 victory in that day’s football match. It was good, though I missed the vintage fuzz sound from their original recordings, and wished I had the vantage point of my photographer, who got great shots of the fun and footlights and the four-year-old girl bopping around on the stage.

Later, after some rain, a delicious falafel and a couple gross beers, De La Soul hit the same stage with a full band—horns and all—called the Rhythm Root All-Stars. It was cool, maybe even “fresh,” in both senses of the word. But man, what is up with outdoor concerts and loud-as-fuck snare drums? Every outdoor show sounds like “a boogedy boogedy THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK, a boom clap boom-boom THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK, doo bee doo bee THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK,” with the crowd at the back hearing basically nothing but a giant chasm of boxy backbeat. No slight on the band, but De La Soul sounded better with just Maseo DJing, and the crowd responded by going apeshit for “Me, Myself, and I”—hands in the air and the party people over there saying yeah right after the party people over here had just said the same. The encore was their 2004 hit with the Gorillaz, “Feels Good Inc.” And we did feel good as we headed out—security jackals nipping at our heels, away from the Space Needle and bad memories of Flo and Eddie and towards the dimly-lit joys of post-concert blitzkrieg beverages in Seattle’s subterranean Cha Cha Lounge.

—Dan Collins

Speaking of birds, Os Mutantes’ new songs are fucking good! Sprinkled throughout the set, cuts from their 2009 release Haih Or Amortecedor—which means ‘raven’ in Shoshone—leap boldly into the future, honoring the past and embracing the best of the present. “2000 e Agarrum” is part circus, part samba, all gloriously bizarre while “Querida Querida” is a Bia-belted rock ballad. “Baghdad Blues” gets political without being self-serious, and “Teclar” mashes Egypt and Brazil, England and America—fuck it, why not Peru and India, too?—into an anthem for driving through unfamiliar countryside or for suddenly making your own countryside appear unfamiliar. Os Mutantes are the masters of odd harmonies and quick changes that tickle as much as they intrigue, of group vocals that soar through major chords then wiggle with dissonance, of ebulliently inventive instrumentation, of elation, of ENERGY! Bill Bartell from White Flag donned a grin almost as impressive as his mustache when he humbly joined his friends onstage for their encore performance of “Bat Macumba,” the ultimate jump-up-and-down-stomp-clap-and-holler Mutantes dance jam that found my arms raised to the heavens, thanking the spirits for that miraculous accident that occurred when Bartell’s family took in a foreign exchange student who would forget the Os Mutantes records that introduced them to America. As the bat macumbas faded away, I held my breath and crossed my fingers and bargained my soul and sure enough…“Panis et Circenses”!!! Hearing the first few notes of my very favorite song elicited my first ever concert scream and left me a bit red in the face and feeling like a pre-teen. I floated mid-air for the next couple minutes and was certain life couldn’t get any better until I found myself being led through a dark hallway into a tiny room where Sergio Dias, Bia Mendes and company kissed me on both cheeks, laughed when I confessed to being the screamer, and sent me off into the world with a smile so big it hurt.

—Drew Denny

Download: Os Mutantes “Anagrama”

(from Haih out Sept. 8 on Anti-)

Os Mutantes decided everything was possible and tried to prove it across a set of albums that were national classics at home in Brazil but which never even made it to the States until a foreign exchange student accidentally left her copies with the boys in Redd Kross. Low End Theory resident and Blank Blue guitarist Nobody (Elvin Estela) speaks with Mutantes co-founder Sérgio Baptista about helicopters, honesty and the brand-new Mutantes album Haih.

What I love about your new record is that it doesn’t sound like you guys are trying to recreate your old sound—it just sounds like you picked up where you left off.
Sérgio Baptista (guitar/vocals): That’s definitely what I was really wanting to do and I was very happy that I could do it in terms of being able to be faithful and honest to our legacy and not looking back in any way—no way. We are in the 21st century and we are different people now and it’s very important for us to be honest and play what we feel. I think we were very blessed in being able to do something I consider is honorable to our legacy.
That’s an incredible approach to recording, especially for a band that hasn’t put out anything in a while. This is a perfect addition to your discography—it doesn’t stand out as ‘the modern record.’ It’s definitely just a timeless record.
If you don’t put yourself in danger of being spit upon, then you are not really alive. Then it’s just going to be a mock. And we owe so much to the people and the kids and everybody that we have to at least open up our hearts and souls the best way that we can to be naked in front of them and let them look at us. Now we are different—we are fatter, we are older—but that’s who we are. That’s how Mutantes would sound now and I think with all the flaws and wisdoms that came with age—I think that’s the most important thing that you have to do as a producer or artist is basically to just assume all of it and be ready to expose yourself. That’s basically what an artist has to do.
Put their balls on the line.
For sure. That’s what we always did and it’s what we’re doing.
What’s the point of art if there’s no risk involved?
Exactly—it would be sad. I think it would be like spitting in the place where we eat. We are able to see how important these people are and how much we owe them. What we can do is be as completely honest as we could and put our hearts the way they are.
You talk about being a lot older but your voice hasn’t aged a bit—what’s your secret to eternal youth and voice?
I’m not older; I’m younger for a longer time. You cannot lose your child inside. If you let your child die then you are in trouble.
I wanted to ask about this urban myth about your guitars—you had a fuzz guitar with each individual string going to its own fuzz pedal?
Yes. All the electronics are inside of it.
Each string had its own processor?
Yes. When I was with my brother and Rita only, all the job of texture and solos came down to myself. I had to fill in all the sounds and I had a need for sound. We lacked harmonies and I wanted to be able to play chords with fuzz, but if you play a chord with just one fuzz you have intermodulation and you have a bad sound and you cannot get the chord clean. So I spoke to my brother who was building the stuff, and he said the only way I can do this is to do one pickup per string and then through a fuzz individually and mix all of them together and I said, ‘OK, let’s do it.’ So we did it and it sounded great.
I saw Mutantes in L.A. in July 2007 and my favorite part of the show was when you were pretending there was a helicopter above the audience with the guitar.
All improvisation. It was basically the sewing machine pedal that I used on ‘Bat Macumba’ but in a different manner. It normally was mechanical but then we made it possible to use digitally. It was impossible to use that thing more than five minutes because it was connected to the engine of the sewing machine.
It was actually running through a real sewing machine?
Oh yeah. The guitar was coming in and out of it. With the axis of the engine and how you could vary the speed, he would cut open the sound of the guitar extremely fast and this would create several different harmonics and things that make that crazy sound. It was something that was not practical, so now in the digital era we were able to produce this in a way that it is possible to play with it. So I’m using a lot of it in the record.
Did you ever think of manufacturing and making it widely available to the world?
Yes, definitely. The name is Green Devil. Because the sewing machine was green.
I would definitely use a Green Devil pedal if you ever put one out.
I’ll do my best—definitely. So you think I should go for a helicopter again?
You haven’t done it since that show?
No. Ok—I’ll do it again.
I thought it was hilarious. I kept looking back, I was like, ‘Man, this is the greatest showmanship right there.’ You should have been the guy making guitars for kids in the ‘60s—we’d have a lot cooler stuff like sewing machine effects pedals.
Yeah—twenty years before Ovation we were using a piezo on the bridge. If you hear any of those songs like ‘Dia 36,’ that crazy sound of guitar that sounds a bit like an acoustic—it is a piezo electric.
‘Dia 36’ is one of my favorite songs by you guys.
I think it was one of my best lyrics. It was from an American guy who came here and I made the lyrics.
Who was the American guy?
It was John something—God, I don’t remember. He was a crazy guy—like albino, like the brothers Edgar and Johnny Winter.
And he was the original writer of the song?
He was—when we played, he just entered the stage and he was totally out of his mind and he was screaming and it was great. It was really amazing. I think he wrote the song on a dulcimer and I really loved his song. I got it and I wrote the lyrics for it and it was great.
To me you guys are one of the premier psychedelic bands that ever existed—I really think that it’s amazing that thousands of people today can relate to a psychedelic band from back then. What do you think that says about psychedelic music from that era? In history, it might be seen as a flash in the pan because it was only five years of music. But so much came out.
It’s amazing for us because we didn’t know that we were psychedelic or anything like that. There was no psychedelia at the time, at least not in Brazil. The first album came out in ’68 and there was no drugs involved in any of the albums.
So to you guys, you weren’t making psychedelic rock—you were just making whatever you wanted to make?
Yes. It is amazing that it fell on the slot. The way that we used to gather information was like a kaleidoscope in pieces and then from the flower power, we just got the flower not the power. We didn’t even care about the power—we just loved the flower. You know the girls and the free love and all the beauty and the colors and the music—we didn’t realize it was Vietnam behind it.
In America it was definitely about the protest, but for English bands it was more about the girls and the flowers. What bands from across the world were influencing you guys down in Brazil?
Everybody. Sly and the Family Stone for sure. Beach Boys, Mary Ford and Les Paul, Jimmy Smith, all the operas. We had a huge and very big spectrum of music which we drank from. Like Sarita Montiel from Spain and all the mariachis from Mexico. We were into everything—all the cats, Barney Kessel, the Ventures, the Shadows, all of them.
And it all combined to create what you wanted?
Oh yeah—take my solos. They were very Ventures-oriented at the beginning. I think the great thing about it is that all the record companies and all those people were into the music. The money came much later. Nobody was worried about being a star or selling a billion dollars in records. I think people were just making music from the heart and the honesty that we had in doing this—I think that’s maybe what draws people to listen to us.
Do you think that people can make music from the heart again today?
Oh, for sure. We’re doing it. I think this new album definitely. There is no thought behind it—this is just the music playing the way it came to us in terms of inspiration and everything. There is no gimmick behind it.
You said you always had a need for sound—where did that come from? If you guys weren’t doing psychedelics like the English bands, what drove you?
I think it probably came from NASA. I was raised with like the X-15 and the X-2 and knowing all the names of the cats—like the guy who broke the sound barrier. All those things were so important for us. I heard the Sputnik—we put on the shortwave and listened to the ‘bleep, bleep, bleep’ and it was an amazing era. All of this—the technology were so much in our veins, and all these things were happening so we always were connected to it. Especially because my brother was such a genius and proud of making all this stuff.
So it was space and the technology of the time?
All the science and technology and all the avant-garde things that were going on at the time. There was Picasso and all of this was influencing us a lot. Modern art and all this was a must for us. I think that was translating to sounds.
How long did it take to record this album?
It took about a year. We took our time—we didn’t want to rush everything. Especially because of everybody’s schedule and the bunch of things that everybody was doing and of course the beginning of the year was very had because Arnaldo left the band and we took our time.
What does the name mean?
It’s a Shoshone language. It means ‘raven.’ I was passing this crow in France and trying to get its picture and I got his picture of him looking at me looking like he was saying, ‘Get ready ‘cause you’re next.’ He was pissed with me. And I got the crow photograph and I was watching a movie about the Clark expedition and the Shoshone thing—I’m very involved with this area because it was such a magical place in America. I started to know of Nevada as such a great state. You go to Las Vegas and you forget the Strip and all the mountains are so magical and you have the fantastic lake and you go thirty miles to the other side and there’s snow—then you’re in the desert. You can feel the Indians there. You can feel the energy of America—which was great. I saw the documentary about the Clark expedition and there was this girl who I don’t remember her name—Sacajawea? She was very important symbol for women as an endeavor or entity and she saved the journals of the expedition and she was the one who guided the expedition—which was great. And so I started fooling around trying to get a name in Shoshone and I found a dictionary on the internet of Shoshone. I wanted to do like ‘Lightning Crow’ but the lightning word was like ten words together—it was huge. I couldn’t even pronounce it, so I just had ‘crow.’
You would have had the longest album title ever if you used the whole thing. Almost longer than Devendra Banhart’s first record.
Yeah—probably.
The most amazing thing about your show last year was that it was completely sold out—but your records were never released in America when they came out.
It was something that was really amazing to me, too. When we played in 2006 at the Barbican and one month after playing there we booked about 8 shows in America in the most brilliant places like the Hollywood Bowl and Fillmore and the Pitchfork Festival in Chicago—and we hadn’t played one note. That was really amazing. Now having all these things happening and playing in America and having so many people that are involved with us, it is something that makes you very happy and humble about it because you know that it was so spontaneous—it’s a beautiful thing to see.

OS MUTANTES WITH DJ NOBODY AND BUYEPONGO ON FRI., AUG 28, AT THE ECHOPLEX, 1154 GLENDALE BLVD, ECHO PARK. 8PM / $28-$30 / 18+. ATTHEECHO.COM. OS MUTANTES’ HAIH RELEASES TUE., SEPT. 8, ON ANTI-. VISIT OS MUTANTES AT MUTANTES.COM OR MYSPACE.COM/OSMUTANTES.

Os Mutantes are one of our very favorite bands here at L.A. RECORD, as evidenced by the 150,000-word interview with Sergio Dias we did when they played the El Rey two years ago, which got Sergio reminiscing about how much he loved L.A.:

I remember on Wilshire Boulevard, there was this couple—probably in their forties, a guy and his wife in a beautiful convertible, and it was the first time I ever saw anybody do the peace sign. They did the peace sign to us and we were like, ‘What is this?’ We didn’t speak English then. Everything was so new and so pretty—to see Wilshire Blvd. with such a crowd as it was, everybody dancing and happy and talking to each other and saying hello—it was so beautiful. Something that I miss a lot.

And now we are very excited to learn that Mutantes have signed with L.A.’s Anti- label—home of Nick Cave, Jason Lytle, Bob Mould and more—for a new album called Haih to release on September 8! (They’ll also being playing the Echoplex in what will surely be one of the shows of the year!) More info from Anti- below:

Os Mutantes were formed in Sao Paolo Brazil in 1966 by Sergio Dias and his brother Arnaldo, who blended their love of English rock n roll, culled from shortwave radio broadcasts, with American psychedelic in the spirit of Jimi Hendrix and traditional Brazilian music to create an entirely new sound to match an equally turbulent time in Brazilian history. While Os Mutantes were leading a growing youth mobilization as part of the Tropicalia movement alongside the likes of Gilberto Gil and Caetano Veloso, their country was reeling in the midst of a military coup and ensuing artistic crackdown which eventually left Gil and Veloso imprisoned and exiled.

In the short years they were active, Os Mutantes crafted a distinctive, riotous and modern sound, experimenting with homemade instruments studio effects, traditional forms of Brazilian music, field recordings, unorthodox song structures and time signatures — and combining those with international influences in the form of pop music being exported out of England and the US in the late 1960s. Coupled with an overt political message embracing libertarian expression and artistic freedom, the few records Os Mutantes recorded have become enduringly influential. In the mid 1990s, 20 years after their last recording, Kurt Cobain famously issued a plea, begging for a reunited Os Mutantes to open for Nirvana. Since then, the band’s importance has been cited by current alternative superstars ranging from the Flaming Lips and of Montreal to Devendra Banhart to Beck, who wrote “for years it [Os Mutantes] was pretty much the only thing I listened to.”

Now Os Mutantes have found a home with other likeminded provocateurs such as Tom Waits, Nick Cave, Mavis Staples and Billy Bragg on the Los Angeles independent label ANTI- Records. 2006 saw a reunion of sorts, with the band playing a handful of shows in London, New York, the Pitchfork Festival in Chicago, San Francisco and supporting the Flaming Lips at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, but it is the release of Haih in September that will mark the band’s first recorded material since 1974 and their very first album to receive a worldwide release. Conceived by Sergio Dias with collaborations with other Brazilian legends Tom Ze (lyrics) and Jorge Ben (who wrote the song “Minha Menina”), Haih is a vibrant and timely return from one of world music’s most important bands.

Download: Garotas Suecas “Bugalu”

(from Garotas Suecas’ self-titled full-length)

Lips all over New York’s underground still struggle to pronounce ‘Garotas Suecas,’ long after this Brazilian sextet wrapped up their month-long tour of Williamsburg and the Lower East Side. The band’s fuzzy 60s-ish garage pop and soul—combined with Portuguese lyrics and an Os Mutantes cover here and there—prompted many to reference Tropicalia. I too was guilty! But Garotas Suecas’ uniquely dynamic yet casual approach to rock ‘n’ roll took everyone by surprise—definitely one of the most refreshing sounds heard here in some time. This interview by Jonathan Toubin.

Are you from the slums of Sao Paulo or the Amazonian jungle?
Irina (keyboards/vocals): I’m from the jungle. Some of us are from the ghetto. We’re all from Sao Paulo.
Thomaz (guitar/vocals): Sao Paulo ghetto.
Guilherme (vocals/harmonica): The jungle. We wear no shoes. Not too different than New York. Coffee’s different though.
Nico (drums): We eat a lot of tropical fruits.
T: And we hunt everything we eat. That takes a lot of our time. We keep practicing and hunting.
Sesa (guitar): I guess hunting and playing rock ‘n’ roll are a similar high-energy experience—so that’s where all things meet.
What does the name mean?
G: Swedish Girls.
N: Because in 2002, there were a lot of students from Sweden at Sao Paulo’s public university and they started this band called Swedish Girls. It was actually three girls and two guys—kind of similar to Abba. They were doing pretty well but all the drugs and all the music business stress did them in. And then we replaced them—and all of a sudden it was a band of crazy monkeys playing and hunting.
What’s going on in Sao Paulo’s underground music scene?
N: Tropicalia.
I: We have a music scene in Sao Paulo. We have many specific scenes. Punk rock is strong and into itself. We have some garage bands that are happening. And we have some folk as well—Portuguese related.
T: I think the big thing with indie bands is that folk rock stuff. I don’t know if that’s what’s happening here as well.
I: We have some really good folk and some freak-folk. Some really good and some people who can’t play anything.
T: Like everybody trying to be Dylan in Brazil.
I: There are very specific bands that mimic the American garage bands and exactly what they did without any Brazilian influence at all. And all the clothing—and look mod. We kind of have a mod scene in certain cities. They kind of do exactly as they did in their time and wish they were born then and not now. We are not like that at all—we take the influences but we are a band who’s been together sense 2005 and not 1965. So all the other stuff that happened in the end of the ‘60s and ‘70s in New York—more noisy kind of music—we’ve listened to all of that as well along with Brazilian music. So we don’t want to repeat a garage band or even a soul band—we can’t do that.
T: One thing we’re very serious about is researching—we’re all always buying records and downloading stuff. We’re always hungry for more. Whereas some other bands decide what their influences are going to be and stick to that.
S: They’d rather call a band a project rather than a band. They say ‘OK. This is my project where I focus on folk.’ ‘This is my project where I concentrate on ‘70s funk. And from now on I’m gonna play this.’ We’re a band and we started playing, playing, playing until we became ourselves. The references in our music come from American, Brazilian and British music in the 1960s and people seem to get us better in the U.S.—an immediate understanding. You play, you get the crowd—they get excited…
N: We were born in Brazil and we listened to this stuff since we were kids and then we started listening to a lot of American stuff and we began to see that there was a lot of Brazilian with a lot to offer that we weren’t listening to—so we started researching Brazilian music.
S: Because ‘60s and ‘70s Brazilian music isn’t mainstream culture in Brazil. It’s not like you walk in a record shop and you find lots of awesome ‘60s music.
T: There are reissue CDs here of Brazilian music that I can’t find back in Brazil. Like Gal Costa records and other things
S: Not only Tropicalia stuff—1970s funk and film stuff.
G: American music is very rich and very diverse. You were mentioning harmonic elements. We love for example the Beach Boys. We got this book and began practicing all of the voices in their songs. And in terms of rhythms, you have all of these black artists. I think American bands don’t listen to this music much. I think they’re more influenced by Velvet Underground and this more noisy aspect of music.
I: They’re into a noisier sound with dirtier guitars and all of that. In the beginning of the band we were listening to more garage stuff and then we tried to listen more to what they were listening to back then—which was a lot of black music and all of that. The rhythm and all of that is familiar to us because it’s similar to Brazilian music.
T: Being Brazilian has something to do with that flexibility. We can get to garage from that and mix it with different music and nice vocals. That’s what Brazilian pop music has been all about.
I: Taking the influences and making it your own.
T: Especially American music—transforming it by filtering it through Brazilian music and maybe it’s our main influence that we take from the Brazilian pop scene in general.
What were you trying to do when you started out?
N: We’d play Nuggets covers and all of that.
I: We’ve been together for four years. And we grew into our own sound. We’d play Velvet Underground and David Bowie covers along with MC5 and Nuggets.
T: We weren’t all that different from other bands like the Centurys.
S: Or the Stones.
Do you tour in Brazil? Is there a circuit for indie touring bands?
T: If you are an independent band in Brazil its difficult to make a successful tour. We played in Rio once but it was a long time ago.
G: Actually this is our first tour.
What’s most different between the music scene in the US and Brazil?
T: It looks like things really happen here. When somebody tells you he will contact you by Myspace or email here, he really makes this contact. In Brazil things are far from each other—I don’t really understand how things work in Brazil.
I: We don’t have an all-over underground music scene in Brazil. It’s only in certain cities and its only beginning to make sense as a scene. Each city works independently.
T: After getting to know the American independent scene, I realize that in Brazil they’re kind of immature about it. The people don’t understand that they need to support the bands—they only want to go to free shows.
N: And ask for your drumstick
T: And get as much as they can from you. It’s hard to make the public guilty. They’re getting what they can. But I think we have a long way to go.
I: It’s really hard for example to sell merch—even really cheap CDs—in Brazil. Here our CDs were sold out when we weren’t even halfway through. It’s very different the way that kind of support works here.
T: We’re still figuring out how the thing works here and in Brazil it’s so different. We can take five CDs to each gig and we won’t sell them.
What do you like best about being in America so far?
T: Being part of this rock ‘n’ roll scene—we read about it and fantasize about it and now we’re kind of part of it.
G: D.C. girls. They’re awesome.
I: That they have chai everywhere.
N: I was just gonna say that I like Starbucks.
S: I like the gear. Really old and huge amplifiers. It’s really cool to see a band with some old shit that’s really loud.
And what bums you out most?
N: You can’t drink outside the places.
Over there you can drink wherever you want?
I: On a beach. On a tree. Everywhere!
Do you have any plans to return to the United States in the near future?
T: We’re coming back to play the South by Southwest festival in Austin. Then East Coast shows again.
I: And we’re going to Chicago. And Detroit.
T: But we really want to go to L.A. right? As soon as possible!

GAROTAS SUECAS’ SELF-TITLED ALBUM IS OUT NOW. VISIT GAROTAS SUECAS’ AT MYSPACE.COM/GAROTASSUECAS.

(from the self-titled full-length on Rough Trade)

Little Joy got permission to borrow the name of the now-shuttered bar and used it for an album of bedroom soul arranged with inspiration from Os Mutantes’ tropicalista maximalism. While Fab Moretti drives and Binki Shapiro rides, multi-instrumentalist Rodrigo Amarante talks about how lucky he feels. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

What are you reading in the van?
Rodrigo Amarante: I’m reading this book about Victor Hugo—a biography of his days in exile on the Jersey Islands. It’s really interesting—Victor Hugo’s Conversations with the Spirit World. Devendra gave it to me. I’m quite interested in the way—how can I say?—death operates. And whatever is outside of our perception. I share that interest with Devendra, so we keep sharing books on that subject. Old science, the occult—alchemy? It’s fun to me. This book is when Hugo went in exile—there was this fever happening for about a decade in Europe and especially in France with the tapping tables and communications with spirits. Hugo was not really into that until he went to the Jersey Islands and there was a group there that was doing that. He was so amazed. He and his family started documenting those fashions. There was a book edited in the 19th century that was the transcription of that. This book goes beyond that, giving historical backgrounds to this evolution of what became spiritualism, as this French guy Allan Kardec called it. Before that, there was magnetism and mesmerism. It doesn’t only give you descriptions of the séances; it gives you what Hugo was writing then and reflections of it in his writing. It’s like biography with perspective on these conversations. And it’s a pretty objective approach to such a subjective matter. It’s really interesting. Brazil is the biggest spiritualistic nation there is—we’re known as the biggest Catholic nation, but that’s just because if you do a poll, people are gonna say they’re Catholic. But in fact—the cross between the African religions, which are quite spiritualistic but in a different way, and the writings of Allan Kardec—the whole thing merged and it’s all over the country. Most people go to either an African Umbanda or Candomble, which are the straight African religions, or they go to what they call their kardecismo, coming from Kardec, right? Or a spiritualist—called a white-table spiritualist—which is not strictly following Kardec’s writing but just investigating this communication. It’s interesting to see where it came from—coming from America. The Fox sisters were from America, right? And it was more a fever in Europe back then and then it came back to America as a backdraft. It’s pretty amazing to me, all this stuff. When I was in L.A., I was trying to find where to go to look for serious spiritualistic centers or people who are studying—I never really had time to do that or find anyone who knew.
What kind of personal experiences have you had with spiritualism?
I had a bunch—but not to get personal in this. If we were talking as friends, I’d tell a bunch of different stories, but this doesn’t feel very comfortable for it. I can tell you in Brazil it is pretty common. For instance, we have a word for a person who receives a spirit and the spirit will talk through that person. And the word is cavallo, meaning horse. And there are many centers. Most are really small, but there are centers for cure—where ordinary people would be doctors and stuff like that. And it’s common for people to receive advice through an older spirit—someone who is already dead.
Have you had your future told?
I’ve been in contact enough to know that it’s not about knowing the future, you know? It’s about reading the present. And from that understanding, the tendencies to the future. Just like astrology. Astrology won’t tell you the future—it will tell you the tendencies, and then you work with them. It’s like a map. It doesn’t tell you which road you’re gonna take. It just shows you possibilities. The influences.
How does the spiritualist movement connect to music in Brazil?
A way that comes to my mind—maybe a very raw way—is that music is related to medicine in the old sciences. A shaman would bang a drum to cure you. And if you go further than that, the political force of art is making people emotional—touching their heart. If you touch someone’s heart, that’s good enough. That’s changing someone’s perspective. Making the fluids in the body run smoother—wetting their soul instead of drying it. That has a political force. When you’re playing music, I think you’re not only curing yourself but whoever is listening to it and enjoying it. That has a lot to do with the unseen—the forces of the spirit and the mind. I’m perceiving it as a medicine right now. You can say having a good laugh is medicine. And any form of art could humor you. The word ‘humor’ comes from ‘humid,’ from water—and water is the strongest conductor for energy. I don’t know. Maybe I went in a crazy spiral to nowhere? Maybe the connection to being psychedelic is just my syntaxes on that explanation!
What do you listen to when you’re sick?
Joyous music. To be honest, I don’t know. Maybe I go back to the music that brings me back home. Music that I relate to a certain place that I would like to go when I’m sick. When I was a kid and I used to have my family around.
Did you grow up with musicians?
My dad is a musician—not a professional one, but he always played piano and guitar. My family has a few people who write music and get together to play. Since my grandfather’s generation, music has been a constant thing in my family.
How did you get to the point where you can run out on the stage of the Hollywood Bowl and play a song with Gilberto Gil?
I feel very fortunate—to be honest, I don’t really understand. I must have done something nice before coming to this because I feel very lucky! I have met my idols from childhood. And some of them really respect me. Like Caetano Veloso invited me to go to the studio when he was writing his new album. I went to his house and he wanted to play me a song before he recorded it. He played it to me on his guitar at home! Stuff like that. To me, it’s just—I feel very lucky to have that. I feel like, ‘Wow, I have to give something back—I gotta be honest! Be honest when I make music!’ The hardest thing to do is try and fool people. When I give it a thought, I think, ‘If you make music to get something from people, I don’t think you’re gonna get there.’ And what I mean by ‘get there’ is basically to have someone tell you, ‘Oh, this song is about my life.’ That’s the greatest success. All I try to do to pay back this great joy is to try to give people something, you know? I’m not saying I’m great or anything! But if I have something to give, I’ll try and give it back—a melody or some group of words or a silly dance on stage! If I can do that, that’s my goal!
You’ve been in some high-profile bands—have you learned more about what you want to do with your music or what you don’t want to do?
That’s a good question. It requires a good answer! I feel like I’m pretty young. But at the same time, I feel I have lived a little bit, too. When I say—I’ll go back and tie the other question to this one. About being lucky. I feel like I haven’t asked for anything. I have been carried by the wind a little here and there. When I got in my first band in Brazil—Los Hermanos—I was invited because me and Marcelo [Campelo], we went to the university together, and we used to play guitar between classes. And sometimes during classes.
What class was the best to play in?
No, we’d run out of the class to play the guitar. That’s the problem! I used to do harmonies and he thought that was nice, so he started this band and invited me to sing harmonies and maybe play the flute. So I got in the band and I wasn’t supposed to write songs or play guitar or bass or piano or do anything that I did afterwards—it wasn’t expected! But I just felt inspired. ‘I’m in a band! I’m gonna write a song!’ And two years after we started the band, we did the first album and there were two songs of mine. And then I started playing guitar and playing the bass and the piano and I wrote some arrangements for brass, and the third one I directed a video and did the cover—again, I felt lucky! Even though I’m not really supposed to do any of this, I’m not gonna let it pass! So what Little Joy did to me—what changed in me—is before this, I used to be by myself, even though I had a band and mates to write music with. I was basically writing my songs and arrangements by myself, and then getting together with the band and proposing that. The conception was already there. I always thought I wasn’t able to write with other people. I had written with other people but it was always like, ‘Here’s half of a song. You finish it.’ But this thing was completely different. It was writing together all the time. Even though some of the songs started with Fab’s old songs that were almost finished, or Binki had written a song and then we would make it better somehow—it was always very open. Fab would write a verse or lyrics and present it to us expecting us to criticize it. That showed me this is possible. And it’s beautiful. It takes—like Fab says, it takes guts to have fun. Meaning—if it’s hard for you to present something and be ready to be criticized, it’s harder to criticize your friend who’s presenting something he thought was good. It’s letting the ego aside—‘This is OUR song.’ Forget who did what and just try and make it the best we can. That’s what changed. And what I learned—yes, I can work—I am open to write and be criticized and write a beautiful song. I never wrote lyrics with anyone else except on this record—but then again, it’s the first English record I do. I am not secure enough yet to not need help. I don’t think I could not write a song in English—it’s just that—I learned what I can do with this. And what I don’t wanna do anymore—not meaning that I have—is not have fun. It’s all about pleasure. It’s all about humor.
Is it fun to have guts?
Yes, definitely! It makes everything easier.
What are you most likely listening to when you’re all together?
There are quite a few things. The beginning of the Wailers when they were still a vocal group. ‘Where’s My Mother’ or something. Or Elvis Presley’s ‘Surrender.’ Sam Cooke of course—Sam Cooke definitely. Beach Boys. The Fleetwoods—the vocal Fleetwoods, not Fleetwood Mac, though we would hear Fleetwood Mac, too. And the Brazilian stuff. Os Mutantes.
Have you ever crossed paths with them?
Oh yeah. I know them. I’m not kidding! The first one I met was Arnaldo. He came to one of Los Hermanos’ shows and I almost had a heart attack because I walked offstage and went to the dressing room and there was him! Sitting there like, ‘It was great!’ And then I met Sergio later. First time I met him was at the first Mutantes show in London. I was invited to sing on that festival. You know the record Tropicalia was never played live? Until that day. So they got this band together with different musicians from Brazil plus people from England—the string section—and Rogerio Duprat himself let us borrow the original arrangements so that record could be played live for the first time. And I was lucky enough to be singing! So I was there and Mutantes played the day after, and that was where I met Devendra, too.
How did it feel to step into that record? Like to have a spot saved for you?
It’s crazy! I don’t even know, man! I have a band with Moreno—Caetano’s son. And in that band there are many bands. This band that got formed to do the Tropicalia was a few of us plus other musicians and right before we went on stage, Moreno was like, ‘They asked us to say something about Tropicalia before we play—so you’re gonna do that!’ ‘Are you fucking kidding?’
So you were the spokesperson for Tropicalia?
For a second. For that moment—yeah. And I came out in this big theatre with all these people—a bunch of journalists and people from all over Europe expecting something, and I hadn’t thought of anything. So I went back to—the word—the concept of ‘tropicalism’ came from the 1920s. From the poet Oswald Andrade. And his idea was tropicalism is about killing hierarchy in art. Like Brazilian stew. I’m trying to explain from his perspective but not using his ideas—but the idea is in Brazil we eat everything on the same plate. Salad and rice and beans and meat and if we could put dessert on it, we would. So like all different books should be mixed on the same shelf. Everything should be horizontal.
Everything is possible?
Yes. And attached to the idea of cannibalism in art. Like you eat conceptually everything on the same plate and you digest it—it being an organic process of what you get in touch with. Other than being a rational approach. You just eat it and process it. So I was trying to fucking explain that in front of an audience—and it goes beyond that. It just reflects what goes on in Brazil because of the mix of races and cultures. It got really mixed up. Which is good. And it expands to anywhere. The concept of not forcing yourself to be from anywhere. Just enjoying whatever you do enjoy. Pick up on whatever you want.
What did you think the first time you come to L.A.?
At first I came to record with Devendra. But that was Topanga Canyon. The second time I came to write the songs with Fab. I was supposed to stay for two weeks and I stayed for fucking six months! I started to see the other side—how open people are in L.A., you know? They have less preconcept on other people and they are very open. People who make very different kinds of music will get together and play together. And people like around Silverlake and Echo Park—people will say hello to you, not knowing you in the streets. I didn’t expect that! We used to live most of the time in Echo Park—then we moved to Silverlake, and right under our house was a cheese shop and a coffeeshop.. On top of Intelligentsia. I went home for a while and when I came back—Chris from the cheese shop remembered my name! And the guys from Intelligentsia were giving me free coffee! ‘Oh, you’re back, Rodrigo!’ They knew my name! That’s so cool—it felt like a small town. And I realized L.A. is kind of like a small town. It has a good side of it. So I started to understand and really like it.
What did you think the first time you went to Little Joy?
I thought it was pretty nice! The most unpretentious space, and it seemed very mixed. A very democratic space. Where people from different environments would meet. Like hipster kids and older men—I remember seeing people from different ethnics and places and who seemed to like different kinds of music. But the music there was always good and it was a nice democratic atmosphere. Just any kind of people.
Did you get permission for the name?
Fab went to the owner and said, ‘Excuse me, I’m Fabrizio, and we are starting this band and we want to call it after your bar.’ And it was funny because he said, ‘Well, just don’t sue me!’ Which is exactly the opposite of what we expected! So he was pretty cool.
Are you going to do an acoustic set on the pool table?
We don’t plan on it but I would.
Are you the best surfer out of Megapuss, Little Joy and Entrance?
Yes, that is true. I think Greg is second best. I haven’t seen Guy surfing.
What’s it like playing in a band with Aziz Ansari? What does he bring?
Humor. But as good as he is, Fab is a much better comedian.
Are you just saying that because he’s sitting next to you?
No. He’s not even listening to me.
Do you value realness?
No, we don’t. I wouldn’t choose that word. We value friendship. Love. That’s what makes the musical experience possible. When I say it takes guts to have fun—when Fab said that—you can substitute guts for love. Meaning that if you don’t have love, you’re not gonna be able to feel good and criticize your friend when he presents you a melody or something—not criticizing him but the melody he put on the table. Or to be criticized by the other. Meaning—if there’s no love, there’s no humor. You just can’t do it in a communal sense. We value love. That’s what we value.
Does it take guts to have love?
It takes love to have guts. What?

LITTLE JOY WITH WITH DEAD TREES AND RED CORTEZ ON SUN., DEC. 7, AT THE TROUBADOUR, 9081 SANTA MONICA BLVD., WEST HOLLYWOOD. 8:30 PM / $15 / ALL AGES. LITTLE JOY’S SELF-TITLED ALBUM IS OUT NOW ON ROUGH TRADE. VISIT LITTLE JOY AT MYSPACE.COM/LITTLEJOYMUSIC.

We are DJing at Cha Cha Wednesday night for the next installment of our acclaimed “Something Sh!t” series and we are following up last month’s Heavy Sh!t with the logical next step: Pretty Sh!t. (Let’s also call this an Eagle Rock Music Fest pre-party!) It’s free to everyone to come see us and guests from Gangi and hopefully Sian Alice Group (if they’re in town) DJ the most purtiest lovelies we can pry out of our library. A little sniff above.

Tracklist:

01. Os Mutantes “Panis Et Circenses”
02. Stone Poneys “Different Drum”
03. Sid Selvidge “Miss Eleana”
04. Nirvana “Rainbow Chaser”
05. The Bee Gees “Red Chair, Fade Away”
06. Daughters of Albion “Hey, You, Wait, Stay”
07. JK & Co. “Fly”
08. The Millennium “The Island”
09. Rogerio Duprat “Honey / Summer Rain”
10. Bonnie Dobson “I Got Stung”
11. Soft Boys “Positive Vibrations”
12. Os Mutantes “Panis Et Circenses” (Reprise)