By: Neil Munshi
Seu Jorge might be the coolest motherfucker around. On Monday night, Jorge —best known to American audiences as the David Bowie-crooning sailor in Wes Anderson's The Life Aquatic — filled the Cedar Cultural Center with hippies, hipsters, old folks and even a smattering of fellow-Brazilians for a night of samba that ranged from joyous explosion to low-key jam, peppered with lilting acoustic numbers. Housed on the West Bank in the heart of our own Little Mogadishu, the Cedar is the ultimate cultural-mixer venue in the Cities. While on this evening the crowd skewed Scandinavian, the feeling of a cultural mash-up was hard to evade. Also impossible to avoid was the a serious lack of ventilation; granted, we came for a concert that might evoke the feeling of a rough Brazilian favela or a thick, steamy night of tropicalia — both of which, at times, it did — but the sweat of a day in the rain forest was something I think we all could have done without.
Lanky Jorge sauntered on stage looking like a rudeboy, all bright-white smiles cracking through thin, wormed dreads that shook across his dark face, but he sang like a battered angel; rough yet tender, storied but innocent. His four-piece backing band beat hand drums, played a mini-kit, strummed the cavaquinho (similar to a ukulele) and thumped the bass, their leader holding it all together with some subtle acoustic-guitar work while cuicas (created by rubbing an oil-soaked rag on the inside of a drum) wailed and shrieked, creating a dense, eerie jungle atmosphere. They had the loose feel of a group of ragtag buddies from the slums, getting together to jam and have a good time, a perfect style for the laid back tunes they played.
"Mania de Peitao," which I gathered was about fake breasts (unfortunately, the four days I spent in Lagos during my requisite "finding myself" trip through Europe didn't do much to improve my nonexistent Portuguese skills), got the show started and set the pace for the next four numbers, all danceable, if mellow, samba pieces. During the second tune, each member of his band got the chance to rip it up solo-style before the song morphed into an Arrested Development-style rap, by way of South America. By the fifth song, it would have been easy to dismiss every Jorge song as the same, given the cavaquinho lead in, but the sweet fills Seu inserted in the cavaquinho's gaps (and vice versa) changed each song's character completely.
While the names of the songs Jorge and his band played escape me (especially those not on Cru, his latest offering), the nature and feeling they engendered is easy to describe, if only because his music is so evocative. If you want to see some great awkward dancing by some old white folks (and quite a few young ones), come to a show at the Cedar — it might be embarrassing, but during Jorge's show, it was never forced, it was simply bad dancers feeling the music…and there's something to be said for that. During a particularly rhythmic, danceable song, a short blond in a white tank top and flowy skirt danced erratically, showing off her Latin dance moves. Her fella, meanwhile, stood stoically behind, refusing to move like many another awkward dude whose girlfriends prodded and tempted and dipped and swayed. I couldn't help but think that he had missed out on the greatest sex of his life, simply for lack of movement.
During a mini set-break, Jorge left the stage while three of his band mates remained to beat drums and dance. He returned after their boisterous, joyous jam to loop his acoustic guitar around his neck and play a three-song Bowie set that featured "Ziggy Stardust," "Rebel, Rebel" and "Life on Mars?" All were, as could be expected, great crowd favorites, delivered in a tender, scarred and scratchy baritone. After extolling the virtuous simplicity of the music, he said, "Thank you Bowie," and the crowd erupted. I couldn't help but wonder who they were clapping for, Bowie or Jorge?
For the last song of their regular set, Jorge played "Eu Sou Favela," an almost spoken-word ode to the Rio slums he grew up in, with a mantra he spewed throughout in alternately earnest and ironic tones: "a favela es…un problema social." The set ended on something of a poignant note, as he sent the message that we must do better for Brazil. Minutes later, as an encore the band exploded on stage with a jumpy dance number, and exposed the perfect dichotomy that exists within Jorge's music, voice and performance — the socially conscious and the raucous, the love song and the booty-shaker, the rudeboy and the battered angel. The coolest motherfucker around.
Location Info:
Cedar Cultural Center
Artist Info: Seu Jorge
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