Manafonistas

„Calle 7, a standout track inspired by a walk down Seventh Avenue, is an irresistibly swinging song that manages to be both meditative and to capture the urgent streetlife. It’s a little classic.“ (John Fordham, The Guardian)

Listening to Lagrimas Mexicanas one can imagine how a beautiful fusion of latin music and jazz sounds like on guitars. Often tried but mostly lost in trivial and pleasant candy-sweet-beauty, this collaboration of Bill Frisell and Vinicius Cantuária makes a difference and could be referential on that claim. Mister Frisell is a well-versed craftsman on his instrument, always setting contrapoints and avoiding to confirm cliches on his electric and acoustic guitars, also progamming loops here. Señor Cantuária is not famous for having a brilliant voice but his singing is a convenient companion while playing his percussion and acoustic guitars. Title song Lagrimas Mexicanas, furtheron Calle 7 and opener Mi Declaration were my favourite tunes of that album, often heard in 2011, the year of its release.

„Calle 7“ – LAGRIMAS MEXICANAS ©2011 Bill Frisell & Vinicius Cantuária

Ein Blick aus dem Fenster in den regenverhangenen Himmel signalisiert: bleibe besser im Haus, setze dich hin … und schreibe eine Notiz zu Vinicius Cantuaria! Konzerte mit diesem Musiker, der aus Manaus stammt, in Rio aufwuchs und mittlerweile in der Musikerszene New Yorks seine zweite Heimat fand, waren immer eine Delikatesse gewesen. Als Sideman gab er der Performance jeweils die besondere Note. Musik und Rhythmus stecken ihm im Blut – auf subversiv anstachelnde und gleichsam melancholische Weise, wie das für brasilianische Klänge nicht ungewöhnlich ist: tristeza nao tem fin – die Traurigkeit nimmt kein Ende. Cantuaria gehört zu jenen, die aus dem Fundus der Vielfalt heimischer Traditionen greift, um sie zu veredeln. Sein Gitarrespiel ist sehr rhythmusbetont, seine Gestalt hat etwas Diabolisches dabei, wenn er spielt, singt oder trommelt – und er scheint dabei auf der Spur zu sein nach einer Lücke, die der Teufel lässt.

Vinicius Cantuaria: „Look the Sky“ (from the album Horse and Fish ©2009)

Vinicius Cantuaria has always been going for low-key, and the art of suggestion. I saw him playing and singing in a band with violinist Jenny Scheinman at his side, and he was always arguing for doing less: less ornamentation, less improvisation, staying at the core of a song, for three minutes, forever. Should he want assistance, the Brazilian has a fine phonebook to flick through – Norah Jones and Ryuichi Sakamoto add piano (they are not doing anything wrong when they keep the saccharine factor low), long-time collaborator Bill Frisell provides guitar, and Jesse Harris sings, but this is primarily a solo project, with Cantuaria adding percussion (low key), keyboards (low key), and his own Caetano Velosoesque vocals (yes, low key, too). Then, in his role as co-producer, he turns the volume down as low as you can get without fading away completely and cutting out anything inessential to the point where the results weigh in at a shade under 30 minutes. As the names of his friends suggest, after more than a dozen albums in various guises, Cantuaria is an integral part of new York‘ newest wave of Brazilian jazz, influenced by much more than samba rhythms. But this newest wave is always connected to the oldest wave, believe me! This is no Saturday night Big Apple rave-up, but more a luxurious Sunday morning pick-me-up.

Vinícius Cantuária toca, canta e fala …
Eu gosto esse samba – and i call it a sophisticated, diabolic one.

(wenn man der konzertgitarre auf diesem video zuhört, dann klingt das irgendwie nach differenziertem jazz-pianospiel mit rechter und linker hand. dasselbe faszinosum
findet statt, wenn joão gilberto singt und spielt: stimme und gitarre treten in ein fast abstraktes spannungsverhältnis. der reiz der bossa nova liegt auch in dieser unmenge
an „falschen“, „diabolischen“ tönen, die aber im kontext „richtig“ klingen)

And this is STOLEN FROM STRANGERS (Jun Miyake, 2007): „Est-ce que tu peux me voir?“

A última palavra aqui diz Cantuária : „Samba louco brasileiro“.