O Cantador / Like A Lover

One of the pleasures of travel is leisure to explore connections, especially in music, one of my loves. I noticed that the melody to Like A Lover on my Sérgio Mendes album was familiar. A search revealed that it was an English reworking by Alan and Marilyn Bergman of the Dori Caymmi/Nelson Motta classic O Cantador.

Of course! I had the Flora Purim interpretation for years and never noticed the identity, because Like A Lover is a breezy, wistful love song in the Sérgio Mendes rendition, while O Cantador is slow, dark and shot through with pain. This is not the first reworking of a Brazilian song that changed the character. In the case of Manha de Carnaval / A Day in the Life of a Fool, it's the other way around, the English version is the sad one.

You don't need to understand Portuguese to feel the pathos in this Anna Setton interpretation which is set to be a definitive rendering. You can also follow the Portuguese lyrics using my attempt at translation. Travelling in Europe gives me (possibly false) confidence in such tasks. There's a pun in the Portuguese lyrics: cantador / canto a dor, singer / I sing of grief.

Anna Setton is a promising talent and I look forward to her first album; it seems she has done only concerts so far. When I get home I'm going to track down a music sheet and practice both versions. I know the slower version will be harder to play. A bit of mistiming and the mood is damaged.

O Cantador (The Singer)

Amanhece, preciso ir
Dawn, I must go
Meu caminho é sem volta e sem ninguém
My road has no return and no one
Eu vou prá onde a estrada levar
I go where the road takes me
Cantador só sei cantar
Cantador only knows how to sing
Ah! Eu canto a dor
Ah! I sing of grief
Canto a vida e a morte, canto o amor
I sing of life and death, I sing of love
Cantador não escolhe o seu cantar
Cantador chooses not what he sings
Canta o mundo que vê
He sings the world he sees
E pro mundo que vi meu canto é dor
And the world sees that my song is grief
Mas é forte prá espantar a morte
But it is strong to ward off death
Prá todos ouvirem minha voz
For all who hear my voice
Mesmo longe
Even from afar

De que servem meu canto e eu
For them my song and I serve
Se em meu peito há um amor que não morreu
I know my bosom has a love that never died
Ah! Se eu soubesse ao menos chorar
Ah! If I had at least known to cry
Cantador só sei cantar
Cantador only knows how to sing
Ah! Eu canto a dor
Ah! I sing the grief
De uma vida perdida sem amor
Of a life lost without love

Valletta evening

With unlimited bus travel I have taken to commuting from Sliema to Valletta for dinner. There is a better choice of restaurants there, and I like the open spaces, which make Sliema feel like a cabin.

It's a pity there is little hotel accommodation in Valletta, but there are apartments for rent and I browsed a few real estate agent windows.

An accordionist is playing Besame Mucho as I enter the city gate.

I located the Trattoria Zero Sei which I tried to eat at on Saturday. This time they were open, and there was a 1 hour gap I could fit into. Ensued this (paraphrased) conversation with the chatty proprietor (you can easily guess my questions):

We make our own pasta and all the recipes are authentic Roman. We don't use cream or butter in Carbonara. I sold two restaurants in Rome and brought my family here. Life is better here. I thought if I can break even I'm a happy man, but every night I'm booked out. I realised the Maltese like to eat because it's a crowded island with few outdoor activities. 06? Ah that's the area code for Rome, ha.

You picked us because of the Keep Calm sign on the glass door? You know, I don't want to spend money on advertising—advertising is expensive—because then I would have to raise my prices; how could I offer pasta for 9€? So I draw this silly sign by hand and the tourists go ka-chug, click, click, and I get my publicity, ah ha ha.

I didn't have the Carbonara, but the Amatriciana which indeed is typical of the Lazio region. The home made spaghetti was indeed al dente.

A trio of double bass, bass guitar and saxophone set up outside the court of justice. When the bass started plucking an even eighths intro. I bet with myself it would segue into The Girl From Ipanema. I won that bet. I won the next bet too about Manha de Carnaval. Sitting on a bench, I savoured the bars, tears welling in my eyes. It was homesickness, but for me home is not a place, but my beloved activities. I resolved to learn every piece in the MPB repertory.

At this point the trio packed up. The accordionist was still playing. I sat on nearby steps as he went through the old favourites: La Vie En Rose, Tico Tico, El Choclo, Sway, and Autumn Leaves.

The journey begins

I have the key to happiness: remember, be profoundly, profoundly, totally conscious that you are. I myself, sorry to say, hardly ever use this key. I keep losing it — Eugène Ionesco

E was right, I needed to turn away from looking inwards and re-engage with the world. I know this but time and again I forget that the universe goes on with or without me, and that I should be grateful for life's gifts.

A straightforward itinerary: first the Netherlands to catch up with a friend and a cousin, then Malta and Gozo. On the way home to avoid looping west then east, a stopover in Cyprus. Can you tell that I like islands?

I'm inured to air travel now. My standard armour: music, noise cancelling headphones, books, air pillow, and sleep mask. Depending on the destination time zone I'll stay up or sleep early to pre-adapt. A quirky film, especially European, can help pass an hour or two. I often watch with subtitles while listening to music.

For reading, besides my Kindle, Chilean Luis Sepúlveda's Patagonia Express for practice. It recounts the author's travels in South America during his years of exile. Its longer title is Al andar se hace el camino se hace el camino al andar, the path is made by walking, walking makes the path, a snippet from a poem by Antonio Machado.

For music, a collection of jazz, Latin and World albums, including the one that introduced me to MPB (Música Popular Brasiliera), Sérgio Mendes and Brasil '66, which launched the career of Lani Hall. I have always enjoyed her distinctive voice and on digging the Internet, discovered what I didn't know before, that she is the wife of Herb Alpert. When I re-listened to the album, the track Goin' Out of My Head prompted me to borrow the sheet music from the library. This turned out to be easy to play. I can make a medley of it with Can't Take My Eyes Off You which Jersey Boys prompted me to learn. Both songs have a satisfying bravura chorus but are problematic to end, and usually faded-out.

Blasting Tubular Bells on the amp while doing final checks. An edgy, intricate piece of music. A musician friend and I used to joke about appending atom bomb to the instruments that the MC enumerates in the mantra-like end of the first side, climaxing with the titular tubular bells.

Time to fly. By coincidence I was just getting the hang of playing Samba do Avião, a lyrical, wistful tune that eluded me until I reduced the tempo. There's a lesson there. Fortunately, unlike its composer, I'm not terrified of flying.