So it turns out Foz do Iguaçu is pretty dull once you’ve done all the (admittedly awesome) tourist stuff – the first time I ventured out alone in search of lunch, I ended up in the completely deserted downtown area, with not a single shop open as far as the eye could see. I was later reminded that it was a national holiday for the anniversary of Brazilian independence, but still, didn’t exactly inspire confidence…
Spent an interminable four days trying to get the hotel internet to work and generally flopping about while Gaby went to her convention and rubbed elbows with fellow behaviourists, then rallied our spirits on Friday night for a fancy-dress party – wearing a dodgy wig and waistcoat in honour of my musical hero, Wesley Safadão – and got the hell out of Dodge at 4am the next morning.
Gaby’s backlog of studies and general post-holiday lethargy meant we didn’t do much over the weekend either, so in lieu of any real news I’ve decided to turn this week’s blog entry over to an extensive study of MPB heartthrob Luan Santana, another of the sertanejo Holy Trinity that we saw in concert about a year ago and have plagued my life ever since (Jorge & Mateus, I’ll deal with you later…)
I regret to report that even after all this time I still can’t get into sertanejo, although I’ve at least moved beyond the initial state known jokingly round these parts as sertanojo (“serta-nausea”), brought on by lengthy exposure to accordions. But Luan Santana intrigues me, as his success goes against virtually everything I thought I knew about pop music and X-factor. It is no exaggeration to say that his continued, enormous popularity has shaken my system of beliefs to its very core.
Sure, at first glance he may seem like the Brazilian Justin Beiber, from the trendy clothes and hair to the highly punchable face, and undeniably catchy hits. But in his lyrics he comes across as such a massive square – the Cliff Richard to Wesley Safadão’s randy Mick Jagger, if you will - that I’m always amazed anyone within his audience’s main demographics (teenagers, adults with arrested development, etc) can listen to him with a straight face.
Take one of his signature hits, “Cê Topa” (“What do you say?”), whose chorus goes “me, you, two kids and a dog, a blanket and a good film in the August cold - what do you say?” I mean, it’s a catchy tune, but I would have thought the cloying domesticity, not to say the utter lameness, of such sentiments would be total anathema to any normal moody teenager. At my advanced age, I actually happen to find the idea of curling up with a blanket and a good film appealing, but I would never dare write a song about it, and I certainly wouldn’t expect the youth to lap it up in their droves if I did. Where’s the crippling angst? The dizzying euphoria? The terrifying lows, the dizzying highs, the creamy middles that characterise all the most memorable pop songs?
But lap it up they do, more so with every new, highly formulaic single. “Tudo Que Você Quiser” has him offering to give his last name to an unidentified bride-to-be, “Chuva de Arroz” has him imagining getting married at the local church as soon as possible, while “Escreve Aí” – his biggest hit so far and probably his best, in a syrupy Disney soundtrack kind of way – introduces some post-break-up tension, only for Santana to fold faster than Superman on laundry day, saying he’ll come crawling back at the click of a finger. One of his songs is even based on the decades-long unrequited longing of “Love in the Time of Cholera”, for God’s sake.
All standard wish-fulfilment bollocks, of course – our man Luan is not even remotely married, and like any self-respecting pop star probably sleeps on a pile of money surrounded by many beautiful, interchangeable women – but it’s the nature of the wish that perplexes and freaks me out a bit. I can only deduce that Brazilian teenagers really do want to get married and settle down, like some kind of mad Evangelical cult…
I realise my finger isn’t exactly on the pulse, but I can’t think of any other pop stars whose songs so consistently yearn for a happy marriage, safe family, wholesome pets and a balanced credit card. “When I’m Sixty-Four” and “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” are the only songs that spring to mind, but they aren’t really aimed at teens, are nearly fifty years old and are probably secretly about drugs anyway. There are plenty of contented dad-rockers out there, sure, but presumably they’re just singing to other contented dads.
I assumed this was because teenagers tend to turn their nose up at things like marriage and domestic bliss, while the rest of us either feel the same or lead such sheltered, predictable lives that we demand our music be slightly edgy just for the sake of contrast. Even people like Ed Sheeran, Bruno Mars and the Backstreet Boys have always been marketed with some semblance of bad-boy grit, so as not to lose the rebellious adolescent vote; yet against all odds Santana has completely embraced the goody-two-shoes act and cornered the youth market in Brazil, because apparently that’s what they want.
I spoke to a number of experts about this (OK, just Gaby), and it is a definite regional phenomenon… Kids here almost invariably live with, and are supplied for by their parents until they’re married off. This is usually because of issues related to security and economics, but mainly just down to tradition and/or religion. So there’s a lot more kinship and less tension between generations than in Europe and the US, and conversely a much stronger desire among the young’uns to get married sooner rather than later, and gain some kind of independence.
This means they can relate to a blanket and a good film on a cold day – old-person stuff, basically - perhaps more than raving in a warehouse or freezing in a Brixton squat. It might also explain why everyone I’ve met here is obsessed with going to Disneyland. All of which I can understand, even if it makes for some pretty toothless music (and some pretty unrealistic expectations of marriage, for that matter)…
I should add in closing that I don’t want to be too hard on Luan, who seems like a lovely lad with some good tunes, and who probably shouldn’t be held responsible for the whims of an entire society… I also haven’t even got round to mentioning Roberto Carlos (NB: not the footballer) who actually is the Brazilian Cliff Richard, right down to the age-defying toupee – I’ll be sure to include a full report on him in the weeks to come, because he cracks me up.
Next week on Gringolândia, SP: a hot new take on the Myspace craze that’s taking the nation by storm, and an uncompromising investigation into the socioeconomic roots of the Harlem Shake.
Yours, down with the kids,
PS: Almost forgot – new compilation o’clock! And I can recommend the new Nick Cave album as the perfect antidote to anything Luan Santana-related, or indeed anything positive or comforting ever.
PPS: Got your postcard from Berlin and letter from Cambridge! I have a postcard for you from Foz, which I will send on the first mule out of town.
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