Bossa Nova: The Story of the Brazilian Music That Seduced the World (44 page)

Lyra had foreseen, with good reason, that by the amount of fuss being caused by the term—which had definitively hit the streets—soon everything would be called bossa nova. Unfortunately, this was already starting to happen; now and again, a new brand of refrigerator or the opening of some new building would be billed in the newspapers as “Bossa Nova.” He felt, due to the prolific use of the term, as if someone were stealing
his
property. But to his surprise, Bôscoli wasn’t interested. He said he didn’t think it would be fair; nobody knew who had invented the expression and if it had to be attributed to someone, then it belonged to the anonymous secretary at the University Hebrew Group, where the expression had first appeared. He, Bôscoli, had merely contributed to popularizing it, together with Moysés Fuks
and João Luiz de Albuquerque. Besides, who had invented bossa nova? João Gilberto? Tom Jobim, Newton Mendonça, Vinícius? Johnny Alf, João Donato? Or everyone?

There were many differences between Lyra and Bôscoli, whom their elders dubbed “the Jobim and Vinícius of the younger crowd.” When the contract with Philips caused his separation from the rest of the group, Lyra felt he no longer had the right to say he wrote bossa nova. He searched for another name to call his music and found it:
sambalanço
(samba-beat, or
sam-beat
). Of course the music was the same bossa nova, but the name at least was his. Lyra was so confident in the success of
sambalanço
that, before any opportunists had the chance to steal his idea, he spent the time and money to register the term with the Registry of Trademarks and Patents. (In fact, in practice, nobody was interested in stealing
sambalanço
, and the only use of the term by someone other than Lyra was done so inadvertently by the pianist César Camargo Mariano, who years later gave the name to his trio, who played bossa nova.)

Philips allowed Lyra to play around with
sambalanço
, but when it came to naming his first album they didn’t hesitate for a second. They called it
Bossa Nova Carlos Lyra
. And they even asked Ary Barroso, who was at the time practically institutionalized as the main supporter of the movement, to write the text for the album sleeve. Whether he liked it or not, Carlinhos Lyra continued to be classified as bossa nova, and bossa nova would never dispense with its (in the words of Jobim himself) greatest melodist.

Philips honored their word and released
Bossa Nova Carlos Lyra
at the beginning of May. The conductor Carlos Monteiro de Souza did his best to ensure that the arrangements were like those that Jobim did for João Gilberto, but the album gave one the impression of containing more bossa nova on the sleeve than in the content of the record itself. Half of the songs were his old
samba-canções
, or sounded as if they were. Lyra was also clearing out his drawers. But, obviously, as a singer he was no João Gilberto, and as a guitarist, even less so. (Baden Powell, who was much better suited to jazz than bossa nova, played the guitar for Johnny Alf’s “Rapaz de bem” [Nice Guy], which Lyra sang on the record.) But the repertoire (“Chora tua tristeza” [Cry Your Sadness], “Ciúme” [Jealousy], “Barquinho de papel” [Little Paper Boat], “Gosto de você” (I Like You),
“Quando chegares” [When You Arrive], etc., not to mention “Maria Ninguém”) was very pretty, and more than tried and tested at bossa nova shows the year before.

A show? That’s right! There would be another big one that month, at the very same School of Architecture where the first one had taken place. Bôscoli had booked it months in advance and promised that this would be the consecrational show, the glorification of bossa nova. But now, with his breakup with Carlinhos, how would things turn out?

Lyra’s gang gave their reply: they would do their own show, at the Catholic University, that same night. Rio de Janeiro would soon find out if it was big enough to host both bossa novas.

The young people of Rio got moving that Friday night in May 1960. Many were disappointed at being unable to be in both places at the same time. The school in Praia Vermelha would host
A noite do amor, do sorriso e a flor
(Night of Love, a Smile, and a Flower), with Bôscoli’s entire gang and João Gilberto’s promised attendance (for the first time at a bossa nova show), as well as Vinícius. The school in Gávea would hold the “Noite do
Sambalanço
” (Night of
Sambalanço
), with Lyra’s gang, featuring a debatable guest performer: Juca Chaves, who was popular at the time for his ballads and modinhas, all of which were better suited to medieval Avalon than to bossa nova–flavored Arpoador beach in Ipanema.

The newspapers, led by
Última Hora
, did their best to put out the fire with gasoline. They openly sided with Bôscoli’s gang, revealing day-to-day details of the rehearsals and the team’s setup, together with the lineup of all the stars: João Gilberto; Vinícius; Os Cariocas; Johnny Alf (flown in from São Paulo by the newspaper); Norma Bengell; and three more contributions from Odeon—beautiful Rosana Toledo, sparkling black
sambista
Elza Soares, and Trio Irakitan. Whenever they mentioned the other show,
Última Hora
loved to quote a comment made by Nara Leão: “The others are Carlinhos Lyra, Juca Chaves, Alayde Costa, and a group of amateur guitarists.”

It was clearly Odeon’s show versus that of Philips, but not all of the participants were aware of this fact. As for the public, they had no idea. Odeon supplied all the equipment for the performance, set it up in the School of Architecture, and even provided station wagons to transport the artists. Philips did the same at the Catholic University. Once again, crowd estimates were three thousand people inside the School of Architecture and almost the same number outside. At the Catholic University, which was also packed, the crowd was a little smaller, but only because they had less space. The show at
the School of Architecture was, predictably, much better, and those who had elected to go to the other one regretted it the following day. That particular battle was won by Odeon—so triumphantly, in fact, that nobody there could have guessed that Philips would eventually win the war.

Ronaldo Bôscoli announced into the microphone, “This is the night of love, of the smile, and of the flower. It’s the first bossa nova festival—
true
bossa nova, that is.”

The implication was that the other show at the Catholic University was not—and that the one which had taken place at the Teatro Record in São Paulo the week before wasn’t really either, given that it had been performed by members of Lyra’s entourage and local singers. The genuine bossa nova was there at the School of Architecture, and had as a backdrop a screen painted by the student Mauro Halfeld dos Guaranys, depicting a rose and the impressive list of featured artists.

One of those artists was Johnny Alf, whom the Rio public had not seen for five years. While he was away, in São Paulo, bossa nova had taken off and he had been left behind. The younger generation, who made up the majority of the audience, were unaware that it was from his piano at the Plaza nightclub that some of the primary ingredients for the bossa nova recipe had emerged. Bôscoli tried to be didactic in introducing him: “True experts on bossa nova couldn’t forget his name. He has been playing bossa nova music for ten years and because of it was often branded a fraud and a madman. Here’s Johnny Alf!”

Alf sat down at the piano and played “Rapaz de bem” and “Céu e mar” (Sky and Sea), his two greatest hits—quavering badly out of tune, his voice failing, seemingly frightened and trembling. And indeed he was. Tearing him away from São Paulo for the show was quite an achievement. He had never sung for so many people at one time, and his overwhelming shyness threatened to engulf him. In order to fuel himself with courage, he drank an enormous quantity of booze before, during, and after the trip, and arrived at the School of Architecture completely wasted. One of the students, Luís “Chupeta,” and two other members of the Athletic Association convinced him to go with them to a bathroom in the School of Architecture. There, they stripped off his clothes and gave him a strong shower in an effort to sober him up. Taking this into account, his performance wasn’t bad at all.

Prudently, Norma Bengell didn’t sing in an outfit that showed her long, spectacular legs. Nor did she need to do so. She came on stage squeezed into a tight jersey that accentuated every curve of her figure, and carrying a white
poodle. It must have been a delight to hear her, with such a visual feast, singing, “Come, ugly girl / Let your fear disappear / You are ugly / But you will find beautiful love.” The boys in the audience went crazy, but the girls—the first bossa nova groupies, like the young Wanda Sá, who was fifteen—didn’t as much. For them, Norma Bengell was too much of a big woman to be really bossa nova.

It’s a mystery how, but there was room for everyone: the house staff (Normando; Luís Carlos Vinhas, who came on stage riding a tricycle; Chico Feitosa; Nara Leão; Claudette Soares; Sérgio Ricardo; and Menescal’s group—with Eumir Deodato on piano—which accompanied practically everybody) as well as the two representatives from São Paulo, Pedrinho Mattar and Caetano Zama. Vinícius was the only one who didn’t sing. He came on stage leading his daughter Georgiana by the hand, and brought the house down.
Última Hora
maliciously dubbed him “Grandpa bossa nova,” although Vinícius was only forty-seven years old, and Georgiana, seven.

The two biggest stars closed the show: Mr. and Mrs. João Gilberto. He came on stage to an abyss-like silence, and before three thousand mouths and noses that were trying desperately not to breathe, sang “One Note Samba” and “O pato.” He then accompanied Astrud on the guitar, providing vocal harmony, in “Lamento” (Lament) and “Brigas, nunca mais” (Fights, Never More), both by Jobim and Vinícius. People thought that Astrud sang very well, but if anyone had hinted that only four years later she’d be selling millions of records in the United States, they would have been admitted to the psychiatric hospital next door to the school. Astrud left the stage and João closed his performance with the theme of the show: love, a smile, and a flower, from the lyrics of “Meditação” (Meditation), by Jobim and Newton Mendonça—who, by the way, was not seen at the School of Architecture, and nobody could guarantee that he had even been invited. (When he died six months later, they must have felt some remorse.)