Ganha-se Pouco, Mas É Divertido

Lyrics from “Ganha-se Pouco, Mas É Divertido” by Wilson Batista and Ciro de Souza, released by Aracy de Almeida (1941)

___
Ele trabalha de segunda a sábado // He works from Monday to Saturday
Com muito gosto sem reclamar // With great relish without complaining
Mas no domingo ele tira o macacão // But on Sunday he strips off his coveralls
Embandeira o barracão, põe a família pra sambar // Decks out the shack and puts the family to samba
Lá no morro ele pinta o sete // Up on the hillside he cuts loose
Com ele ninguém se mete // No one messes around with him
Ali ninguém é fingido // Up there no one’s phony
Ganha-se pouco, mas é divertido // Money’s short, but it’s fun

Ele nasceu sambista // He’s a born sambista
Tem a tal veia de artista // He has that artist’s vein
Carteira de reservista // Reservist’s Card
Está legal com o senhorio…// In good standing with the authorities
Não pode ouvir pandeiro, não // He can’t hear a pandeiro
Fica cheio de dengo // He swells up with dengo*
É torcida do Flamengo // He’s a fan of Flamengo
Nasceu no Rio de Janeiro // Born in Rio de Janeiro…

— Commentary —

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Wilson Batista, 1957. Image via Instituto Moreira Salles, acervo José Ramos Tinhorão.

Here’s a brighter entry for the Sunday Songs series: no trace of domingueira, or that melancholy Sunday mood, in this classic by Wilson Batista (1913 – 1968) and Ciro de Sousa (1911-1995).

This samba is a typical example of how Batista — a consummate malandro composer best known for his dispute with Noel Rosa over the intricacies of malandragem and samba (on that, see, for example, this post on “Lenço no Pescoço“) — played to the Vargas regime’s (1930-45) demands that samba lyrics promote the sort of upstanding citizen-worker that Vargas projected as the ideal Brazilian.  

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Aracy’s release of “Ganha-se Pouco, Mas É Divertido” came in the wake of the tremendous success of Batista’s and Ataulfo Alves’s “Oh, seu Oscar!,” which won the DIP’s samba contest in 1940. Image via Carioca acervo, 1940.

Indeed, Batista even voiced support for government censorship of his sambas. As Bryan McCann has written in Hello, Hello, Brazil, Batista once commented on the Vargas-era censors within the most fascist government agency, the Department of Press and Propaganda [DIP]: “Sometimes the DIP censors my lyrics. I get upset, but then I realize they are correct. There has to be some control.”

Batista realized that composers did well to play by the regime’s rules. In 1940, Batista’s and Ataulfo Alves’s samba “Oh, Seu Oscar!” — about a hard-working man burdened by a roving wife — won a DIP-sponsored samba contest, propelling the two Afro-Brazilian composers to new heights of popularity with fans and recording artists.

But to anyone familiar with Batista’s life, it’s hard to read such statements as that above as anything but tongue-in-cheek, and the same goes for many of his verses.

In fact, this song almost line by line embodies the tensions between the two lives and lifestyles portrayed in Batista’s sambas: an upstanding worker who’s really a born sambista; a commanding family man — as long as he doesn’t hear a pandeiro.

*The Afro-descended word dengo is tough to translate but means something like doting attachment and caresses; here it can be taken as something a little more like fiery passion. Most importantly, it provides a brilliant rhyme with “torcida do Flamengo,” Rio’s most popular soccer team on the morros, of which Wilson Batista was indeed a devoted fan. (See, for example, his 1955 “Samba Rubro-Negro” — Samba for the Red & Black.)

 

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Aracy de Almeida, in a photo published in Carioca magazine in 1935, with the caption: “Aracy de Almeida, one of the most celebrated figures of our ‘broadcasting’…”

Aracy de Almeida (1914-1988) was a tremendously popular singer in the 1930s – 50s whose recording career is central to the story of samba’s rise as Brazil’s national sound during the Vargas era. Her singular, nasally singing style was beloved by audiences and critics alike. Mário de Andrade, one of Brazil’s most prominent twentieth-century modernist intellectuals and musicologists, identified the nasal timbre as a key marker of Brazilianness, and commented that Almeida’s was “a hot, sensual nasality, of delicious timbração [timbre], deeply carioca.”

Almeida is widely known in Brazil as the “voice of Noel Rosa,” and her recording of Rosa’s “O X do Problema” became her trademark. Yet as Pedro Paulo Malta and Rodrigo Alzuguir (Batista’s biographer) point out in this excellent documentary series on Aracy de Almeida, Wilson Batista was in fact the composer Aracy recorded the most; indeed, she recorded more of Wilson’s nearly 600 compositions than any other recording artist.

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Ciro de Sousa, image via Acervo Revista Cinearte, 1938.

Another favorite composer of Aracy’s was Ciro de Sousa, Batista’s partner on this song. As de Sousa recalled the story of this song, one day he was in the entry of Café Nice — a  landmark in the history of samba and carioca culture in the 1930s and 40s — when Batista arrived, excited about a samba he’d begun on the bus. Batista sang the first verse up to “tira o macacão” (he strips off his coveralls) and Ciro added “embandeira o barracão” (decks out — literally with little flags — the shack), and the two went on composing from there.  Aracy released the samba in August 1941, with the beautiful backing of Pixinguinha, on flute, and Os Diabos do Céu.

Wilson Batista, for his part, demonstrated such brilliant melodic inventiveness without training or instruments other than a matchbox that the pianist Custódio Mesquita, one of the greatest classically trained popular composers of the 20th century, nicknamed him the “Maestro Caixa de Fósforos,” the Matchbox Maestro. And as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, in the 1970s, Paulinho da Viola said he regarded Wilson Batista as the greatest sambista of all time. Paulinho has recorded a number of Batista’s compositions, including most famously “Chico Brito” and “Meu Mundo é Hoje.”

Cristina Buarque made “Ganha-se Pouco, Mas É Divertido” the title track of her 2000 Batista tribute album. And in 2017, Hermínio Bello de Carvalho produced an album in honor of Aracy’s centenary (a project he had been working on for years), with Marcos Sacramento on vocals and Luiz Flávio Alcofra on guitar. Here is the beautiful medley from that recent album of “Engomadinho,” by Pedro Caetano and Claudionor Cruz, and “Ganha-se Pouco, Mas É Divertido”:

Raízes

Lyrics from “Raízes” by Renato Teixeira (~1992)

Galo cantou // Cock crowed
Madrugada na campina // Dawn on the plain
Manhã menina // Tender morning
Tá na flor do meu jardim // Is on the flower in my garden
Hoje é domingo // Today is Sunday
Me desculpe eu tô sem pressa // Forgive me I’m in no hurry
Nem preciso de conversa // I have no need for conversation
Não há nada prá cumprir // No obligations to fulfill
Passar o dia // Passing the day
Ouvindo o som de umas viola // Listening to the sound of some violas
Eu quero que o mundo agora // I want the world now
Se mostre pros bem-te-vi // To show itself to the bem-te-vi (Great Kiskadee)
Mando daqui das bandas do rural lembranças // I send out from here, from the rural parts, remembrances
Vibrações da nova hora // Vibrations of the new hour
Prá você que não tá aqui // For you, who’s not here
Amanhecer // The break of day
é uma lição do universo // Is a lesson of the universe
Que nos ensina // That teaches us
Que é preciso renascer // That it’s necessary to be reborn
O novo amanhece // The new dawns
O novo amanhece // The new dawns
Já tem rolinha // There are already doves
Lá no terreiro varrido // Out on the brushed-earth yard
E o orvalho brilha // And the dew shines
Como pérolas ao sol // Like pearls in the sun
Tem uma sombra// There’s a shadow
Que caminha pras montanhas // That creeps toward the mountains
Se enfiando feito alma // Slipping like a soul
Por dentro do matagal // Into the bush
E quanto mais // And the more
A luz vai invadindo a terra // The sun spreads over the earth
O que a noite não revela // What the night doesn’t reveal
O dia mostra prá mim // The day shows to me
A rádio agora // The radio now
Tá tocando Rancho Fundo// Is playing Rancho Fundo
Somos só eu e mundo // It’s just me and the world
E tudo começa aqui // And everything begins here
Amanhecer // Daybreak
é uma lição do universo // Is a lesson of the universe
Que nos ensina // That teaches us
Que é preciso renascer // That it’s necessary to be reborn
O novo amanhece // The new dawns
O novo amanhece // The new dawns
— Commentary —
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Pena Branca (right) and Xavantinho.

For the second post on songs about Sundays, here’s one of my favorite songs from a beautiful album of caipira, or folk-country, music, Renato Teixeira & Pena Branca e Xavantinho: Ao Vivo em Tatuí (1992). The song was composed by Renato Teixeira, one of Brazil’s most prolific singer-songwriters in the caipira genre. That genre is associated with the countryside of the central and southeastern states of São Paulo, Paraná, Minas Gerais, Goiás, Mato Grosso and Mato Grosso do Sul. But tellingly, Teixeira was born in the city — in Santos, São Paulo. Songs like “Raízes,” or “Roots,” are typical of the caipira revival of the 1980s and ’90s, of which Teixeira was a driving force (for more on that, see this previous post): As more and more rural migrants made their way to greater São Paulo or adjacent cities such as Santos — Brazil became a majority urban country around 1970, and was nearly 70 percent urban by 1980; and greater São Paulo exploded from 2.6 million in 1950, to 8.1 million in 1970, to 15.4 million in 1991 — these popular songs expressed deep longing and cultural affinity for a simpler bygone country life that many may never have experienced firsthand.

The caipira style was typically performed by pairs of brothers, perfectly exemplified by Pena Branca (1939-2010) e Xavantinho (1942-1999), who, like many such duos, began singing together as children on local radio programs in their hometown of Uberlândia, Minas Gerais. In 1968, they moved to São Paulo to pursue a career in music together. There, they were helped by popular performers such as Teixeira and Milton Nascimento, whose “Cio da Terra,” composed with Chico Buarque, they popularized with a 1980 recording. (Here they are performing that song with Milton in 1987: https://youtu.be/3BDTbOnC8-I)

The brothers resisted crossing over into the more commercial sertanejo, or (modern) country, genre, and continued performing together in the traditional caipira style until Xavantinho’s early death in 1999, at age 56, from complications from a motorcycle accident five years earlier. The violas they played, and that are referenced in the lyrics, are the ten-string guitar typical of this style.

“Rancho Fundo” in the song refers to the classic Brazilian song “No Rancho Fundo” (1931), by Ary Barroso and Lamartine Babo, which has a similarly nostalgic and romanticized caipira theme. In 1989, the popular duo Chitãozinho e Xororó released a typically caipira version of the song, cementing its place in the caipira canon. The bem-te-vi  bird referenced in the song is one of the most common in Brazil, and one of the first to begin singing at daybreak, which probably explains its popularity in Brazilian folk song.

Memórias Conjugais

Lyrics from “Memórias Conjugais” by Paulinho da Viola (1996)


Lapidar // Lapidary
Foi a sua frase // Was your statement
Proferida de um jeito natural // Proffered so naturally
Registrei esta preciosidade // I jotted down this gem
Sem alarde // Without any fuss
No meu livro de memórias conjugais // In my book of conjugal memories:
-“Tenho asas, meu amor, preciso abri-las // -“I have wings, my love, I need to open them –
Ao seu lado não sou muito criativa” // by your side, I’m not creative enough”
Depois dessa // After that pronouncement
Fui em busca do meu antidepressivo // I went looking for my anti-depressant
E afundei // And sank
No sofá com meus jornais // Into the sofa with my newspapers

Minha cara no espelho já diz tudo // My face in the mirror says it all
Desconfio de um carma secular // I sense some secular karma
Pelo jeito, eu também sou um embrulho // It would seem I’m also a mess
Mas eu juro, deste muro amanhã vou me jogar// But I swear, tomorrow I’m going to throw myself off this wall
Resolvi // I decided
Vou tomar uma providência // I’m going to take certain measures
Pra começar, lá no bar do seu José // Starting off over at José’s bar
Para ver // To see
Se exorcizo este domingo – céu nublado // If I can exorcise this cloudy Sunday
E esta mala// And this baggage
Que não larga do meu pé // That I can’t seem to shake loose

— Commentary —

Paulinho_later

I always think about starting a series on songs about Sundays, and this is one of the first that comes to mind. Thinking about Paulinho da Viola trying to “exorcise” a dreary Sunday (and more) is always helpful when you’re trying to do the same. I still haven’t gotten back into the groove of posting on here as much as I’d like (soon!) but I found this translation I’d done a few years ago so wanted to take advantage and put it on the site.  Maybe this will represent the first of the Sunday series…