Month: April 2023

words: Paulo Carmona (freely translated by Raquel Pinheiro); photos: Paulo Carmona

In a cool April spring night the crows and blackbirds arranged a meeting which was also attended by white doves and hummingbirds.

What? Well, that’s right! Just as many see only grey shadows and melancholy in Matt Elliott’s songs, many others must feel what I felt last Saturday at Mouco. Among of all the dark musical semblance loaded with sarcasm, pain and loss, there are soft, slightly perfumed and bittersweet breezes passing by that, in a way, make everything lighter. Beauty appears between the shadows giving them some colour. Not much, not much, but enough to slightly warm souls. Like a paradox. Aren’t there people who order coffee in a cold cup? There you go.

It all begins with a sketch of a solitary instrument, be it the folk guitar or the saxophone that complains to itself about its bad luck. Then it stays in a minimalist loop waiting for the following instrument to fill in the loose spaces of the music left adrift. And stays there jumping between the folk guitar and the sax and the sax and folk guitar, from where that dark and serious voice appears. But, of course, it doesn’t end there. Matt knows how to adorn the thing. If he does know, my friends. Supported by the diaphragm, he lets out screams as a lament and delirious verses in medium tones. And the guitar cries happily. Sometimes it’s flamenco, sometimes dark folk and classic. From time to time, a guitar distortion prolonged in space and time shows up, all very well executed. In The Day After That and Flowers for Bea it seems that we are wandering around in pencil drawings of an animation by Tim Burton.

Matt Elliott knows how to thank the surrendered crowd. He is affable with his audience and berates himself for talking too much. He also went as far as to apologize to future generations for his generation’s environmental blunders. There are laughs and smiles in the room because it’s funny, then back to the beginning. At the end Matt makes a cordial farewell with a bow and a farewell wave. The man is a sharp and scathing troubadour, pained and incisive, but also friendly and a gentleman. Just as I like it.

It’s past eleven and the night is cool. I am appeased with everything around me. I turn my coat’s collar up, put my hands in my pockets and count the cobblestones.

texto e fotos: Paulo Carmona

Os corvos e os melros marcaram um encontro, ao qual também compareceram pombas brancas e beija-flores na noite fresca deste Abril de Primavera.

O quê? Pois, é mesmo isso! Lá porque muitos só vêm sombras cinzentas e melancolia nas canções de Matt Elliott, muitos outros deverão sentir o que eu senti no passado Sábado no Mouco. No meio de todo aquele semblante musical sombrio carregado de sarcasmo, dor e perda, há brisas suaves, levemente perfumadas e agridoces que por ali passam e que, de um certo modo, tornam tudo mais leve. O belo surge por entre as sombras a dar-lhes um pouco de cor. Não muita, não muita, mas o suficiente para aquecer ao de leve as almas. A jeito de paradoxo, não há quem peça café em chávena fria? Então.

Tudo começa num esboço de um instrumento solitário que se queixa sozinho da sua má sorte, seja ele a guitarra folk ou o saxofone. Depois fica em loop minimalista à espera do instrumente que se segue e que vai preenchendo os espaços soltos da música deixada à deriva. E fica ali a saltitar entre viola e sax e sax e viola, de onde aparece aquela voz soturna e grave. Mas é claro que não se fica por ali. Ele sabe adornar a coisa. Se sabe, meus amigos. Apoiado no diafragma solta gritos em forma de lamento e versos delirantes em tons médios. E a guitarra chora alegremente. Às vezes é flamengo, outras folk escurinho e clássico. De quando em vez, aparece uma distorção de guitarra prolongada no espaço e no tempo. Tudo muito bem executado. Em The Day After That e Flowers for Bea, parece que andamos a deambular em desenhos a lápis de uma qualquer animação de Tim Burton.

Matt Elliott sabe agradecer às hostes rendidas. É afável com o seu público e auto repreende-se por falar de mais. Também chegou a pedir desculpa às gerações vindouras pelas asneiras ambientais da sua geração. Há risos e sorrisos na sala, porque é engraçado, mas depois volta tudo ao início. No final despede-se cordialmente com vénia e acenos de despedida. O homem é um trovador agudo e mordaz, dorido e incisivo, mas também simpático e um gentleman. Como eu gosto.

Passa das onze e a noite é fresca. Estou apaziguado com tudo o que me rodeia. Levanto a gola do casaco, meto as mãos nos bolsos e conto as pedras da calçada.

The Woman Who Fell to Earth

words & photos: João Vilares; editing: Raquel Pinheiro

More than two years since her last performance in Braga, Lucrecia Dalt landed again in gnration for the beginning of the 10th anniversary celebrations of the venue. In her suitcase the Colombian artist brought us ¡Ay!, her last album in which she makes an unlikely mix of classic South American genres with electronic experimentalism.

¡Ay!is the story of an extra-terrestrial entity, Preta, that arrives on our planet and challenges the conceptions of temporality, embodiment and the discovery of love, clearly inspired by Nicolas Roeg’s film The Man Who Fell To Earth (1976).

Accompanied by percussionist Alex Lazaro who Lucrecia describes as “an alien salsero who plays percussion like nobody’s business,”. The Berlin-based artist teleported us into a sci-fi universe where the sensuality of salsa, bolero or other genres acquire different textures mixed with the distortion and apparent dissonance of Dalt’s experimental mastery.

Lucrecia Dalt confessed that this is her favorite concert hall. Even if not totally true, gnration is certainly a place that consistently provides a quality programming of experimental music projects such as the present concert. It was her second time here and by the reaction of the audience no one left the room disappointed.