A few years ago I visited Portugal. Here's a story from that time.
Fado is a musical form which can trace its documented origins to the early 19th century in Lisbon. Traditionally it was sung in bars or taverns frequented by sailors, the working class and poor. The standard form comprises the Portuguese guitar, which is a 12 string instrument superficially similar to a lute in appearance, a classical six string guitar and the fado singer.
The Portuguese have a term known as 'saudade' which roughly translates in English to 'longing'. This could be longing for times of old which have been lost or some other grief. The fado singer tries to capture the emotion of saudade in their vocal. The songs therefore tend to have a melancholy feeling. This is not toe tapping folk music, but rather music that is infused with the emotions of loss and grief. Sounds like a great night out.
We asked around a few people as to where we might find some of Lisbon's best fado as it seems there are some tourist oriented places which could be disappointing. We were directed up into the Barrio Alto neighbourhood of Lisbon where fado has been a feature for at least 200 years. We stepped into a tiny bar with roughly a dozen tables of four where the walls were plastered with photos of fado singers past and present. We were early and there was only a few other people in the place. We ordered drinks and some food and got set for the evening. We were soon joined by two Spanish women from the Basque region and got chatting.
The fado show was set to start around 9.00pm and the bar had filled up to capacity. Just prior to the start of the show an older woman of ample bosom took up position on a stool by our table. We nodded and smiled to each other but didn't strike up a conversation. I supposed this woman was one of the fado singers as various people came over and greeted her as they came into the bar.
The musicians took their place directly across from our table. In this small bar they were less than two metres away. The lights were dimmed, the front door locked and a serious young man stepped forward and introduced the first singer, a young woman who was maybe in her mid twenties. This is the first thing I found interesting about fado, it is not just old people's music. With the exception of the aforesaid lady at our table all the singers and the guitarists were aged less than 40.
Our first singer had one of those beautiful young voices which was clear and golden. She seemed a little nervous and mistimed the beginning of a couple of verses. Nevertheless I was captivated by the beauty of her voice and was eager to experience what was to follow.
Each fado song is fairly short, maybe two and half minutes at most and follows a similar pattern of a subdued beginning and middle, a solo by the Portuguese guitar, before the singer cranks up the emotion quotient toward the end. The music and singing is suffused with beauty and emotion.
Each singer sings three songs before the lights go up and the business of delivering drinks and food to the patrons resumes. After a ten minute break the lights dim again, the door is locked and we ready ourselves for the next singer. Three or four male singers followed our first young woman and each was impressive. Throughout the performances I kept an eye on our table guest. She was fidgeting and shifting around in her seat and clearly a little warm as she produced a small fan from her very large bag and started to fan herself from time to time.
Finally, the lights dim and up steps our table guest. I am feeling very excited by this point as we have heard and seen some wonderful singers and the music is beautiful. Our woman from the table is a seasoned performer who is well versed in stage craft. Unlike the other singers she moves around the room a little and engages with individual members of the audience. Wearing a scarf around her neck she uses this to flick around and create colour and movement in her performance. Her voice is a little travel worn and lacks the crystal like fidelity of the younger woman we heard earlier, but it is strong and carries all the emotion befitting the songs. The crowd cheers and claps in appreciation.
A word on the musicians. Our man on the Portuguese guitar is a skinny fellow with dreadlocks who you might expect to see in the reggae club. The fellow on classical is less hirsute but young and skinny also. The Portuguese guitar has a beautiful tone which perhaps falls somewhere between a mandolin and guitar and our player performs intricate and complex solos which are beautiful.
After a couple of slow numbers our lady from the table starts her final number. It has a slightly faster rhythm to it this song and I find myself tapping my foot. I am drawn deeper into the song and the singer seems to sense this as she locks on to my gaze and sings directly to me. I am slipping further down as the singer brings the song to its climactic end. I cheer and clap with gusto as does the whole room.
The lights go up and the drinks start flowing again. After greeting some well-wishers the singer returns to our table. I enthusiastically thank her for the performance. She smiles and acknowledges my thanks and then digs around in her large handbag to produce a couple of CD's. After the performance I feel I can't say no, although a part of me wants to just remember the moment rather than try and recapture it through a record. However, I have a sense of obligation and this woman is a working musician who needs to make a living. I buy the CD and she signs it for me. Her name is Alice Nunes, pronounced Alees Noon-ay, and she signs the CD with love.
After a break another singer steps up. She is a young woman again in her mid twenties. She's interesting and a little different from our earlier young woman who was immaculately dressed and coiffed. This woman has a smart three quarter length coat, but underneath I spot the tracky dacks and nikes. It's as if she's just jumped up from watching the tele to come and sing a spot of fado down at the local.
As the musicians tune up our young singer is checking her smart phone and seems distracted and I wonder if she's a little jaded by the whole thing. That is until the song starts proper. Oh, here is the voice! Here is saudade! Throughout the performance she sings to the Portuguese guitar play who seems to elevate his playing to a new realm. The solo is like nothing he has played all night, such beauty that the singer gives an involuntary gasp and a big smile comes over her face while Alice lets out an unexpected 'bravo!'. We are in a special place now where the musicians have transcended the audience and we can only watch in awe. The song is soon over and that rare moment has been lost in the heavens.
Our final song and Alice Nunes steps up to sing. She again squeezes the emotion from the song beautifully: moving around the room a little and flicking her scarf for dramatic effect. Behind her is our young singer from a moment ago checking her phone seeming to pay little attention to events. Alice finishes her verse, steps aside and the guitars fill the room. Unexpectedly our young singer steps up and sings a verse, her voice cutting the air like piano wire. Her voice is indescribably beautiful. Alice has moved into the audience close to the front door and turns to face the young singer. Their voices then join together in a beautiful emotional crescendo. The song finishes and the audience is clapping and cheering with shouts of bravo! throughout the bar. The lights go up and the performances have ended for the night.
Our evening has reached its conclusion and the room is filled with that lovely feeling of elation one has after a special performance. We bid our farewells to our new Basque friends and wander out the front of the bar into the narrow street. We thank the guitar players who are outside smoking cigarettes. I look across the way and see the two young women singers standing outside the bar. The singer in the coat and the nikes is smoking and looking into her phone while chatting to her friend.
