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.
