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Zeca Pagodinho in the ballroom
Unlike what the song says (*), in the dance joint the party is not going nicely. The reason for the commotion is not a foot going up and somebody falling face down on the floor. Quite the contrary. The dance floor is full of joy, of mirth, of happiness. Everyone is celebrating. The great Zeca Pagodinho, wearing a white suit and new shoes, is in the house. He came to revive, with his endless creativity, an underestimated musical genre. The trumpets of masters Gesiel, Jessé, Flávio and Nelsinho remove the mute, but not to muffle the sound of trouble. The brass section of the band sounds like a clarion welcoming a very special Brazilian artist, adamant in his principles and his beliefs. Zeca Pagodinho, without any exaggeration, is a sort of national hero, an authentic guy, a he-man, loved by the people for coming from its midst, friend of his friends, and because he wouldn’t let himself be contaminated, thanks to his incorruptible modesty, by the Peacock Complex that affects many of those who ascend to stardom.
In only one detail the situation is similar to that other one, described in the classic samba lyric: the man entering the room is a black-belt in ginga, in rhythm, in swing, and, above all, in honesty.
With the thorough supervision of the knowledgeable Rildo Hora, the orchestra helps Zeca Pagodinho consecrate for once and for all some great Brazilian composers, shutting up for good the pessimists that insist on saying our music is in bad shape.
Classic songs like Beija-me, Pisei num Despacho, Tive Sim, of our forefathers Roberto Martins, Mário Rossi, Elipídio Vianna, Geraldo Pereira and Cartola are joined to the most beautiful and creative sambas of the moment. It’s then that good blood is injected in the veins of the dancers, the blood of the thoroughbreds Serginho Meriti, Dudu Nobre, Wilson Moreira, the incredible Barbeirinho do Jacarezinho, Luiz Grande, my brother Luiz Carlos da Vila, Moacyr Luz, Jorge Aragão, Arlindo Cruz, Marcos Diniz, Zé Roberto, Acyr Marques, Roberto Lopes, Canário, Alamir, Claudinho Guimarães, the already immortal Monarco, Nilo Penetra, Francisco Santana… looks like the Brazilian National Soccer Team of 1970. If coach Parreira had let the guys above play, that sixth star would already be in the bag.
The samba is served very hot. No wonder. In the rhythm section, those seasoning the delicacies are the chefs Gordinho, Maia, Ura, Jaguará, Felipe D’angola, Braga, the wizard Esguleba, Macalé – and everything is marinated by the base – and what a base! – of the piano of Alfredo Galhões, the seven-string guitar of Rogério Caetano, the guitar of Mestre Paulão, the mandolin of Marcílio Lopes, the bass of Luis Louchard, the cavacos of Paulinho ”Galeto” and Mauro Diniz, the drums of Jorge Gomes. With this team, even those that Dorival Caymmi called “ruins da cabeça e doentes do pé” (bad in the head and sick in the feet) want to dance.
Here comes Zeca Pagodinho!
As the already mentioned samba says, those who are out want in, even if they have to climb up the walls, and those who are in don’t want to leave, no way.
Let the Brazilian God, dark-skinned and samba-loving, protect Zeca and safeguard the treasure that he represents to us.
And let’s take the ladies out to dance, without stepping on any toes or making any mistakes, because the ball cannot stop. We are gathered and united in Zeca’s Ballroom, where the samba of today is the samba of all time, the eternal samba. Samba doesn’t need a New Age.
(*) Quoting Piston de gafieira, by Billy Blanco.
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