Free Bossa Nova: The Story of the Brazilian Music That Seduced the World by Ruy Castro

groups under contract to a radio station, Os Garotos da Lua did not have an easy time. In addition to the normal obligations to continually revamp their repertoire, they had to be prepared for any emergency situation, such as composing a song on a desired theme, clothing it with one of their complicated arrangements, rehearsing it exhaustively, and then singing it on the air, live and learned by heart—and to be ready to do all this from dusk till dawn. How on earth they managed to fulfill the request, to the letter, was a mystery: none of the Garotos could read music. But once they had become accustomed to eating two meals a day, they resolved to give their all to Tupi, to continue satisfying this habit.
    Competition was fierce, and at one point there were more vocal ensembles in Rio than radio stations, recording companies, and nightclubs capable of absorbing them. Almost all of them came from the north, and they appeared to descend in swarms, like locusts. Even with Anjos do Inferno and Bando da Lua touring outside Brazil, there weren’t enough microphones to accommodate Quatro Ases e um Coringa (Four Aces and a Joker), Titulares do Ritmo (The Counts of Rhythm), Vocalistas Tropicais (The Tropical Vocalists), Trio Nagô (Nagô Trio), Grupo X (Group X), Quarteto de Bronze (The Bronze Quartet), Os Trovadores (The Troubadors), Os Tocantins, the previously mentioned Vagalumes do Luar, the Quitandinha Serenaders, and of course, Os Cariocas. Some of those names might today have a rustic sound to them, but don’t be misled: most of them produced the best Brazilian popular music during those post-war years. All of them wanted to be modern, and for this reason, they kept very closely in touch with the best of what was being done by vocal ensembles in the United States.
    Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to be good to succeed in this game of chance—discipline also counted. This is what shattered the ambitious aspirations of a group called Os Modernistas (The Modernists), who tried to band together in 1950 to become a type of Brazilian Pastels.
    Os Modernistas were five young men by the names of João Luís, Chico, Fred, Janio (of course, this was before he became the important journalistJanio de Freitas), and the accordionist, arranger, and leader, João Donato. Stan Kenton’s records comprised the appetizer, main course, and dessert of their daily diet, but in order to create the vocal revolutions they dreamed of, they were at the mercy of the talent and whims of Donato. With the same exactness with which he had betrayed the members of the Sinatra-Farney Fan Club with those of the Haymes-Lúcio (and vice versa) the previous year, the light-headed Donato made his companions’ blood boil by missing rehearsals, arriving late for performances on Rádio Guanabara (where the group was on probation), or simply disappearing off the face of the earth.
    It wasn’t as if Donato, who was now sixteen years old and already wearing long trousers, was one of the busiest musicians in Rio. He neglected to fulfill his obligations to the group because he would get waylaid on the street, chatting with friends about vocal ensembles. Caught between wanting to kick him out of the group or strangle him, his companions ended up forgiving him, mostly because any other course of action would have meant the end of Os Modernistas. And besides, Donato was a sensational accordion player—almost as good, perhaps, as the accordionist he most admired, the American Ernie Felice, whose records he listened to at the Murray. It was a shame that Rádio Guanabara had no patience for promising geniuses with little respect for time. They cancelled the group’s probationary period and the ensemble broke up.
    But youth will not be deterred, and those same boys (as well as crooner Miltinho, and guitarist Nanai, both ex-members of the Anjos do Inferno; and minus Janio, who went to try out a career as a reporter with the newspaper Diário Carioca) reunited three years