A Legend in Concert: Cesaria Evora
If an opportunity arises to see a living legend, it's an opportunity you must seize. The reason is crass: who knows how much longer they'll be around? Don't we all yearn, at some level, to say at a cocktail party, "Ah, yes, I saw so-and-so just before he died." And then you get the response, "Oh, wow," as if you were present at history in the making--perhaps the Treaty of Versailles. The only thing more impressive might be to say, "Ah, yes, I saw so-and-so just when she was starting out." Indeed, this would be a major step at establishing your credentials as a person of good taste and prescience.
Some legends we see just to say that we have seen them. In all honesty, they are well past their prime, but we don't hold that against them. That's why people will still throng to see Tony Bennett even though his voice is a raspy remnant of what it once was. And well they should, because a legend's contribution to culture deserves such homage.
But there are other legends who have aged well, becoming more full bodied with time, like a vintage wine. Voices deepen, either from the trials of life or from one too many packs of cigarettes, and lyrics gain an edge of somberness, either from too many loves lost or from an impending sense of mortality. Their art grows and matures, and seeing them one more time is a pleasure.
I would put Cesaria Evora into the latter category of living legends. She doesn't have the name recognition of Billie Holiday or Sarah Vaughan, but this woman from the West African island of Sao Vincente, Cape Verde, has brought her island nation's morna music to a wide international audience. She performs everywhere, from Moscow to Sydney. Her music is a unique combination of Portuguese and Brazilian rhythms and distinctly African sounds.
My first exposure to Cesaria Evora was entirely by chance. As a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Russian Far East, I used to visit a weekend book market in Vladivostok. (My biblioholism is not confined to the English language.) One of the vendors had an incredible collection of music CDs. Digging through his boxes, I would find old Jazz classics that I might never find at U.S. big box stores. And the prices were cheap--under three dollars for one disc. One day, Evora's São Vicente Di Longe showed up as I was flipping through the discs. I'm not sure why, but I decided to try something different and took it home. And I was completely taken by the album; it's songs are almost addicting.
It wasn't until I was living in Monterey, California, that I had the opportunity to see Cesaria Evora perform. Due to its diverse and worldly population, the small town of Santa Cruz (about 40 miles from Monterey) attracts a remarkable array of top-notch performers. Usually oblivious to anything outside of my narrow academic world in Monterey, I fortunately noticed an ad for Evora's concert at the Rio in Santa Cruz, and I talked my friend Jill into going with me.
As luck would have it, shortly after our move to Toronto, Andrey and I saw that Evora would be playing here. We got some tickets. The concert was in an auditorium just ten minutes walking from our apartment, so no hassle with parking.
Cesaria Evora was just as good the second time as the first time I saw her. In fact, the Toronto venue was better suited for her performance. The Rio in Santa Cruz was cramped, and Evora could not bring her full ensemble. Massey Hall in Toronto, by contrast, had ample space for a nine-person band. The diverse instrumentation showed the full richness of the music, with its interwoven chords and secondary themes from the piano first, then the accordion, then the violin. The violinist and the saxophonist particularly brought the music to life. I'm not usually fond of the soprano sax, but Evora's sax player was able to coax deep enough textures out of the instrument that I could forget the typically nauseating trills of new age jazz performers. He adeptly brought to life the complex morna motifs. The violinist was the odd man out: an Asian musician in an otherwise entirely African ensemble. But he was having such a good time, that you couldn't help but smile.
Evora's stage presence is not necessarily dynamic, and somebody expecting a crooning diva would be disappointed. She comes out and sings. That's it. There is little interaction with the audience, and her body hardly sways to the rhythms. Perhaps, this reticence is due to the language barrier. She doesn't speak English, and maybe she doesn't want to divert time from the show with clumsy translations. I for one was happy to have more music and less talk. And her voice is wonderful--deep and smooth, capable of handling the range and fluctuations of the morna genre.
This subdued approach works, and fits in well with the antics of other members of the band. The saxophonist would often come to center stage during his improvisations. He would serenade Evora, as if taunting her to shake her body. She, in turn, would give him a look of mock scorn before returning to the microphone.
The longest exchange between Evora and the audience was a few sentences in Portuguese that went untranslated. The deadpan effect was terrific, because it didn't take long for the audience to figure out what she had said: "I need to sit down and have a smoke." Which she proceeded to do for three minutes while the sax player goaded her.
It was a good "first" for us in Toronto. Andrey and I for the first time experienced a live concert in Toronto. It was Andrey's first time to see Cesaria Evora. And now, at the next cocktail party, I can gloat that I saw a living legend twice.
Tags: music, Cesaria Evora, morna
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