Bossa Nova: The Story of the Brazilian Music That Seduced the World (41 page)

But they got used to it. The one who took longer to get used to it was Bôscoli, who remarked to his three or four roommates, “If that duck isn’t recorded soon, he’ll die of old age.”

“O pato” was a relic from the 1948 repertoire of Os Garotos da Lua. It had been brought to Rádio Tupi and shown to Milton, the leader of the group, by one of its writers, a tall, elegant, and pleasant mulatto named Jaime Silva. Milton had never seen him before, either at the radio station or at any of the other hangouts of singers at the time, like the Café Atlântida or Zica’s bar.
Silva said that the samba had been written by him and his collaborating partner, Neuza Teixeira, who wasn’t with him. Milton listened to the song and liked it immediately. “O pato” was incorporated into the repertoire of Os Garotos da Lua, who sang it innumerable times at Rádio Tupi and at their performances, when Jonas was still their crooner. But they never recorded it, not even on acetate. When Jonas had to leave the group to make way for João Gilberto, the song remained on the group’s books for a while, and João sang it to death with them until they decided to retire it. Now he was finally going to record it.

Bôscoli thought he would go mad from hearing “O pato” so often in the apartment, but he had already resigned himself to it, it was for a good cause. Before this happened, though, he unwittingly postponed his suffering when he went with João Gilberto to Nara’s apartment and introduced him to a friend of hers named Astrud Weinert. On meeting Astrud, João felt a sound deep inside, like the gong that opened films produced by the Rank organization. “O pato” suddenly had to compete with the instant passion he felt for the girl. Bôscoli thought this was great and decided to try and play match-maker. After all, everyone in the bossa nova world had paired up. He was Nara’s fiancé; Menescal was dating Norma Bengell; Carlinhos Lyra had various love affairs; Vinícius had already started his rotation of wives. Only João was partnerless.

It wouldn’t be easy to encourage this love affair. Astrud, who was twenty years old, was a former student of the demanding Colégio de Aplicação and one of the three daughters of Mr. Weinert, a retired Rio-based German professor who gave private English lessons. Astrud’s sisters were named Eda and Iduna, and they were all named after goddesses of German folklore. Astrud was born in Bahia, when her father worked there, but moved to Rio when she was eight years old and had always lived on Avenida Atlântica. No Bahian had ever caught her attention simply for being Bahian, and João Gilberto, who wasn’t Siegfried, impressed her even less than any of Nara’s friends. But she wasn’t prepared for the persuasive powers of that particular Bahian. It was easy for him once he learned that she also liked to sing.

One of his ploys was to form an imaginary vocal trio with himself, Astrud, and Chet Baker, gathering around the stereo and singing incessantly “There’ll Never Be Another You.” Another was to do what he no longer ever did (at least, not for free) for anyone: accompany her on his guitar. João had other things going for him, like Astrud’s mother thinking he was the best singer ever, and the fact that Astrud was also starting to consider a career. He won her over, and the two of them were married at the beginning of 1960. It was a quick, simple civil ceremony, at a registry office in Copacabana, with
author Jorge Amado as the best man. The future would reveal that João might change wives, but he would always be faithful to his best man.

With his new responsibilities as a married man, which included a child on the way and the obligation of paying rent (for the couple’s apartment in Rua Visconde de Pirajá in Ipanema), João Gilberto found himself doing things that later would seem unimaginable, even to him. Like, for example, singing on television at the slightest request of popular programs of the time.

It was usual for him to be one of the regular guests on
O bom Tom
, Carlos Thiré and Walter Arruda’s weekly show on São Paulo’s channel 5, “hosted” by Jobim. But it wasn’t quite as common for him to be on TV Rio’s showy
Noite de gala
(Gala Night), despite the fact that one of the producers was Abelardo Figueiredo, the orchestra was conducted by Jobim, and one of the production assistants was his former roommate, Miéle—all friends of his. TV Rio took itself far more seriously than it really deserved, and didn’t feel that the bossa nova gang met their stringent requirements of seriousness. But in a production slip-up, Miéle cast João in a sketch adapted from
The Red Balloon
, a recent French film for children that everyone loved. In the sketch, João starred opposite a little girl and sang for her. One of the songs he sang was, strangely enough, “Day by Day,” an American song by Axel Stordahl and Sammy Cahn—in English. He did this because he was convinced that the blonde girl was American. It wasn’t in the script, but as it had been a Sinatra hit, Miéle let it go, and even thought it was good. Besides, the sketch was aired live, so once they were on the air, that was that.

Musical productions that were aired live on television gave the producers gray hairs because many musicians had the terrible habit of not showing up. When this happened, a substitute had to be roped into doing the show, even if he or she was literally lassoed and brought into the studio. This is what happened when they were one guitarist short on the
Cássio Muniz Show
, directed by Maurício Sherman on TV Tupi. The guitarist was going to accompany one of the many anonymous singers that Tupi had “discovered,” who usually remained anonymous nevertheless. Another production assistant, Carlos Alberto de Souza, asked for twenty minutes to find a substitute. Sherman agreed and, shortly afterward, Souza returned with João Gilberto, who accompanied the singer and left with cash for his performance in his raincoat pocket. Unfortunately, he had had to play wearing his raincoat because underneath it he was still in his pajamas.

His marriage to Astrud forced João to do things that today he’d pay
not
to have to do. During his engagement, he also had a weekly television show on
Sunday nights in São Paulo;
Musical Três Leões
(Three Lions Musical), that was also on TV Paulista. The producers were the same as those from
O bom Tom
: Carlos Thiré and Walter Arruda, who scheduled the show so that for four weeks, a particular musician or singer was the only featured artist, around whom the half-hour program would revolve. That year, 1959, João Gilberto’s attendance was flawless during his entire four-week run. He caught a plane in Rio right away and went to São Paulo, where he stayed at the Hotel Lord, which was almost right next to TV Paulista in Rua das Palmeiras, and did everything they asked him.

Mind you, they only asked him to do one thing: sing. On the air, a voice offscreen (that of Arruda himself) asked him about his career or current events, and João Gilberto gave his replies in the form of songs —the entire repertoire of
Chega de saudade
and bits and pieces that he was preparing for his second album. In the four shows in which he starred, a total of two hours on the air, he didn’t have to say a single word that wasn’t part of the lyrics of his songs. “The remuneration was a joke,” remembers Walter Arruda, “but to João, it must have been a fortune. The show bombed in the ratings, but this never seemed to inconvenience the sponsor, Abraão Kazinsky, owner of the store Lojas Três Leões.” João Gilberto gave them fewer headaches than the next artist featured on
Musical Três Leões
: the pianist and sensation of Beco das Garrafas, Sérgio Mendes. Every week, Arruda had to leave São Paulo and go and fetch him from Niterói (near Rio but across the bay), where the timorous Sérgio lived, get on the plane to São Paulo with him, and then take him back again, holding his hand during the flight.

Neither the spectre of the rent nor Astrud’s pregnancy prevented João Gilberto from continuing to do things for the simple pleasure of doing them, or from settling accounts with the past. Like the Lux soap jingle he recorded for an advertising agency one time he went to São Paulo for Tom’s show. A PR man and composer, Heitor Carrillo, was one of the guests on
O bom Tom
. He sang his hit “O vendedor de laranjas” (The Orange Seller) on the air, and, behind the scenes, he showed João the piece of music he had written for the soap commercial: “Movie stars use Lux / It’s the soap you should use / Radiate more beaut / Be your own movie star / Use Lux soap.” The agency’s campaign called for three versions with different singers, and two of them had already been chosen: Agostinho dos Santos and Tony Campello.

To Carrillo’s surprise, João Gilberto insisted on being the third. He was already famous for “Chega de saudade,” and singers with his status didn’t usually offer their talent for promoting soap. When remuneration was mentioned, João Gilberto even changed the subject, merely wanting to know the time and place for the recording. The next day, he arrived punctually at the Magisom studio in Rua Barão de Itapetininga with the little song learned by heart.

The recording of the thirty-second jingle took almost four hours to complete, because João kept continually interrupting to whisper: “This song is so pretty …”

Carrillo lowered his eyes modestly, but the studio hours were mounting, and the agency directors were getting nervous on the other side of the glass partition. Finally, one of the versions was deemed perfect by both João Gilberto and the agency. When they mentioned money, he insisted that it was nothing. The director of the agency argued that this would cause them problems, because the client had already paid and the money had to be used. If it wasn’t, they would have to explain why. But João refused to accept anything. Someone had a brilliant idea: why not give him a present? When they saw that he would perhaps not put up quite as much resistance to this, they took him to the Di Giorgio guitar store in Largo do Arouche and told him to choose one. They were unaware that João Gilberto was merely enjoying the luxury of being able to record a jingle for free—and not for his lunch, as he had a few years earlier.

At any rate, he must have kicked his heels when he found out that his jingle and that of Tony Campello were approved by the client—and that of his rival Agostinho dos Santos was rejected.

While João Gilberto’s voice and guitar were touting the excellence of “the soap used by the stars” on Rádio Nacional, during commercial breaks between soap operas, the very same voice and guitar were in the Odeon studio recording the album that would be called
O amor, o sorriso e a flor
, which would put the stamp of authenticity on bossa nova. On March 28 he recorded “Meditação” (Meditation), by Jobim and Mendonça, “Só em teus braços” (Only in Your Arms), by Jobim alone, and “Se é tarde me perdoa” (Forgive Me if It’s Too Late), by Lyra and Bôscoli. All three were recorded with an orchestra. And he might have recorded others had he not received a phone call from Astrud telling him that his cat (a beautiful black cat, a stray, called simply
Gato
[Cat]) had fallen out of the window.

Gato had dozed off on the windowsill and fallen several floors down. João had been afraid this would happen one day and had continually asked Astrud to keep the window closed. João was heartbroken by the accident, interrupted the recording, and flew home in a taxi. Astrud had picked Gato up, still breathing, and they took him to the vet, but the little creature died on the way. That day, in the studio, the orchestra musicians spread the tale around that João Gilberto’s cat had committed suicide because it could no longer stand to hear him practicing “O pato.”

Two days later, having recovered from the shock of losing Gato, he returned to the studio and recorded “Corcovado” (Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars), by Jobim, and “Discussão” (Discussion), by Jobim and Mendonça, with the same orchestra. But João didn’t hear the musicians’ tale about Gato (which, much to his disgust, would haunt him forever) right away—he only learned about it years later in Mexico, when it was recounted to him by the singer Leny Andrade. It was just as well that the musicians respected his mourning for Gato because in the days that followed he completed the album in just four sessions: on April 1, he recorded “Um abraço no Bonfá” (A Hug for Bonfá), an instrumental tribute to his friend (“Have you ever noticed the size of Bonfá’s hands?,” he used to remark), “Doralice,” and the song he had learned in Belo Horizonte, “Amor certinho” (Sure-Fire Love). On April 4, he recorded “Samba de uma nota só” (One Note Samba) and, finally, “O pato.” On April 5, he recorded Jobim’s “Outra vez” (One More Time), which Dick Farney had released in 1954 and which Elizeth had recorded in 1958 with João on guitar. And he finished the record on April 8, with “Trevo de quatro folhas,” “in an atmosphere of peace and birdsong,” as Jobim wrote on the album sleeve.