Carlinhos Brown: "Gil's a father figure to me"

My mother introduced me to Gilberto Gil. I met him in person through a percussionist. Gil was allowing him some space, giving him an opportunity to shine up front. Straight away, he came along and got involved in the schemes I was running in my neighborhood.

Then, Gil called me to do the soundtrack for a ballet for that great Senegalese choreographer (Germaine Acogny, the creator of the 1995 show Z, whose soundtrack was co-written by Gilberto Gil, Carlinhos Brown, and Rodolfo Stroeter).

I wasn't a musician but I loved music. And my mother—who was from a Pentecostal community—said: "Oh, so you like drumming." She didn't say anything about being a percussionist, no… The word she used was "drumming." And she said: "Your grandfather wouldn't like that very much because drumming has ties to Candomblé."

Then she added: "I know a boy who does drumming. He's a lovely kid and lives near the church in Boqueirão." My mother saw him once, and after she had seen him on television, it was clear that, actually, that performer wasn't just a surprise for her, he was an idol in the making.

Because he was different from what she was used to, coming from the church's stance. But, most of all, what interested her about Gil was that he was different from other Blacks. He was a Black man with some depth to him. Or, in other words, someone who'd had the time for academic studies.

It was that intelligence and way of speaking that caught my mother's attention. After that, if drumming was what I loved, she wanted me to learn to do just that. 

I was growing up. And I came from a family who were in service. My grandmother was a washerwoman, my mother was a washerwoman, and my neighborhood of Candeal, with all its matriarchy, was where people from the upmarket suburbs came looking for laundry services. They were considered to be the best washerwomen in the city.

This matriarchy is based on a kind of cultural assistance, and on those who, in turn, help the womenfolk. So, Gil never forgot his roots. despite having seen the world. He sang samba de roda songs, but his songwriting wasn't just going in that cultural direction, he was also bringing something new. 

My mother really loved that. And obviously, as a well-raised son, I'd learned to listen and respect what my mother was saying. Eventually, I become intrigued by his partner, Caetano.

When I first heard Caetano's Alegria, Alegria, it had an impact on me! And when I got home, I said: "Mom, there's this crazy thing! I've seen a song and I want one of those things!"

I didn't even know what a TV was—they were just starting to appear in my neighborhood—but the thing had captured my imagination. But this longing for one seemed more reasonable once the neighborhood midwife decided to build a house so she could be nearby. Because her husband, Mr Joel, actually did TV repairs.

Watching on TV, I began to mix up Jair Rodrigues and Gilberto Gil, Simonal and Jair Rodrigues. Until Gil did Domingo no Parque. I watched that Song Contest and said: 'Wow! My mother's told me a lot about that singer, Mr Joel!'

I grew up knowing for sure that Gil was an inspirational Black man. That he was different. Most of all, though, Gil is different from Caetano—yet, at the same time, they seem like identical twins, right? Ibejis, as we say in the Northeast, or twins. They're brothers … They belong together like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. They were born for this. 

They complement each other. Because, in a way, for them to have dealt with all this social education, and everything they've facilitated together, they knew that they'd need diametrically opposite opinions, ideas, and discussions. For example, I wrote the music with Gil for that Senegalese guy's ballet. 

I hadn't written anything with Caetano, but it was Caetano who recorded me. He recorded Meia-lua Inteira because when I went round there and sang the song, he started crying. That was something that moved me a lot. 

The one thing I mightn't have told anyone before was that the capoeira feel in Meia-lua Inteira, the model for the tune is from the Northeast, but I wouldn't have done it without Gil. So, in a way, when Caetano recorded Meia-lua Inteira, he was recording Gilberto Gil. 

I simply put my name on the bottom. That's why he cried. And he said: "You're telling my story." And I wondered how. It's great for me to have the chance to pay them this tribute. Neither of them, Gil or Caetano, ever made me give up being Bahia.

They took the sound truck past Dedé and Caetano's front door in Ondina. And Caetano saw me playing on the truck and asked Paulinho Camafeu—who also happened to be Gil's drummer—who that kid, who was jumping around and playing like that, was.

And Paulinho said: "He writes songs, too!" So, Caetano called me, through Paulinho, and said: "I want you to come and play with me. I'm about to go on tour for an extremely personal album. So I went, and I remember that Gil came to one of the concerts. And he was curious.

Once, Gil came to do a concert with Acordes Verdes as the opening act. That was at Salvador's Castro Alves Theater (in 1988). And I said: "Today's the day that I get to shake hands with that idol!" It was the first time I'd even been inside the Castro Alves Theater. It was also the day when I cried with emotion. 

Because I had sold popsicles at the theater entrance, I'd gone to extraordinary lengths to get in. But I had never managed it. It was just for the elite of Bahia. For me, getting into the Castro Alves Theater was like climbing Mount Olympus or getting into the Oscars. And I just started filling up. 

When I got to the theater, it was a historic day in my life, even Antônio Carlos Magalhães (the communications minister at the time) was there. And that was when I got to see the kind of person Gil is. The poet Ildásio Tavares grabbed Gil and said: "This guy did Canto pro Mar".

"Now, will you see if there's room, Gil? He sings 'I sing for her because I love her'. That's wrong!" And Gil turned to him and said: "Your ass is wrong!" (laughter). Straight from the shoulder! And the guy's a great poet … I said: “Wow! This guy, Gil, is just like my dad! Just look at how he stood up for me!"

And then he gave a lecture! He said: "You're an intellectual! Don't you know what a cacophony is? That's a neologism!" And he started talking about things I had never heard before! But he was talking to Ildásio, not to me, and I was just looking on, like a fool And that ended up getting Gil interested.

He came to Candeal, my home neighborhood. And he saw my band Vai Quem Vem, a kind of pre-Timbalada group. And, from then on, he started supporting Vai Quem Vem. And then he asked: "Where is Vai Quem Vem going?" An old VW van! 

With all that, along came technology, and I said: "I'm revisiting Gil's work." With total respect for everyone, Gil is Brazilian music's greatest genius! Because he's the most original! Gil is real authenticity. Regardless of the Recôncavo, Bahia, Northeast issue … 

He has this thing for enjoying life, enjoying the world … He's still the same whether he meets Fela Kuti, King Sunny Adé, or anyone else! Because he wasn't just what we call Afropop, he's World Music. And, at that moment, he wasn't this guy who was searching. He was the answer.

His albums, his collections refined my vision for music in a very effective way. These days, I work with a metronome but not many people would guess that it was Gil who introduced the metronome into Brazilian music. Very few people know that. 

In other words, he provided the world's first quantum signal. Gil synched Brazilian popular music to the world! He laid the foundations for everything that came next. Nowadays, the world wouldn't exist without sync. He tuned the satellite when he said: "Around here, musicians are going to unite."

When Gil records reggae—with the greatest respect to the king Bob Marley—he didn't just follow in Bob Marley's footsteps. No, he was a new addition to world reggae. He added to world reggae, primarily because he did a three-way reggae, then, a triple reggae on Extra.

I don't know anyone like him. So, he's a kind of genius and it'd take me the rest of my life to tell you about all the improvements he's brought to our culture as a whole. 

On top of the sound truck, before we got to Ondina, I stopped what I was singing and I said: "Hey, Gil, come back next year and we'll do a sound truck featuring just you." And he said: "I don't fancy that." So I said: "Gee, I even spoke to Caetano and he said he didn't fancy it either." So Gil thought about it and agreed.

And then he went to the viewing box and asked the people there. He did something extremely important because he really appreciated what we needed. He never had any commercial interests in any of that but he was interested in the human rapport side. 

Firstly, it was marketing, with an outside brand showing up and then being able to invite other acquaintances. It was all about being seen in the city, and about the city boosting its brand at the same time. The visionary has ordinary eyes but looks through the lenses of thought, and Gil does think. That's it.

And by the fact that on his sound truck, you have a free playlist rather than one chosen by the samba block. He has this capacity for bringing things together. He helped Vai Quem Vem and the band started having hits! 

It was at that moment, when he was a special guest, when he was in Ondina and, at the end of the circuit, he said: "This is just great! I'll do it!" And, from then on, I believe that Carnival got itself a new look.

And that's without mentioning Filhos de Gandhy, the afoxé group, which was in crisis at the time. That's funny, right? It seems Gil always turns up when there's a crisis! So he can solve things! The Filhos de Gandhy were going to fold if it hadn't been for Gil (in 1972). And he rescues them, he improves everything, he writes those lovely songs, he finds them a great songwriter in Caixão, and he does all these fantastic things.

He calls me Braúna, which comes from the word Baraúna, which is a tree also known as Brazilian ironwood because, strangely enough, nothing can break its wood.

Then, I was in the viewing box and he came to see me. I was so excited. I knelt down and sang Pequei, Senhor. A song that says: "Oh, my Father, have mercy…" A song by Mateus Aleluia, from the band Os Tincoãs. That was really powerful and moving. It was a big moment during that Carnival.

A few idiots kept saying that we had fallen out but Gil said: "No way! He is a freedom fighter! Can't you see that?" He was aware. He has a lot of empathy, he understands the pain others are feeling. Where everyone had their own understanding of what happened, or just wanted to fan the flames, he removed the bait.

And do you know what happened? From then on, the very next year, the police started wearing numbers. Job done! Because the guys going out there and doing bad stuff needed to be identified. And this was key in controlling the violence.

This hope that they (Gil and Caetano) end up spitting on everyone is just information off the radio. Because they talk in music, in tunes, in sounds, and onomatopoeia, which not even the greatest scholars can understand, because you have to have a sense of rhythm to understand the language Caetano and Gil use.

You don't have to be learned. But you do need a holistic, spiritual vibe and the ability to decipher rhythm because Gil and Caetano speak the language of the drum.  They're a pair of word percussionists. And that's what sets them so much apart. It's part of their gift, they were chosen. And for the chosen ones, there are only the excluded, because they will comforted by them.