The inner-most layer of meaning

Our shows are on a Monday and Tuesday evening,  one week apart.

Because parking is so difficult during the festival, I decide to leave my car near the office and walk to the city venue.  This determines what I will wear.  I really can't walk through the city in a floor length dress, nor can I carry it.  It will have to be the cocktail-length one.  I walk in flat shoes, carrying my heels, make up and other things in a bag.

Arriving at the venue, we do a sound check, I change my shoes and check my make-up, and finally the audience files into the room.

The place is full.

It's time for the show to start.  I stand at the front of the room, waiting for my cue to begin.  I introduce the show with some explanation of the concept.  A musician brings a berimbau on stage and performs a chant.  The songwriter Gabriel comes onto the stage, to thunderous applause.  I read out a poem, then I sit down and wait for my turn to sing.

I decide to wait near the entrance to the stage.  From here I can watch the show.  Besides, the backstage area is up a steep flight of unlit stairs.  I'm wearing high heels and don't want to risk falling down the staircase.

This means I can't exercise my voice before going on stage.  And an hour is a long time to sit and think.  Bad thoughts can easily creep in.  I'm convinced I'll forget my lyrics.  Sternly I remind myself that I've rehearsed these words so many times that my mouth will move all by itself.   But what if my voice doesn't work?  When you are planning your own show, it's a good idea to give yourself at least one warm-up song - one that's fairly easy to sing and doesn't require too much delicate technique.  But in this show I have to come on and perform my one song.  The "title song" of the show.  The first-ever performance of this music.  The grand finale.  In Portuguese.

Why did I sign up for this?

I go behind the curtain, and during the applause make some quiet sounds to get my voice going again.

And the song turns out fine.  Not the best I've ever sung, but fine for a first performance.  I'm sure it will go even better next week.

During the week, I take advice from my teacher and from another teacher who gives a group lesson as part of the Fringe.  They give me some tips for preparing to sing after a long wait.

Someone writes on Facebook that he liked our "duet".  Yes that's what it is - a duet.  We sing the song together.

This comment unlocks for me the song's inner-most layer of meaning.

The song speaks of the parallels between life in southern Brazil and South Australia.  Our performance adds further symbolism to what is in the lyrics.  He is from Brazil; I am from Australia.  He introduces the song in English; we both sing in Portuguese.  Through our music we bring the two countries together.

The fact of doing it has a meaning of its own.

On the evening of the second show I pay greater attention to the sound check, making sure I have enough "fold-back", so I can hear my own voice through the speakers facing onto the stage.  This helps to prevent "over-singing", which can ruin your performance.

We have another full house.

This time I action the special tips I've received.  These are both mental and physical.  By the time I finish the verse and begin my improvisation, I'm aware that my breathing isn't settled.  I go carefully for the first few bars, willing myself to breath more deeply and support the sound; try to make it "float".

It's definitely better than last week.  There's always room for improvement, but the season for this show is at an end.  I feel very privileged to have had the opportunity to take part in this international production.  I'm proud of having memorised and performed a brand new song in a foreign language

I've met some lovely people and enjoyed the immersion in Brazilian language and culture.

The music stops

There are several more rehearsals for our Fringe show.  We gather at the musicians' homes.  It's very relaxing to spend warm summer afternoons playing music.

Gradually I learn the names of all the Brazilians, and sometimes I muster the courage to say something in Portuguese.

Gabriel decides that he will sing some parts of my song with me.  This is a good thing.  I've been told that I sing "with a charming accent".  This has been mentioned more than once.  Does it mean that my Portuguese is really, really bad?  I want to get it right.  I want to do the song justice.

I begin to refine my pronunciation.  I listen to how Gabriel shapes the words; imitate the way he merges the vowels.  I watch his lips as he sings.

The song is not very long.  To extend it, I introduce some vocal improvisation.  The boys add a segment of whistling, then some rhythmic clapping to finish it.

At first I explore the improvisation tentatively.  Then I gather some confidence, open it out and "go for it".  Suddenly, the song comes together.  There is energy and excitement in the air.  The musicians start talking about how this is the most important song of the show; it's the title song; the grand finale; the whole point of the show.

So, no pressure then!

I resolve to do my very best.  I will memorise the words; not read them from the page.  I set about learning the lyrics; practising them during my daily walks, and whenever I have a few spare minutes.

A week before the show opens, we arrange to meet again at Gabriel's city apartment.  We will work through the entire show.  By this time, the Fringe Festival has already begun.  The traffic is terrible, and the parking is even worse.  I drive around the city for half an hour, searching for a place to park.  I pay for two hours of parking at an exorbitant rate.  I should have left my car where it was and walked instead.  I arrive late, and they are already rehearsing.

I'm given some scripts to read aloud - an Introduction to the show, and a poem to follow.

Then I sit down and relax, listening to the new music, waiting for my turn to sing.  Gradually I become aware that the music has stopped.  There is a lot of discussion going on, and it's becoming more heated.  I catch words and phrases, but I can't follow what is being said.  I notice that the pianist has disappeared.  His keyboard stands forlorn, abandoned.  There is tension in the air.  Quietly, I ask someone for a quick summary.  Apparently the argument is about the arrangement of the music and the need for more rehearsal.  OK, but if we don't finish soon I'll get a parking fine.

This reminds me of another rehearsal, years ago, one evening when the members of my rock band got into a big argument.  It's the classic stages of group dynamics - forming, norming, storming, conforming...

Finally we rehearse my song, and I rush off to rescue my car.

A few days later, the final rehearsal, held at the performance venue, is uneventful.  Everyone is friends again.

The show will open in a couple of days.  The marketing machine is in full drive and tickets are selling fast.

Gentlemen, tune your berimbaus!

Spring 2015

The songwriter Gabriel contacts me again.  He is putting on a show in the Adelaide Fringe Festival.  He'd like me to sing the song he taught me in the winter.  He invites me around to his apartment, to practise it again.

Several months have passed since my first visit.   He is now speaking very good English.  And I've been to Brazil, so my language skills have improved, too.  Our communication is now much easier.

He gives me the dates, and I agree to sing in the show.

We need to change the key of the song, because it's pitched for his voice, not mine.  Our whole session is spent working out the right key for me.  This song needs to be sung in a relaxed manner.  I don't want to be reaching for high notes.

The music isn't written down, so the task of transposing it is not very easy.  I type the names of the notes against the corresponding lyrics on my iPad.

Now I have the task of learning the song.

The theme of the show is his experience of moving from southern Brazil to South Australia.  I listen to some of the other songs he's posted to Facebook.

After New Year,  rehearsals begin with the whole band.   In addition to the musicians, there are other members of the "team" - people who will work on the marketing, production, recording and so on.  We all crowd into Gabriel's apartment.

Gabriel asks me if it's OK for them all to converse in Portuguese.  I reply that I'm happy to get some listening practice.

Once everyone is assembled, Gabriel addresses the group.  I manage to catch some phrases and to follow the general gist of the conversation.

A couple of guys disappear for a moment and emerge with two berimbaus.  These are huge, exotic Brazilian instruments consisting of a long stick with a wire fixed at each end to create a "bow" and a gourd to give resonance.  To see the berimbaus arrive makes me almost hyperventilate with excitement.

To my further amazement, they set about tuning them.  Who knew that a berimbau needed tuning?  How can you tune just one string?  The extra piece is a stone that is held against the wire, so when you beat the the wire with a stick, you can produce two notes.

With the addition of the other instruments - pandeiro, shakers, conga drums, the music starts to take shape.  The songs speak of the homeland and the challenge of making a home in a new place.

In my song, I have some difficulty with the transition of the melody between verse and chorus.    I keep thinking I've got it, but I keep on getting it wrong.

Finally I manage to get a definitive recording that I can take home and practise with.  Because the music isn't written down, there are no "dots" to help me.  I can't do what I'd normally do - work it out on the piano.  I need to internalise the changes and learn to hear them in my head.

Two degrees of separation

Winter, 2015

On a Saturday morning I arrive at my Portuguese class to find a new teacher there.  Gabriel, dressed in suit and tie and covering for our regular teacher, presents a grammar lesson entirely in Portuguese.  I am relieved to find that I can understand much of what he is saying; his accent is similar to that of my Brazilian friend Enéias.

Gabriel tells us he is a writer, poet and composer.  In Brazil he was a teacher of Portuguese - the equivalent of a teacher of English here.  He is from Pelotas, Rio Grande do Sul, in the south of Brazil, near Uruguay.

He asks each of us to share something about ourselves.  I talk briefly about my singing and my love of Brazilian music.

After the lesson, he asks me if I sing any songs in Portuguese.  I told him that yes, I do have a couple, such as the modern song Viagei (I Travelled) by Vitor Ramil.  Gabriel says "Ah yes, I know Vitor.  He was my neighbour in Pelotas."

I stand there, stunned.  There are two degrees of separation between me and Vitor Ramil?  Ramil is a big star in Brazil.

I ask Gabriel if I can send him a video of Enéias and me performing Viagei in Adelaide.  "Sure", he says, and write down his email address.

I send him the link to our video.  A week later Gabriel messages me.  He sent our video to Vitor, who replied, saying that he enjoyed it and is delighted that his music is being played in Australia.  Excitedly, I forward this message to Enéias.

A couple of weeks later, I receive another message from Gabriel.  He has written some new songs and he is wondering if I would like to perform one of them for him.

Yesssss!

He sends me a video of the new song; he's singing to his own guitar accompaniment.  He emails the lyrics.  It's a poem, not easy to translate.  There is no sheet music.  I will have to learn the song by ear.

We arrange to meet and practise the song.  On a cold winter's night, I make my way to his city apartment, where I meet his wife Helena, who is doing a scientific Ph.D on a scholarship.   Between the three of us we manage to communicate in a mixture of Portuguese and English.  We have dinner, then we get to work on the music.

It's not the easiest song to learn.  It's a different style of music from what I'm used to.  None of the words rhyme.  It's full of poetic language, symbolism, imagery and words I don't understand.  Gabriel sings with me.  The key is perfect for him but it's half an octave too low (or too high) for me; this is a common problem when working with male and female voices.  At this stage I just need to internalise the melody and get my mouth around the words.  Gabriel and Helena help me with the translation, but it's still not easy to understand the meaning of the song as a whole.  I concentrate on fitting the words to the melody.

I record our efforts on my phone, and promise Gabriel I will practise his song.

Then I head out into the stormy night and drive home in the rain.  Later, I discover that this is a very apt introduction to the music.  The song is called Sul Tambem (Also South).  It speaks of the cold winters of South Brazil and South Australia.

The theme of winter turns out to be significant.  Vitor Ramil is quoted as saying that there is a cultural bond between the countries making up southern South America - Argentina, Uruguay and southern Brazil - in their cool temperatures and their particular landscapes.

Templadismo is a style of music born in that region.  Whereas Bossa Nova speaks of the summer - sun, sand and sea, Templadismo speaks of the winter - wind, rain and cold.

South Brazil and South Australia lie at similar latitudes and experience similar weather.

Like Vitor and me, just two degrees of separation.

Found in translation

I have a confession to make.

When I read to myself, my lips move.

Seeing this, you might take me for a poor, under-educated person, not a commercial litigation lawyer.

But I'm savouring the words; relishing their mouth-feel; loving the sound of the phrases.

If you put this weird propensity together with my obsession with music, why have I never thought of songwriting?

Well, I can't write music.  I don't play an instrument like piano or guitar on which you can compose a song.

And what would I write about?  I've been in a stable, happy relationship for decades.  Life has spared me the anguish and heartache that good songs are made of.

But when my Brazilian friend Enéias asks me if I can translate some of his songs into English, I decide to rise to the challenge.  Translation?  That I can do.

Now I have to be a songwriter, because you can't translate word-for-word.  There must be poetry in the phrases.

At school I wrote poems of an introspective kind, but none of the verses rhymed.  Hah!  Just made a rhyme!

I did study poetry, and enjoyed it.  Perhaps I've got what it takes?

The only way to find out is to try.

The first song is a sweet little ditty about a kangaroo who travels to Brazil.  It sounds very charming in Portuguese, but no matter how I try I can't turn it into a song that would work in English.  Perhaps it's the concept itself that doesn't translate.  Then suddenly I realise - I'm that kangaroo!  It's hidden symbolism!  I put this to Enéias.  No, definitely not, he says.  It's a song about a kangaroo.  Now I feel very silly.  Fancy thinking the song was about me.  I'm giving up on this one.

Next is "Broken Samba".  This is easier.  With a love song there is more scope for various expressions of an idea.  I send him my version.  I've done a pretty good job, I think.

Enéias quickly sends me the next song, "A Great Love".   This song doesn't rhyme, and I have to decide what approach to take with my translation.  I start thinking about what sort of song I would like to listen to, or to sing.  Chances are, I could be singing it!  A rhyming song is easier to remember, and sounds better in English.  Now I have to decide where to put the rhymes, and which words to base the rhymes on.

I let the words, rhythms and rhymes spin around in my head until finally I've solved all the little problems and the translation falls into place.  It's like musical Sudoku.

Some principles I've discovered:

• If you can't do a literal translation, work out what is the strongest concept in the song, and base the rest of the lyrics around these.
• A word can rhyme with a phrase, not just with another word.
• You can use approximate rhymes; it doesn't need to be exact.
• It's the sound that counts, not the spelling.
• Say the first line out loud, counting the syllables on your fingers, create another with the same number.
• Look for interesting words that you don't often hear in songs - avoid the "violets are blue, I love you" syndrome.
• If you can't find the exact words you want, insert "filler-words" temporarily so you have a line with the right rhythm.
• The end of a line doesn't have to be the end of a sentence - it can spill over to the next line.  
• Listen to the original and find words that have similar sounds.  Are the vowels long or short?  Are the notes short or sustained?  Try and replicate the feel of the song in translation.  

Occasionally I message Enéias to probe for the meaning behind the song.  I want my translation to remain true to his intent.

Perhaps we can be an international songwriting duo, as well as performance partners.