An album of pure, crystalline beauty. Very peaceful, though there are some up-tempo tracks like Ele Me Deu Um Beijo Na Boca (a very curious one with interesting lyrics) and Sina, with a reggae flavour. But what I liked best are the slow romantic songs. Queixa, Coqueiro de Itapoa, Sete Mil Vezes, Sonhos - all of them have their very special depth of sentiment, very unique charm… but the best one is definitely Trem das Cores.
Between harsh criticism (due to the retro opportunistic use of Tropicália), and sectarian defense, Tropicália 2 yielded a Caetano Veloso/Gilberto Gil tour through E.U.A. and Europe one year after this release. The reference to Tropicália was used as a safe-conduct for the duo's incursions in electronics, axé music (the contemporary and pragmatic sound of Bahia) and other commercial exploitation – since under Tropicália everything goes (or used to go, some 30 years ago). The album opens with "Haiti," a dry percussive electronic pattern over which Caetano and Gil speak verses dealing with racism; "Cinema Novo" is a beautiful samba, whose lyrics "explain" and greet the Brazilian cinema movement which gained the world. "Nossa Gente" brings the percussive sounds of axé music together with funk brass attacks.
Longtime friends and collaborators Caetano Veloso and David Byrne joined forces for a special Carnegie Hall concert broadcast on National Public Radio in the spring of 2004. Eight years later, Live at Carnegie Hall is released, containing highlights from this stripped-down, primarily acoustic meeting of one of Tropicalia's biggest artists with one of the pillars of art rock. Sequenced in the order the concert was played, the disc begins with a solo set by Veloso ending with his cover of the Talking Heads' "The Revolution" to segue into Byrne's set. While not exactly a hushed affair, there's a quietly breezy feeling throughout the recording. Veloso's incredibly smooth voice is the definition of Brazilian pop: laid-back and welcoming at all times.
One look at the doleful expression that Caetano Veloso wears on the cover of his third self-titled album, from 1971, and it's clear that the listener is in for a bummer. It's a dead-eyed look that says, "Friend, sit down, have a drink, and listen to my weary tale." And a weary homesick tale it is, for the man who only a few years earlier had been one of the catalysts in a revolution that sent the Brazilian music world on the psychedelic Beatles-lovin' roller coaster of Tropicalia was now living in the U.K. in a government-imposed exile. Gone are the Day-Glo flashes of his earlier albums, replaced by the realism of a revolutionary whose dreams have been shuttered.