Sessa is the recording name of São Paulo-based singer, guitarist and instrumentalist Sergio Sayeg and his new album Pequena Vertigem De Amor (roughly translates as ‘the vertigo of love’) harks back to the golden age of Brazilian music while bringing it right up to date. It is put together with such care that you almost forget the consummate musicianship it takes to make something as beautiful and laid back as this. Sessa says the songs “are a mix of personal chronicles and quiet meditations about life in the face of personal change, of experiencing something so big that you realize your insignificant size in space and time.”
Like many music lovers of my generation I would have heard that song about the long, tall, tan, and lovely girl on the beach (probably the Muzak version in a lift) but my true introduction to Brazilian music was thanks to the Brazil Classics 1: Beleza Tropical album compiled by David Byrne which rarely left my turntable and the mellifluous voices of Jorge Ben and Gilberto Gill, and Chico Buarque held me spellbound. There was a huge boom in the popularity of Brazilian music, particularly the sound of Bossa Nova, in America in the 1960s and even Frank Sinatra recorded an album with ‘The Girl From Ipanema’s writer Antonio Carlos Jobim.
This is unhurried music, and in the same way much of reggae encourages slowdown-and-herb, so Brazilian music seems perfect for relaxing on the sand or taking a saunter not a sprint. The choice of sounds is lush, whether it’s the smear of strings swelling into peaks then dropping off into reverbed tails as on tracks like ‘Dodói’ (translates as ‘Ow’ or ‘Ouch’) or channelling Nelson Riddle on ‘Pequena Vertigem’ (‘Slight Vertigo’) and ‘Vale a Pena’ (‘Is It Worth It). Gabriel Milliet’s flute trills like an exotic bird on the instrumental ‘Roupa Dos Mortos’ (‘Clothes of the Dead’) then adds bouncing harmonies on ‘Planta Santa’ (‘Holy Plant’), and the alto sax of Filipe Nader brings a plaintive mood to ‘Gestos Naturais’ (‘Natural Gestures’). Sessa adds a gentle wah-wah murmuring underfoot on ‘Bicho Lento’ (‘Slow Creature’) and the four-voice-become-one of Cecília Góes, Lau Ra, Ina, Paloma Mecozzi doubling Sessa on ‘Nome de Deus’ (‘Name of God’) and providing ghostly backing on ‘Dodói’ glow like a halo around the music.
But the golden thread running through the album are Biel Basile’s telepathic drums and percussion and Sessa’s voice. Basile never dominates, never rushes but holds everything together; ticking like an expensive clock on ‘Revolução Interior’ (‘Inner Revolution’) or adding gentle conga propulsion on ‘Nome de Deus’, and Sessa’s voice is the soul of the album, moving languidly over the songs with the warmth of an open fire.
Pequena Vertigem De Amor is as effortlessly cool as any Brazilian album from the golden age, and the sense of vertigo alluded to in the title is suffused into the music. That feeling of being lightheaded and slightly off-balance perfectly captures the mood of an album that leaves a lasting impression long after the strings have trailed off.
The musicians: Sessa: vocals, nylon acoustic guitar, wah wah guitar, bass on “Bicho Lento,” electric piano on “Vale a Pena”, Biel Basile: drums, percussion, Marcelo Cabral: bass, Cecília Góes, Lau Ra, Ina, Paloma Mecozzi: vocals, Alex Chumak: electric piano, synthesizer, Marcelo Maita: piano, Gabriel Milliet: flutes, Filipe Nader: alto saxophone, Kate Goddard: violin, Ludovica Burtone: violin, Laura Sacks: viola, Daniel Parker: violoncello
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Review by Paul F Cook
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