JAMES HUNTER

I first caught on to James Hunter 5 or 6 years ago and he is a wonder!  He's got a great voice, chops that he hasn't even used yet, and charisma up the old ying-yang.  All this and his band simply smokes.  If you're at work and they won't let you turn your tunes up loud, save it until you get home.  But if you can, blast this right now!

No Smoke Without Fire

The Hard Way

JOAO BOSCO

I came across this clip several months ago.  It's a performance of one of my favorite of Joao Bosco's beautiful songs, O Bêbado e a Equilibrista.  Notice that Bosco actually sings very little of the tune as the audience takes over for him during the first verse.  This is normal, at least for many of the live recordings I've heard of this song.  There's a very strong emotional connection between the singer, the song and the crowd.  People literally tear up as they sing along to the music.

Just so you can hear how gorgeous the words to this song are, I've included another performance.    Joao Bosco is joined by Zizi Possi on O Bêbado e a Equilibrista.  Happy Monday!


O Bêbado e a Equilibrista 
Lyrics: Carla Cristina
Music: Aldir Blanc/João Bosco


Caía a tarde feito um viaduto
E um bêbado trajando luto me lembrou Carlitos
A lua, tal qual a dona de um bordel
Pedia a cada estrela fria um brilho de aluguel
E nuvens, lá no mata-borrão do céu
Chupavam manchas torturadas
Que sufoco louco
O bêbado com chapéu-coco fazia irreverências mil
Pra noite do Brasil, meu Brasil
Que sonha com a volta do irmão do Henfil
Com tanta gente que partiu num rabo de foguete
Chora a nossa pátria, mãe gentil
Choram Marias e Clarices no solo do Brasil
Mas sei que uma dor assim pungente não há de ser inutilmente
A esperança dança na corda bamba de sombrinha
E em cada passo dessa linha pode se machucar
Azar, a esperança equilibrista
Sabe que o show de todo artista tem que continuar


The Drunk and the Tightrope Walker
Translation: Steven Engler

Evening fell like an off-ramp
A drunk in a funeral suit reminded me of Chaplin's tramp
The moon, like some brothel madam
Begged a rented shine from each cold star
And clouds, up there in the blotting paper sky
Sucked at tortured stains
What insane pressure
The drunk with the bowler hat made a thousand bows
For Brazil, my Brazil's night
Is dreaming of the return of Henfil's brother
Of so many people who left, shot off like rockets
Our country is crying, gentle mother
Marias and Clarices are crying on Brazilian soil
But I know that a pain this sharp can't be pointless
Hope dances on the tightrope with an umbrella
With each step on that rope you can hurt yourself
Bad luck. Balancing hope
Knows that each artist's show must go on