The Art of Portuguese Fado, Celeste Rodrigues, Collectables

I know this is probably heresy, but I feel like I'm closer to real fado, at least its essense as a folk music, than with Amalia Rodrigues, her older sister and inarguably the most famous of fadistas. Celeste's singing is haunting to me rather than bringing to my mind the opera, as Amalia often does. Not to say Celeste can't make her voice soar. She can. I suspect this is more like what I will hear when I find that little hole-in-the-wall fado club of my dreams.

An informative review of the CD can be found at the wonderful All This Is Fado, a Web log about "Portuguese Fado in English."

Amália and Trane

When I wrote about The Art of Portuguese Fado by Celeste Rodrigues, the younger sister of legendary fadista Amália Rodrigues, I probably shorted Amália's ability to sing fado in a manner that gets to its essence as a folk music. Certainly, there are many tracks where she is working at fado's very roots.

Still, listening to Amália even then can be almost painful. She is so good it can be shocking. Her singing is so personal it can be uncomfortable, like you're intruding on someone in what should be a deeply private moment. The situation fairly mandates that you can't listen casually, but must do so intently.

The thought crossed my mind last night that it's very much like listening to Coltrane from Live at the Village Vanguard on (and maybe starting with My Favorite Things). The music is so intense and, later, so increasingly spiritual that it can't, or shouldn't, be approached lightly.

That said, I wouldn't be without either. I don't think it is going too far to say such music elevates the spirit, soul, whatever. But a little Gene Ammons, or Celeste Rodrigues, something closer to the ground, has its place, too.

Something to be said for Barco Negro (black boat)

Traditional fado tune, I now have six versions of it in my iTunes library (not as many as Round Midnight, 42, but there's time, I hope). For Ana Vinagre it's a lament, for Celeste Rodrigues kind of a fado march. For Cristina Nóbrega, the preferred approach is with a sense of irony. For Mariza, twice (Concerto Em Lisboa and Fado Em Mim), it begins with a drum chant over which she imposes the considerable range of her captivating voice, which spans Streisand to Sills in my mind at the moment (and undoubtedly more). I'm partial to the Fado Em Mim version. Névoa races through it with special effects, and not to bad effect.