I had just turned 15. Music festivals were the big new thing, and our crew (like every young person, really) was all about chasing novelties. We jumped into the adventure of composing music and entered the city’s festival. Unpretentiously, just to imitate what was going on in the big cities. To our total surprise, we placed second with a song that already addressed conflicts in the Middle East. Just participating wasn’t enough. It had to be “pseudo” and fit into what was called “protest music” back then. The audience reacted. They wanted us in first, but our schoolmate’s song, about a fisherman’s daily life, won over the jury. The real protests came from the cheering sections, who found the choice unfair.
The song that placed second started getting invites to regional festivals, and that’s how we ended up in Valença, the charming city in the state of Rio de Janeiro, in the Paraíba Valley, to perform at night in the festival. I had no idea how important the gig was.
We dropped our bags at the hotel and went for what we’d now call a “stroll.” The “we” is thanks to the city mayor’s generosity, who chartered a bus for us to have a cheering section. From the garden to a nearby bar was a quick hop. It was hot, and we wanted a soda. Surprise. Sitting on the curb was the whole Clube da Esquina crew. Milton Nascimento, Lô Borges, and the Minas Gerais guys who were just starting out in the biz at that point. With them was D. Clementina (de Jesus), who, like us, didn’t want water. She preferred the soda too, which is what brought us there. She was worried because she’d forgotten her comb and was performing in the show. Soon someone from the group volunteered to run to a nearby pharmacy to buy a “Flamingo” comb to tide her over.
I realize now that the year was when Borges and Milton met: 1969, when they kicked off the club.
Meanwhile, under the sun, Milton in light jeans, a matching fabric-and-color cap, was sipping something I can’t quite recall—but yeah, it might’ve been a beer—with the Minas Gerais crew. Lô Borges was a “hottie”—we called them “hunks” back then—that’s what we noticed. Soon we were all chatting, humming tunes, talking about everyday stuff under the sun. No fangirling. Things were simpler then. Just talking music and poetry was enough. They were there for the evening show, livening up the festival. Going where the people were. We, by sheer chance, crossed paths with them on that corner, far from the club that would later become the biggest success of their lives.
Today Lô Borges has closed that side window. I pulled back the curtains of the past to retrieve this memory, as prosaic as it is touching. Life can be magical. (By the way, the song placed third. Ahead of a song by Zé Rodrix, who was competing too. Believe it).
Source: brasil247.com by Denise Assis (Journalist and master’s in Communication from UFJF).