favela fever

An Interview with DJ Marlboro June 2003
Andy Cumming

In a famous quote, Chuck D refers to rap as the black CNN. In many respects Rio or baile funk could be referred to as favela CNN. That is, it's used as a medium to convey how the people who live in the Brazilian favelas really feel using their own language, idioms and slang. baile funk is basically a strain of Miami Bass breakbeat, but much cruder and ruffer in it's production. There is a healthy anything-goes and fuck-fashion attitude to using samples, and classic late 80's Todd Terry can meet the riff from Doo Wah Diddy.

The scene is scorned upon by the Brazilian electronica scene-makers as well as the middle-class media. It's prole-like unpretentiousness and complete lack of "cool" makes it a scene apart from the rave and club scene dominated by São Paulo and the fashion conscious Paulistas. But ironically, baile Funk is the original Brazilian electronic dance music stemming from the incredibly popular Rio sound-systems of the 70's.

These sound systems consisted of speakers, decks and some coloured lights and had a preference for playing soul. By the middle of the seventies there were over such 300 sound-systems in Rio and each one had it's faithful public. Some of them, such as Soul Gran Prix and Black Power, would get between 5 to 15 thousand people on a Saturday night. In December 1976 the first sound system LP was released, "LP SOUL GRAN PRIX", which was a compilation of American LP tracks produced by Ademir Lemos. In the seventies, when Disco dominated the dancefloors, most of the sound systems changed to this new rhythm - then along came Hip-Hop.

In the eighties the club scene in Rio was divided into two halves, there was the Zona Sul (the South, a rich part of the city with Copocabana etc.) where there was a preference for rock and Zona Norte (the North, a more deprived, working class area where they danced to American black music - disco funk and charme ( a slower more melodic funk).

In the middle of the eighties, Miami Bass appeared in Florida, it's imagery of beaches, sunshine and ‘big-bootied’ black women combined with the strong Latin American presence in Miami may go a long way to explaining it's immediate popularity in Rio. Some even say that it caught on in Brazil way before the United States. Another reason that the Brazilians took to Miami Bass so eagerly is attributed to the similarity between it's bowel-quaking bass, and the Surdo (the large, deep bass drum used in samba schools). Needless to say the sound-systems immediately picked up on this sound.

The scene has a reputation for violence, sex and bad Portuguese grammar!! All things which the press latched onto last year with unrelenting shock, horror headlines. In 1989 DJ Marlboro produced the LP Funk Brasil with rapping in Portuguese, and from thereon in, tracks sung in Portuguese were increasingly introduced into the bailes with the result that from the mid-nineties, a Funk DJ's set would consist entirely of material produced in Brazil.

DJ Marlboro is THE funk DJ in Brazil, an originator, award winner and tireless promoter of the scene. He DJ's, produces and hosts the renowned radio show Big Mix in Rio. This interview took place during the recent Eletronika Festival in Belo Horizonte, just before he played a storming set which climaxed with him with his T-shirt over his head manically scratching with his CDJ 1000's.

Andy: Last year we saw funk fever here in Brazil, where it wasn't exactly fashionable but incredibly popular.

DJ Marlboro: Yeah but look, just one thing, it's that old story. The people who get to know funk discover it every time it becomes successful. For example, I've been DJing for 23 years, so in this time I've seen the highs and lows of funk, I've seen funk go through this fever 3 or 4 times.

A: Yeah, I was in a used vinyl shop the other day and I was surprised to see a funk compilation you had produced dating back to 1991, I didn't realise how old it was.

DJM: Exactly! This is the cool thing, the following happens, a lot of things become fashionable, funk no! Funk is a thing from Rio de Janeiro, it's part of the Carioca (People/culture from Rio) culture. And out of the blue this sudden success comes with all its repercussions, people think that funk came from that moment. And when, just as quickly funk returns to the ghetto, to the communities, to the favela, it seems as though its finished. But it hasn't finished, it's there just as it's always been. The best time for funk is when people don't know about it, for those of us who are funkateers that is.

Do you know why? When people exploit artists, exploit the whole scene, there's persecution, prohibition and a whole load of things that would have been better off without success, but we continue growing and the culture continues developing its roots. Nowadays Rio has a paper called Jornal do Brasil where they did a study and found that Rio had 500 bailes ( dances/parties), more than 500 bailes a night at the weekend, with an average of 2000 people in these parties. That's an average of a million people!! That's a carnival every weekend! I reckon it's better to stick with 500 bailes than grow to a million in the whole of Brazil and then have the media exploit the scene.

Funk isn't considered a cultural movement, it's exploited with this image of women with big butts, you never see the many sides to funk, so people look and they think that funk is pornographic, funk is violent... but funk is all of this, it's violent, romantic, playful.

Funk is a way of expression that was born from the common people, it's a working class expression, nothing reflects as much as what the people are thinking as the funk movement you know?

So a lot of the time, the songs are badly interpreted, songs that talk of the favelas, drug trafficking, what the police do etc. People say that funk apologises for this, but really it's just telling it as it really is. If they're singing about the dealers and the police killings and this horrifies you, then it's even more horrifying because it exists and in reality the people are singing it, because it happens and now they want to shut funk up because it's singing about what the people are living.

A: So where does funk come from?

DJM: Funk comes from Miami Bass. Over 30 years ago there was the Black-Rio movement in Rio de Janeiro in the era of soul, where we played James Brown, Parliament, the Blackbyrds. In that era there were two types of baile, where people went to halls and set up sound systems; there was the rock baile where they played Bachman Turner Overdrive and all that, which was white and there was the black baile where they played soul. They stayed separated for a time and the Big Boy arrived on the scene, you know Big Boy?

A: Err..No.

DJM : Well he's dead now, but he played this sound 30 odd years ago, he had the baile de Pesada (Heavy Dance) which he started where he played soul and rock, rock and soul. There wasn't a difference and people came from the suburbs and brought their own characteristics with them.

Before, those who liked rock would go to the suburbs for their parties and there was a kind of rivalry between black and cocota (whites who play rock), just playful, no fighting or violence, just having fun. And then at this same moment, Brazilian soul was born, which gave us Tim Maia, Sandra de Sá, Cassiana, Gerson King Combo, Banda Black Rio etc.

Soon after this came the Disco craze which swept through the world and the white dances became discotheques quickly, but the soul dances continued playing soul. The rock bars virtually disappeared becoming disco-bars.

Stuff that was played in the soul dances, like Kool and the Gang, started to make music which was more disco, y'know "Ladies Night" etc... and Brazilians like Deodato were producing and creating a more commercial sound with brass and stuff and this moved closer to funk and the two different bailes came together as one, and the crowds mixed together.

When the Roland 808 was launched in the States, it was criticised by musicians at the time because they were after a more acoustic, natural sound, and the 808 had this really electronic sound, so the price fell and the people from the ghetto started to adopt it into their sound. When this music arrived in Brazil, it was really successful. The sound systems had the massive speakers to deal with this heavier sound of the 808 beat and we really got into it. This sound, that was to become Miami Bass, started to dominate the bailes with it's stronger beat.

However we never called it Miami Bass, because for us it was always funk. So this Funk/Miami Bass that came over in 1988/89, 2 Live Crew and all of that, started to become nationalised with rapping in Portuguese and the melodies from Pagode ( a strain of samba) and Forró, mixed with the Miami Bass beat to create something more characteristically Brazilian.

We have this thing of mixing our language, our style so that in 1993/94, the percentage of stuff played in the bailes was gradually increasing, so that nowadays 100% of the tracks are national, made in Brazil, and the funk made here is completely different from anywhere else in the world. So we do shows in France, Favela Chic, in Miami, Boston, New York, New Jersey....

Funk is an alienated music, it's not considered MPB or national music, but funk is as national as Samba, which was African or Axé, which was Jamaican. We Brazilians are a mixture who adapt things, we're white, black, Indian. Everything from this land is a mixture, so why can't we create something original from this mixture? If you want to hear something essentially Brazilian you'll have to go in to the Amazon and find a tribe of Indians living in the jungle who have been completely untouched by any influence from civilisation.
[
I spy Marlboro's case which contains only CDs and MDs.]

A : You don't play vinyl? Are any Funk tunes pressed onto vinyl?

DJ M : As Funk became nationalised, we tried recording in vinyl but the quality in the Brazilian factories was really bad. I mean our sound was turning into a powerful sound. It needed to be a quality recording, so we recorded onto Minidisc and then when the technology became possible we recorded on to CD, which gave more opportunities for performance. I use the CDJ 1000 which is really good for scratching and stuff.

A: What about the incessantly negative reaction from the media?

DJ M : The bailes in Rio have survived such a long time because we do the bailes to please the public. We work with music that doesn't need to recognised or be successful in the rest of the world. We play tracks that are popular in the bailes full stop. We don't need media and marketing.

We have gone through various prohibitions, but it's like carnival which was also persecuted. The police come and smash our equipment, but I smile because it was the same story with carnival 50 years ago. Today we are marginalised so I just hope that in the future we have the same acceptance and respect that carnival has now. When the media helps that's ok, but when they don't everyone thinks that we're finished. But we're there, still strong. The best thing is to stay in the underworld ok, we're underground by nature!

For a taste of baile Funk flavour, hunt down the following:Kátia & Julinho Rasta - Rap de Felicidade DJ Marlboro - Cerol New Funk Melô de Mulher Feia ( version) MC Gallo - Toma Juízo Marcio de Cacuia - baile de Dendê Marquinho - Guerreiro

Da Spinback

By jimi izrael

Not since Iceberg Slim's lost novel Doom Fox have I been so anxious about the release of a book — but Randall Kennedy's Nigger: The Strange Career of a Troublesome Word promised to be an event unlike that of any literary release I am aware of. Kennedy's book caught a lot of press and Diane Rhem-ing on public radio, and even found its way into an episode of the popular Fox drama Boston Public.
At 176 pages (subtracting endnotes and acknowledgments) Nigger is a quick read, even for black folk. Kennedy writes with a smooth, scholarly erudition that engages the reader to consider the word thoughtfully. He starts with a cursory history, the various appearances of the word in our hallowed halls of justice and finally our use of the word in popular culture. At one point, Kennedy suggests that white folks should be able to use "nigger" as black folk do. Says Kennedy:

There is nothing necessarily wrong with a white person saying "nigger," just as there is nothing necessarily wrong with a black person saying it. What should matter is the context in which the word is spoken – the speaker's aims, effects, alternatives. To condemn whites who use the N-word without regard to context is simply to make a fetish of nigger.
Here, Kennedy and I can't agree. There is too much variation about the mean of "nigger" and that variance is fluid and dependant on too many factors for white folks to grasp. It's their paternal, entitled need to dissect, dominate and disintegrate other cultures that has them crying "double standard." "Why can't we use it," they wail. But they did — for hundreds of years. In fact, they may have worn it out. Enough blacks have bled and hung to earn the right for the community, not white folk, to adopt this word and apply any idiomatic meaning they deem fitting. All peoples reserve the right to define themselves through their own lenses and not that of the dominant culture — why should black people be any different? Italians, Jews and other Europeans use words like "wop" and "kike" among themselves, and couldn't imagine a world where black people were demanding equal access to these terms. Only one white person has ever called me a nigger to my face, and that was enough for me.
I was eight, and Jonathan was my best friend at summer camp: we met at summer camp and became inseparable. On a hot summer day, perfect for a cool drink, his camp credits had nearly run out: naturally he turned to me. But my credits were low too, so I suggested we share. Dairymens Orange Drink was the nectar of the Gods at Centerville Mills. Cartons were traded like jailhouse smokes. In lieu of bartering my stockpile of candy and insects, I'd just spend the credits. As I calculated my credits, we ran headlong to the commissary and copped a carton.

The container was sweating, dewy to the touch. The humidity was suffocating, and the thought of the frosty elixir on our parched lips found our faces anxious. We sat under the shade of the Big Tree, and I folded open the carton melodramatically, like I had seen Billy Dee open Colt 45. We looked at each other with overdone relief as I stood up dramatically, poised to take a sip.

"Whey' a minnit," Jonathan interjected at the critical moment.

"Whut!?" I countered, holding the carton nearly to my lips.

"Mah daddy say a why'man always drink a'fore a nigger. Er'yone knows that."

I lowered the carton before my chest, looked away for a moment…slowly and uncertainly…handed him the carton.

He opened his mouth and poured without swallowing. He wiped with his sleeve, belched and thrust the container at me with a smile. The carton was light: merely a corner and some lumps of concentrate on the bottom. His pallid face was lit with smirking orange lips: drink up, boy, it said.

I didn't know much about inflection and intonation at that age, but I knew enough to know that the nigger that Jonathan thought I was differed from the nigga I was on my block. As a kid, I wore nigga among my friends like a fresh afro, a member of a proud and exclusive fraternity. I wasn't just a member…I was the president, B. I was yo' nigga, he was mah' nigga, thems was mah niggas, and dat nigga must be crazy to think otherwise. My moms used to ask where I learned the word, but I didn't know. Probably from the same people who taught me how to arm fart and draw naked ladies: my niggaz.

Who knows where the "-a "suffix emerged in the history of the word — Kennedy seems reluctant to entertain the different connotations given to different spellings. Lately, this has been attributed to black youth culture, affectionately referred to as the hip hop generation. Well, since that includes anyone born after 1965, that includes me — and I say, the kids are alright. "Nigga" denotes a commonality, a bond in struggle that makes me comfortable in a way the Afro-American, African American and all the rest of those monikers-of-the-week don't. I see this quiet movement among some in the black community to eradicate the word as an attempt by the black "haves" to distinguish themselves from the black "have-nots." I have a few hoity-toity friends that rebuke me and rebuff me and my usage of the word, and them niggaz get on my gottdamn nerves. Them niggas eat ribs and greens easy and greasy — just like you — and the BMW they lease doesn't make the police baton upside their heads swing with any more grace or attention to technique. We're all in together, Delacroix — live it now or learn it later.

Kennedy notes that other cultures have taken "nigger" as term of endearment as well, using it in much the same way that black folks do. Kennedy:

Whites are increasingly referring to themselves as niggers . . .and miscues are bound to proliferate as speakers and audiences mis-judge one another.
Miscues? That's the understatement of the year, Jack.
White folks want to join the club, so they embrace other terms they consider affectionate and duly familiar. I've been called "holmes," "homie," "boy," "homeboy" and "bro" more times than I care to mention. I think Kennedy's secret agenda is to pick up where Colin Ferguson left off — because there would be a trail of dead honkeys wearing FUBU from here to Johannesburg if white folk get it in their mind that they can ever again in the history of humanity form their lips to utter this word in mixed company. Even Eminem — as crazy as he is — knows better.

I teach my son that there are no "bad words," but a time and place when he will know how to use and abuse the English language thoughtfully and with due care — just like his Daddy. White folks are just like children — they have no concept of propriety and way too much attention to proper enunciation.

I wondered if Nigger would be a usage guide, a detailed etymology or something of an owner's manual: after all, these kind of books aren't written for black folks. Despite the refusal to acknowledge the important meanings attached to the varied -a, -uh and -az suffixes (a gross, inexcusable fumble) it is all of these things, and an intriguing, important read. Still, it bears mentioning that much of the content of books like Kennedy's, Lawrence Graham's Member of the Club and Lena Williams' It's the Little Things just reiterates home truths. We already know how f----d up white folk can be. These books are for largely meant for well-meaning white folk looking to get invited to your next barbecue, hoping to get in and out of your house alive without making any egregious faux pas. Buying these kinds of books makes white folks think that at least they are trying, and there doesn't seem to be any shortage of brothers and sisters trying to cash in on their guilt. Right On — I got next.


First published: April 25, 2002