Sergio Sayeg (aka Sessa) is one of the most compelling figures in contemporary Brazilian music. Inspired by late-70’s Música Popular Brasileira (MPB) legends such as Erasmo Carlos, as well as esteemed luminaries from the Tropicalia movement like Caetano Veloso, the São Paulo native doesn’t so much resurrect these traditions but tilt them off-axis. Incorporating elements of psych-soul and funk into minimal orchestrations, the singer songwriter specialises in unhurried and unspooling songs. Tonight marks his sold-out Bristol debut, touring the exquisite new album Pequena Vertigem de Amor (Lil’ Vertigo of Love).
Sessa has described the new album as a meditation on fatherhood, and on music taking a secondary role in his life for the first time. In his own words, it is about “experiencing something so big that you realise your insignificant size in space and time”. Instrumentally, it is more expansive than his previous records, and includes a luxurious string section, flutes, and keyboard, with the guitar no longer the central voice.
The opening track of the album – and tonight’s set – ‘Pequena Vertigem’, encapsulates these themes, as well as the magical, cosmic softness that defines Sayeg’s recent work. Written in the bleary early days of fatherhood, the lyrics reflect on love as an overwhelming, destabilising feeling. He croons: “Amor pelo mundo venho derramar” (I’m overflowing with love for the world). It is quite the transition from his playboy-esque early material, where the lyrics were dominated by hedonistic themes of pleasure and sex (see, for instance, the excellent 2019 debut album Grandeza).
In the live setting, the instrumentation is purposefully stripped back. Where the album version swells with strings and flutes at the back end of the song, here the arrangement rests on gentle keys and warm, elastic bass. It is a wonderful, soothing piece of music. Following this is lead single ‘Nome de Deus’ (‘Name of God’), a more rhythmically propulsive, samba-oriented track. Here, Sayeg’s decadent voice is accompanied by sharp stabs on piano, a marching bassline, and syncopated bongos. At its midsection, the traditional structure gives way to an extended stanza of muted percussive noise. It is surprising and attention-grabbing, hinting at Sessa’s impressive ability to subtly shift the traditional sound of MPB and Tropicalia.
Sessa has indeed cited classic Brazilian albums – such as Amado Maita’s 1972 self-titled – as a core influence of the new album. Maita’s son Marcelo even plays keys on many of the tracks’ original recordings. But clearly, through working with psych-funk outfit Garotas Suecas, and later on with New York guitar legend Yonatan Gat, Sayeg is able to masterfully couple traditional structures with psychedelic flourishes.
This interplay is especially apparent later in the set, on the instrumental ‘Roupa Dos Mortos’ (Clothes of the Dead). The loose but controlled drumming, alongside the dissonant flute and swirling guitar reminds me at times of the freeform jazz of Patricia Brennan Septet’s Breaking Stretch. But, despite these experimental flourishes, the music remains poised and refined.
On late-set highlight ‘Vale a Pena’ (‘It’s Worth It’), an outwardly joyous refrain on the electric piano meets an unhurried, relaxed rhythm section. Sessa sings “pedras no caminho/brilhos no meu chão/dribbles do destino/ eu vou” (stones on the path/ sparkles on my floor/ destiny’s dribbles/ here I go – thank you to Bandcamp for the translation). The lyrics and composition are intimate but expansive, contributing to an utterly magical song.
Sayeg himself is clearly enjoying the show. During some extended instrumentals, he dances with the awkward loose-limbed swagger of Baxter Dury, at one point even jumping in the air. After an infectious rendition of ‘Flor do Real’ (Royal Flower), he expresses his gratitude to the crowd that he is able to play “with some of the best musicians in all of São Paulo”. The claim is not hyperbolic: the band’s contributions to Sessa’s compositions, along with the impeccable sound quality, expertly elevate the dreamy romance of the music. They are true professionals.
By the end of the set, during a gorgeous performance of the album’s concluding song ‘Revolução Interior” (Inner Revolution), the audience of Strange Brew have been momentarily transported to a smoky, red-lit bar on a quiet São Paulo street. I leave the venue, walking into a drizzly and cold Tuesday night in Bristol, feeling warm and ruminative. This was a brilliantly refined and exquisite selection of music from one of Brazil’s most exciting new artists.
Conor Lang
