By Raul Dias
At home in Mumbai, almost every single halcyon Sunday
of my childhood was spent paying reverential obeisance to a triumvirate of ‘deities’
whose ethereal voices filtered in from the vinyl records, played on the only
working condition Jensen 3-speed stereo turntable in the neighbourhood that had
magically survived the onslaught of the CD player. While Ella Fitzgerald urged
us to ‘Dream a Little Dream’ of her, Egyptian
songstress Umm Kulthum sang to us about her absentee lover with her 1965 ballad
‘Baeed Anak’. But it was always the
third diva who managed to strike a home run straight into my music- and
nostalgia-obsessed father’s heart.
Amália Rodrigues, the legendary Portuguese fadista (female fado performer) always achieved the impossible by bringing a tear or two to the eyes of the otherwise stoic man, as he listened to the velvety timbre hit of those impossibly high notes only she could scale. As the undisputed high priestess of the Portuguese style of signing called fado—characterized by mournful tunes and lyrics, often about the sea and of lost love—she managed to distill Dad’s favourite Portuguese word—saudade, or longing, symbolizing a feeling of loss. A loss of cultural identity that he experienced having being born in pre-1961 liberated Portuguese Goa and living in a city like Mumbai since. A loss he felt with Rodrigues’s passing in 1999, having always wanting to, but never having had the opportunity to see her perform live in Lisbon…
But it was certainly not sheer happenstance or to use that oft-flogged word ‘serendipity’ that found me in Lisbon one sunny June afternoon waiting under the triumphal, marble Rua Augusta Arch on the Praça do Comércio for my Fado Walking Tour to commence. Almost exactly six months to the day of Dad’s own passing late last year, I had boarded a flight from Zurich, Switzerland to Lisbon with the mission of partaking in all things fado in this short, one-day tributary trip that was beginning to get tinged by a certain shade of melancholia thanks to the many reminders of Dad’s favourite things—from the old Portuguese architectural style to the deep-fried cod fish cakes called pastéis de bacalhau.
Having pre-booked my spot on this three-hour walking tour earlier online, I clutched my 30 euro receipt print out, thrusting it under the nose of the guide as he ticked my name off his list. Accompanying our motely group of 10 tourists, besides the guide who called himself Pedro, was a fadista named Maria de Barboza whom we were told would give impromptu fado performances as the tour progressed along Lisbon’s famed alleys and public squares—each a vestige of a bygone era.
Recently elected as a Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO, fado and its history continue to be an important part of everyday life, we were told as we took in the splendour of the Praça do Rossio square. It is from here that central Lisbon was rebuilt and laid out in a grid-like pattern after the 1755 earthquake destroyed part of the city. Today, the square — once the setting of popular revolts and celebrations, bullfights and executions — is a place that sees both organized fado performances in summer and impromptu ones like the one that Maria had begun to put on for us as she belted out Rodrigues’s 1945 single ‘Mouraria’—a lilting ballad that I was familiar with.
A little further away, the hip and trendy Chiado area is generally the best place for some shopping and people watching as you catch the world go by near the statue of 16th century epic poet Luis de Camões at Camões Square. But that day, it was where Pedro chose to give us a lesson in the basics of fado. As it so happens, the etymology of the word fado has its underpinnings in the Latin word fatum, from which the English word ‘fate’ also stems forth. He also had us know that there are two types of fado, one found in Lisbon, one in Coimbra. The style heard in Lisbon is the most popular, while in Coimbra, it is a more classic style. And to illustrate his point, he had Maria demonstrate the difference, that, even to a tone-deaf person, appeared apparent.
Our next stop was at the Museu do Fado or the Fado Museum in the neighbourhood of Largo do Chafariz de Dentro. Set up only in 1998, the museum is a fascinating place to get a more hands on insight into the world of fado with its well-maintained permanent exhibits and collections of musical instruments like the tear drop-shaped Portuguese guitarra (guitar), the four string Portuguese version of the acoustic bass guitar developed in the 1960s called viola baixo and ornate costumes worn by fadistas for their performances.
It was here that I learnt more about Sonia Shirsat, a Goan fadista who is currently considered one of the top performers in the world of fado and regarded as “the ambassador of Goan music to the world”. Generally, a rather insular world, I was told by Pedro later, Shirsat has managed to kick open the door to non-Portuguese fado performers of her milieu with her sheer, transcendent talent and mellifluous voice.
Our final pit stop of the evening was at the famed Clube do Fado in the historic Alfama area that I was told by my Portuguese friends undeniably offers the best live performances of fado in Lisbon, nay Portugal even! This club located a short distance away from the Sé de Lisboa (Lisbon Cathedral), is kitted out with solid stone walls, columns, arches and a huge ogival ceiling. And it was here, over a couple of glasses of ruby-red port wine, unending bowls of the green caldo verde soup and a platter of spicy barbecued chouriço sausage, that we took in the spellbinding performances of the club’s resident performers like Christina Madeira, Diogo Clemente and Isabel Figueiredo.
As I was leaving, a waiter drew my attention to what has come to be known as the club’s most unique feature—the Moorish Well in the middle of the dining hall—that abounds with legends related to its ‘wish-granting’ abilities. But having already had my most immediate wish of immersing myself in all things fado granted, I had no apparent need for it. And so, I slunk into inky black night with the new-found knowledge that melancholia isn’t that bad after all!
Amália Rodrigues, the legendary Portuguese fadista (female fado performer) always achieved the impossible by bringing a tear or two to the eyes of the otherwise stoic man, as he listened to the velvety timbre hit of those impossibly high notes only she could scale. As the undisputed high priestess of the Portuguese style of signing called fado—characterized by mournful tunes and lyrics, often about the sea and of lost love—she managed to distill Dad’s favourite Portuguese word—saudade, or longing, symbolizing a feeling of loss. A loss of cultural identity that he experienced having being born in pre-1961 liberated Portuguese Goa and living in a city like Mumbai since. A loss he felt with Rodrigues’s passing in 1999, having always wanting to, but never having had the opportunity to see her perform live in Lisbon…
But it was certainly not sheer happenstance or to use that oft-flogged word ‘serendipity’ that found me in Lisbon one sunny June afternoon waiting under the triumphal, marble Rua Augusta Arch on the Praça do Comércio for my Fado Walking Tour to commence. Almost exactly six months to the day of Dad’s own passing late last year, I had boarded a flight from Zurich, Switzerland to Lisbon with the mission of partaking in all things fado in this short, one-day tributary trip that was beginning to get tinged by a certain shade of melancholia thanks to the many reminders of Dad’s favourite things—from the old Portuguese architectural style to the deep-fried cod fish cakes called pastéis de bacalhau.
Having pre-booked my spot on this three-hour walking tour earlier online, I clutched my 30 euro receipt print out, thrusting it under the nose of the guide as he ticked my name off his list. Accompanying our motely group of 10 tourists, besides the guide who called himself Pedro, was a fadista named Maria de Barboza whom we were told would give impromptu fado performances as the tour progressed along Lisbon’s famed alleys and public squares—each a vestige of a bygone era.
Recently elected as a Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO, fado and its history continue to be an important part of everyday life, we were told as we took in the splendour of the Praça do Rossio square. It is from here that central Lisbon was rebuilt and laid out in a grid-like pattern after the 1755 earthquake destroyed part of the city. Today, the square — once the setting of popular revolts and celebrations, bullfights and executions — is a place that sees both organized fado performances in summer and impromptu ones like the one that Maria had begun to put on for us as she belted out Rodrigues’s 1945 single ‘Mouraria’—a lilting ballad that I was familiar with.
A little further away, the hip and trendy Chiado area is generally the best place for some shopping and people watching as you catch the world go by near the statue of 16th century epic poet Luis de Camões at Camões Square. But that day, it was where Pedro chose to give us a lesson in the basics of fado. As it so happens, the etymology of the word fado has its underpinnings in the Latin word fatum, from which the English word ‘fate’ also stems forth. He also had us know that there are two types of fado, one found in Lisbon, one in Coimbra. The style heard in Lisbon is the most popular, while in Coimbra, it is a more classic style. And to illustrate his point, he had Maria demonstrate the difference, that, even to a tone-deaf person, appeared apparent.
Our next stop was at the Museu do Fado or the Fado Museum in the neighbourhood of Largo do Chafariz de Dentro. Set up only in 1998, the museum is a fascinating place to get a more hands on insight into the world of fado with its well-maintained permanent exhibits and collections of musical instruments like the tear drop-shaped Portuguese guitarra (guitar), the four string Portuguese version of the acoustic bass guitar developed in the 1960s called viola baixo and ornate costumes worn by fadistas for their performances.
It was here that I learnt more about Sonia Shirsat, a Goan fadista who is currently considered one of the top performers in the world of fado and regarded as “the ambassador of Goan music to the world”. Generally, a rather insular world, I was told by Pedro later, Shirsat has managed to kick open the door to non-Portuguese fado performers of her milieu with her sheer, transcendent talent and mellifluous voice.
Our final pit stop of the evening was at the famed Clube do Fado in the historic Alfama area that I was told by my Portuguese friends undeniably offers the best live performances of fado in Lisbon, nay Portugal even! This club located a short distance away from the Sé de Lisboa (Lisbon Cathedral), is kitted out with solid stone walls, columns, arches and a huge ogival ceiling. And it was here, over a couple of glasses of ruby-red port wine, unending bowls of the green caldo verde soup and a platter of spicy barbecued chouriço sausage, that we took in the spellbinding performances of the club’s resident performers like Christina Madeira, Diogo Clemente and Isabel Figueiredo.
As I was leaving, a waiter drew my attention to what has come to be known as the club’s most unique feature—the Moorish Well in the middle of the dining hall—that abounds with legends related to its ‘wish-granting’ abilities. But having already had my most immediate wish of immersing myself in all things fado granted, I had no apparent need for it. And so, I slunk into inky black night with the new-found knowledge that melancholia isn’t that bad after all!
(A shorter, edited version of this article appeared in the 4th December 2016 issue of The Hindu newspaper, India http://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/travel/The-feel-of-fado/article16754673.ece)
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