Sagrado, liberdade, and valentia–holiness, freedom, and courage–are the namesake values at the heart of Sa.Li.Va., the new album from Ayom. A group with six members from three continents, Ayom have a natural affinity for intertwined layers and Sa.Li.Va. is a particularly overt example. On a basic structural level, Sa.Li.Va. is a compact trilogy, with each of the aforementioned concepts represented by three consecutive tracks sealed by a final bonus song. Uniting these elements is a full sound influenced by some of the Lusophone aspects of the Black Atlantic, drawing on styles and spiritual practices from Brazil, Cabo Verde, and Angola, in addition to the Iberian and Mediterranean European nations that the band members call home. In other words, this is an album predicated on thoughtful and deeply personal foundations.
These facts, though, are just the dry bones of it all; what makes Sa.Li.Va. enjoyable is, of course, in the performance. At the forefront of this is Brazil-born singer and percussionist Jabu Morales. The power and pliability of her voice make for exceptional performances track after track as she leads the Ayom parade through the streets. Throughout the first trio of tracks, Morales invokes orixá spirits with aplomb. “Odê a Oxum” is an especially enchanting example of her ability to conjure as she rises from slow, bewitching vocal swirls to frenzied heights.
The album’s liberdade section gives her space to rejoice. On “Eu Me Quero Mais”, Morales’s voice bubbles at high speeds alongside guest Juliana Linhares. Valentia calls on Morales to provide a final dose of resolve, and she does, with ease and sincerity. Angola-born singer-songwriter Paulo Flores makes for another perfect partner for her as he adds his impassioned verses to the anti-colonization anthem “Kikola N’goma”. Bonus track “Io Sono Il Vento” serves as an epilogue and a final duet, this time between Morales and Salvador Sobral, whose sweet croon is an ideal match for Morales’ earthy evocation of midcentury divas.
Ayom, though, are nothing if not an ensemble and one in which each player makes room-filling amounts of sound. Ricardo Quinteira’s lyrical guitars start off the opening track, “Oxalá, Promessa do Migrante”, with rippling delicacy. Francesco Valente’s electric bass adds sensuous momentum to “Filhos da Seca”. The careful drums and percussion of Timoteo Grignani and Walter Martins are always present, and perhaps no other musician is as distinct to the Ayom sound as Alberto Becucci, whose accordion is by turns sly, dramatic, and playful. Strings, horns, keys, and synths pull together the entire record, cohesive as a bed upon which carnaval, coladeira, and funaná sounds combine in brilliant unity.
It’s necessary to discuss the many elements of Sa.Li.Va.; each one offers valuable insights into the intentions and impact of the whole. Ultimately, Sa.Li.Va. is meant to be heard and felt to move a listener literally and figuratively. Complex in its makings, the joy it creates is nonetheless straightforward. Deep roots underlie Ayom’s musical perspective; from those, the group burst forth in bright, bold colors. Sa.Li.Va. is clever, purposeful, and yet another excellent manifestation of Ayom’s collective musicianship.