The now-defunct, semi-annual music festival Hollywood Rock, which took place in Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo, reached impressive heights of star power when its 1994 edition rolled in. Sandwiched between Sunset Boulevard darlings Poison and global-smash icon Whitney Houston, one act practically badgered an onlooker for attention amongst the international headliners.
It was a local act, no less, coming off the year that saw the release of their first, modestly-selling debut album. They were a four-piece who dared to mix Jamaican reggae, Latin percussion, state-of-the-art keyboards, and discrete, although valuable, rock-tinged guitars into a unique blend that sounded at once very much of its place and yet completely alien. In unsuspecting fashion, this group had arisen from the barren land of the previous decade’s exciting Brazilian rock ‘n’ roll scene. That band was Skank.
Calango on Skank’s YouTube channel.
The two performances served by the then-young band – comprised of guitarist and vocalist Samuel Rosa, bassist Lelo Zanetti, keyboardist Henrique Portugal, and drummer Haroldo Ferretti – displayed not only the impressive levels of musicianship developed since wider audiences first got ahold of their eponymous first album, 1993’s Skank but also highlighted a newfound sense of confidence in the four players, who seemed to have seen the future and were waiting for people to catch up. By the time their second record came out, their fanbase had expanded just enough and seemed to get their message just right – or at least enough to absorb with open minds and hearts the challenging new ways with which Brazilian music would influence their new songs.
While conducting collective press interviews in the days leading up to the Hollywood Rock, frontman Rosa spoke excitedly about the prospects of his group’s sophomore effort, which would “expand the sonic palette” from their first outing in “more ambitious ways”. Less than six months later, it was clear: this was not hyperbole. Calango would bring Brazil to its knees by doubling down on the dancehall side of Skank’s sound, with the rock elements taking a step back in favor of delicious, smart, inventive, unique pop aesthetics.
If Skank wanted to sound like pros, they had to start thinking like pros – a thought process that would prove decisive for the band, who decided to employ an outside producer. Their choice could not have been better: Dudu Marote, although not yet the household name he would become, knew how to balance the multitude of elements previously held proudly in Skank’s surprising-yet-crisp-sounding first record. Rather than remaining in their hometown of Belo Horizonte, where the recording process for their 1991 demo and debut took place, the members relocated to the legendary Nas Nuvens studio complex in Rio de Janeiro. The studio served as headquarters for several of their forebears since 1984. The change proved essential to Skank’s leap in sound quality.
It is enough to press “play” on the first song on the tracklist, “Amolação”, to fathom just how far Skank had come regarding sonic maturity. Compared to highlights from their first release (such as the politically inclined “In(dig)nação”), its crisp-sounding horn parts coalesce on the bridge, with the organ sounds of Henrique Portugal jumping forth, subtle-yet-remarkable, in the mix. The Caribbean-influenced “Jackie Tequila” is carried by a groove that would have seemed impossible just one year prior, a qualifier that also serves fellow side-A cuts “Esmola” and “O Beijo e a Reza” – although more enrapturing at first listen, the first one pales in comparison to the latter in repeated plays.
Showing their unwillingness to pull their punches, “A Cerca” is Skank’s deepest foray into traditional Brazilian sounds and expressions. The keyboardist provides vocals and trades lines with Rosa in a dialog typical of rural residents arguing over a fence. The track indicates Skank’s tendency to zoom into typical narratives and lyrical subjects that would reflect the people and scenes they encountered during their tours through smaller cities and regions of Brazi. It also features a killer performance by bassist Zanetti.
Anyone who thought Skank saved all of their best offerings for the first side Calango must have been blown away when they flipped to side B. With a rejuvenating version of “É Proibido Fumar” (originally recorded by superstar Roberto Carlos, who also penned the lyrics alongside longtime partner and fellow pop music lifer Erasmo Carlos), the band kicks the doors of the mainstream fame down and burns it with the banger, “Te Ver”. This song would become one of the biggest radio hits of the album.
While “Chega Disso” and “Sam” might sound more like standard procedures in comparison to what came before, any steam lost is promptly averted by the playful “Estivador”, with lyrics that detail the routine of a dock worker. Skank saved the best for last. “Pacato Cidadão” is a masterful display of Ferretti’s incredible percussive skills and Samuel’s referential, uncompromising sense of humor. Besides breaking the ice of the formal speech commonly employed around the contradictions at the heart of Brazilian society – its unconditional love for profit over education, the yin of its regionalism contrasting with the yang of its post-modern cultural melting pot – a subtle salute to previous pop craftsmanship appears on Calango, thanks to a brief interpolation of “Let ‘Em In”, written by Paul McCartney and initially featured in Wings’ Venus and Mars from 1975). Avoiding pastiche in favor of a respectful tip of the hat, the track concludes the set as a warm, propulsive embrace soundtracked by the dexterity of Rosa’s guitar playing.
Calango was preceded by the release of the band’s version of “É Proibido Fumar”, first recorded as a contribution to a Roberto Carlos tribute album, in a presaging tone. Rather than relegating their predecessors to oblivion, as their ’80s counterparts would have gladly done, Skank seemed more than happy to regard the production in Brazilian ’60s pop with a little more dignity. The bet paid off: with the singles format all but dead in Brazil, all tracks from Calango – “Pacato Cidadão”, “Jackie Tequila”, and “Amolação” specifically – would receive extensive radio airplay. Now a headline group guaranteed prime spots in music festivals and arenas all over their home country, Skank rode the wave of popularity as very few groups of their generation dared.
Their influence seems to resonate far longer than one might expect. Skank’s band’s friendly, highly debated dissolution following a triumphant farewell tour in 2022 and the anniversary of the record’s original release might incite thoughtful reflections on the group’s legacy. In addition to being an incredibly forward-thinking album in its broad adoption of regionalisms and references to elements otherwise alien to those living in cosmopolitan centers, Calango also belongs to an entire generation in which other 1994 masterpieces, such as Chico Science & Nação Zumbi’s Da Lama Ao Caos or Raimundos’ self-titled debut, would also be revered. Skand breathed new life into Brazil’s ever-present rock and pop scenes by recalling that which made the nation’s culture so distinct, countless accents and regional expressions featured all through.
By the time the band’s next record saw the light of day – 1996’s O Samba Poconé – the four boys from Belo Horizonte had already reached a level of credibility and status few would have imagined. They toured Asia, Europe, and Latin America at large. Without Calango, the music coming out of Brazil during one of its most productive periods – in which different bands and artists were bringing their A-game and carving out new paths for future generations of musicians and listeners alike – would have sounded drastically different, not to mention void of so much identity and pride. This would render nearly mute the numerous fundamentalist regional music representatives, who would scoff with reactionary disgust whenever a young group would attempt to fuse new musical trends and the wisdom of their lesser-known, tradition-leaning forebears.