#Brazilian Vinyls

[mamoods]

Verde que te Quero Rosa, 2023

Allan Machado

[soulfulinvention]

[ghostieking]

pile of LPs I scored for free today plus some highlights

[mywifeleftme]

253: Gilberto Gil // Gilberto Gil [1968]

Gilberto Gil Gilberto Gil 1968, Philips

Robert Christgau and I find ourselves in the same boat when it comes to understanding tropicália. Here’s the first line of the Dean’s capsule review of Gilberto Gil’s Soy Loco Por Ti America (1988): “Milton Nascimento and Caetano Veloso are aesthetes like, to be kind, Joni Mitchell; Gil is a pop adept like Stevie Wonder, which I'd probably think was kind to Stevie if I understood Gil's lyrics.” Like Christgau, I’m stuck on the wrong side of Portuguese but gravitate more toward the exuberant weirdness of a Gil or a Tom Zé than I ever have to the comparatively restrained Veloso (though I like some of Nascimento a lot). Language barrier or no, Gilberto Gil’s first self-titled record from 1968 (sometimes called Frevo Rasgado after its first track) is among the most colourful LPs of the first psychedelic era, and on pure sonics I’d make the case for it as the equal of anything that emerged from the Anglo-American axis during the period.

As with other tropicália touchstones, while Gil borrows many of the aesthetics of psych pop (its vivid, lysergic pomp and tasty electric guitar textures principally), his compositions are still founded in samba and bossa jazz, which means these songs are much nimbler and more rhythmically complex than those of his counterparts in the Northern Hemisphere. For every track that plunges directly into acid rock (a la the swaggering blues of “Coragem pra suportar”), there are three that ecstatically cartwheel from zanily-orchestrated hook to hook; on wildly gesticulating songs like “Marginalia II” and “Frevo Rasgado” I can see what Christgau’s getting at when he says Gil writes showtunes. Gil’s lyrics survive translation better than most, and they’re a lot bleaker than you’d expect, chafing under the military dictatorship that would imprison and then exile him and his friend Veloso in 1969. Yet there’s also something about his vocalizations that you just kinda get. Perhaps inspired by his youthful collaborators, the irrepressible Dadaist weirdos Os Mutantes, Gil gibbers, scats, and raves his way through the LP: at the record’s hottest, like “Pega a voga, cabeludo,” it feels like a maniac conga line winding its way through your home.

Prices on recent reissues of Gil, Veloso, Gal Costa, etc. amount to highway robbery, though I was able to get my copy of Gilberto Gil for quite cheap as it’s an unauthorized (but quite good) Russian pressing. However you get your hands on it, the album earns its reputation as a classic of Brazilian and world music that I think every pop music lover should hear.

253/365

[leodarno]

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

🎛️

Não temos culpa de nascer no terceiro mundo!

[gothmusiclatinamerica]

Pretty!

[bundleofsvg]

Jiu Jitsu Svg Funny Chokemon Bjj Mma Jujitsu Brazilian Svg Png Dxf Eps files Cameo Cricut

[niharsavala]

Listen/purchase: Acute Fun Monopoly by Nihar

Recorded, Produced & Mixed at Mastosho Studios

Mastered by John McCaig, panicStudios

Artwork by Avalokitaa

[dilemmaontwolegs]

What a Mess || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: After the disastrous start to the Brazilian GP, Charles needs an outlet Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, oral, rough sex, choking WC: 1.3k

Charles didn’t say a word as he navigated his way through the garage to you. His team patted his back and offered words of consolation but he didn’t feel them, he didn’t hear them. All Charles needed was an outlet for the blood pulsing through his body with all the rage of an inferno.

You were on your feet as soon as you saw him round the corner and though you couldn’t see his eyes through the visor of his helmet you knew that they would have darkened with the storm of emotions ravaging him. He didn’t stop as he reached you, merely reaching out after ripping the glove off his hand and grasping your upper arm to tow you along with him.

“Charles, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t,” he spat, the tone clipped and acerbic. “Don’t say another word.”

You kept your lips closed and nodded as you let him guide you out of the sight of his team. The garage wasn’t as permanent as some of the other tracks, with temporary walls erected from thin materials, so silence was needed when he shut the door to his driver room. You watched as Charles grabbed a chair and shoved the metal back up under the door handle before testing its durability. 

Your fingers were already reaching for the zipper at the side of your dress as he tugged his helmet off his head and let it fall to the concrete floor with a crack. He tugged his balaclava off next and dumped it next to your dress at your feet as you reached for him. For a moment he closed his eyes and let you cradle his face, the lack of crease lines on his cheeks showing just how little he spent wearing the protective gear. You would do anything to see Charles race again - really race, like he did last year. 

Somehow he still had hope for next year.

But what he needed now, well, Ferrari couldn’t give that to him. Only you could give him what he needed. An escape.

“Turn around,” he whispered as he caught your hands and pulled them away from his face. “Bend over.”

You complied in an instant, eager for the pleasure he promised and the high he was chasing. Your hands spread across his massage table as you pressed your front down onto the cold black vinyl and heard the velcro snap of his collar before the zipper was dragged down his race suit.

“Don’t make a sound,” he breathed across your skin and you shivered with delight as dropped to his knees behind you. “Fuck, you’re already so wet for me.”

His palms grasped your ass, roughly massaging them as he watched you squirm on the table impatiently. Next came his teeth, a chuckle following the bite to the sensitive skin at the back of your thigh as your back stiffened with the sounds you barely suppressed. His strong hands pushed your stance wider and his breath was heavy at the sight before him.

Finally. Finally, he buried his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your slit. You couldn’t hear his moan when he tasted you but you could feel the vibrations on your core and your nails nearly pierced the vinyl at the sensation.

Charles worked you into a frenzy with his lips, his teeth, his tongue. He wasn’t happy until your legs could barely hold you without buckling and your silence was broken with a muffled cry. One orgasm rolled into the next and you lost yourself in the heady feeling, your mind empty save for the man who rose to his feet behind you.

“You’re a mess,” he whispered in your ear as he draped his body over yours, pride thick in his tone. You relished the weight that pinned you in place and the warmth of his skin on yours, barely being able to remember when he had stripped his fireproofs off. Charles’ hand fisted your hair and turned your head to crane back enough to see his green eyes jaded. “You’re a mess, just like me.”

Whatever argument you might have put up was swallowed by his kiss and it was just as messy with teeth and tongue. You melted at the growl he gave as he won the fight for dominance as he always did and a hand slipped between your bodies as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

“Putain,” he swore as he reverted back to his native tongue. Your neck was still strained and the ability to talk or even swallow was almost impossible but still a strangled sound escaped as he snapped his hips and filled your cunt with one hard thrust. “Shhh, ma chat.”

You tried, you really tried, but your brain was no longer connected to your body as he fucked you into a mindless state. Your eyes rolled back into your head with each long stroke and your ability to breathe was lost when he bent his knees and somehow found a deeper angle. 

There was no hope of keeping quiet when he found the sweet spot deep inside you and whatever he saw on your face had his hand curling around your throat. The sound that was building deep in your chest was choked with his tightening fingers and your heartbeat began to throb in your ears. 

Your head spun and your body reacted, your hips bucking and your core tightening. Just when you thought you were going to have to reach for his hand, his fingers loosened and your lungs gasped for fresh air before it was stolen again. He knew what you could handle, and you knew you could trust him. He needed this as much as you did. He needed to be in control of something when it seemed everything was out of his reach. You were more than willing to let him control you. 

This time when your orgasm came your cunt clenched tight around his cock and he trembled at the feeling. He called you his vice, in every sense of the word, and he relinquished the control he had yearned for as he lost himself in his own blissful release. 

For a few moments he just lay there, draped across your body like a comforting blanket but all too soon the noise of the world around returned to your drumming ears and reality drew him from you. 

“Why the fuck am I so unlucky?” he asked as he swiped his clothes from the floor, but you weren’t sure if he was asking the universe, himself or you.

“There’s no such thing as luck, Charles,” you answered anyway. His eyes flicked to you and watched your skin disappear beneath the dress you pulled back on. “Ferrari is unreliable. If you want to change your ‘luck’, start with changing your team.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he sighed. He kicked the chair aside that blocked the door before opening it and brushing his sweaty hair back into place. “I’ll see you tonight?”

He shouldn’t have had to ask and his insecurities only made you sad as you stepped closer to him. You caught his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tipping his head down so you could see your reflection in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

His smile almost chased away the shadows on his face before he kissed you, soft and gentle this time. “I should go.”

“You smell like sex.”

He froze and realised he hadn’t even been thinking clearly enough to wash his face and after running his tongue over his lips he could still taste you. A real smile grew on his face and his head fell forward to touch yours with a laugh. “Oh my god, I told you I am a mess.”

“Yes, you are,” you agreed with a laugh as you closed the door again. “But this is a mess that I can help with. Come on, take a seat, it’s my turn to boss you around.”

[brightgoat]

was naming the stand dimesion 'the flipside' a fnaf reference? i asked on twitter but im brazilian so even if you answered i cant see it now

Nope, it's named the flipside as a reference to the 'flipped side' of a vinyl record.

[mywifeleftme]

150: Luiz Carlos Vinhas // O som psicodélico de L.C.V.

O som psicodélico de L.C.V. Luiz Carlos Vinhas 1968, CBS (Bandcamp)

This album is so fucking good, ay ay ay. Pianist Luiz Carlos Vinhas was a founding member of the bossa nova movement who played with the instrumental trio Bossa Três; as a sideman for Jorge Ben and many others; and released a handful of solo records, of which his ’64 debut Novas Estruturas (New Structures) is the most acclaimed—though it’s sadly as desperately rare as the rest of his catalogue. A fine album in its own right, Novas Estruturas is laid back bossa jazz that will class up any joint lucky enough for it to be played in, but 1968’s O som psicodélico de L.C.V. (The Psychedelic Sound of L.C.V.) is on a different level. In the four years since his debut, Vinhas has clearly drawn influence from the burgeoning Tropicália movement. If L.C.V.’s not quite as deliciously off-meds as Gilberto Gil or Tom Zé’s releases from the same year, it’s at least their equal in colour and pure festive pleasure.

The trio of Vinhas originals on the A-side testify to the album’s carnivalesque range: on “Tanganica” (possibly named for a province in the Congo) simulated birdcalls scream around a twanging electric guitar, samba percussion, and a series of stirring trumpet solos; on the militant “Yê-Melê” (which Sérgio Mendes would cover the following year), the music switches between pounding Afro-Cuban piano and strafing organ runs, while a chorus of female vocalists and a group of trumpeters take turns riling up the audience; “Zize-Baio” (Google Translate shrugs its shoulders at me) is pure pop, with a rising instrumental hook that continues to build pleasure until the song cuts just over two minutes in and you feel a little ruffled it’s over so soon. But life goes on, and Vinhas’s band throw everything at you: a stunning rendition of Horace Silver’s “Song to My Father,” a trio of inventive medleys on the B-side that find time for Ary Barroso and “Chatanooga Choo-Choo” alike, the attack of pure mania that is the motormouthed “O Dialogo” (another Vinhas original), and on and on.

Only reissued for the first time in 2020 by Mad About Records, my copy is a weird bootleg that appears to be from ’68 and is identical to the hyper-rare original release, aside from differently coloured labels on the disc itself. Considering the price of bossa nova original pressings, I feel lucky to have it, and though I’m no expert in the genre, it’s hard to imagine this ever falling from its high perch among my favourites.

150/365

[leodarno]

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Cazuza – Boas Novas

[lily-s-world]

Julie and the Phantoms vs. Julie e os Fantasmas

I had recently been practicing my Portuguese and listening to music in that language, which lead me to the soundtrack of Julie e os Fantasmas. The original Brazilian version of the show. Funny how music works, because the more I listened to the songs the more I remembered about the show. Which is why I decided to make a list about the main differences between the shows.

First, the Brazilian cast and the name of their counterparts so you know who am I referring to:

Side note before we start, their music is also pretty cool. My favorite one is Essa noite somos um so (Tonight we are one).  You can find it on Spotify:

The Brazilian show lasted 1 season with 26 episodes, which were divided in two parts from 2011 to 2012. However, the show was always planned with one season only, so it had a proper closure.

In the original version, Julie isn’t dealing with the loss of her mother. Her mother is alive but decided to take a job far away from them, which leads to Julie resenting her because she feels that her mother doesn’t care about them and only shows when it is convenient for her. This makes Julie feel invisible across her life.

Both shows revolve around music and how much Julie loves it. Julie (BR) suffers from stage panic, one of the reasons she had never sing in front of people. The phantoms help her with this. Also, her preferred instrument is the guitar.

The phantoms had a more tragic death on the BR version. They were trying to replicate The Beatles’ Abbey Road cover, but where hit by a truck and died instantly. One member was alive, but he retired from the music industry after the accident. They had been dead for over 30 years and were trapped on a vinyl record instead of a CD.  

The phantoms don’t have their instruments like the new version. After they help Julie with her stage panic, she buys them new instruments and decides to form the band.

The name of the band on the show is Os Insólitos (The Unusuals). They play in different venues and parties across the season. Unlike the new version, they sing the same songs repeatedly across the episodes. There are some special episodes where they reveal a new song.

The Julies share basically the same personality on both shows. Martim and Reggie are also really similar, being a flirt and a little bit clueless. Felix is way more anxious and fearful than Alex, he was scared of ghosts since he was a kid and being turned into one didn’t help with that. Daniel and Luke are probably the ones with different personalities, while Luke is this cutie that falls for Julie almost immediately; Daniel is egocentric and cold at the beginning of the show. It takes a long time for him to warm up to Julie and is resentful against the world for what happened to them. He had a lot of character development during the season.

Pedro (Carlos) and Bia (Flynn) learn about the ghost right after Julie does. Pedro and Martim develop a friendship based on pranks and jokes.

Julie, Pedro and Bia are the only ones that can actually see the phantoms. Whenever they play in the band, they hide behind masks and keep the idea as a mystery to attract followers.

Julie and Thalita (Carrie) were also friends when they were younger. The reason their friendship didn’t lasted, was because Julie realized that Thalita was a bully that picked up on other girls. Julie cut out all communication with her, which Thalita didn’t took well and continued to antagonize her until they were teens.

The main difference is that Caleb doesn’t exist in this original version, there is an agent of the Ghost Police that looks for the boys because he is convinced they escaped the rules of death. They should have crossed over, but never did. There also some kind of ghostbuster that is looking for them.

 At the end of the first part of the season, the boy say goodbye to Julie because they are planning to cross over; however it is later revealed that the ghostbuster capture them. They manage to escape and return with Julie.

Daniel develops feelings for Julie in the second part of the season, Julie also starts liking him, but she also likes Nicolas who had been her crush for years. Nicolas and Julie start spending more time together after he broke up with Thalita, and he develops feelings for Julie. At the end of the show Julie ends up choosing Nicolas, because she had liked him longer and he makes this grand gesture for her at school. She has a talk with Daniel about what they feel, and they both decide to still be friends and continue with the band.

Some fun facts: The show was sponsored by Monster High, so you can see a lot of merchandise in the show; Julie even dresses up as Frankie Stein for a Halloween party. The show was super popular, earning nominations for Kids Awards in LATAM.