Together with other delicious ironies in life; the Cocteau Twins consisting of three band members and not two; the Walker Brothers being barely on speaking terms, let alone brothers and the Thrills being anything but thrilling; comes news of more disingenuousness, this time from the adult-contemporary nether-regions of New York. The Brazilian Girls are not only not Brazilian; they’re not all girls. Howzat!
Brought together a year ago by the Rome-born, Munich and Nice educated, Brooklyn-based Sabina Sciubba and the much less interesting Jesse Murphy, the Brazilian Girls combine a quasi-Latin sound, a quasi-jazz sound with an equally prodigious dub and dance style. Is it any good? Yes, remarkably enough. And whilst the label might force the ‘the serious proper band’ motif theirs is a subtle and carefully crafted brew of spicy downtempo. A legend in its own lifetime during the 1960s, the Forecast label, however (a subsidiary of the Universal Music Group) really needs to overcome the fact that they are, by and large, a ‘musician’s label’ providing a cosy safe haven for such adult-contemporary and organic ‘luminaries’ as blues rocker Susan Tedeschi and former V2 artist Teddy Thompson. Sounds boring? Well, that’s the problem; the Brazilian Girls pitch themselves uncomfortably between the elevator and the street. It’s simply a case of knowing you fit and the Brazilian Girls are evidently trying to squeeze into just about every pocket they can find. And whilst folks like Bebel Gilberto navigate the silky avenues and alleyways of easy listening with poise, consistency and a healthy disregard to fashion, the Brazillian Girls find themselves dipping into a sometimes exhausting range of options. Remember how your Dad used to make out he knew all about the urban music scene by namechecking everyone from the ‘Beastie Boys’ to ‘Boyzone’ in a single breath? This is how the tricksey little beats of tracks like ‘Dance Till The Morning Sun’ and ‘Don’t Stop’ come across; full of great intent, consummately performed, but totally lacking in either sincerity or knowledge. When the band do find their feet, though, the results are totally satisfying. ‘Homme’ is a tastefully understated, string-led foray into French-lounge music; ‘Lazy Lover’ and ‘Long’ top even Bebel for the cruelly lush and serene, and the joyful reggae abandon of ‘Pussy’ even manages to raise a few smiles.
Perhaps the organic and the technological will never good bedfellows make, but this is a fine, if occasionally tactless, compromise all the same.