The hand that plays a guitar, 
if necessary, makes war
Kills the world, wounds the earth.
The voice that sings a song, if necessary, sings a hymn
Exalts death.
Viola on a moonlit night in the backlands is like a sword
Hope for vengeance.
The same foot that dances a samba, 
if necessary, goes to combat Capoeira

He who has a companion at night knows that peace is fleeting
To defend her he gets up and screams:  I’ll go!
Hand, guitar, song and sword
And moonlit viola
Through the countryside and city
Flag bearer, capoeira, marching they go on singing,
Liberty, liberty, liberty…

Lyrics from “Viola Enluarada” by Marcos Valle and Paulo Sérgio Valle (1968)

In 1967, Marcos Valle was in New York recording the album Samba 68. He was looking on from afar during a particularly dark time in Brazil, as the military dictatorship that had seized power in 1964 tightened its grip over society. Among protest songs from the 1960s and 1970s, “Viola Enluarada” stands out for having not only a powerful political message but also a rich intricate melody, and in the early 70s was adopted as a sort of hymn by the Araguaia guerrillas, who had taken up arms against the military dictatorship.

As you’ve probably already guessed, we’re telling you this anecdote because we’ve decided to treat you with a grand center piece on Brazil in this very issue - to show that this country isn’t just enormous in scale but of significant (pop) cultural value, which reaches way beyond soccer madness, flowery Ipanema scenarios and dizzying crime rates. Enjoy. And have a splendid one.

Yours truly
- Lodown