By Cory Sklar
By Alee Karim
By Christina Li
By Dave Pehling
By Ian S. Port
By SF Weekly
By Ian S. Port
By Ian S. Port
It was an anxious Tom Ze, guitarist, singer, and experimentalist, who took the stage in New York City's Central Park six years ago. Back then, Ze was a complete unknown in America, and not even terribly famous in his native Brazil. Indeed, less than five years before, Ze had essentially abandoned music, and his very presence in New York was thanks to post-Talking Heads David Byrne, who, like Paul Simon and Peter Gabriel, was steering his middle career toward exploring the music of Africa, Asia, and South America.
"It was the first show of mine that David Byrne had heard, and I thought I'd been a disaster," says Ze from his home in S‹o Paulo, speaking through a Portuguese translator. "It was a very confused show, because there were a lot of Brazilians, and Brazilians don't usually go to my shows. They didn't know me, and they asked me for music that wasn't mine."
In other words, familiar Brazilian music, like Jorge Ben's sambas or Antonio Carlos Jobim's sauntering bossa novas. And while Ze's songs are often rooted in Brazilian tradition, he never found a tangent he didn't like -- the music he's made off and on through a 30-year career is spiked with staccato guitar rhythms, off-kilter lyrics, beats that clatter as often as they soothe, and an array of unlikely noisemakers percolating underneath, from floor polishers to typewriters to power drills.
An inveterate tinkerer with noise, Ze says his experiments come from his need to create a language beyond his native Portuguese. "When you don't have a ready language," he says, "you go back in time, as if you were a protohuman, trying to crawl to some sound, and when you get to a word like 'god' or 'hell' or 'devil,' it's as if Genesis were still being written. That way of working is difficult, but it gives you a reward afterward."
It wasn't an approach that brought Ze fame when he began his career in the late '60s, but it did find him Bahian contemporaries in Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, Gal Costa, and other musicians who were forming the core of the Tropicalia movement, which dove deep into Western influences to modernize Brazilian music. The movement became controversial, and soon Brazil's military government was cracking down on the musicians' multilayered political satires.
And while Ze was the most beguiling and least commercially popular musician of the scene, he was hunted down as well, jailed for four days in 1973 on the eve of a national television appearance. "[Gil's and Veloso's] political troubles were more publicized," says Ze. "I had the same kind of problems. I had my shows interrupted. I had to run away to the interior, to a hidden place. My father was screaming all over the place and dying of fear. All these things, at that time, were considered normal."
Ze was able to continue his career in the underground (while Gil and Veloso shot to fame), spending time in the late '70s working as a jingle writer for an advertising agency, among other odd jobs. But it wasn't until David Byrne stumbled across one of his records that Ze received any American attention. Byrne tracked him down in the late '80s in his hometown of Irara -- where Ze had considered giving up on music altogether and going to work at a gas station -- and afterward released The Best of Tom Ze on his Luaka Bop world music imprint.
The CD was a collection of Ze's most eclectic works from the mid-'70s, which included minute-long excursions into dissonance. A selection of his more subdued and soulful work made up 20 Preferidas Tom Ze, while a new studio album, The Return of Tom Ze: The Hips of Tradition, appeared in 1992. And last year's Fabrication Defect: Com Defeito de Fabricaç‹o is a short but exhilarating weave of pop strokes, multivocal chorales, Afro-Brazilian rhythmic swaggering, and kitchen-sink experiments (Ze rubs a balloon against his teeth to provide the beat for the closing "Xiquexique").
That Ze, 62, got a new musical life is surprising enough, but he also now finds himself in the midst of a new zeitgeist, in which pop's intelligentsia can't get enough of Tropicalia and the musical topography it created two decades ago. Earlier this year, three albums by the Brazilian psychedelic rock band Os Mutantes were reissued on Omplatten (a label run by Other Music, Manhattan's deeply influential record store), with a best-of compilation, Everything Is Possible!, set for release next month on Luaka Bop as a follow-up to Novo! Mais! Melhor!, the second volume of Byrne's Beleza Tropical compilations. The lead track from the first Beleza Tropical volume, Jorge Ben's soccer-goalie tribute "Ponta de Lanca Africano (Umbabaruma)," appears in Pentium processor TV ads, and an Arto Lindsay-Marisa Monte duet is being used in a Banana Republic ad showcasing how much fun it is to wear chinos and romp in wheat fields.
Ze himself proudly notes that The Best of Tom Ze was recently selected by Rolling Stone as one of the 10 best world music albums of the decade. And as definitive proof of Ze's newfound appreciation, he's gotten remixed; Postmodern Platos, an EP sold through Luaka Bop's Web site, features new treatments of Fabrication Defect songs by Sean Lennon, Sasha-Frere Jones, Ninja Tune label heavy-hitter Amon Tobin, British psychedeliacs High Llamas, and Tortoise's John McEntire.