The “Old” and the “New” in Portuguese Music Amália Rodrigues, Fado, and Canto de Intervenção in the Carnation Revolution

Abstract

Since the end of the 1960s, fado and its main interpreter, Amália Rodrigues, have been identified with the political, economic, and cultural backwardness of the Portuguese Estado Novo. On the one hand, the musical genre invited resignation and conformity; on the other, Amália was seen as a supporter and collaborator of the dictatorship of Oliveira Salazar and Marcello Caetano. Replacing fado, a new type of music, known as “intervention song” (canto de intervenção), gained increasing popularity, especially among university youth and opposition segments. This article aims to analyze, on the one hand, the gradual isolation of fado and Amália Rodrigues between the crisis of the Portuguese authoritarian regime and the revolutionary process that followed the coup of 25 April 1974; on the other, the role of “intervention song” as a result of a new aesthetic suited to the values of the revolutionary state.

Keywords
Amália Rodrigues; fado; intervention song

Resumo

A partir de finais da década de 1960, o fado e sua principal intérprete, Amália Rodrigues, foram identificados com o atraso político, econômico e cultural do Estado Novo português. Por um lado, o gênero musical era convidativo à resignação e ao conformismo; por outro, Amália era vista como adepta e colaboradora da ditadura de Oliveira Salazar e Marcello Caetano. Em substituição ao fado, uma nova canção, conhecida como “canto de intervenção”, ganhava crescente simpatia, sobretudo entre as juventudes universitárias e os segmentos de oposição. O presente artigo tem por objetivo analisar, por um lado, o gradual isolamento do fado e de Amália Rodrigues entre a crise do regime autoritário português e o processo revolucionário que se seguiu ao golpe de 25 de Abril de 1974; por outro, o papel do “canto de intervenção” como resultado de uma nova estética adequada aos valores do Estado revolucionário.

Palavras-chave
Amália Rodrigues; fado; canto de intervenção

Introduction

The Carnation Revolution, which broke out on April 25, 1974, marked the end of nearly half a century of dictatorship in Portugal. ¹ During the Cold War era and amidst various left and right-wing dictatorships, the downfall of the Portuguese Estado Novo stirred hearts and minds all over the world. Because it represented a break from the past, this revolution garnered the most international attention among the transitions to democracy in Southern Europe, including Greece and Spain ( PINTO, 2013, pp. 17-45). There is no lack of examples to demonstrate the global interest in Portugal during this tumultuous period. While working for the Bogotá magazine Alternativa , Gabriel García Márquez ( 2006, pp. 41-69) traveled to the Portuguese capital to cover this heated and unexpected revolution. Glauber Rocha, who was in exile in Europe, also went to Portugal, where he played a crucial role in the production of the documentary As armas e o povo [ The Arms and the People]. ² In 1974, Sebastião Salgado photographed the Portuguese Revolution for the Gamma agency. From a distance Chico Buarque ( 2006, p. 222) wrote Tanto Mar [ So Much Sea], a song enchanted with revolutionary Portugal and lamenting conservative Brazil: “There it is Spring, pá / Here I am sick”, ³ as the lyrics state.

The curiosity of some intellectual elites regarding the events on the west coast of Europe is understandable. Revolutions typically evoke, on the one hand, a rupture with the past, often judged and condemned with adjectives ranging from “old-fashioned” to “reactionary”. On the other hand, they express a commitment to a future that is both new and promising. Mythical promises, with a quasi-religious quality: new times, new aesthetics, new mentalities.

This article analyzes to what extent Portuguese fado and its principal interpreter, Amália Rodrigues, were portrayed as the most sophisticated expression of a past that needed to be denied and overcome. The genre and the artist were seen as the epitome of the resignation and conformism consistent with the political culture of the Salazar regime. ⁴ It also discusses attempts to impose a type of music that was both new and didactic. This “new song”, which appears under various designations, will be referred to here as “intervention song”. Regardless of the chosen rhythm or melody, it represented above all “a posture (...) in which singing assumes a role [and] becomes a vehicle, an agent, a playful weapon (...) against the regime, transmitting messages of contestation and resistance” ⁵ ( RAPOSO, 2007, p. 21). More than the definition of the genre or the melody, it was the lyrics and their “messages” that mattered.

José Afonso (cited by RAPOSO, 2007, p. 54), a pivotal composer for intervention song, states that he called his “first songs ballads, not because [he] knew the exact meaning of this term, but to distinguish them from the fado of Coimbra, which [he] had sung at first and which (...) had reached a phase of saturation”. ⁶ In other words, there was a bit of everything. Perhaps even fado, although that name could not be used. What was at stake was “the need to break away from the nostalgia for the past and inertia” ⁷ which prevailed in Portuguese popular music, particularly fado ( LETRIA, 1999, pp. 31-32). Over time, an artistic movement consolidated, significantly impacting Portuguese musical production in the 1960s and 1970s. Between self-released albums and those issued by major record labels, Hugo Castro ( 2015, pp. 24-27) lists a total of 143 productions.

In fact, not only did music change, but Portuguese society as a whole underwent transformation. During the so-called “long 1960s” ( BRITO; SANTOS, 2020), Portugal witnessed the emergence of new protagonists in a country that, until then, had only aspired, as Salazar argued (cited by LÉONARD et al., 2017, p. 182), “to live normally as it always had”. ⁸ In a period of relatively rapid modernization, a new middle class, for example, began to move away from the previously insular model of organization. New interests, closely linked to Europe, drew a portion of the Portuguese elites away from the triad of Spain, Africa, and Brazil ( CABRAL, 2020). A notable example of this shift was the increase in the number of students enrolled in higher education, rising from approximately 20,000 in 1961 to 44,000 in 1970. The so-called “1962 academic crisis” marked an initial step that was never reversed, establishing the student movement as a permanent source for recruiting opponents of the dictatorship, whether or not they were affiliated with political parties ( GRILLO, 2020; ACCORNERO, 2013). Within this academic environment emerged a heterogenous group of young people discontented not only with politics but also with the aesthetics associated with the Estado Novo regime.

A New Song for a New Time

In the shifting Portuguese experience, marked by an “experience of modernity” ( BERMAN, 1986), Amália Rodrigues and fado gradually became associated with the “fascism” of the Estado Novo, particularly among the urbanized and university-educated sections of the intellectual elite. This identification thus predates the events of April 25. In a 1971 report in the Brazilian magazine Manchete, Amália expressed her discontent with these deeply “unfounded” accusations. ⁹ In a 1973 interview with writer Manuel da Fonseca ( 2020), Amália repeatedly defended herself against the stigma of being a “collaborationist”. A book published in June 1974, but prepared earlier – journalist António Osório’s A mitologia fadista –, illustrates the rise of a culture that rejected the genre. In the preface, Osório ( 1974, p. 9) is adamant:

Anywhere, in revues, in cabarets, in its retiros, the staging of fado is the same. Half-closed eyes, faces tightened in a sort of trance, a deep mourning, and if that were not enough, the heaviness of a long black shawl: the accessories of desgraça [misfortune] are few, but very telling. The voice of the Cantareira moans, broken in her larynx, full of artifices which enhance the unbearable afflictions of this medium of misfortune. ¹⁰ . This book carries a previously and clearly defined value judgement. Osório ( 1974, p. 13) asserts that “it aims to subject fado to the scrutiny of critical conscience, in order to better understand what is null and poisonous, grotesque and servile in it”. ¹¹ This “critical consciousness” essentially becomes a repository of preconceived truths. For Osório ( 1974, p. 119), fado is sad, fatalistic, but also cunning, forcing all its detractors to remain alert:

Let us not fool ourselves: fado’s days are not numbered, nor will it remain devoted to itself. It always knew how to adapt to circumstances – and that is what it is doing now – and its best triumph, the most disturbing, is found deep within our limitations. ¹²

This perception persists despite strong activism against fado and equally robust support for intervention song. Moreover, the act of overthrowing the dictatorship significantly contributed to this unique valuation process.

On the early morning of April 25, the song Grândola, Vila Morena, composed by the aforementioned José Afonso, ¹³ served as the code word for the coup against the Estado Novo dictatorship. It is worth noting that the song was written in 1964 but came to the attention of Portuguese authorities only on the eve of April 25. During a canção nova [new song] concert at Coliseu dos Recreios in Lisbon, censors noted the subversive potential of its verses:

José Afonso also sang. But first all the artists joined, swaying left and right, a movement quickly imitated by the public. He performed “Grândola Vila Morena” and “Milho Verde” and once again “Grândola”, accompanied by the public, who shouted out, we believe intentionally, the line “it is the people who command most”. ¹⁴

Soldiers linked to the Movimento das Forças Armadas [Movement of the Armed Forces] (MFA), responsible for the conspiracy against the dictatorship, appeared at the event and chose José Afonso’s song as the codeword for the ongoing coup ( LETRIA, 1999, pp. 75-76; SARDO, 2014, pp. 72-73 ). Grândola’s verses left no room for doubt about the song’s purposes:

Grândola, Vila Morena Land of fraternity It is the people who command most Within you, oh town

On each corner a friend On each face equality Grândola, Vila Morena Land of fraternity ¹⁵

Events like this, in which the music of José Afonso played such a key role, expanded in Portugal as the regime withered. There was a growing space for young artists with “new” songs. Ballads were increasingly played on radio stations and on giradiscos [turntables] in Portuguese households. In 1969, a television program called Zip-Zip , presented by Raul Solnado, Fialho Gouveia, and Carlos Cruz, began to significantly contribute to the national dissemination of these “new artists” (LETRIA, 1999, p. 59-64). However, the presence of intervention song in the “inaugural act” of the fall of the Estado Novo likely contributed to a new type of artistic engagement, unprecedented in political transitions of the time.

On May 6, 1974, the First Free Meeting of Portuguese Music was held in Porto – which, despite its name, did not include fadistas, and much less so Amália. ¹⁶ It was during this event that the Colectivo de Acção Cultural [Cultural Action Collective] (CAC) emerged. The organization published a manifesto addressing the country’s serious problems and the role of the “cultural worker” in that context. The third paragraph of the manifesto read:

The Collective focuses its activity on the field of popular music and song, making an appeal to all responsible anti-fascist, anti-colonialist, and anti-imperialist workers who are interested in using their musical activity (...) to unify and multiply our organized and active participation in the popular democratic movement ¹⁷ (cited by CÔRTE-REAL, 1996, p. 159 ).

This participation served both didactic and formative purposes, extending beyond popular music to other cultural sectors. Another manifesto, this time published by communist writers in Lisbon in Avante!, the official newspaper of the Portuguese Communist Party (PCP), made objectives regarding the “formative role of culture” and methods for its implementation unmistakably clear:

The communist writers from the organization in Lisbon think that, in the present circumstances, the priority tasks are:

a) Writers’ engagement in theoretical work closely related to very intense practice of ideological struggle (...);

b) Co-participation of writers in the work of cultural framing and enlightenment of the working classes, student groups, and, more broadly, the social strata genuinely interested in collective administration;

c) A role in denouncing and demystifying various forms of social consciousness alienation and in formulating concepts, images, and ideas that contribute to human liberation (...). ¹⁸

Within the arts and literature community, there was thus a desire to form frameworks, in the sense proposed by Henry Rousso ( 1985, p. 73), that is, the stabilization of a certain truth, inevitably leading to an ideological struggle against forms of expression not committed to the intended “cultural building”.

This ideological restriction targeted not only fado, but also nacional-­cançonetismo , or national songwriting, a type of music that might be likened to brega, or “trashy music”, in Brazil. ¹⁹ This was not an endorsement of resignation or an ode to poverty, which were favored by the dictatorship. Rather, it was a type of appealing song, especially when it came to customs. Furthermore, its lyrics were considered vulgar yet immediately understandable. The same happened with part (and only part, it is fair to say) of the intervention ballads. It is true that a certain “ballad sectarianism” was rampant among some composers of the “new Portuguese song”. The following excerpt from a song by José Mário Branco (cited by SARDO et al., 2016, pp. 147-148) illustrates the degree of engagement and poetic impoverishment of some of these songs:

The fascists here in Porto

Make social housing

Hide our misery

On the backs of their palaces

(...)

Oppression has a thousand faces

Steals everything and gives nothing

In liberated Portugal

All of this will end. ²⁰

However, there were some authors who voiced their support for this composition model. For instance, José Barata Moura ( 1999, p. 22), a composer and a philosophy professor at the University of Lisbon, argued that the so-called “pamphleteering” should be understood as an “artistic reflection (...) of the interests of the working class and its allies, formulated in a language and context that (...) allow them to reinforce their role as an ideological tool”. ²¹ Depending on the circumstances, music and art in general could and should express the interests of the exploited classes, regardless of the quality of the cultural product itself. Moura ( 1999, p. 22) also stated that many of the critics of protest music ended up “converging (...) with broad reactionary sectors”. ²² In this case, the author reaffirmed the idea that classes possess, or should possess, a previously defined consciousness, including from an aesthetic point of view. This raises the question: who defines or shapes this “true consciousness”? Who determines what are and what are not the “interests” of the exploited? ²³

Let us examine how this “indoctrinating will” manifested itself in the artistic field. We will not delve deeper into the discussion of the various forms of political articulation of the artistic classes at that time. However, it is worth mentioning that, after CAC, several other cultural organizations and associations emerged in Portugal. ²⁴ These organizations advocated for political intervention through art and had an ephemeral existence ( CÔRTE-REAL, 1996, pp. 158-159). What seems important to highlight, however, are the objectives outlined in their programs. They essentially revolved around three aspects: 1. the preservation and dissemination of traditional Portuguese music with rural roots; 2. the transformation of Lisbon fado; 3. the modernization or urban music (p. 161).

As Susana Sardo and José Mário Branco ( 2016, p. 139) have pointed out, we are talking about songs that “acted as tools of ideological activism”. In other words, these songs embodied an explicit political commitment. According to the authors, such commitment “lies in the singer’s specific intention to ‘construct political value’, transforming the song into a weapon of ideological activism, and as a result, of raising awareness” (p. 145). For those associated with CAC or similar groups, the “publication and dissemination of (…) ‘political and cultural’ messages, using music and songs as instruments of activism” ²⁵ (p. 146) was deemed imperative.

The rural space, in turn, was to be preserved as if it were a “place of purity” – a perspective that was, to some extent, similar to Salazar’s discourse. In the 1960s, it was common parlance that the Estado Novo was sustained by three “Fs”: Fátima, ²⁶ fado, and football. Sardo ( 2014, p. 65) introduced a “fourth F”: folklore, a range of manifestations that expressed the “authenticity” of an untouchable culture, with a clear rural bias. The countryside was perceived as an environment uncontaminated by the “evils of urbanity” ²⁷ ( SARDO, 2014, p. 65). Despite discourses that sought to naturalize it, in an almost biological fashion, folklore is not a fact in itself, nor is it meta-historical, engraved in stone. Instead, it is a construct resulting from a series of state actions aimed at defining a cultural model with supposedly quasi-organic connections to the Portuguese “way of being” – to its rural and agricultural spirit, stemming from a moral imperative. This is what Salwa El-Shawan Castelo-Branco and Jorge Freitas Branco ( 2003) call “folklorism”, forged in the context of António Ferro’s “policy of the spirit”. ²⁸ It should be noted that this “folklorism” extends beyond festive manifestations and/or religious calendar events; it encompasses aspects of daily life that intertwine family and work.

In line with this cultural perspective, in the mid-1960s, Salazar ( 1967, p. 372) stated that “agricultural work, subject to the scorching sun or the impertinence of the rain, is above all a vocation of poverty; but its pride comes from the fact that it alone feeds man and allows him to live”. ²⁹ As noted by Fernando Rosas ( 2001, p. 1035), the arguments put forth by the dictators reinforced two major “ideological myths” of Salazarist discourse: the myth of rurality and the myth of honorable poverty. However, this ruralist and traditionalist ethos was also embraced, to a certain extent, by proponents of the “new song”. The goal of the April revolutionaries was to preserve “the rigor and authenticity of the treatment of Portuguese traditional music” ³⁰ ( CÔRTE-REAL, 1996, pp. 161-162). Consequently, the forms of manipulation varied, but manipulation itself persisted, or at least the will to achieve it.

The relationship of post-April 25 agents with fado was ambivalent. To begin with, even among the left and within the PCP, there were admirers and practitioners of the genre ( CARVALHO, 2020, p. 194). Furthermore, as Osório ( 1974, p. 81) warns, communist adherents to fado proved that it “scrambles, when necessary, left-right lines, and possesses the virtue (...) of leaving ‘everything confused’”. ³¹ Fado is, therefore, cunning, clever. There was some room for the genre, albeit limited. For instance, José Jorge Letria ( 1999, pp. 89-92), a poet linked to the PCP who held the position of musical assistant in the Emissora Nacional [National Radio Station], devoted an entire chapter in his book on Portuguese political music to guitarist Carlos Paredes, a communist activist and one of the best-known musicians in the genre. The poet also acknowledged the existence of “other fados”, those of “resistance”, often sung “in silence to reduced crowds” during the dictatorship. The problem resided in the type of fado that was transformed “into a docile and effective instrument of fascist policy”. Consequently, during the Estado Novo, “fado served as a vehicle aimed at sowing inertia, apathy, and nostalgia” ³² ( LETRIA, 1999, p. 96). While there was no deliberate policy against it, fado, even if for a brief period, remained isolated. It was not dead, but weakened.

To many, it seemed evident that the prevailing expressions of fado did not align with the goals of the Revolution. In an argument marked by pragmatism, Letria ( 1999, p. 97) detailed state policies towards fado:

The overthrow of the fascist dictatorship (...) questioned the role that fado had played for years as a visiting card, a picture postcard, of the regime. Nevertheless, it was never suggested that fado needed to be eliminated. It was emphasized on several occasions that it needed to be given a progressive content, openly putting it at the service of workers. It was known that this was possible. If thousands of workers sang it, it made no sense for it not to be on the side of the Revolution. ³³

Recognizing the impossibility of eliminating it, the remaining option was to harness fado, submitting it to the projects and objectives of the revolutionary state. It is curious that even traditional fado singers, when they adhered to the Revolution, advocated for changes in song content. Carlos do Carmo was a notable example. As an interpreter of traditional fado and the son of Lucília do Carmo, also an important fadista, he stated in an interview with the Portuguese magazine Mulher, modas e bordados: “If there was a new country to construct, it was necessary to also help build a new fado”. ³⁴ In any case, Carmo became a central figure in an episode that at the very least demonstrated the level of animosity towards the genre. In 1976, the PCP organized an event that became a tradition in the Portuguese political and cultural calendar, the Avante! festival . Starting in September that year, artists of various nationalities and communist parties from all over the world gathered in Portugal. The inclusion of fado in the first festival remains a topic of debate. While many claim that – thanks to José Manuel Osório, a PCP activist and a fado composer – the genre was always part of the festival’s cultural program, there are also contradictory statements. For example, Carlos do Carmo (cited by CARVALHO, 2020, p. 297) asserts that he was almost prevented from singing at Festa do Avante! since “there was no point in having a fadista there”. To participate, he had to rely on the solidarity of his friend, the balladeer and composer Adriano Correia de Oliveira: “Either Carlos sings or I do not sing”. ³⁵ And so he sang.

Amália Rodrigues: An Intentional Silence?

On numerous occasions, we have heard or read reports about Amália and her supposed relationship with the Estado Novo regime. After April 25, albeit briefly, Amália was stigmatized and associated with the dictatorship. Our analysis will now focus not so much on the musical genre itself, but rather on how Amália was treated during the crisis of the Estado Novo and, more importantly, during the revolutionary process. For a better understanding of the arguments that we aim to present, we will begin by briefly discussing the impact of her death and the statements made at the time by figures in politics and culture.

Amália passed away on October 6, 1999. The following day, as was to be expected, Portuguese newspapers featured headlines about her. Several magazines published cover stories on the singer. Unsurprisingly, the coverage predominantly praised the singer. While sporadic references to her conservativism could be found, they were limited. Mário Soares, Jorge Sampaio (then President of the Republic), António Guterres (then Prime Minister), former football player Eusébio, East Timor’s leader Xanana Gusmão, and people from the arts world spoke about her importance as a singer and her generosity as a human being. When it came to politics, references to her discreet yet constant support for the PCP prevailed. From Paris, where he was receiving an award, José Saramago said that merely mentioning “Amália” conveyed clearly who was at stake, while also confirming her secret donations to the communists. Saramago’s statements were reinforced by Amália’s childhood neighbor and well-known communist activist, Alda Nogueira, as well as by Carlos Carvalhas, then secretary-general of the PCP. ³⁶

However, as we will see, the attitude towards Amália among those committed to the Revolution – including some of those who spoke about the singer at the time of her death – was markedly different in 1974-1975. Saramago, for example, refrained from mentioning her while he acted as intervenor in the newspaper Diário de Notícias. According to Cristina Faria ( 2008, p. 170):

In the index of reports about Amália in Diário de Notícias – which had previously followed her life and career closely (...) with a recurrence that was often monthly, weekly, or even daily (...) – stopped providing any information about her after December 1973. Reports about her only resumed on page 11 of the issue dated February 5, 1976. ³⁷

Even in academic works or memoirs, allusions to Amália are very subtle, usually portraying her role as diminished or even marginal. When dealing with the similarities and contrasts between fado, folklore, and intervention song, Sardo ( 2014, p. 65) maintains that Amália is an artist who continues to serve as a model for Portuguese female fadistas, without further explanation. Her role in modernizing fado was, for a certain type of literature, relatively minor, which is not surprising.

In 1962, Amália released an album called O Busto [ The Bust], which marked a turning point both in the world of fado and in her career, for two reasons: first, her collaboration with Franco-Portuguese musician Alain Oulman, who introduced a new melodic language to fado; second, because some of the lyrics were written by poets who opposed Salazarism, such as Manuel Alegre, Alexandre O’Neill, David Mourão-Ferreira, and Ary dos Santos. In O Busto, Amália interpreted Abandono [ Abandonment], also known as Fado Peniche, with verses by Mourão-Ferreira and set to music by Oulman. The poetry refers to the imprisonment of an opponent of the dictatorship in Peniche Fortress:

For your free thinking They imprisoned you far away For your free thinking They imprisoned you far away

(...)

They took you in the middle of the night Darkness covered everything They took you in the middle of the night Darkness covered everything

It was at night, in a night That was the darkest of all It was at night, it was at night And day never came ³⁸

Three years later, Amália released a new EP, Amália Canta Luís de Camões [ Amália Sings Luís de Camões], ³⁹ once again fueling controversy. The more orthodox critics said that Amália now “sang Picasso-like lyrics” ⁴⁰ ( NERY, 2012, p. 309). Although Oulman was not involved in the recording, the EP bore his unmistakable mark. From O Busto onwards, he and Amália expanded the genre’s previously restricted perspectives. ⁴¹ In the words of Vítor Pavão dos Santos ( 2005, p. 266), the fadista’s first biographer:

Alain Oulman’s music, marked by a strange boldness, a fatal difference, with a quality superior to everything Amália had sung until then, would mark her entire career from this album onwards. He allowed her to reach, in full freedom, the poets who did not fit into classic fado, making her repertoire exceptionally vast and wide-ranging, henceforth comprising all of Portuguese poetry ⁴² ( SANTOS, 2005, p. 266 ).

Curiously, Amália appears as a passive instrument in the hands of others, rather than an agent making her own choices. On the one hand, she was viewed as a puppet manipulated by the regime when her songs conveyed a “feeling of sharing, (...) the existence of a ‘home’ [that] even if poor, should constitute a reason for pride and the synonym of a good Portuguese” ⁴³ ( SARDO, 2014, p. 65). Perhaps the song that best epitomizes Amália’s association with Salazarism, frequently cited by opponents of fado or the singer, is Uma Casa Portuguesa [ A Portuguese House], first recorded in 1953. Its lyrics are well-known:

In a Portuguese house it is good to have Bread and wine on the table And if someone humbly knocks at the door They sit at the table with us

(...)

The joy of poverty

Is in this great wealth

To give and be happy ⁴⁴

In the 1960s, in turn, shifts in style reflected the interests of Amália’s new “controllers”. Amália was like a pawn who knew how to sing, being “now instrumentalized in another form, giving voice (...) to a literary message of resistance, and a musical message of change” ⁴⁵ ( SARDO, 2014, p. 71, emphasis added). Only one of those two perceptions can be true: either Amália was a Salazarist agent, or she was naïve and unaware of being manipulated.

After April 25, the virtual absence of strong negative commentary about Amália is noteworthy. At least in print. Such criticism could possibly be “whispered in the alcoves”, ⁴⁶ perhaps ashamed of itself. What is clear is that more was written about the relationship between Amália and the Estado Novo after the revolutionary period than during it. As the events unfolded, the silence spoke volumes. Whether this omission of Amália during the revolutionary period was intentional or not remains an open question. Based on the research conducted so far, both in mainstream newspapers and in Avante!, and even in some works by authors committed to the revolutionary process, rather than being accused, Amália was silenced. As Michael Pollak ( 1989) suggests, forgetting is a choice, a policy in itself. The act of not speaking seems to convey certain intentions. More so than Amália was persecuted, she seems to have been ignored. In an interview with Mulher, modas e bordados, almost four years after the Revolution, Amália seemed fully aware of the situation: “After April 25, they immediately set me aside”. ⁴⁷

“Setting her aside” implied not only refraining from attacking her but also failing to defend her, in contrast to what had happened in earlier years. An event in the first semester of 1958 provides a illuminating example. Amália was invited to perform at a commemorative concert for the 50 ^th anniversary of Sporting Clube de Portugal. The celebration was scheduled for July 1, coinciding with both the sports club’s anniversary and Amália’s birthday. In May of that year, Amália was in Rio de Janeiro for a series of presentations. Upon returning to Lisbon, she came across a protest organized by the opposition to the regime against electoral fraud which had occurred on June 8, when General Humberto Delgado had run for the opposition. Several artists, including the actress Maria Barroso, wife of Mário Soares, requested that Amália did not attend the event, and at first she complied ( FONSECA, 2020, p. 376). In response, José Sollari Allegro (cited by FONSECA, 2020, p. 376), Salazar’s private secretary, rang the singer in a threatening tone: “Since you signed a document a month and a half ago agreeing to go, you will not now take a clear political stance”. ⁴⁸ Upset and fearful, Amália decided to appear at the event but protested in her own way. Firstly, contrary to her usual practice, she appeared without any jewelry. She additionally chose to sing, among other songs, Cuidado Coração [ Be Careful, My Heart] a composition by Leonel das Neves, whose lyrics stated: “The evil of the poor / Even in times of abundance / Is to feel to bitterness / Of bread so many times denied” ⁴⁹ (cited by CARVALHO, 2020, pp. 109-110).

The opposition newspaper República published an article titled A Bela e o monstro [ Beauty and the Beast], which was as harsh as it was supportive:

There was beauty in her unbridled anger that shook her slender and excitable body. Her wild black hair was shaking, disheveled, as if struck by a whirlwind of madness. Her wide, red mouth, like an Andalusian carnation, contorted in a rictus of unspeakable pain.

(...) Tears flowed from her beautiful, black eyes, much like the grief that welled up within her soul.

And that was how she fulfilled her fado, her destiny. ⁵⁰

The clandestine publication Avante! also covered the event. Like República , it accused the regime and defended the fadista:

With modest prices and an attractive poster, trying to leverage the great popularity of the great artist Amália Rodrigues, the Salazarists attempted to break the boycott of the shows. At a certain point they had to sell the tickets below market prices, and finally distribute them for free among corporatist organizations. ⁵¹

Further evidence that no proper fight against Amália existed comes from two important letters in her defense that were sent to national newspapers during the “heated” period of 1975. The first is from Francisco Mata, a journalist from O Século, who stated: “Amália was a victim of the petty jealousies of many colleagues who never managed to eat the fabled grapes”. ⁵² The second is from Alain Oulman, who, from Paris, sent República a testimony about his years alongside Amália:

The smear campaign against Amália compels me to clarify certain statements, because, to the best of my knowledge, no one with a true understanding of the facts has done so, and certainly Amália will not. (...) I have never seen, heard, or known during our many years of friendship that she collaborated with the old regime, except when she was invited to sing at official festivities, just like any other professional artist and as, in fact, many artists did. ⁵³

Both Francisco Mata and Alain Oulman defended Amália without explicitly naming those who attacked her. It seems that Alberto Franco’s ( 2019, p. 191) view was accurate: “No official authority took a position against fado, but it was practically banned from radio and television”. ⁵⁴ Nevertheless, the silence regarding Amália following April 25, whether deliberate or not, appeared as a necessity. If the revolution had its heroes, it would also have its villains. In both cases, it was best to remain silent.

Conclusion

“Intervention song” emerged as an alternative to “old” Portuguese music, characterized by resignation and poverty. Its lyrics extended an invitation to the streets, to demonstrations, to dissent. However, the revolutionary fervor gradually waned, as did the optimism that had been directed towards Lisbon. For many, the consolidation of democracy appeared somewhat frustrating when compared to the possibilities opened during those uncertain times – which remains a curious observation. Democratic stabilization brought fado back to the forefront of Portuguese music, with Amália once again reclaiming her role as its primarily interpreter – if she had ever truly left it. She still carried the painful memory of those years when being labeled conservative was almost a compliment compared to other adjectives that were widely, albeit often hesitantly, applied to her: fascist, reactionary, collaborator, and more. The need to explain herself persisted year after year, in interviews, newspapers, magazines, and television programs.

In the domain of literature on Portuguese popular music, some studies reveal a lingering sense of nostalgia for a “heroic time” when the waters were clearly parted. Sardo ( 2014, p. 67, emphasis added), in her analysis of the growing importance of the “Sounds of April”, pointed out that “in the 1960s a shift in this model of music’s commitment to the state began to emerge”. ⁵⁵ She is referring to the commitment to the Estado Novo and its “alienating” lyrics. Perhaps she forgot to mention that many of the agents of the “new music” were driven by a similar commitment to the state, albeit with different “messages”, but equally driven by the aim to exert control. In some way or another, the waters met. According to Letria ( 1999, pp. 79-80), after April 25, when “democratic liberties were restored [the] blacklists (...) ceased to function. Singers and composers began to circulate freely throughout the country”. ⁵⁶ This still holds partially true, even though new “lists”, with varying degrees of efficiency, more or less formal or informal, had replaced the previous ones.

Evidently, we should consider two aspects that might put into perspective some of the actions taken by those committed to the revolutionary process. Firstly, no action that may have constrained fado or Amália Rodrigues comes even close to the level of persecution and restriction during the Estado Novo regime, including censorship. ⁵⁷ Secondly, the Carnation Revolution led the country into democracy. Even if there were more or less authoritarian segments, it is undeniable that the democratic field prevailed. However, this did not prevent the sectarianism discussed here.

Partisans of the “new time” tend to disregard how, as professor Leôncio Martins Rodrigues (cited by SANTANA, 1999, p. 133) warned, “the word ‘new’ charms”, ⁵⁸ to the same extent that it sows illusions. By denying the past, the revolutionaries failed to realize that they were unwittingly reproducing it, even if they obeyed different codes. They likely overlooked the fact that past, present, and future are circumstances, not fixed values. There are many instances where a hasty judgment of the past conceals its reproduction in the present. In reality, this is not necessarily a problem; it always depends on awareness of this act. Looking back can and should serve as a guide to make choices, selecting those traces of the past that we wish to bring to the present ( RICOEUR, 2010, pp. 197-198). Thus, we perpetually seek the old, the supposedly outdated, eaten by worms, old-fashioned. Fortunately! As Caetano Veloso said, “drops of good milk in my face, rain of the same type over the old-fashioned”. ⁵⁹

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• 1
  The Portuguese dictatorship began on May 28, 1926, with a military coup that ousted the First Republic, which had been established 16 years earlier. The Estado Novo regime was institutionalized in 1933 through a transition to a civilian dictatorship under the leadership of Oliveira Salazar. For a periodization of the Estado Novo, see Cruz ( 1988, pp. 38-47 ).
• 2
  AS ARMAS e o povo. Direction: Colectivo dos Trabalhadores da Actividade Cinematográfica. Portugal: Instituto Português de Cinema, 1975, 78 min. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h2vDdG9szrs. Access on: 13 Aug. 2023.
• 3
  Freely translated: “Lá faz primavera, pá / Cá estou doente”. Pá is an interjection associated with the European Portuguese accent, mostly employed in informal conversations.
• 4
  About the concept of political culture, see: Berstein ( 1998, 1999); Motta ( 2014); Sirinelli ( 1998).
• 5
  Freely translated: “uma postura (...) em que o canto assume um papel [e] tornou-se um veículo, um agente, uma arma lúdica (...) contra o regime, transmitindo mensagens de contestação e resistência”.
• 6
  Freely translated: “primeiras canções por baladas, não porque soubesse exatamente o significado deste termo, mas para as distinguir do fado de Coimbra, que comecei por cantar e que (...) atingira uma fase de saturação”.
• 7
  Freely translated: “a necessidade de romper com o passadismo e a inércia”.
• 8
  Freely translated: “viver habitualmente”.
• 9
  LAGOA, Vera. Amália: “Fui mais amada do que amei”. Manchete, Rio de Janeiro, n. 988, 27 Mar. 1971, p. 88-94.
• 10
  Freely translated: “Em qualquer parte, na revista, nos cabarés, nos seus ‘retiros’, a encenação do fado é igual. Olhos semicerrados, a cara crispada numa espécie de transe, um luto carregado e, como se não bastasse, o pesadume dum longo chaile negro: os acessórios da desgraça são poucos, mas bem elucidativos. A voz da Cantareira vem gemebunda, quebrada na laringe, cheia de artifícios que realçam a aflição intolerável dessa médium do infortúnio”.
• 11
  Freely translated: “o que se pretende é submeter o fado ao juízo da consciência crítica, a fim de que se possa compreender melhor o que ele comporta de nulo e envenenante, de grotesco e servil”.
• 12
  Freely translated: “não nos iludamos, o fado nem tem já os dias contados, nem se devotará a si próprio. Sempre soube adaptar-se às circunstâncias – e é o que está agora a fazer – e o seu melhor triunfo, o mais perturbável, encontra-se no fundo das nossas limitações”.
• 13
  AFONSO, José. Grândola, Vila Morena. In: Cantigas do Maio. Porto: Orfeu, 1971, track 5, 5 min 30 s.
• 14
  ARQUIVO NACIONAL DA TORRE DO TOMBO (ANTT), Lisbon. Relatório, 1 Apr. 1974. Secretaria de Estado da Informação e Turismo, Direção-Geral da Cultura Popular e Espetáculos, Direção dos Serviços de Espetáculos. Available at: https://educar.files.wordpress.com/2014/04/memc3b3ria1abr74.pdf. Access on: 13 Aug. 2023. Freely translated: “José Afonso também cantou. Mas primeiro todos os artistas deram os braços, e oscilavam o corpo da esquerda para a direita, no que foram logo imitados pelo público. Interpretou ‘Grândola Vila Morena’ e ‘Milho Verde’ e nova mente (sic) ‘Grândola’, acompanhado pelo público, que berrava, cremos que intencionalmente, a estrofe ‘o povo é quem mais ordena’”.
• 15
  AFONSO, José. Grândola, Vila Morena. In: Cantigas do Maio. Porto: Orfeu, 1971, track 5, 5 min 30 s. Freely translated: “Grândola, Vila Morena / Terra da fraternidade / O povo é quem mais ordena / Dentro de ti, ó cidade // Em cada esquina um amigo / Em cada rosto igualdade / Grândola, Vila Morena / Terra da fraternidade”.
• 16
  The participantes included, among others, Adriano Correia de Oliveira, Fausto, Isabel Branco, José Afonso, José Jorge Letria, José Mário Branco, Luís Cília, Luís Cortesão, Manuel Alegre, and Vitorino ( CÔRTE-REAL, 1996, p. 158).
• 17
  Freely translated: “o Colectivo orienta a sua actividade para o campo da música e da canção populares, fazendo um apelo a todos os trabalhadores culturais anti-fascistas, anti-colonialistas e anti-imperialistas consequentes que estejam interessados em pôr a sua actividade musical (...) no sentido de unificar e multiplicar a nossa participação organizada e activa no movimento democrático e popular”.
• 18
  MANIFESTO dos escritores comunistas da organização de Lisboa do PCP. Avante!, Lisbon, 26 July 1974, p. 7, emphasis added. Freely translated: “Os escritores comunistas da organização de Lisboa pensam que as tarefas prioritárias na conjuntura actual são: a) Actuação dos escritores no trabalho teórico diretamente relacionado com a prática muito intensa da luta ideológica (...); b) Comparticipação dos escritores no trabalho de enquadramento cultural e esclarecimento das classes trabalhadoras das camadas estudantis e, em geral, dos estratos sociais verdadeiramente interessados na gestão colectiva; c) Papel de denúncia e desmistificação das várias formas de alienação da consciência social a formulação de conceitos, imagens e ideais que contribuam para a libertação da pessoa humana (...)”.
• 19
  Moreover, it can be argued that it was an evil whose elimination would only continue, since this type of music had faced severe censorship during the Estado Novo period ( FIÚZA, 2013, p. 73). For insights on the persecution of brega, cafona, or pimba music, refer to Paulo César Araújo’s ( 2015) study on the Brazilian case.
• 20
  Freely translated: “Os fascistas cá do Porto / Fazem Bairros Camarários / Escondem nossa miséria Nas costas dos seus palácios // (...) A opressão tem mil caras / Tudo rouba e nada dá / Em Portugal libertado / Tudo isso acabará”.
• 21
  Freely translated: “panfletarismo”; “reflexo artístico (...) dos interesses da classe operária e dos seus aliados, formulados numa linguagem e num contexto que (...) lhe permite reforçar a sua dimensão de instrumento ideológico”.
• 22
  Freely translated: “em convergência (...) com amplos sectores reacionários”. See also, by the same author: Moura ( 1977).
• 23
  As English historian E. P. Thompson ( 1979) emphasized in a severe critique of Leninist-type Marxism, all forms of consciousness are true. The consciousness of the working classes should not be dictated or defined from an external standpoint by a particular vanguard.
• 24
  Worhy of mention are: GAC: Grupo de Acção Cultural – Vozes na Luta [Cultural Action Group – Voices in the Struggle]; Almanaque: Grupo de Recolha e Divulgação da Música Popular [Almanack: Popular Music Collection and Dissemination Group]; Grupo de Acção Cultural – Raízes [Group of Cultural Action – Roots]; Brigada Víctor Jara [Víctor Jara Brigade].
• 25
  Freely translated: “atua[va]m como dispositivos de militância ideológica”; “reside na intenção específica do cantor de ‘construir valor político’ transformando a canção numa arma de militância ideológica e, por consequência, de conscientização”; “a publicação e divulgação de mensagens (...) ‘político-culturais’, utilizando a música e as canções como instrumentos de militância”.
• 26
  City located in central Portugal, which houses a world-renowned Catholic sanctuary and constitutes the country’s main pilgrimage site.
• 27
  Freely translated: “malefícios da urbanidade”.
• 28
  In relation to António Ferro and the “policy of the spirit”, see: Ó ( 1994).
• 29
  Freely translated: “faina agrícola, sujeita à torreira do sol ou à impertinência das chuvas, é acima de tudo uma vocação de pobreza; mas o seu orgulho vem de que só ela alimenta o homem e lhe permite viver”.
• 30
  Freely translated: “do rigor e da autenticidade no tratamento da música tradicional portuguesa”.
• 31
  Freely translated: “baralha, quando é preciso, a esquerda e a direta, possui a virtude (...) de pôr ‘tudo em confusão’”.
• 32
  Freely translated: “outros fados”; “resistência”; “em surdina para reduzidas assistências”; “num instrumento dócil e eficaz da política fascista”; “o fado funcionou como um veículo destinado a semear a inércia, a apatia e o saudosismo”.
• 33
  Freely translated: “O derrube da ditadura fascista (...) vem pôr em causa do fado que, durante anos, funcionou como cartão de visita, como postal ilustrado do regime. Nunca se disse, porém, que era necessário acabar com o fado. O que várias vezes se salientou foi dar-lhe um conteúdo progressista, de o colocar abertamente ao serviço dos trabalhadores. Sabia-se que isso era possível. Se havia por todo o país milhares de trabalhadores a cantá-lo, não fazia sentido que ele não estivesse ao lado da Revolução”.
• 34
  CARLOS do Carmo, entre o fado e a canção. Mulher: Modas e Bordados, Lisbon, n. 3331, 3 Mar. 1976, p. 9-12, emphasis added. Freely translated: “Se havia um país novo a construir era preciso ajudar a erguer também um fado novo”.
• 35
  Freely translated: “não havia sentido aparecer ali um fadista”; “Ou o Carlos canta ou eu não canto”.
• 36
  See the following press articles: CEREJO, José António. Testamento privilegia fundação de benemerência. Público, Lisbon, 7 Oct. 1999, p. 4; GASPAR, Miguel. Um dia estúpido para escrever. Diário de Notícias, Lisbon, 7 Oct. 1999, p. 62; p. 64; LEIDERFARE, Luciana. Saudade sem fim. Expresso, Lisbon, 8 out. 1999, p. 14-17.
• 37
  Freely translated: “Do índice de notícias sobre Amália no Diário de Notícias – que sempre acompanhava a par e passo a vida e a carreira da artista (...) com uma frequência não raras vezes mensal, semanal e até mesmo diária (...) – deixou de constar qualquer informação a partir de Dezembro de 1973, retomando-se os registos sobre ela na página 11 da edição de 5 de Fevereiro de 1976”.
• 38
  RODRIGUES, Amália. Abandono. In: O Busto. Lisbon: Columbia, 1962, track 6, 5 min 13 s. Freely translated: “Por teu livre pensamento / Foram-te longe encerrar / Por teu livre pensamento / Foram-te longe encerrar // (...) Levaram-te ao meio da noite / A treva tudo cobria / Levaram-te ao meio da noite / A treva tudo cobria // Foi de noite, numa noite / De todas a mais sombria / Foi de noite, foi de noite / E nunca mais se fez dia”.
• 39
  RODRIGUES, Amália. Amália canta Luís de Camões. Lisbon: Columbia, 1965, 10 min 53 s.
• 40
  Freely translated: “canta letras à Picasso”.
• 41
  The reason for Alain Oulman’s absence from this album is not known. It is likely that this happened due to political reasons, since Oulman was associated with left-wing politics and an opponent of the Salazar dictatorship. In 1966, a year after the release of Amália canta Luís de Camões, Oulman was expelled from Portugal. According to the records of the Polícia Internacional e de Defesa do Estado [International and State Defense Police] (PIDE), the political police of the Estado Novo, Oulman was a member of the Frente de Ação Popular [Popular Action Front] (FAP), a Marxist organization of Maoist inspiration ( CARVALHO, 2020, pp. 140-141). For more information on Oulman’s case, see: ANTT, Lisbon. Alain Bertrand Robert Oulman, 15 Feb.-16 Mar. 1966. Fundo PIDE, seção Direção Serviços de Investigação e Contencioso, série Registo Geral de Presos, liv. 138, registo n. 27548. Available at: https://digitarq.arquivos.pt/details?id=4308111. Access on: 13 Aug. 2023.
• 42
  Freely translated: “A música de Alain Oulman, de uma estranha ousadia, de uma fatal diferença, de uma qualidade suprema face a tudo o que Amália até aí cantara, marcaria, a partir deste disco, toda a sua carreira, permitindo-lhe alcançar, em plena liberdade, os poetas que não cabiam no fado clássico, tornando o seu repertório excepcionalmente vasto e abrangente, nele cabendo agora toda a poesia portuguesa”.
• 43
  Freely translated: “sentimento de partilha, (...) a existência de um ‘lar’ [que] ainda que pobre, deveria representar motivo de orgulho e sinónimo de bom português”.
• 44
  RODRIGUES, Amália. Uma casa portuguesa. In: Amália à l’Olympia. Paris: Columbia, 1956, track 1, 2 min 53 s. Freely translated: “Numa casa portuguesa fica bem / Pão e vinho sobre a mesa / E se à porta humildemente bate alguém / Senta-se à mesa com a gente // (...) A alegria da pobreza / Está nesta grande riqueza / De dar e ficar contente”. It is likely that the opponents of fado overlooked – as they do not typically mention it – the fact that the author of these lyrics, Reinaldo Ferreira, also penned Menina dos olhos tristes [ Girl with Sad Eyes], which was interpreted by José Afonso and Adriano Correia de Oliveira, both prominent “intervention song” composers. Written in the 1950s, Menina would in the following decade be used to critique the war in Africa. The lyrics read: “Girl with the sad eyes / what makes you cry so much / the little soldier does not return / from the other side of the sea” (freely translated: “Menina dos olhos tristes / o que tanto faz chorar / o soldadinho não volta / do outro lado do mar”). See: AFONSO, José. Menina dos olhos tristes. Available at: https://www.letras.mus.br/jose-afonso/67119/. Access on: 13 Aug. 2023.
• 45
  Freely translated: “Amália foi agora instrumentalizada de uma outra forma, dando a voz (...) a uma mensagem literária de resistência, e musical de mudança”.
• 46
  BUARQUE, Chico. O que será (À flor da terra). Available at: https://www.letras.com/chico-buarque/45156/. Access on: 13 Aug. 2023. Freely translated: “suspirando pelas alcovas”.
• 47
  AMÁLIA Rodrigues. Mulher, modas e bordados, Lisbon, 28 Jan. 1978, p. 7. Freely translated: “Depois do 25 de Abril puseram-me imediatamente de lado”.
• 48
  Freely translated: “Se a senhora assinou um documento há mês e meio a concordar com a sua ida, não vai então tomar uma nítida atitude política”.
• 49
  Freely translated: “O mal dos pobres / Mesmo em horas de fartura / É sentirem a amargura / Do pão tantas vezes negado”.
• 50
  A BELA e o monstro. República, Lisbon, 3 July 1958, p. 1. Freely translated: “Estava a bela na sua ira incontida que sacudia o seu corpo magro e nervoso. Sua cabeleira negra e revolta agitava-se, desgrenhada, como batida por um vendaval de insânia. Sua boca larga e vermelha como um cravo andaluz contorcia-se num rictus de dor inenarrável. (...) As lágrimas correram-lhe em fio pelos belos olhos negros como o luto que lhe ia na alma. E foi assim que ela cumpriu seu fado”.
• 51
  PRIMEIRAS notícias da jornada nacional de protesto. Avante!, Lisbon, 1 ^st Fortn. July 1959, p. 1. Freely translated: “Com preços módicos e um cartaz aliciante que tentava utilizer a grande popularidade da grande artista Amália Rodrigues, procuraram os salazaristas quebrar a boicotagem dos espetáculos. A certa altura, porém, tiveram de vender os bilhetes abaixo do preço marcado e, por fim, distribuíram-nos de graça pelos organismos corporativos”.
• 52
  MATA, Francisco. [Letter to the Newspaper]. O Século, Lisbon, 27 May 1975, p. 4. Freely translated: “Amália foi vítima das invejas mesquinhas de muitos colegas que nunca conseguiram comer as uvas da fábula”.
• 53
  OULMAN, Alain. [Letter to the Newspaper]. República, Lisbon, 15 Jan. 1975, p. 6. Freely translated: “A campanha de calúnias contra Amália obriga-me a esclarecer certas afirmações, porque ninguém, que eu saiba, o fez até à data com conhecimento de causa, e Amália certamente não o fará. (...) Nunca vi, ouvi, soube, durante tantos anos de amizade, de qualquer colaboração com o antigo regime, a não ser quando convidada para cantar em festas oficiais, como qualquer artista profissional e como, aliás, muitos artistas o fizeram”.
• 54
  Freely translated: “Nenhuma instância oficial assume uma posição contra o fado, mas este foi praticamente banido da rádio e da televisão”.
• 55
  Freely translated: “Sons de Abril”; “na década de 1960 começa a emergir uma viragem neste modelo de comprometimento da música em relação ao Estado”.
• 56
  Freely translated: “restauraram-se as liberdades democráticas [as] listas negras (...) deixaram de funcionar. Os cantores e compositores começaram a circular livremente por todo o País”.
• 57
  Alexandre Fiúza ( 2013) offers an exhaustive overview of the operation of censorship in the final years of the Estado Novo. The National Archives of Torre do Tombo hold extensive documentation about persecutions and censorship during the Estado Novo era. See, for example: ANTT, Lisbon. Alexandre Manuel Vahia de Castro O’Neill de Bulhões, 20 Dec. 1954-13 Jan. 1953. Fundo PIDE, seção Serviços Centrais, série Registo Geral de Presos, liv. 108, registo n. 21436. Available at: https://digitarq.arquivos.pt/details?id=4301975; Compilação de “Poemas retirados do original de Alexandre O’Neill”, [post. 1944]. Fundo Secretaria de Estado da Cultura, subfundo Gabinete 1, série Processos de entidades singulares e coletivas, cx. 630, n. 20. Available at: https://digitarq.arquivos.pt/details?id=7762296; Mestre Ubu, 1959. Fundo Secretariado Nacional de Informação, subfundo Direcção Geral dos Serviços de Espectáculos, série Processos de censura a peças de teatro, proc. 5936. Available at: https://digitarq.arquivos.pt/details?id=4320324; Sassetti & Companhia Limitada, 1965-1974. Fundo Secretariado Nacional de Informação, subfundo Direcção dos Serviços de Censura, seção Secretaria, série Processos, cx. 457. Available at: https://digitarq.arquivos.pt/details?id=4331936; Amália Rodrigues e Adriano Correia de Oliveira, receberam este ano o prémio “Pozal Domingues” (música ligeira portuguesa), instituído pela Casa Valentim de Carvalho de Lisboa, 27 jun. 1969. Fundo Flama, seção Serviço de fotografia, série Positivos, pt. n.º 5640, doc. 085. Available at: https://digitarq.arquivos.pt/details?id=7869833. All pages were accessed on 13 Aug. 2023.
• 58
  Freely translated: “a palavra novo encanta”.
• 59
  VELOSO, Caetano. Vaca profana. Available at: https://www.letras.com/caetano-veloso/44789/. Access on: 13 Aug. 2023. Freely translated: “gotas de leite bom na minha cara, chuva do mesmo bom sobre os caretas”.

Publication Dates

• Publication in this collection
  05 Jan 2024
• Date of issue
  Sep-Dec 2023

History

• Received
  28 Feb 2023
• Reviewed
  13 Aug 2023
• Accepted
  14 Aug 2023