Caetano Veloso on his birthday

Caetano Veloso -- image via X

By Urariano Mota

To our great surprise, Caetano Veloso turns 84 today. But 84?! If the seasons rule our lives, we can say of them what Nelson Rodrigues said about videotape during a discussion: “Time is stupid!”

We say this because when we look at the faces of these artists, we see ourselves in them. Not so much because of their physical appearance—their features and bodies—which are in better shape than ours these days. Some of them, like Paulinho da Viola and Caetano Veloso, are even more handsome. As a general rule, for people who weren’t exactly paragons of beauty in their 20s, the passage of time has made them beautiful. But it’s not their current physical appearance that I’m referring to. The truth is that when we look at their faces, we see ourselves reflected in them. But the face we see isn’t the one in today’s photograph. Behind them—or rather, right in front of them—are the faces of who we were in their youth.

True age is the one that endures in our memory of the most fruitful times and the creator’s rebellious spirit. More than just enduring, it takes over everything and overshadows all others. Hence the foolishness of calendars that neither know nor realize that Caetano Veloso is

“I want to go, everyone, I’m not from around here

I don’t have anything; I want to see Irene laugh

I want to see Irene laugh her laugh”

At the time, we thought Irene's laughter was like Che's machine gun in Bolivia.

So, upon reflection, we discovered a contradictory fact in the lives of artists. Contrary to what conservatives recommend—or what common sense would suggest—they did not take shelter from the storm in in emergency shelters. Even though they never donned a suit of armor or a hero’s garb during the dictatorship, in their own way they slept on the floor like Ho Chi Minh in Vietnam. They were evicted from the house where they lived, just like Karl Marx in London. They stood close to Che’s glassy eyes in Bolivia.

They stood with the heroic resistance fighters who fought to the bitter end. That is, they sang, composed songs, defied the regime, and endured acts of terrorism while fascism loomed on Brazil’s horizon.

As I wrote and published in the novel “A mais longa duração da juventude”, translated into English by Peter Lownds under the title “Never-Ending Youth’:

“He’s a much better composer, don’t you think?” Vargas is asking me something. “Hunh? Who’s better?” I answer without understanding the question.

“Caetano Veloso, of course. Are you napping?”

“Me? No way. Yes, Caetano Veloso is good.”

“He’s not just good. He’s the best composer of Brazilian popular music.”

“No, that’s going too far,” I say “Look, liking Caetano is a struggle for me. He’s far from the best.”

“I like Caetano. He has some good things.” That’s Alberto.

“Good?! He’s the best Brazilian composer—.” Vargas was going to say, “in history.” Now I see that his sense of self-control matches the modesty of the Baron of Itararé who was going to call himself Duke but lowered the title to Baron. “He’s the best. Caetano Veloso is the best composer in the time of revolution!”

And the discussion went on late into the night in 1972. The “foquistas”—as we called the urban guerrillas who robbed banks to raise money for the revolution—were supporters of Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil. Meanwhile, the supporters of the mass movement to overthrow the dictatorship, such as the communists of the Communist Party of Brazil, Brazilian Communist Party and the Marxist-Leninist Popular Action—we stood alongside Chico Buarque, Paulinho da Viola, and Geraldo Vandré. Today, with the benefit of hindsight, we can see that both sides were right in their artistic aspirations. These brilliant composers, now over 80 years old, continue their fruitful careers.

Looking back now, we see that we didn’t just love music. We wanted it all—heaven on earth. We were the living souls of our time. That story hasn’t died; the great composers still sing to us today.

On another page of the novel “Never-Ending Youth’, I wrote:

“I see the eagles growing old, debasing themselves, becoming vile as if they were fulfilling the destiny of their species, not now. I watch the eagles turn gray, see their white crown feathers get weak and brittle and notice they no longer fly as high as they used to. On the pinnacle of time, they do not decay, as if in revolt against biology, against the organization of life which grows disorganized and disintegrates when it nears the end. Parodying Goethe in the poem “One and All,” they were thwarted by the world’s soul and battled it tirelessly, so they could live eternally. They took other forms, obviously, but maintained their youthful being”.

Calendar, retreat to your insignificance! For to count beyond 80 is not to understand the passage of days. A creator’s true age is that of his most fruitful times. Now and always, until the penultimate drop of the storms.

Long live Caetano Veloso!

Urariano Mota is a writer and journalist, author of the novels "Soledad in Recife" and "Never-Ending Youth" which narrate the Brazilian dictatorship.