Legendary Brazilian psychedelic rock band Os Mutantes’ concert at the Space Ballroom Tuesday night was a show that almost didn’t happen.
At 11 the night before, on a turnpike in New Hampshire, a piece of the RV they were in exploded. Os Mutantes tour manager Diego Cano called cabs for the band members to get to a hotel, while he slept alone on the freeway in the broken-down RV.
“I got woken up by the police,” Cano said of his start to the day. He wasn’t sure what to do after the cops told him to get off the freeway, but he made some calls. In the end, a representative for RV company Cruise America sent a tow truck for Cano and got the band back on the road.
“That’s how we got here,” Cano, who also goes by Gogododo, said Tuesday night. (“And the band calls me GG!” he said). “The freakin’ lady was so nice to me.”
Before the band got into their set, Dias called out to Cano in the audience, waiting for “GG” to come close to the stage to make sure he was properly celebrated for bringing the band to Hamden safely.
“The poor guy had to endure the whole bloody thing,” Dias said. “Thanks to him, we’re here.”
In his Os Mutantes T-shirt and jeans, Dias led the group through classic hits and new releases with grounded old-school glamor. Each instrumentalist got their time to shine, with drummer Cláudio Tchernev taking the crowd through layered polyrhythms and vocalist Esmeria Bulgari closing her eyes to belt out refrains and cathartic "ahh"s. The band's psychedelic sound created an expansive space in the ballroom with distortions, plenty of synth, and detours they stayed in just as long as they liked.
It was audience member Lauren Takores' second time at the Space Ballroom in two days. Takores took the week off work as a reporter in Oneonta, N.Y., to come see Os Mutantes and Tripping Daisies, who played the day before. "Two good shows in a row," as she said, were enough to bring her back to the locale where she grew up for some quality music. Her eyes lit up as she told me about Os Mutantes' anti-fascist styles and changes to the band over the years.
Rick Omonte, a.k.a. DJ Shaki, opened the show with a vinyl-only DJ set pouring out dance tunes from Brazil and other countries in Latin America, at least some serving as examples of Os Mutantes’ broad influence over the almost-60 years the band has been in existence.
“Me gusta”, Sérgio Dias said after the DJ set ended, continuing from the last song Shaki played. He was echoing lyrics from L.A. Chicanx band Las Cafeteras, who sing, “Me gusta la lima/ Me gusta limón/ Pero no me gusta/ Tanta corrupción,” in their song “If I was President.”
It was eight years ago now that Las Cafeteras changed the last two lines to “Pero no me gusta/ La deportación” at a rally in Fair Haven for Nury Chavarria, who protected herself from ICE agents and a deportation order by taking sanctuary in a church on East Pearl Street. The band was in town then to play Cafe Nine. When they learned about Chavarria, they decided to add their energy to the rally, stengthening their bonds in the area and making an impact so big DJs like Shaki know their songs still hit with the local crowd.
The song was a fitting introduction for Os Mutantes. The band formed in the ‘60s in Brazil as one of the biggest names in the Tropicália movement, a musical genre embodying rock, samba, and the avant-garde, with an anti-authoritarian flair that antagonized the military dictatorship.
Lead guitarist Sérgio Dias remains the last original member still in the band, keeping it weird and staying cool under any pressure. After years under threat of arrest by the government (a threat that became real for other Tropicália icons like Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil), Os Mutantes became the kind of band that is not easily fazed.
Cano’s calm decision-making with the RV was echoed in Os Mutantes’ cues to each other and to the sound technician at the Space Ballroom. Typical calls to raise the monitor volume or reduce feedback were performed without a hint of stress.
“Feedback,” Dias said simply, just one time, into the mic at a break between songs. Camilo Macedo on the 12-string guitar started singing, “Turn down the mic” in a slow, melodic repetition. Bulgari threw a few dog-like yips into her mic for emphasis. The sound tech got the message. There was no urgency, just certainty.
When the band made a false start in their 2020 song “Beyond” and had to run it back a second time, Dias happily blamed it on the RV incident.
Dias’ guitar prowess cut through mellow moments with sudden super-complex solos, a craft he honed over decades. He looked toward the ceiling as he played, as if in a trance.
The band played a multi-song encore that felt like another mini set. They couldn't leave the stage without giving the crowd their 1968 hit, “A Minha Menina." The crowd sang along to the sloping notes and mellow, bopping rhythm, ela é minha menina. She’s my girl.
Through otherwordly sounds, incredible synchronization, and a rich history of staying strange despite it all, Os Mutantes figured out the secret recipe to being high-energy and chill at the same time.
