Important Primordials: The peninsula upon which Salvador is situated is like the thumb of an open and grasping hand, what is normally thought of as the Recôncavo then being defined by the curved index finger. This way of definition developed when agricultural products were brought to Salvador by boat, sometimes making their way first down the Paraguaçu river after having been carried overland from the sertão (backlands) to Cachoeira, the river debouching into the bay at Maragogipe. The city of Bahia (as it was usually called then) was crouched on the bay, comprised of a commercial district much smaller in area than today (landfill has increased it greatly), the area around the upper section of the elevator, and what is now called Pelourinho.
Much of the remainder of the peninsula was given to sugarcane plantations, and dotted within the Atlantic rainforest were countless quilombos; both are attested to today in commonly used city names. The neighborhood of Garcia was once Fazenda Garcia (fazenda being a farm or plantation), and this denomination is still used today to distinguish one end of Garcia (fim-de-linha) from the other (the Campo Grande end). Neighborhoods Engenho Velho de Federação and Engenho Velho de Brotas are so called for the old mills (engenhos velhos) which pressed the caldo (juice, so to speak) from the cane so laboriously hacked out of the fields. The neighborhood of Cabula is named for an nkisi (deity) of candomblé angola (the first candomblé to arrive in Bahia)…whose rhythms comprise the basis for samba, meaning that the rhythms to which so many in the world inexpertly swayed as Stan Getz’s saxophone soared and João and Astrud Gilberto sensuously intoned — this paragon of suave Brazilian sophistication — was born in the rough senzalas of Bahia. Ironically enough, the barefoot senzala version was/is far more sophisticated than the sophisticated version.
But times have changed, and Cabula is now a crowded, non-descript middle-to-working class Salvador city neighborhood (plenty of candomblé around though), and Engenhos Velhos de Federação and Brotas are swarming working class neighborhoods (ditto the candomblé); the senzala samba, the samba chula and samba-de-roda have disappeared. A simplified version — Bahian pagode — is heard everywhere in Salvador, but the real-deal stuff has died out here in the big city. It remains, however, a potent force on the remainder of its native ground, the Recôncavo proper, where it is danced to on pounded earth, under moonlight broken by banana, palm and mango leaves, lifting the souls of its participants almost like something religious, which it was, and gods aside, is.
Two Black Americas
The U.S. was scene of a world-shaking migration of African-Americans from the plantation country of the rural south to the cities of the north. These people carried with them various strands of a music which in evolution would come to completely dominate the music of the nation, and most of the planet. One part of the vast lore associated with this history is that of the intersection of highways 61 and 49. It was here that bluesman Robert Johnson is reputed to have sold his soul to the devil for the complete and holy mastery of his guitar and musical idiom.
Brazil also saw a mass migration of African-hyphenated people searching for employment, but here it was from the sugarcane plantations of Bahia south, to Rio de Janeiro, after the abolishment of slavery in 1888. These people likewise carried with them their music which in evolution would come to completely dominate the music of a nation…but in this case it was samba.
And as the original “delta” blues remained behind — for some decades anyway — in Mississippi and Alabama and Texas et al…primordial samba (samba chula / samba-de-roda) remains still in the land which was its cradle, the Recôncavo. There’s even a crossroads here, dominated not by the devil but by the African deity Exu (who was conflated — mistakenly of course — by Christians with Satan): This is the crossroads of BA (Bahia) 420 (running between the towns of Santo Amaro and Cachoeira, both vast redoubts of candomblé) and BA 878 (turning off from BA 420 and after a few kilometers following the interior coast of the bay south to the town of Bom Jesus dos Pobres).
If in passing this inconspicuous-enough but mightily-culturally-freighted junction one slows down or pulls over, there usually will be seen several despachos — offerings to Exu — clay bowls with cigars, cachaça (cane liquor), fowl… Exu is the opener of pathways, including between earth and higher realms; the guardian standing watch. How appropriate that he should preside over the head of the pathway between the primal African samba of Bahia and the national music of Brazil (although in the past the journey south to Rio was made by boat). And likewise (for we believe it was Exu metaphorically rather than the devil likewise at the crossroads of Highways 61 and 49, or 8 and 1 as some say) over the pathway between the primal musics of the Old South and the national musics of the United States.
Bahia’s primordial samba was born mere graceful steps away from laughing in the death-mask of presumed power. Both it and America’s primordial music are, in common, part of humanity’s arsenal of not only survival mechanisms, but of prevailing mechanisms. Beauty aside, therein lies their importance.