We are not only trilled as a recording company to be able to realize this record but we are very proud to introduce this record to you with a poetic introduction written by our brother Almir Rosa.

I have long lost the habit of seeing old photographs. The moment is a classic of the 80s and 90s. Family gatherings where the photo books appeared amid the smell of coffee in the middle of the afternoon after a delicious and warmhearted lunch.
This ritual has marked many people, even today it happens in many families. It’s so important for us not to disconnect from the past, to look where we come from.
What if we could open a photo album from the future?
Berlin is a record that lives its own time, dilated, anachronistic, mystic and joker, it slides between rituals and swings that travel in bottomless pits, while it sees appear with the sunset the impossible right side of trees.
A record, a magical rift that casts violet light on what we live, turns our days warmed by the heat of affection and hope and even more radiantly it spreads golden seeds through the gardens of the future!
Berlin swings at the crossroads while photo books orbit it!”

St. Benedict’s way

A record that begins by asking for a blessing for the grandmother, moves through the wind and the time made of coffee aroma. It follows in the footsteps of the saint because on this path is written a song that speaks of love. The words invoked at the opening of a ritual say a lot about the transcendental. phenomenon that will appear before us.

Paulo, the angel

If you’re on a road driving a Maverick and next to you, on the passenger seat, an angel is sitting, that’s a great sign. If the swing that plays on the tape goes with his laughter, much of the view is then guar-anteed. Friendship is the bitten fruit, it is flowing together through the streets of the city made by the streams that search for the sea. It is to shoot that impossible ball between three markers and see it nestle at your partner’s feet, as if it has been doing it for years, for lives and more lives. Happy is the person who drinks with his guardian angel.

Manoel Cabinda

Where paths meet there is a point highlighted in our imaginary. The crossroads has become stronger as a term and a situation in the catalogue of symbologies. The crossroad has generated mysteries, sparks and promises. Inside of us there are several crossroads and when we cross with other people, a new manifestation becomes even more powerful and here I am thinking of the turns that the world takes.
At a crossroads between Vila Nhocuné and Berlin, we can see blacks who write their stories between songs and revolutions, for today and forever, freeing themselves.

Domingo

Sunday is the day of the week that has most seduced the Brazilian song book. Os Originals do Samba said that it is the day of joy; SPC told us that it is the day to meet and let out, and the ancients used to say said that it is the day of the pipe’s foot. But come on, does a pipe have a foot?
Hence the importance of the imaginary, of seeing the smoke rising from behind the undergrowth, mixing among the kites in the sky of the East Zone so shamanic as it is populated.
In those late afternoons of the day that blends between the last and first of the week, we saw relatives and friends gathering, celebrating in that deep hole, eating, drinking and singing, worlds that end and begin, between one swing and another.

Bad Way

Coahb 2, East Zone, São Paulo, Brazil, two o’clock in the afternoon, while the world is boiling outside, someone finds protection inside, 2 x 2. A dark blue duvet hanging from the window tries to prevent the sunbursts loaded with charges. A coffeestained notebook rests under the table, full of computations and verses.
In the cold autumn afternoons, the duvet leaves the window towards the two seater sofa, and so the sun goes through the vase of windmills and casts its shadow on the wall.
A trail of perfume that prevails over the dark blue of the duvet was caught embarking at the Aricanduva terminal, dreaming up poems and spreading blackberries with eyes.

Friend João

João said he knew about jazz by watching how his house worked, the various people in that small space, crossing paths, dreams and tasks, the computer keyboard working frantically, the pressure cooker squeaking, children crying, children running, phone ringing, palm tapping the gate, dishcloths for sale, messages sprouting from the screen of the cell phone and, between the refrigerator and the sofa, in one hand ice cream and in the other he counts the days for the results of a project, ah, he needs to greet the Dizão because he drew a trip. When João heard jazz for the first time they already knew each other.

By Almir Rosa, São Paulo April 2020
from Brazilian Portuguese by José-Mária Durán Medraño