Although recorded in the shadow of tragedy, the Brazilian singer-songwriter’s first album in six years is characteristically delicate in tone and full of charm.
Bebel Gilberto made Agora over three years of tragedy. In that time the singer lost her best friend, who suffered a fatal heart attack as Gilberto spoke with him over the phone, and her mother, the samba star Miúcha, who died of lung cancer. Then Gilberto’s father, Brazilian music legend João Gilberto, passed away in 2019. All the while she was at work on Agora, an album that raises the question: How might personal turmoil have reshaped an artist whose music has been defined by its tranquility?
Since emerging as a solo artist in the mid 1980s, Gilberto’s music has been calming on the ear yet emotionally resonant. The 54-year-old’s smoky vocals and bossa-nova arrangements are the sound of stirred feelings; she can move the soul with the faintest brushstrokes. (When Nip/Tuck used the ghostly, gorgeous “Lonely” as its pilot episode’s theme song in 2003, it hinted at the wicked underside of beauty that the cosmetic surgery-themed show aspired to probe). Still, unlike Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ Ghosteen, Agora does not pontificate on grief, nor does it trade in voyeuristic detail. Perhaps the most personal track is the moving “O Que Não Foi Dito” (“What Wasn’t Said”), a song Gilberto wrote for her father. Yet the words (sung, like the majority of the album, in Portuguese) are oblique, tender, and not overly explicit, with Bebel singing of the bond father and daughter shared: “I know you trust in me.”
Despite its unhappy origins, Agora mostly shares the polished feel typical of Gilberto’s albums, albeit with a few distinct flourishes from producer Thomas Bartlett, who helps color in the edges with understated electronic touches. The title track’s clattering beat nods to Fiona Apple’s penchant for unusual percussion, with a quirky feel complemented by Gilberto’s spoken-word delivery. On “Essence,” Gilberto’s soft touch is matched with twinking synth pop. Most striking might be “Na Cara,” a duet with fellow veteran Brazilian performer Mart’nália, where the singers playfully bob and swagger over a creeping double bass. As ever, Gilberto’s delicate melodies feel like they might not withstand a strong breeze.
This elegance helps carry the goofy but charming “Yet Another Love Song,” which walks the same path as Wings’ “Silly Love Songs.” Here, Gilberto looks at her beau and immediately feels inspired to write a romance tune—acknowledging, like Paul and Linda McCartney before her, that this is well-trodden ground: “Now the world makes room for yet another love song.” she sings. Gilberto also toys with eternal songwriting truisms on “Cliché,” addressing her listeners directly: “For those who do not know/I’m singing this melody for you.” Unfortunately, her voice takes on an exaggerated wispiness here, bordering on frailty. There are a few other moments throughout the record when Gilberto and Bartlett’s instincts seem off: The lagging beat and wordless refrain of “Raio” feel half-hearted and out of step with the rest of the set.
But for the most part, Gilberto’s voice finds the pocket, and when she’s front and center, the arrangements expertly draped around her, Agora is a rapturous listen. It’s not the star’s finest work—for newcomers, 2000’s Tanto Tempo remains her most engaging set—but in a time of personal distress, Gilberto embraces the familiar comforts of her graceful sound.
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