Papangu – Lampi​ã​o Rei Review

Cover artwork by Eduardo Ver

Papangu’s debut album, Holoceno, was a resounding success in 2021, even making that year’s Last Rites Combined Staff Top 25. Four longtime friends from João Pessoa, Brazil, had somehow found a way (over seven years) to innervate dark, sludgy, menacing metal with the progressive jazz/classical fusion of zeuhl and bright hues of Brazilian traditional music, making remarkably cohesive songs with a compelling narrative flow. For that album’s mythical tale, the first in a planned triptych drawing from regional folklore and history, they crafted a musical allegory of environmental collapse using the technique and structural frameworks of seminal avant-garde prog rock acts and pulled it off so effectively that it all felt as if it were not only new, but also somehow exactly what was supposed to be.

Now three years on and in less than half the time it took to make the debut, Papangu presents their second album, Lampi​ã​o Rei. A lot is different this time around, including the expectations of fans, of course, but certainly of the band, as well. The first thing the listener will notice is sure to be the production. Where Holoceno sounds dense and dark, murky and musty like it was recorded in a smoky basement, Lampi​ã​o Rei is comparatively bright and warm in the way of the classic analog era of recording. Nearly as quickly, it becomes clear that this record doubles down on the eccentricity of prog within the complexity of zeuhl and yet somehow feels smooth and cohesive, complete in its execution. Finally, in a practical sense, the band has been expanded from quartet to sextet (there are again, of course, many guests, as well), which means the addition of a bevy of instruments from guitars and synthesizers to vocals and percussion. This expansion to broaden their musical palette in a permanent way is indicative of what may be this band’s greatest strength: full commitment to the meaning in the art. The members of Papangu love making music as an expression of their values, have a genuine passion for celebrating their community and its people and the art they create. It’s evident in the music itself, of course, but even a cursory look at the context of the band’s creativity reveals depth and breadth commensurate with the rich culture for which their home is famous.

Lampião Rei tells the story of Virgulino Ferreira da Silva, known colloquially as Lampião (it was said he could fire his rifle so quickly that the muzzle fire looked like he was holding a lamp), an early-20th Century bandit in Brazil who became a folk legend and the historical face of the cangaço movement, a social resistance among the region’s underclass so often abused as a matter of course by those in power. Some modern Brazilian celebrities and politicians have co-opted Lampião’s legend in a cynical display of machismo and fealty to institutional authority (see also: Rednecks and Blue Lives Matter in the USA), and this album is a bit of activist push-back to set the Lampião story straight. In direct contrast to the bastardization described above, this album reminds listeners that Lampião and his party were far more of the people than its police. They made and wore fancy clothes, (they were dandies, as band co-founder Marco Mayer is fond of saying), who sang melodious songs and revelled in Afro-Brazilian culture as they engaged in Robin Hood-style reallocation of funds from rich to poor. It’s this intersection of folktale, history, socio-political activism, and rich musical heritage that comprises the core of Lampião Rei.

There’s so much darkness and pain in stories like this but so much determination and hope, too, a dynamic captured beautifully across these songs. The opening track’s dynamic shifts in tone from pastoral to heavy and foreboding to energetic and sanguine is emblematic of Papangu’s optimistic view even in the dim light of the subject matter’s rewritten history. It’s reflective of their faith in the strength and resiliency of their community, so wonderfully conveyed by a jazz guitar-synth interplay, warm and embracing and then downright buoyant in closing it out with a Yes/Steve Howe outro dance among the glassy notes of Rhodes piano accompaniment. What a fantastic way to manifest that optimism.

Yet darkness persists. The second track, “Boitatá (Incidente na pia batismal da Capela de Bom Jesus dos Aflitos),” is like an unholy communion of Magma, Van Der Graaf Generator, Can, Black Sabbath, and modern black metal/krautrock acts like Aluk Todolo and, in sounding perhaps like nothing else before it, underscores the artistic integrity of the band. This song has got to be the result of some trippy organic songwriting process, a psychedelic ritual for finding the sounds that tell the story best; there’s surely no formula to make such disparate pieces come together so fully but an honest songwriting approach that results in music that sounds like it just couldn’t have been done in any other way. The close here, again, brings light to the dark as flitting flute notes weave their way between feverish chants and growls, slowly burning away the black.

“Oferenda no Alguidar” opens things up like the sunshine as one emerges from a dark alley, with a funky swinging street party beat, barely hanging on in the wake of double kick drums and assorted hand drums and other percussion. Layered vocals and spastic riffs spiral things up into near-chaos until it all settles back into itself and spaces out for a bit before exploding back into party mode with disco riffs and ringing synths.

It’s moments like those that close “Oferenda no Alguidar” where an attentive listener may find themselves checking the liner notes for some indication of just how many flippin’ instruments they got goin’ on in this mug. Answer: so many (see below). And, again, it’s a fair bet that every instrument was chosen for its particular role in realizing the songwriters’ vision. For example, the use of vocal percussion in “Sol Raiar (Caminhando na Manhã Bonita)” to close out the A side wouldn’t hold up as mere novelty, but here feels like authentic tribute to local heroes like Edu Lobo.

The second side of Lampião Rei opens with “Maracutaia” and the cry of a samba whistle continuing the festive mood, shuffling feet and thrusting hips to an insistent beat that pulses latent heavy metal just below the surface. Then what might be the sound of Steely Dan getting high on post-rock at Carnival. What. “Maracutaia” might best encapsulate the songwriting chops across the record, attributable in degrees to all members. From the paradoxical arrangement of its first section to a sultry, sexy bass solo (just one of a few times the bass enjoys spotlight, by the way), a breakout for the drums, a drop to plaintive vocals with piano and a false ending before a frenetic close that conjures images of Zappa mustering avant-grindcore on his way to fight the one-man-band busking out front of the cantina.

The closing third of Lampião Rei turns more assuredly to positivity, an air of respite and healing, and then celebration. “Ruínas” runs Gentle Giant (Gentil Gigante?) through a Scandinavian Prog Rock sieve into an admixture of Brazilian folk music sounds and textures. The vocal percussion here is easily one of the brightest highlights on an album full of them. With the surrounding synths and vibraphone, it feels like Jordsjø sitting under the palms for a conversation with Antônio Carlos Jobim, especially when the flute flutters by.

“Rito de Coroação” ushers in the closing sequence with a summertime vibe, ringing post-rock riffs over Wurlitzer piano that sounds like it could be right at home on the Colemine roster. Again you might wonder how they’re going to work the metal in here; it’s lurking there in the drums, as before, but then it’s on you almost before you get a glimpse of it, in waves of distortion and rising minor chords until it sweeps into a midsection that draws deeply from that midperiod Enslaved sound that defines their finest stretch. The result is a profoundly moving passage, resounding, surging, swirling, threatening dissolution without quite falling apart. Urgently chanted vocals impart a ritualistic air alive with echoing jazz riffs over double kicks. At last, it all bursts into a violently pulsing zeuhl segment and finally resolves with a whirl of soaring solos from the lead guitar, Wurli and Rhodes, and flute that brings it all home to remind us that, with hope, even the darkest black dissipates against the light.

It’s a tall order naming another band who manages to cover such a rich spectrum of sound and texture, style and genre with such skill. A few years ago, Papangu made a name for themselves by doing it with equal measures of audacity and aplomb. Time is the ultimate arbiter, of course, but early indications are that they have outdone themselves with Lampião Rei, not by doing something again only better or something else simply because it’s novel, but by knowing themselves and their values, creating music that means something special because it’s of something special.

 

Papangu 2024

Rai Accioly – electric guitar, lead & backing vocals
Vitor Alves – drums, triangle, agogo, zabumba
Pedro Francisco – flutes, electric & acoustic guitars, percussion, vibraphone, Fender Rhodes, Clavinet, rubber chicken, lead & backing vocals
Marco Mayer – bass, electric & acoustic guitars, lead & backing vocals
Hector Ruslan – electric & acoustic guitars, lead & backing vocals
Rodolfo Salgueiro – Fender Rhodes, Wurlitzer, Mellotron, piano, organ, synths, triangle, lead & backing vocals

with special guests:
Philippe Bussonnet – bass solo
Marian Sarine – congas
João Kombi – vocals
Paulo Ró – vocal percussion, udu
Andrea P. – violin