Tone Glow 160: Marcos Valle

Marcos Valle (b. 1943) is a Brazilian musician who has spent his career crafting works that draws from traditional Brazilian music and rhythms, but also rock, jazz, funk, and soul. He started writing songs as a teenager, assisted by his lyricist brother, Paulo Sérgio Valle. His debut album arrived in 1963 with Samba “Demais”. He would continue to innovate with every subsequent LP, and became a major figure in bossa nova upon the release of Viola Enluarada (1968). He would travel and live between Brazil and the United States throughout his life, collaborating with numerous artists including Sergio Mendes, Milton Nascimento, Leon Ware, Sarah Vaughan, and Chicago. During the 1980s he released multiple albums—Vontade de Rever Você (1981), Marcos Valle (1983), and O Tempo da Gente (1986)—that saw him pivot to boogie. Soon thereafter, he focused on composing for film and television before releasing his own music again in the late 1990s. Recently, he released T​ú​nel Ac​ú​stico (2024), an album that seeks to bring out elements from throughout his career. He’s currently on tour throughout the United States and Canada until mid-October. Joshua Minsoo Kim spoke with Valle on July 17th, 2024 via WhatsApp to discuss the music he loved in his childhood, his invigorating relationship with Leon Ware, and the gratitude he has now that he’s in his 80s.

Joshua Minsoo Kim: How’s your day been?

Marcos Valle: Today I had some other interviews with people from both Europe and the United States because of the upcoming tour. I had this idea with the song we’re releasing—“Feels So Good,” which I did with Leon Ware—that I could use his voice to rehearse it. I was working with an engineer to see if I could perform it live so that his voice could still be heard while I’m singing.

That’s awesome. I’m excited to see how that pans out live, and I’m excited for the new album, T​ú​nel Ac​ústico (2024). I wanted to start by asking about one of your older songs, “A Paraíba não é Chicago.” I live in Chicago and wanted to ask what inspired that song in particular. Do you have any thoughts on Chicago?

The idea came about in the 1980s. I was living in LA for five years and, among other things, I had met the group Chicago. We became close and they recorded songs of mine on their album. When I decided to record Vontade de Rever Você (1981), I had decided to come back to Brazil and I called them one by one. I asked if they could record two tracks with me and they all said yes! Leon Ware and I wrote the melody for this song with Peter Cetera of Chicago. The song has this rhythm from Brazil, baião, but it’s mixed with the rock ambiance that Chicago has. That’s what was in my mind. It was so lovely to have both of these sounds.

When I talked with my brother (Paulo Sérgio Valle) to write the lyrics, we had the idea to build on that. In Brazil, we have this state called Paraíba where, in the old times there was some violence and there was someone who would protect the poor. He was like Robin Hood. There were knives and everything, a lot of blood. And then there was the mafia at the time in Chicago. We decided to do something funny with the lyrics, where we bring together people from Chicago and Paraíba and you think there’s going to be a fight but the music brings everyone together. The bass comes in, the percussion comes in, and the music blends together. It was perfect because we were working with the group Chicago, too.

I know you were born in Rio de Janeiro. What are the earliest memories you have related to music? I know you started playing it since you were five, but what comes to mind for you of your childhood?

Even before that, I was so attracted to music. My parents used to tell me that when I was three, I would always be interested in the carnival songs and the classical music that my grandmother played. At the same time, I would also listen to the records that my father played, which was popular music. I was so young. What I can mostly remember is the carnival music. It would happen once a year, and besides the sambas—which I loved because of the percussion—it was popular to have these marches called marchinhas in the clubs. People would dance (mimics the percussive rhythm). So these are the first musical impressions I remember, along with this rhythm from the North, baião. I wrote many songs with this rhythm.

Your career is so stylistically varied and I love hearing how you were into all of this from the beginning.

Absolutely. That’s what helped me a lot. I became so interested in learning classical piano, and then little by little with the money I had, I would buy records—these were 78s. And for my whole life I’ve looked for music that would attract me.

So obviously you and your brother Paulo worked together for a very long time. What was the first time you made music together? And how would you decide what songs would sound like and what the lyrics would be about given you’re into so much different music?

My brother always knew about music, and he also read a lot. My father was a lawyer and had a library at home; both he and my brother would always read. Paulo saw me starting to play music and came up to me on day and said, “Marcos, can I try to write some lyrics?” And I said, “Sure, why not.” I had the melody, he wrote the lyrics, and they were nice. Of course this was at the very beginning so he didn’t have a lot of experience. The first song was called “Desejo do mar.” For the second song, he had written a poem called “Sonho de Maria” about a woman in the slums, and he asked if I could write the melody. The lyrics were difficult—the form, the shape of them. But in the end, it became a nice song, and it was the first one we ever recorded.

After that, Paulo started to write lyrics for the melodies. It was easier to do it this way. And we’re really close—we’re brothers, and he’s three years older than me—so he knew exactly what I was trying to say with the lyrics. We used to live in the same house with our parents; we are three brothers and two sisters. He would listen to me play the piano all the time! It was very good for us to be partners in those times, throughout the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s.

Do you feel like you were influenced by your parents in any way? Obviously your father was a lawyer and not a musician, but I’m curious if there’s something he or your mother did that you feel shaped your decision to become a musician.

My grandmother was a classical piano player, my mother used to play a lot of classical music, and my dad loved a lot of popular music. My father helped me to have discipline. As an artist, I was and still am a dreamer. I was not a very practical guy who would think about money—no, never. I had to have somebody who could help me because my mind was always thinking about music. This discipline was good for me.

I’m sure you know about Nelson Pereira dos Santos’ film Rio, Zona Norte (1957)? You see the struggles of this musician trying to make it in the industry.

Oh yes. In the old times, those musicians had many, many problems. When I started, it was still difficult to get paid, to get money, to not be robbed of your royalties. This would happen a lot. Little by little, it was getting better. And today, I’m lucky to have a son, Daniel, who became a lawyer who specializes in music and royalties. He’s helped me a lot, especially with Spotify and these digital things—it’s so complicated. But I had this dream, and I wanted to do this. My dad started to worry when I started to become a professional; he loved music but to be a professional he said, “My god, I don’t know….” After a while, he started to see that I could make a living from this. I wasn’t rich, but it was what I wanted to do. For my brother, it was more practical. He became a lawyer as well and he had this sort organizational skills, and I always needed help in this regard.

You had your debut LP, Samba “Demais” (1963), on Odeon. Did you not get money from that?

I never got an advance. What I had to do from the beginning was that I would perform in different places. I did get royalties, but the money was low—I had to have a simple life. In 1965, I decided to work with Sérgio Mendes for a year, and that’s when I really started to live away from my parents. I was married for the first time, and started to build my career and learned how to make money. 

What are some things you feel you learned from Sérgio Mendes?

Sérgio had exactly what I didn’t have: organization (laughter). He was the opposite of me. He knew the business side of things. He had the talent to make the music but also how to deal with this other stuff. The best thing for me at the time was having this experience of touring the United States, performing in so many different clubs. I was in Chicago, New York, Pennsylvania, Florida, Los Angeles—everywhere. I stayed with Sérgio for one year and two months, and during that time, I was performing and performing and performing; it gave me really good experiences for when I decided to return to Brazil.

You mentioned that you were a dreamer, so I’m curious how you decided to push yourself with these first albums in your career. You made these early albums and there was already lot happening stylistically from album to album, from your debut to O Compositor e o Cantor (1965) to Viola Enluarada (1968).

My music was already pulling from samba, jazz, rock, Black music—everything. It was a mixture of everything that I had in my mind. But when I started with my first album, which was recorded in 1963, I was under the influence of bossa nova. It felt so big when I listened to João Gilberto, Antônio Carlos Jobim, Carlos Lyra, and Roberto Menescal. That music was so rich, so strong. My first album was so influenced by bossa nova that my other influences were hidden. With my second album, O compositor e o cantor, I had some other things happening, like samba-jazz, and I was singing brighter, and the rhythms were brighter too. These other elements were finally showing—that’s what happened.

With Viola Enluarada, that was after I stayed in the United States for almost two years. I had been so homesick. At the same time, there was a military government in Brazil, so the album was so Brazilian, and the lyrics were so socially conscious as well. I could show these other Brazilian influences—baião; toada; frevo, which comes from Pernambuco. It was a very Brazilian album. And then with the next one, Mustang Côr de Sangue (1969), that’s when the pop and Black music influence starts showing. From then on, I think my style started to be understood by those who listened to my music—people understood that my music was a mixture.

I’m wondering if you could share more about what makes your music Brazilian. Obviously there are all these different rhythms, but do you think there’s anything distinctly Brazilian otherwise? You said you were homesick and were living in America, so I’m curious what sort of things you were striving for that would make your music less American and more Brazilian.

If you listen to my new album, Túnel Acústico (2024), you’re gonna see that there’s samba, bossa, jazz, and frevo. At the same time, there are some things that are pop. But I would say that there is this feeling of Brazil. When I worked with Leon Ware, he had a very strong sense of rhythm, of the blues, of soul, but when I blended my style with his, he would always say to me, “You really bring this Brazilian feeling.” So I think most of all, above the rhythm, there’s a sense of this samba even when I’m doing jazz (starts mimicking a percussive samba rhythm with his mouth). There’s always a feeling that I’m writing something Brazilian. It’s inside of me, you know? Even if I said, “I don’t want to do it,” I can’t avoid it. It’s in my soul.

When I recorded my new album for Far Out Recordings, I was talking with the producer Daniel Maunick, who’s the son of “Bluey” from Incognito. He knows my music really well. We talked a lot and I said, “Daniel, I’m gonna be 80. It’s a different age. What I want to do is have all the elements that I’ve had in my other music on this album.” He said he was thinking the same thing. I was able to do this with the singing and the grooves, and after the album was finished, I told him, “We did it.” I’m really trying to bring the Marcos Valle I always was, but now that I’m 80, there’s more experience.

In the 1970s you spent time in Los Angeles. Do you have any stories about working with Leon Ware and being in LA in general?

Leon was a lovely guy. When I decided to leave Brazil in 1975, it was because I wasn’t feeling good about the government with all the censorship. I first went to New York because my friend Eumir Deodato wanted to record some songs of mine, and then I went to California. California had the ambience of Brazil—the beach, the sun. Besides that, I knew musicians who were there. I met Sarah Vaughan. She asked me if I could sing with her on an album called Songs of the Beatles (1981). I became close with her and she recorded some songs of mine too. After that I met Chicago, and when I met them, Robert Lamm asked if he could write some lyrics for me. There was a song I gave to him too. Leon Ware got the song, made an incredible recording, and he asked if I could come into the studio.

I knew his name because of Marvin Gaye, all those songs that I was inspired by. I listened to the song and I loved the version that he did. With that moment, I told him we had to write together. We got together all the time and his wife, Carol, was lovely. Same with the kids. It was an incredible pleasure to write with him. I would start with an idea and he would do another part and it was so rich—one would complete the other’s thought, it was so beautiful. My music is rooted in a lot of Black music from Brazil, and I think it was interesting to mix our ideas together. When we did “Rockin’ You Eternally,” for instance, it was so easy (starts passionately mimicking the song’s bassline). And then he’d come up with another idea. It was like we had been friends for years.

Do you feel like he was trying to cater to you in a way that was different from what he did with Marvin Gaye?

One of his biggest albums, I Want You (1976), was produced by Leon, but I didn’t know that—he didn’t tell me for years! (laughter). When I started to write with Leon, it was because of him and not Marvin Gaye. I knew that they worked together but I was seduced by Leon’s work. After we became friends, he started to talk more about Marvin Gaye and I was interested in him telling these stories.

Years later, Ed Motta told me that when he heard me and Leon together, he went crazy because he was crazy about both of our music individually. So when he saw that we were writing together, he was in love. What attracted me and Ed Motta was Leon Ware’s own work, his own albums. I still have all his albums here. He was a dreamer, also. He wanted to bring love to his music. He also wasn’t a businessman—no. And that’s why we had so much in common. When we got together we’d be talking about music, music, music. Chords, chords, chords. Notes and lyrics. And that’s all (laughter).

Leon Ware was also on those early 1980s albums, Vontade de Rever Você (1981) and your self-titled LP in 1983. When you wrote those songs, was everything pretty easy? Were any songs difficult to nail down, or did everything come naturally?

Everything came naturally. The fact that I was writing with Leon at the time, which was something new for me, made it stimulating. When you write on your own, you have your own way and focus on that, but when you write with somebody else, it’s fantastic. I would write this part and he would say, “What if we do this?” He’d call me and say, “Marcos! I have an idea, come here!” It was so exciting. We had this same desire to write. It was not easy but it was natural. I had something and wanted to give it to him, and he’d do the same with me. We were so happy because we admired each other so much.

It’s funny because it reminds me of the lyrics to “Tapa no Real,” which are about dreaming and singing and being happy.

You’re absolutely right, Joshua. This is funny—when my brother wrote the lyrics, he told me, “I’m going to write a song that’s exactly about who you are.” (laughter). And it was exactly it. When I read the lyrics I said, “This is me! That’s the way I think all the time.” (referencing the lyrics) Let me dream! I told my brother, “These lyrics are a portrait of my personality.” 

I want to ask about a song you made with Leon Ware, “Dia D.” It’s a very different song lyrically. How was that song made?

I remember telling him that I wanted to bring this sense of dancing. The piano chords (jovially hums the melody) were there and then (starts mimicking another passage of the song) and then (sings yet another passage). So we started from the chords and wanted to have this celebratory feeling, and then I told him that it reminded me of jazz bands. I haven’t thought about all this in a long time.

Where there specific artists you looked to with regards to how you sing? On that same album you have “Mais Que Amor” which is more of a ballad.

Oh yes. Chet Baker, Nat King Cole with his King Cole Trio, Billie Holiday. It was closer to my possibilities. Of course I love Frank Sinatra, but these other singers were closer. I’m talking about American singers right now, but in Brazil there was João Gilberto and also female singers like Dóris Monteiro. Even Marvin Gaye, he would have this sensuality in his voice and I loved to listen to that. There was a freshness but it was also bright—it had this air. To tell you the truth, even later on there was Michael Jackson. That’s how I wanted to sing, that’s how I wanted to bring this groove.

You mention all these American singers, so I’m curious what it was like to sing songs that were influenced by them in the Portuguese language. Did you notice anything in this regard?

When I tell you about these American singers, it doesn’t mean that there wasn’t an influence from many Brazilian singers, like Dorival Caymmi. But there were also French singers like Henri Salvador and Françoise Hardy and Jane Birkin. When I started to sing and have my own style, I wasn’t influenced by them but I knew that there was something in these voices I liked that I wanted to bring into my own songs.

When I sing in English, it’s not very easy to have… (starts singing a lot of words in English at a fast tempo). I bring a lot of Brazilian rhythm in there, it’s not sung straight. There has to be this percussive rhythm in your voice. I do it when I play the piano (mimics a syncopated piano melody) and it’s also there in the left hand (does the same but at a lower octave). That’s what I’m saying—above the influences, there is always this Brazilian feeling. And that’s why I’m singing in Portuguese most of the time—it’s easier to do that. Even when I sing in English, I do it and I may not have the right accent, but I don’t care! (laughter). I want to sing in English with a Brazilian feeling.

You did some composing for TV and film. You did it for O Fabuloso Fittipaldi (1973) about the Formula 1 driver Emerson Fittipaldi.

In Brazil at that time, we didn’t have many films to write for. It wasn’t like what American composers had. At the beginning, we were given the chance to write soundtracks for television. These weren’t soap operas—they were more interesting. We had the best actors and actresses in them, and it became a space to have this great Brazilian music. People came to me because I had this versatility and I wrote for many series, and then when Roberto Farias decided to make this movie about Formula 1, it was because Fittipaldi had won. They wanted to make a film about this sport that is so expensive. Like, how could someone from Brazil win if this country is not as rich as other countries? They asked me if I could write some songs and I did it for the whole film, and it was very beautiful because that was the beginning of the group Azymuth. The guys who recorded with me kept the name and I was the godfather of the group.

I’m thinking now about how you were always collaborating with people. Obviously you collaborated with Milton Nascimento in the ’60s and you continued to work with him, and then of course there was Azymuth. In the ’80s, you had all this music that was inspired by soul, and there were all these other artists too: Tim Maia, Robson Jorge & Lincoln Olivetti, Junior Mendes. Multiple people in Brazil were aiming for this sound.

As you know, I always loved to collaborate and still do so today, like with Liniker. With Milton, this was when I had come back from America and wrote Viola enluarada. I met him at Jobim’s house and I asked him if he’d work with me. Later, we went and did many shows together. When you’re talking about these other artists, I was very close with Robson Jorge and Lincoln Olivetti. I became close to them and they worked on my albums. With Tim Maia, there was the song “Preciso Aprender A Ser Só,” which Sarah Vaughan also recorded. Even though his music was slower, he asked me to go to the studio and that’s where I met him. And then he recorded songs of mine later. I had the chance to be with these people all the time. I always had this freedom to be with different people.

You released Escape (2001) and Contrasts (2003) while you were in your late 50s and early 60s. You had Estática (2010) when you were in your late 60s. And now you have an album in your 80s. What do you feel like has changed for you throughout this second half of your life?

First of all, I’m grateful to be at 80 and doing so many things. I’m grateful for my health and that people are calling me to do things. It brings me incredible excitement, and I’m happier to be on stage these days than I have ever been. I feel more pleasure doing these things now. I was playing in Brazil at a big place recently and when this happens, I come home very happy. When we’re younger, you feel like you have a lot of things that can still come, but when you’re 80 and still have this, you value everything even more. And music is still always on my mind. I’m rehearsing and writing arrangements and I’m always doing a new thing—it just feels so good, man. People say, “Marcos please stop. Meditate. Just forget about the music and relax.” But I don’t want to relax! The ideas are coming, and it just feels so good.

When I thought about this album, I wanted it to have many aspects of my music. Each song needed to represent something strong inside of me. I had other people who also wrote lyrics: Céu, Joyce Moreno, Moreno Veloso, and even my brother Paulo. And of course there was Leon Ware. But besides those, I wrote the lyrics myself because I knew what I wanted to say. I have so many feelings and so many experiences in my life now. I tell myself, “I’m 80! I love it!” (laughter). I wanted to put that into my music. I know now how much music helps me. I’ll have a headache and I’ll start writing about music or go on stage and I forget everything—it’s medicine! I don’t need a doctor, you know? And until I don’t feel this way, I can’t stop.

I interviewed Joyce Moreno a couple years ago, and I also interviewed Hermeto Pascoal too, if we’re talking about other Brazilian musicians.

These artists are people who live music. Music surrounds them. They’re two special people that I love.

I wanted to ask, is there any album of yours that you’d consider a favorite?

It’s hard but if you asked me to pick one—and it’s not just for me, but for my audience too—it’s Previsão do Tempo (1973). It’s an album I enjoy very much. When I made Cinzento (2020), I was trying to capture that atmosphere. There are these social messages there and all these different styles and that makes it very special. Even though it’s a happy album because of the rhythms, the lyrics were very difficult to say because of censorship. With those songs, we were trying to sing things in a way so that the censors would not notice.

Is there anything that we didn’t talk about today that you wanted to talk about?

To tell you the truth, you covered so many things that made me think. What I can tell you, though, is that with the tour, I’m always trying to risk something. I don’t want the show to be the same week after week. I want to be excited. And that risk is necessary. I know that this tour is gonna be something new.

There’s a question I end all my interviews with and I wanted to ask it to you. Do you mind sharing one thing you love about yourself?

I know that I can always face a problem and get out of it. I’m a dreamer, as I told you. I used to surf, and there were these wooden surfboards and when the wave would come, you would sometimes go to the bottom and (makes bubbling sounds as if he’s wiped out) touch the sand. I knew in those moments that I had to get back up or I’d die. And I learned this is true about life too. For sure there are moments you’re gonna be sad and not know what to do, but you need to understand you need to go back into the world because there are many things in front of you that will make you feel happy. Have patience and believe that happiness is possible. You have to look at what is around you and listen to other people. When you do that, you’ll still be learning, even when you’re 80.

Marcos Valle’s new album T​ú​nel ac​ú​stico can be purchased at the Far Out Recordings website and at Bandcamp. Valle is currently on tour and you can find the dates here.

Thank you for reading the 160th issue of Tone Glow. Always seek out octogenarian wisdom.

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