Nara Leão
Sem Limite (Universal Serie Sem Limite 73145489502)

I wholeheartedly love Brazilian music, but only recently came back to it after a significant overdose a few years ago. It's an amazing music that allows me to effortlessly envision a cloudless, sunny afternoon or crystal-clear starry night.

Thankfully, an incredible amount of outstanding Brazilian music has been reissued in the States since the mid-'90s, though certain crème-de-la-crème artists's catalogs (i.e. Marcos Valle and Harleton Salvannini) can still only be obtained via pricey Japanese imports.

The same essentially goes for bossa nova singer supreme Nara Leão, who died from the big C in 1989. On first meet, Leão's languid voice and approach seem almost generic, kinda like how Jay-Z sounds undistinguished to the uninitiated. Further listens reveals that Nara is in fact a near-perfect template for female bossa nova - singers like Astrid Gilberto seem even more like amateurs compared next to Leão's cool control.

Universal's Sem Limite series offers tight 2-disc compilations of 60 Brazilian musical giants—a great way to acclimate yourself to the music of Baden Powell, Tim Maia, João Bosco, et. al. My immediate CD-elitist bitch, however, is that the packaging (either "Hunter Fluorescent Orange" or "Lime," with a badly modern photoshopped image of the artist) is some of the most off-putting design I've ever owned. Simply put, it looks second-rate shitty, which is a shame, because the music within is often golden.

The collection spans Nara's career ('64-'87). Highlights include a cover of "Tristeza de nós dois" from '85, which I normally would immediately shy away from, but it an relentlessly comforting track. The same surprisingly goes for the other overly familiar choices ("Desafinado," "Wave," "Girl From Ipanema," etc.) which she manages to subtly tackle and make as fresh as can be.

It all blends after a while, but in a good way, like "Here's another free sundae for you, but this time with butterscotch topping," or "Sure, Tina's yet another blonde, but she thinks you're a sex god." Follow that logic? I barely did. Probably just means I'm hungry and horny, as usual.

This is perfect music to play softly in an empty office when you're stuck at work late, or sharing another butterscotch sundae with a high-priced hooker in your parents' master suite while they vacation in Belize.

Loud Bassoon rating scale

Review by Stratty "J.G." Bop