Largely void of voice and word, the songs – Côrtes plucking steely leads from his sitar while Lailson's 12-string thrums crystalline chords – are loose and lovely. The sole interference in these glistening arabesques is the hoary electric fretwork of one Robertinho on "Blues do Cachorro Muito Louco," the most explicitly fried track. Otherwise, Côrtes and Lailson are left to experiment in musty silence. Seemingly taped live, each track is a dry documentation of the duo's gently rambling improvisations.
Far from the recombinant psychedelia of tropicalismo that reigned over the pre-hippie underground in Brazil's bustling metropolises five years earlier, Satwa play bed peace bards. In double-mono, or fake stereo, Satwa is raw, untreated mentalism translated into pure songflow. At times exhausted and dusty – "Atom" – or archaically splendorous – "Valse Dos Cogumelos" – the duo's spiraling scrolls etched in rustic timbres unfurl gracefully. Côrtes, now a graying painter, would go on to record the more explicitly weird Paêbirú (also recently reissued) with Zé Ramalho. A concept album about extraterrestrials in Paraiba's arid backwoods, it had long been anointed a masterpiece of the era.
After dabbling in rock outfits, Lailson broke into the mainstream as a newspaper cartoonist, a job he has kept to this day. Neither were or will probably ever be Satwa again, but during those few days and from now on, Satwa is a quiet triumph. Read more on Last.fm. User-contributed text is available under the Creative Commons By-SA License; additional terms may apply..
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