Nelson Cavaquinho (1969) - full transcript
High resolution image (2k)
digitally restored
from the original 35mm negative
Sound digitally restored
from 35mm prints
Restoration sponsored by
Programa Petrobras Cultural
I'm the Lady of the Camellias
Who set several hearts aflutter
At carnivals on the
avenues and in ballrooms
Awakening ambitions
Oh, I'm not forgotten
Among clowns and Pierrots,
I'm always the favorite
Crying, laughter and tears
I saw costumes flowing
But as the Lady of the Camellias
Not even the colorful weeping
could silence me
I'm the Lady of the Camellias
I was born in 1910 and over the years
I've lived through...
so many sad things
I'm not sure whether
these songs of mine...
the sixth one really was...
it must be my suffering, because
all my songs are a little...
my songs are sad.
Although I love
chatting with friends...
fooling around, I'm only sad in my songs, see?
Who speaks, doesn't lie
Brave men always die
at the hands of the weak
Who speaks, doesn't lie
Brave men always die
at the hands of the weak
I'm from Brancura's time
When the weak sent
the strong to their graves
Who speaks, doesn't lie
Brave men always die
at the hands of the weak
Who speaks, doesn't lie
Brave men always die...
They're things I've lived through,
like a samba I wrote...
called "Dona Carola".
She used to look out for everyone.
So Dona Carola said to me:
"Nelson,
you're in a bad situation...
I'll sort it out for you."
So that's one of the songs...
this song here, right?
I got out of bed quite unable
No one's been to see me yet
I had friends while I had money
Now I've no company
Now people avoid me, but no matter
Friends only take my capital
If it weren't for Augusta
and Carola
I'd leave hospital in a nightgown
The trucks full of corpses, I remember
that in 1918... I was born in 1910,
so those trucks piled with corpses...
I wondered what it was all about,
I was still a boy,
8 years old... watching
those trucks passing,
lived on Rua Joaquim Silva...
I was born on Rua Marinho de Barro.
I said...
although carefully, because family...
which was a large one,
back then uncle played violin...
he was my violin teacher,
but luckily my mother was a...
washerwoman for the
Santa Tereza convent...
so she'd bring food
for us in the afternoon.
She was a washerwoman, my old man
had an instrument called...
a double bass,
which after a while
we started taking down...
we started taking down...
to the docks,
so that was the instrument
we started out with.
We used to play it during carnival,
me and my brothers...
and later we said, this is no good,
so we started selling...
parts of the instrument,
in the end we got rid of everything.
Of my sons the youngest is the worst
Took after his dad, he's just like me
He's got his eye on the next door
neighbor's little daughter.
In the long run I think
he'll be trouble
Writing a samba for him is easy
He's five years old
All he says is:
Dad get me a woman
I'm worried about
the way the brat acts
When he passes a young woman he winks
If I go to the barber's
He wants to shave too
Says he supports Vasco and he even
wants to smoke cigars
He greets everyone
How he loves a guitar
He's convinced Teresinha
is hitting on him
Of my sons the youngest is...
That's nice, isn't it?
That's it!
Now, the most sincere samba
song I wrote is the one .
I already sang for you.
I can't refuse alms
To those begging for charity
I always pity those in need
Although I sometimes suffer ingratitude
I'll always help those asking for bread
I could never avoid doing good
For I might be in need too
I know that my greatest inheritance in life
Is my heart, friend of the afflicted
I know I lose nothing by
thinking this way
Since I don't know what
will become of me tomorrow
Get your smile out of my way
I want to pass with my pain
To you I am now a thorn
Thorns don't hurt flowers
I just erred in joining
my soul to yours
The sun can't live near the moon
It's better that way, right?
Because singing something now, just
because of that problem with my nephew
you know how it is. You forget them.
And for me to remember a song
he wrote a long time ago...
it's very tough on me, I'm still hurt,
you know?
Not like the other days.
The joy, things like that, right?
So I think you should...
then you think of a description.
Things like that, isn't that right?
You'd better think it over,
Gilberto's been so mad at me.
Right, Missinho?
Missinho's here.
So Missinho can suffer along with me,
he suffers,
but he knows... how to suffer,
he's worse than an old woman,
you bet.
Everyone's moving on.
Like me, waiting my turn...
but I'm not leaving just yet,
still going to eat... plenty of
oxtail stew and potatoes, for sure.
From dust you came and dust will become
Everything on this planet is undone
Don't smile at another's misfortune
For your punishment will come too
You live like a don,
keep your wealth
Leave the poverty to me
I consider myself rich in being poor
Somehow I've always known how to be noble
You have a heart of stone, which I pity
From dust you came and dust will become
You live like a don
Keep your wealth
Leave the poverty to me
When I pass
Near the flowers
They almost say:
Walk on, tomorrow we'll decorate your end
When I pass
When I pass
They almost say:
Walk on, tomorrow we'll decorate your end
I'm leaving, I may not be back
You don't wish me ill
Today is carnival
I'll go far away
Don't you worry
I'll only return home
When carnival is over, over
I'm leaving, I may not be back
You don't wish me ill
Today is carnival
digitally restored
from the original 35mm negative
Sound digitally restored
from 35mm prints
Restoration sponsored by
Programa Petrobras Cultural
I'm the Lady of the Camellias
Who set several hearts aflutter
At carnivals on the
avenues and in ballrooms
Awakening ambitions
Oh, I'm not forgotten
Among clowns and Pierrots,
I'm always the favorite
Crying, laughter and tears
I saw costumes flowing
But as the Lady of the Camellias
Not even the colorful weeping
could silence me
I'm the Lady of the Camellias
I was born in 1910 and over the years
I've lived through...
so many sad things
I'm not sure whether
these songs of mine...
the sixth one really was...
it must be my suffering, because
all my songs are a little...
my songs are sad.
Although I love
chatting with friends...
fooling around, I'm only sad in my songs, see?
Who speaks, doesn't lie
Brave men always die
at the hands of the weak
Who speaks, doesn't lie
Brave men always die
at the hands of the weak
I'm from Brancura's time
When the weak sent
the strong to their graves
Who speaks, doesn't lie
Brave men always die
at the hands of the weak
Who speaks, doesn't lie
Brave men always die...
They're things I've lived through,
like a samba I wrote...
called "Dona Carola".
She used to look out for everyone.
So Dona Carola said to me:
"Nelson,
you're in a bad situation...
I'll sort it out for you."
So that's one of the songs...
this song here, right?
I got out of bed quite unable
No one's been to see me yet
I had friends while I had money
Now I've no company
Now people avoid me, but no matter
Friends only take my capital
If it weren't for Augusta
and Carola
I'd leave hospital in a nightgown
The trucks full of corpses, I remember
that in 1918... I was born in 1910,
so those trucks piled with corpses...
I wondered what it was all about,
I was still a boy,
8 years old... watching
those trucks passing,
lived on Rua Joaquim Silva...
I was born on Rua Marinho de Barro.
I said...
although carefully, because family...
which was a large one,
back then uncle played violin...
he was my violin teacher,
but luckily my mother was a...
washerwoman for the
Santa Tereza convent...
so she'd bring food
for us in the afternoon.
She was a washerwoman, my old man
had an instrument called...
a double bass,
which after a while
we started taking down...
we started taking down...
to the docks,
so that was the instrument
we started out with.
We used to play it during carnival,
me and my brothers...
and later we said, this is no good,
so we started selling...
parts of the instrument,
in the end we got rid of everything.
Of my sons the youngest is the worst
Took after his dad, he's just like me
He's got his eye on the next door
neighbor's little daughter.
In the long run I think
he'll be trouble
Writing a samba for him is easy
He's five years old
All he says is:
Dad get me a woman
I'm worried about
the way the brat acts
When he passes a young woman he winks
If I go to the barber's
He wants to shave too
Says he supports Vasco and he even
wants to smoke cigars
He greets everyone
How he loves a guitar
He's convinced Teresinha
is hitting on him
Of my sons the youngest is...
That's nice, isn't it?
That's it!
Now, the most sincere samba
song I wrote is the one .
I already sang for you.
I can't refuse alms
To those begging for charity
I always pity those in need
Although I sometimes suffer ingratitude
I'll always help those asking for bread
I could never avoid doing good
For I might be in need too
I know that my greatest inheritance in life
Is my heart, friend of the afflicted
I know I lose nothing by
thinking this way
Since I don't know what
will become of me tomorrow
Get your smile out of my way
I want to pass with my pain
To you I am now a thorn
Thorns don't hurt flowers
I just erred in joining
my soul to yours
The sun can't live near the moon
It's better that way, right?
Because singing something now, just
because of that problem with my nephew
you know how it is. You forget them.
And for me to remember a song
he wrote a long time ago...
it's very tough on me, I'm still hurt,
you know?
Not like the other days.
The joy, things like that, right?
So I think you should...
then you think of a description.
Things like that, isn't that right?
You'd better think it over,
Gilberto's been so mad at me.
Right, Missinho?
Missinho's here.
So Missinho can suffer along with me,
he suffers,
but he knows... how to suffer,
he's worse than an old woman,
you bet.
Everyone's moving on.
Like me, waiting my turn...
but I'm not leaving just yet,
still going to eat... plenty of
oxtail stew and potatoes, for sure.
From dust you came and dust will become
Everything on this planet is undone
Don't smile at another's misfortune
For your punishment will come too
You live like a don,
keep your wealth
Leave the poverty to me
I consider myself rich in being poor
Somehow I've always known how to be noble
You have a heart of stone, which I pity
From dust you came and dust will become
You live like a don
Keep your wealth
Leave the poverty to me
When I pass
Near the flowers
They almost say:
Walk on, tomorrow we'll decorate your end
When I pass
When I pass
They almost say:
Walk on, tomorrow we'll decorate your end
I'm leaving, I may not be back
You don't wish me ill
Today is carnival
I'll go far away
Don't you worry
I'll only return home
When carnival is over, over
I'm leaving, I may not be back
You don't wish me ill
Today is carnival