In our endless search for substance or significance in the arts, radio-friendly pop music is not typically the first place we look. It’s certainly nowhere on our list of stops in the quest to preserve the originality, uniqueness, and independence of any indigenous culture; not in this post-Michael Jackson, post-Madonna era of U2, Celine Dion, and the “extensive world tour” through which we cultivate music markets abroad. Yet to anyone who thinks pop music is and has always been intrinsically meaningless, one need only say, “Hey—not always,” and point to Tropicália.

In the late 1960s, not long after a military coup seized Brazil’s conflicted society into a tense, stifling dictatorship, the popular arts there were essentially polarized into opposing political factions. While Brazil’s burgeoning music industry attempted to capitalize on the divide, in the midst of it all there united an incredibly colorful wave of independent cultural resistance—to the dictatorship, yes, but also to the leftist protester extreme. Film, poetry, music, and the plastic arts were all represented in the groundbreaking populist movement, which took its name from an interactive sculpture installation by the artist Hélio Oiticica, and both defied and embraced various prevailing conventions of its time. Through innovative, collaborative form, metaphor, satire, and attitude, the Tropicalistas conveyed complex progressive and subversive ideas in accessible, downright catchy ways. They rejected the politics of extremism while asserting a desire for a new kind of egalitarian artistic freedom, one that embraced international influences in order to enhance its own unique Brazilian-ness.

The music of Tropicália (also called Tropicalismo) was an ingenious pop sensation by design, incorporating stylistic and philosophical elements that could either attract or offend sects from either side of Brazil’s ideological coin, while capturing the imagination of those caught, frustrated, in between. It was criticized from the left for incorporating too much commercial American influence, yet criticized by the right for its transgressive implications. It attempted to avoid the latter by never being overtly political, and overcame the former by sheer stint of awesomeness, for even if electric rock tended to symbolize the USA, it was at that point a symbol of what was great about the USA and its then-relevant cultural revolution. This amalgam of different influences itself sent a message of desire for freedom, innovation, and tolerance. It incorporated and celebrated the beauty of native Brazilian culture, magnifying elements of it for appreciation on the world stage, while also appreciating and incorporating the cultural differences, freedoms, and achievements of foreign contemporaries.

Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, Tom Zé, Gal Costa, Os Mutantes, and other musicians along with poets, filmmakers, and visual artists pooled their talents, resulting in songs and other works that integrated elements of US and UK rock and Pop Art with native Bahian folk and bossa nova, also taking cues from traditional Portuguese and African music. Through the channels of their already established musical careers, Tropicalismo launched straight away onto the music programs of the rapidly proliferating TV networks of Brazil, with controversially rockin’ Beatles-style pop hooks and poetic lyrics that, while never specifically political, would nonetheless eventually land the movement’s leaders (Veloso and Gil) first in jail, and then exile. Could such a phenomenon ever happen in the US? Could there be a movement that rejects prevailing political ideals in favor of nonpartisan progress, that’s mindful of serious issues yet remains fun to experience, that combines foreign sensibilities with a traditionally American stylistic foundation, and that produces works that incorporate the gamut of artistic media?

It’s not likely, though not impossible. While our consumer middle class and poor tend not to be too particular when it comes to paintings, sculpture, or avant-garde film, there’s already plenty of collaboration between the worlds of movies and pop music, with visual designs also playing an important role for anyone that still purchases albums with covers and packaging. Popular music often overlaps with the literati, as well, what with the McSweeney’s/They Might Be Giants lovefest, poetry tomes by David Berman and Jewel, the 33 1/3 series, and countless novels written about (and sometimes by) rockers. In theory, the multimedia aspect of the movement is the easy part. As for the international inspiration, the US, as a nation, tends to be stronger in the cultural export department than on genuinely appreciated cultural imports. We Americanize, assimilate, and gloss over cultural differences pretty well, though, which one could argue is a fine line. If there’s one positive thing the internet, globalization, and free trade have conspired to bring us, it’s the opportunity to embrace and learn from our peers abroad. Where exactly the foreign input for a groundbreaking American arts movement would come from is an unanswerable question, but the hypothetical possibility is there.

Ideologically, the exact nature of the Tropicália movement is a phenomenon we in the US could scarcely hope to recreate today, though as for something similar—you never know, as our country did, after all, play both positive and negative roles in its conception. There are parallels—some ironic, some unsettling—between Brazil in the 1960s and our modern-day USA, though culturally, technologically, and historically, these are also obvious worlds and eons apart. The era’s sense of urgency, pride, and straightforwardness of pop culture, coupled with Brazil’s history of revolutionary wars, amount to factors at play that we could never imagine in American culture today. Furthermore, the relative chaos and ideological innovation of Tropicalismo was its autonomous perseverance and resistance to the trappings of extremism on either side. Conservative and paranoiac though the modern US may be, only the new and nervous dictatorship of a potentially unstable country would banish an ambiguous, unaffiliated artistic movement for its inadvertent popularity among radicals. Then again, if wiretaps, Gitmo, and the SHAC 7 are any indication, perhaps a Tropicália-reminiscent political climate does exist after all.

So there’s the potential for controversy, but what about the motivations? In the days directly leading to Tropicalismo, Brazil was a country divided (as usual, some would say), in the midst of a spiraling economy, staggering class divisions and, of course, a polarizing military dictatorship. The growing bourgeoisie was in favor of US-style global capitalism, while the left supported ideas such as import substitution and economic nationalism as a means of stabilizing the economy and providing work for the poor. Brazil’s right-wing congress and politically powerful military feared the dangers of communism, however. They preferred to remain in the good graces of the USA and Europe, and didn’t like the looks of leftist President João Goulart’s relations with the Soviets and Chinese. So, in 1964, the right-wingers (with help from the CIA and support from the US military, naturally) staged the coup d’état, deposing the lefty prez and initiating a succession of military general-presidents. Meanwhile, relics of the previous era of improvement and optimism still dominated the culture: The incongruously soothing, romantic, sedative sounds of bossa nova in the pop music spectrum; a film industry imitating the clichéd technicality of the Hollywood/European big studio, star-centered model; and television spreading its addictive soap operas exponentially. Bossa nova, whi
le still an indigenously Brazilian style worth being proud of, had also grown so thoroughly absorbed into the American pop scene that it fell out of favor with Brazilian artistic nationalists. The Tropicalistas knew that bossa nova was not the limit of Brazilian imagination, however, and strove to expand the spectrum in ways that both kept pace with and contributed to the various cultural upheavals elsewhere in the world. While American consumer-cultural imperialism was as universally reviled as the Brazilian military dictatorship, there was still music coming out of the US and UK with the right revolutionary idea, which the Tropicalistas identified as fodder for their own evolution. They turned to the literary Manifesto Antropófago (Cannibal Manifesto) as put forth by Brazilian poet Oswald de Andrade a generation before, which stated that the Brazilian “cannibalizing” of other cultures was its own strongest attribute, and pioneered a species of what today we might call a world music “mash-up.” It incorporated foreign influences while trumpeting its own proud nationalism, and rocked the political boat without preaching or proselytizing.