Flora Purim sat alone at a Miles Davis concert once. Janis Joplin took her seat next to her and a friendship was formed. Upon moving to New Jersey, Purim discovered that she was neighbors with João Gilberto. He invited her over and beat her at Ping Pong. In 1965, at the João Sebastião Bar in São Paulo, Brazil, Purim was installed as the singer with a band called Sambalanço Trio; on drums was her future partner, Airto Moreira. Chance has played a significant role in her life, one could argue.
But skill — not luck — is what made Purim a star of the 1970s jazz scene. Purim, a nimble and inventive singer steeped with the mystical, made a huge splash in New York when she moved from Brazil to New York in 1967. After an ill-fated run with Stan Getz — for one thing, she didn’t want to sing “The Girl from Ipanema,” feeling it belonged to Astrud Gilberto — Purim became the frontwoman of Return to Forever, Chick Corea’s innovative jazz-rock-Brazilian-flamenco fusion band.
Alongside Corea, Moreira, the bassist Stanley Clarke and the saxophonist Joe Farrell, Purim recorded fusion classics like “500 Miles High” and “Light as a Feather.” After splitting with Return to Forever in the early ’70s, Purim’s ascent was threatened by a drug conviction that landed her in a California prison. While Purim was in prison, George Duke and Santana released albums featuring her vocals. Not long after her release at end of 1975, she signed an agreement with Warner Bros. for a major-label contract.
Dizzy Gillespie was a collaborator, as was Mickey Hart, the drummer for the Grateful Dead. Grammy nominations came for the 1986 and 1987 awards, and the following decade saw the flourishing of Fourth World, a collective including Moreira and the Brazilian guitarist José Neto. But in terms of studio albums, Purim went silent after “Flora’s Song” in 2005. The music returns on Friday with “If You Will,” a pressing, luminous album featuring Moreira on percussion and a song each by Duke (“If You Will”) and Corea (“500 Miles High”), both originally recorded with Purim. The LP is both a glance at the past and a survey of the present, with what Purim once referred to as her “Brazilian Raw Approach” still in effect.
Purim, who celebrated her 80th birthday last month, called her current Curitiba home via video conference. She was able to talk for two hours from Brazil. These are edited excerpts of the conversation.
Jazz fusion in the ’70s was male dominated, to say the least. How did you navigate that scene
They would be impressed by my musicianship. They would welcome me in as a performer and make sure I knew that. I was at the Royal Festival Hall one time with the Dizzy Gillespie Band, and I knew that they would make a video of that show. I made sure I wore pants all the time. Beautiful leather pants; nice tops; nice makeup — but my legs would never be exposed. Because it was a gala, I decided to wear a dress above my knees and high heels. As I walked up to the stage, the whole band began to whistle at my. I could die. But I stood my ground and did my bit. I love to move and shake and do. With a dress, it doesn’t feel very good, it’s very constraining. And if you’re wearing pants, then you’re cool.
One of your signature songs, “Light as a Feather,” was a collaboration with Stanley Clarke. Where did the lyrics come?
I wrote the lyrics while driving to Detroit in a car. We were going to play at Baker’s Keyboard Lounge. Chick invited me to a Scientology event that was taking place at Baker’s Keyboard Lounge. The word “clear” was very used in Scientology. If you go through some of their classes, there’s one where you hold two cans and the E-Meter — which is more like a lie detector, you know? At the beginning, they ask you simple questions. If you lie, they will figure your low point. And I didn’t like that. That’s one of the reasons I quit right away.
During the recording of the first Return to Forever, you were pregnant. How did that affect the music?
I sang until I was almost six-months pregnant. The touring was very tiring. We were in the studio [for the second Return to Forever album, “Light as a Feather”]This is the baby I had with my wife. No females — only males — and nobody wanted to hold the baby. The baby was crying. So I’m recording “Light as a Feather.” I grabbed her, gave her my breast and started to sing “Light as a Feather.” And I want you to know that they have no teeth, but their gums push to grab the milk, and it hurts. And I’m trying not to bring pain into my singing. I remained strong with her. And that’s how I recorded “Light as a Feather.”
You were nursing while you recorded that song?
It wasn’t just that. And then we had a three-week engagement at Ronnie Scott’s, in London. I was singing and the owner would stand in front of me and point to my mouth. This meant that the baby in the dressing area was crying. And I said, “Joe, play another five choruses. I’ll come back.” [Laughs] I didn’t have a bassinet or anything. So she was in a drum bag with pillows. At eight days, Diana, who is my source of inspiration nowadays, for everything — music and all — she actually was making her debut at Ronnie Scott’s.
You’ve appeared on albums by Carlos Santana and Mickey Hart from the Grateful Dead. Were you following rock music in the ’60s and ’70s, and what artists like them were doing?
Despite knowing Carlos, I wasn’t a big fan of rock music. But I didn’t hear his music very much. He used to go to the Keystone Korner [jazz club in San Francisco], almost every night, and sit there — not even talk to anybody, maybe a couple of musicians with him — and watch the show. By the end of the first week, he waited until the second set was over, and he approached me and said, “Listen, I am doing a record, and I will be honored if you and Airto come and play.” And I said, “Carlos, it’s 4 o’clock in the morning.” “The studio is open for me.” “OK, let’s go.”
Even when you weren’t physically in Brazil, it was present in your music.
Because of the military coup, I fled Brazil. But Brazil never left me. You know what it is like to be here? [Points to heart.] It’s something I can’t explain. There is a word that has no translation, it’s called saudade. I sing a song about this. I say, “Saudade has no translation if you never felt.” Saudade means “heartfelt missing.” You never miss the bad stuff. The good stuff is what you miss.
Between this album, and your last, you took a lengthy break. When you were recording “If You Will,” did you feel a new sense of purpose or creativity?
When I saw what was happening with the world, I felt that God didn’t give me the gift of singing for no reason. I believe he had a purpose. I’m supposed to help. And I cannot omit myself any longer from what’s going on in the world. So I’m going to take it in stride, and I’m going to go back.
Source: NY Times
