Joao Donato - 1973 - Quem E Quem

Joao Donato 

1973

Quem E Quem

01. Chorou, Chorou

02. Terremoto

03. Amazonas (Keep Tking)

04. Fim De Sonho

05. A Rã

06. Ahiê

07. Cala Boca Menino

08. Nana Das Águas

09. Me Deixa

10. Até Quem Sabe?

11. Mentiras

12. Cadê Jodel?

Drums [Uncredited] – Lula Nascimento

Electric Piano [Rhodes, Uncredited] – João Donato

Guitar [Uncredited] – Hélio Delmiro

Percussion [Uncredited] – Naná Vasconcelos

The Comeback Album Where the Quiet Genius Finally Sang (And Brazil Wasn’t Ready for How Good It Was)

Picture this: it’s 1973, Brazil is under military dictatorship, Tropicália has been beaten into submission, and the radio is full of weepy romantic schlock and the occasional funky protest song. Into this mess strolls João Donato—39 years old, fresh off a 14-year American exile, armed with a Fender Rhodes that sounds like liquid sunshine, a voice that’s basically a sleepy whisper with perfect pitch, and a batch of songs so ridiculously catchy they should come with a health warning. The result? Quem É Quem, the album that turned the mythical “musician’s musician” into a singing, crooning, electric-piano-tickling national treasure. It’s the Brazilian equivalent of Bob Dylan going electric… except nobody booed, because you can’t boo when your hips are involuntarily swaying.

This record is pure joy concentrated into 35 minutes of groove. It’s bossa nova on psychedelic mushrooms, samba that accidentally wandered into a jazz club and decided to stay, MPB that flirts shamelessly with funk and wins. And the best part? Donato sings the whole damn thing himself in that half-asleep, couldn’t-care-less baritone that somehow makes you believe every word about earthquakes, frogs, and lost girlfriends.

The Man, The Myth, The Guy Who Invented the Bossa Nova Beat (According to João Gilberto Himself)

João Donato de Oliveira Neto was born in 1934 in the middle of the Amazon jungle, in Rio Branco, Acre—literally the last place on earth you’d expect a sophisticated jazz pianist to come from. His dad flew planes and played mandolin; his mom sang; his sister played piano. Little João started on accordion at age 8 (composing waltzes, because of course he did), then switched to piano and never looked back.

By 15 he was in Rio, playing with legends, hanging with Jobim, writing tunes with João Gilberto (who later swore Donato invented the bossa beat—take that, revisionist historians). He recorded his first sides in the ’50s, but Brazil wasn’t ready for his weird harmonies and off-kilter rhythms. Club owners literally told him, “Great playing, man, but nobody can dance to this crap.” So in 1959 he split for the USA, where Latin jazz cats like Cal Tjader, Mongo Santamaría, Tito Puente, and Eddie Palmieri welcomed him like the prodigal son.

He spent the ’60s and early ’70s being the coolest sideman you never heard of—cutting the psychedelic jazz-funk masterpiece A Bad Donato in 1970 (with a young Eumir Deodato arranging), living in LA, chilling with Herbie Mann, basically being the Brazilian Ron Carter. Meanwhile back home, a new generation (Marcos Valle, Caetano, Gil, Gal Costa) treated him like a god who’d ascended and might return any day.

He did return in 1972–73, and a friend (the singer Agostinho dos Santos) gave him the best/worst advice ever: “João, you should sing your own songs.” Donato, who had the confidence of a man who’d already survived exile and color-blind pilot exams, said “sure, why not?” and made Quem É Quem. He died in 2023 at 88, still touring, still smiling like he knew a secret the rest of us didn’t.

The Musicians: A Murderers’ Row of Brazilian Groove Assassins

This is peak 1973 Rio studio wizardry, directed/arranged by the maestro Lindolfo Gaya (the “Brazilian Quincy Jones” if Quincy had better taste in caipirinhas).

João Donato – Fender Rhodes, piano, all vocals, compositions, and general vibe overlord

Hélio Delmiro – electric and acoustic guitars (the guy who made the guitar cry happy tears)

Lula Nascimento – drums (subtle as a feather, funky as hell)

Luiz Alves or Novelli – bass (depending on the track—both absolute pocket monsters)

Naná Vasconcelos – percussion wizardry (the man who made berimbaus and water drums sound sexy)

Guests: Marcos Valle (backing vocals on a couple), some flute and extra percussion from the usual Rio suspects

Engineered by a small army (Dacy, Reny Lippi, Toninho, Nivaldo Duarte) who somehow made a Rhodes sound warmer than a beach bonfire.

The Album: 12 Tracks of Pure “How Is This Legal?” Pleasure

Side A kicks off with “Chorou, Chorou” – a mid-tempo killer where Donato croons about crying like it’s the best thing that ever happened. Then “Terremoto” (Earthquake) hits—funky bass, Rhodes stabs, and Naná going berserk on percussion. It’s the closest Brazil ever got to a James Brown track without actually hiring James Brown.

“Ahiê” is three minutes of pure seduction—Donato whispering sweet nothings over the grooviest bass line known to man. “Até Quem Sabe” is the hit that never was (later covered by everyone with taste). “Cala Boca Menino” is Dorival Caymmi’s gift to the project—Donato telling a noisy kid to shut up, in the nicest possible way.

Side B has “Nana das Águas” (pure rainforest mysticism), the frog-obsessed “A Rã” (yes, it’s literally about a frog and it slaps harder than it has any right to), and the sublime “Mentiras”—a ballad so beautiful it should be illegal after midnight.

The sound? Electric piano that sparkles like Copacabana at sunrise, rhythms that sneak up and hijack your skeleton, vocals that sound like your cool uncle who’s secretly a genius telling you life’s gonna be okay. It’s funky without trying, psychedelic without the tie-dye, and impossibly chill while still making you dance.

The Album That Saved Brazilian Music from Terminal Schmaltz

In 1973, MPB was in danger of drowning in its own tears. Then comes Donato—exile returned, singing his own tunes for the first time—with an album that basically says, “Hey kids, remember joy? Here’s a double dose.”

Critics slept on it at first (Brazil gonna Brazil), but history has been kinder: Brazilian Rolling Stone put it in the Top 100 Brazilian albums ever. It’s been reissued a million times (the latest ones sound like heaven on vinyl), and crate-diggers lose their minds over the breaks—“A Rã” and “Terremoto” have been sampled more times than your uncle’s barbecue recipe.

Quem É Quem single-handedly proved that bossa nova didn’t die—it just put on platform shoes, plugged in a Rhodes, and learned to funk. It influenced everyone from Marcos Valle’s sunshine pop to the nu-bossa revival of the 2000s to Madlib and his Brazilian obsessions. Without this album there’s no Beleza Tropical compilations, no Gilles Peterson swooning over Brazilian grooves, no hipsters in Brooklyn paying $300 for original Odeon pressings.

Fifty years later it still sounds like the future arriving fashionably late with a caipirinha in each hand. João Donato didn’t just make a comeback in 1973—he reminded an entire country how to smile with its whole ass.

Put it on, close your eyes, and let the man from the jungle take you somewhere better. You’ll thank me. And if you don’t start involuntarily humming “doot-doot-doo-doo” within five minutes, check your pulse—you might be dead.