This is a discographic work of Pedro Barroso that is still as fiercely passionate as a decade ago.
This is a disc that is divided into three chapters and a postscript. The first is dedicated to women with the opening theme entitled "gardens of poets," which goes beyond a poem that talks softly thru the grave voice of Pedro Barroso, is an ode that flourishes the spirit, a tribute to all the Portuguese troubadours , who, like him, are superior and vertical, although the claims the contrary in this simple song. The raging tenderness is a theme that celebrates life, "a little more time was happiness / a little more sky and it was heaven." The title is magnificent for its inherent lyrism accompanied by blissful words that exalt the soul. Maria Mountain follows that trail. It is the story of a recluse dressed in black, velvet-lipped, with her hair in the wind, who lives in Amarante. The second chapter covers the world, and there is nothing more than Lusitanian that singing it, with the theme "I'm Portuguese, I'm different." It's a song that speaks of the people, their idiosyncrasies in a so breathless and winding way that resonates in the heart. It is the life of the emigrant. Their eternal restlessness. Our fate. And the sea ... And facing the waves Pedro Barroso recites "the meaning of things" as we see this country navigate. The third part of this delightful chronicle brings to mind the famous phrase: every human being has a little inner craziness. It comes in handy in his progressive madness, with the theme "Mad templar." It's a balm that will make smile, or maybe cry. Concluding, the P.S, my favorite, "in the name of the happened spell," which was precisely what happened to me when I hear this work of one of the greatest songwriters of the Portuguese language, I was enthralled by the great and not metaphorically, Pedro Barroso, who although a little cast aside from the major concert halls, nobody knows why it will never be forgotten, much less defeated. He is eternal while his music and his words last in me and hopefully you also listen. So I leave a "scent" of this troubadour of words.
