Eduardo Mateo: A Wandering Folk Enigma via Uruguay

Folk troubadour and enfant terrible, Eduardo Mateo was a paradoxical figure in the Uruguayan rock scene of the 1970s. At a time when Uruguay was undergoing deep political strife due to the uprooting of a democratic government by a dictator, Mateo chose to make folk music that was utterly personal, fragile, and brimming with mysticism.  The manner in which folk music in the 60s dialogued with politics has fostered the perception within the public that folk should be political — or at least have political trappings — in the obvious outward sense of the term. Eduardo Mateo shatters such limiting notions.

He has been called the Nick Drake of Latin American folk, a comparison which has more to do with a specific quality of inner observation than with any formal correlations. From a more technical view, Mateo’s use of esoteric guitar tunings, odd time signatures and wistful strumming can be considered Drake-ean in a sense. Like Drake’s work, Mateo’s project was ultimately introspective, interested in constructing a map of his psyche, with signposts and roads that reveal all the vagaries and contradictions of a unique artist.

Mateo by many accounts was considered to be an acid casualty, a weirdo and wanderer who was difficult to work with and who had very eccentric notions of what he wanted his music to sound like. In this sense he parts with Nick Drake as a point of comparison. Though Drake was a depressed and isolated individual, he was certainly not weird – at least not in the clinical sense of the term. Mateo’s oddness is more akin to Syd Barrett or Alexander (Skip) Spence, but unlike these two the outsider quality is difficult to pin down categorically. His lyrics do not reveal the schizophrenic imagery that one reads in Barrett or Spence; his strangeness is more a feature of atmosphere and nuance in the way he reveals himself and the world around him.

Skip Spence song “Grey/Afro” off his album Oar

When describing Mateo as aberrant or inscrutable there is another glaring problem — which is that Mateo’s music is quite beautiful in the classical sense. There are no displays of damaged guitar feedback or erratic clanging percussion or celestial strings that rise from the ether; no, his music is measured, subtle, full of suggestion and gradation. With someone like Barrett whose first album is titled The Madcap Laughs, there is an obviousness to his eccentricity, whereas with Mateo, his approach is more discriminating in its execution. Regardless, the enigmatic quality of Mateo’s music is definitely present, but in such a way that it would not put off a casual listener.

“Quien Te Viera” off Mateo Solo Bien Se Lame

Take for instance the song “Quien Te Viera,” a love song filled with longing, which is more kindred to the romantic side of Caetano Veloso than to the wildman jibberings of a Syd Barrett. At this juncture it’s important to note Mateo’s influence on Tropicalia. Milton Nascimento (who wrote one of the most beautiful Brazilian folk albums ever made) cites Mateo as an influence on him and there is much evidence as to why. The bossa driven number called “Esa Tristeza”  is something that sounds like a lost B-side to a samba soul compilation, or  “Jacinta” with its Brazilian jazz chord progression and its evocation of a beautiful woman who he meets running to catch a train. There is more Jobim here than Spence by a large margin.

“Esa Tristeza” off a 2-Volume Mateo compilation

“Jacinta” off Solo Bien Se Lame

Tropicalia is useful in a discussion of Mateo for two reasons. Although Tropicalia was radically progressive both sonically and thematically, it also had a respect for the tradition of ancient Brazilian music which it infused  into its innovations. Mateo followed the same approach on his second record Mateo y Trasante. This album deployed the ancient style of candombe (a type of Afro-Uruguayan folk music that dates back to when African slaves were transported to Uruguay). The use of candombe was an innovation that lent itself to Mateo’s style which was already interested in channeling ghosts from the past.

“Palomas” off Mateo y Trasante

The result is a mixture of Latin American and African rhythms set to lilting, poetic passages of guitar work, often populated with mystic-romantic imagery. When he obtained Jorge Trasante to play percussion on this record he was already undergoing a personal artistic mutation: he had become deeply invested in Arabic music and this caused a shift in the tone of his voice which some critics speculated was due to his use of psychedelics or mental illness. They were wrong on both accounts.

“Dulce Brillo” off Mateo y Trasante

Mateo y Trasante is now considered his masterpiece and an opus of Uruguayan music. By pushing forward the folk genre through musical hybridization, Mateo has created a host of followers. Devendra Banhart, Juana Molina and many modern folk artists have been quite direct in their indebtedness to Mateo’s voice and innovations. In speaking on the Trasante record something that often gets overlooked is that the music can get quite funky. The song “Amigo Lindo” is a perfect example of this. It begins with a bassline that could have been taken from a classic New Orleans funk 45 and then drops in with a flute that would make any hip-hop producer’s ears perk up.

“Amigo Lindo” off Mateo y Trasante

Mateo for all his introspection and folk wanderings also knew how to create a memorable tune. Pop is probably too strong of a word here, but it’s definitely something that flirts with the outer reaches of pop. If you listen to “Príncipe Azul” it is filled with the spirit of great pop music, the way it channels Brian Wilson through his choral intonations and its use of jangly piano. There is a moment in the song which is meant to be tender but ends up being melancholic (he is referring to the dreams of young child), and while the jumpy piano is meant to be exuberant it ends up feeling nostalgic. It is an exquisite rendering of how an innocent subject (a man extolling a child to follow his dreams) can create dramatic tension through the most unlikely means.

“Príncipe Azul” off Solo Bien Se Lame

Eduardo Mateo’s music is filled with many moments like these, and this is perhaps where his uniqueness lies. It’s his ability to render the shadows of meaning through sketch rather than precise diagram, through connotation as opposed to denotation, that suffuses it all with an ethereal grace and poetic power that leaves one feeling transported, yet rooted. Signs of an enigma, indeed.