Lisbon, 1988. With Plux Quba, Nuno Canavarro quietly erected a totem of electroacoustic music. Across the 1980s, he had tasted the extremes of Portuguese mainstream rock, from its new wave roots to MOR synthpop, but a eureka moment came with his graduation from the Institute Of Sonology in The Hague, where he established a penchant for tape music. Experiments with an eight-track recorder and an eight-bit sampler-synth led to Plux Quba, a lucid tapestry of glitches, vocal samples and electronic bric-a-brac; what critic Rui Miguel Abreu called a “domestic bonhomie”. Sounds about right for a 500-copy private press – a scarcity Plux Quba overcame three years later, when German musician Christoph Heemann got a hold of the 12”. Jim O’Rourke, Mouse On Mars’ Jan St. Werner and other early listeners were left dumbfounded; Oneohtrix Point Never cited it as a favourite, and a swathe of post-modern electronica bears its mark to this day.
Canavarro’s wider appeal is a rare exception; the group Madredeus, which became an international touring force in the 90s with their fado-adjacent take on traditional Portuguese sounds, is another. Although demand for Príncipe’s world-beating batida music has surged, belying Portugal’s colonial mentality after all these decades, examples of transatlantic curiosity for Portuguese music are few and far between, other than for traditional fado. Nevertheless, experimental scenes have been flourishing in the time since. In 2004, sound artist Rafael Toral made the case for this with his Anthology Of Portuguese Electronic Music, featuring everything from the prog leanings of Anar Band and Carlos Zíngaro to the unsettling minimalism of Jorge Peixinho, Filipe Pires and Isabel Soveral. Now, 20 years later, two further compilations serving as belated stamps of approval. Dark Entries’ Rock Rendez Vous: Música Moderna Portuguesa 1985-1986 and Glossy Mistakes’ Atlantic Mavericks: A Decade of Experimental Music in Portugal (82-93) pick out gems from synthwave and post punk, plus some other indie shards by then-newcomers. The truth, as Flur’s André Santos noted, is that Plux Quba was neither a fluke, nor done in a vacuum.
The unassuming bravura that was present in Canavarro’s work, both insular yet stargazing, can still be found countrywide. Porto remains a hotbed for forward-thinking music, in light of the anti-commercial ethos pioneered by Ama Romanta (the countercurrent indie label that pressed Plux Quba). The Saliva Diva collective and label, founded in 2020, serves as evidence: their roster is a magpie-selection of disparate styles, from Maquina.’s postmodern krautrock to Evaya’s serrated take on dream pop (more on which later). The collective has stood firm, even after facing eviction from the studio that originally housed many of their projects (the farewell party was called GentriFest, geddit?). Skyrocketing rents in Porto, Lisbon and other cities stifled by speculation and overtourism, as well as municipal attempts to close down cultural organisations and hubs – most notably, STOP, a near-abandoned mall where around 300 musicians held rehearsal studios – point to a sign of the times, neon-lit: Portugal for sale.
Sound, however, remains a prime vehicle for resistance. Favela Discos, Fera Felina, Jazzego and Monster Jinx are some of the imprints holding down the fort in Porto, not forgetting venues like Maus Hábitos and Passos Manuel, dovetailing into the book and record shops Matéria Prima and Socorro. Lovers & Lollypops, aside from a roster chock-full of improvisational, genre-defying artists, has produced two daring festivals. Tremor finds its way through the nooks and crannies of the São Miguel island, in the Azores. Braga claims one of Europe’s flagship celebrations of electronica in Semibreve. It is also the home of gnration, a venue that is a marvel in its programming, artist residencies and educational approaches to music. The Futurama project works on the same wavelength, establishing a “cultural ecosystem” in several territories in the Lower Alentejo region. In the more central district of Leiria, similar goals are pursued by cultural cooperative Omnichord and soul-stirring festivals like A Porta and Nascentes.
These initiatives prove how forward-thinking art nurtures cultural democracy, where audiences are encouraged to participate, not just watch the art elites from a distance. This can mean a flurry of jazz festivals emerging in towns like Guarda or Viseu (also home to ZigurFest) – or events wider in scope. Space Festival is one such case, spurred by the wish to promote improvisational music “outside of urban centres”. In 2023, it scattered performances, workshops and installations everywhere from northern villages like Monção and Caminha (situated on the northern border with Spain), to Castelo de Paiva near Porto. These are ways of wrangling with the isolation, the lack of infrastructure and meagre funding that plague these lower-density regions. Financial quarrels have possibly put the kibosh on Viseu’s Jardins Efémeros, a much-acclaimed annual display of experimental music – and the capital city is not immune either, as evinced by this year’s first-time suspension of Lisboa Soa, a sound art laboratory turned festival.
In a statement, the organisers painted a broader picture, denouncing “the disappearance of our places of affection and the lack of space for many organisations that are essential to the cultural life of Lisbon”. This is where grassroots collectives step in, possibly looking up to the radiant example of SCOCS. In the previously anonymous hamlet of Cem Soldos, Tomar, SCOCS is a communal, ad hoc movement that generated Bons Sons, a national-scale festival made up exclusively of Portuguese artists. Without such efforts, many places are left to erratic cultural programming and non-existent networks; a stark contrast with the coastal regions of Porto and Lisbon. Opportunities may also be limited and precarious in the city, but they are certainly easier to come across – though often set to a “cis white male that comes from money” type beat. O Gato Mariano, the country’s favourite feline critic drawn by illustrator Tiago da Bernarda, who serves as both a source of comic gold and an archive of Portuguese indie rock, said it best: “All your DIY idols have rich parents!”
Lisbon remains a hotbed for free-form music – metropolis and outskirts included, which means we can only scratch the surface here (further reading on Portuguese hardcore and electronic is thoroughly recommended). 40 kilometres away, the city of Barreiro finds one of its calling cards in OUT.FEST: exploratory music from all coordinates, curated by the cultural organisations OUT.RA and Filho Único (also known for its intrepid summer concerts). In the capital, Black and queer performers have been moving the needle, from the afrofuturism of Xexa to Herlander’s post-ironic brand of pop, while creative collective The Blacker The Berry has been pioneering safer spaces in Lisbon nightlife. Forward-thinking venues include Sala Lisa and ZDB, paired with cultural spaces like Desterro and Planeta Manas. Unbridled jazz and ambient investigations pour out of Clean Feed Records, and shapeshifting beats from Rádio Quântica and labels like Discos Extendes and Rotten Fresh. The latter is home to Odete, FARWARMTH and ADW, whose RIP is one of 2024’s sharpest records. And none of this is to mention those self-releasing, like the unpredictable Van Ayres, Ravenna Escaleira or Lvis.
DIY and challenging music remains part and parcel of whatever may be called a Portuguese identity, however fragmented and mythological. It has less to do with a recent tendency to zhuzh up 20th century roots music, mixing synths with rustic instrumentation and vocals. This can be an interesting iteration of pop, yet it often succumbs to cynical marketing, claiming to “modernise” a tradition which is falsely purported to be “simple” – thus patronising the same music it purports to homage. Even some fado is abandoning its coerced role in the tourist-trap fantasias of yellow trams and pastéis de nata, while seeking to embrace its Afro-Brazilian origins.
José Afonso, folk music hero, once defined his concept of a cultural revolution: it is not about being able to play shows in different places, it is about “going to those places and finding the music that is being made there” – that means here, right now.
Maria ReisSuspiro…Cafetra
The founding punks of Cafetra Records first convened in 2008 in unaffected and matter-of-fact style: a group of friends meaning to have a few drinks, jam together and release their self-recorded projects. Did they predict they would end up extending the lifespan of DIY rock in Portugal? Back then Maria Reis, one of the musicians at the helm, was only 15. Soon she’d form Pega Monstro, a duo with her sister Júlia, and garner bile from macho killjoys (hardwired to disrespect women in punk) but just as much reverence from their peers.
Reis has dabbled in proto-hyperpop and a few oddball projects, but her home turf is the guitar-led epiphany (‘Amor Serpente’, ‘Metadata’), uncut and melodically piercing – no matter how warped her arrangements might be. Following a bulletproof trilogy of EPs, Suspiro… is her first full-length solo album, co-produced by Tomé Silva (a hyperkinetic drummer and an exponent of techno). A non-linear record concerning strenuous relationships with others and oneself, it spans apathy (‘Estagnação’), penitence (‘Holofote’) and the ever-elusive lust for life (‘Pico’). Reis might now punctuate her streams of consciousness with wistful clarinets and fizzy synths, but her guitar and her voice retain top billing: both raw, leaving mouths agape in a state of euphoria, angst or both.
Burnt Friedman, João Pais FilipeHopium RehabNonplace
A gongmaker, cymbalsmith and sound sculptor, you might be tempted to imagine João Pais Filipe an inscrutable artiste – but his music is quick to debunk that secluded, self-serious caricature. Not only for how collaborative it is (he plays as a percussionist with HHU & The Macumbas, as well as Rafael Toral and more), but for its sonic nature: spellbinding and banging, organic and airtight all at once. Bang a gong, lathe a cymbal, get it on.
The Porto-based artist relies on tact and trance, utilising his bespoke drum kits to seek the deepest revelations allowed by rhythm. They emerge in all the crevices of his work, from the circular, red-sky meditations of Sun Oddly Quiet (his 2020 studio album) to his cathartic, self-described “ethno-techno”. Filipe plays both modes alongside Burnt Friedman. His latest project with the German producer is a two-track EP titled Hopium Rehab, where the German producer’s synth work – whirring, without sacrificing atmosphere – meets Filipe’s fluttery loops and timbres, amidst crashing waves of sound.
EvayaAbaixo Das Raízes Deste JardimSaliva Diva
For the sceptic, Evaya might pose a challenge. Once you tune out the textured ambiences, hypnotic harmonies and deceptively naïve vocals, all of it might just seem like a siren song: a concerted conspiration luring you into new age-speak and pop spirituality (her Ray of Light, which could never be a bad thing). But while the Poceirão-born musician speaks of misfit creatures, seeds and new moons, her poems grow more and more impressionistic from one track to the next.
Take ‘fé-azul celeste’, for example: “A thousand tongues of fire, feet on the ground / I want to be nearby / Splashed with uncertainties, verdant butterflies and a sky-blue faith”. As drum machines erupt suddenly, in cahoots with modular synths and glitch galore, you realise there’s an entire soundworld lurking beneath. Abaixo das Raízes Deste Jardim, Evaya’s first album, engages her avant-pop instincts for two reasons: to activate a hypnagogic experience – it’s the work of a self-possessed auteur, going from ambient digressions to thrash outbursts as she pleases – and to wreak good, natural havoc.
Agressive GirlsAgressive GirlsCosmic Burger
Diana XL released her debut album XL in 2020: setting out her authoritative, appropriately extra-large vision. A follow-up, 2023’s BASS QUEEN, hammered home the aesthetic: a meeting point of deconstructed club and pop-rap’s melodic generosity. After the more introspective Mar Morto, melding together cloud rap and ambient scenery, XL respawned as a scream queen, linking with partner-in-crime Dakoi for the self-explanatorily named duo Aggressive Girls.
Their self-titled EP is an ear-splitting masterpiece of queercore – or, to use their own term, lesbiancore. Hard drumming and Jersey club kicks (fixtures of Dakoi’s solo work) provide the general backdrop for a barrage of threats, looking to exact revenge on unnamed wrongdoers. ‘Giras y terríveis’ brings forth a manifesto: “This is important to me / I don’t have a plan B […] This is who I am / whether you accept it or not”. You never doubt them, not one bit.
Ben YoseiLagrimentoBiruta
Midway through Lagrimento, Ben Yosei lets the listener pry on a conversation with his grandma (‘bó’) about death. A moment so intimate it invites both the guilt one feels when eavesdropping, but also the gratitude of bearing witness to such a testament to self-esteem and radical acceptance. These feelings are promptly overtaken by apprehension, as the Coimbra-born artist reaches for her again, this time to no avail.
To peruse his follow-up to 2020’s Luz is to hold this feeling indefinitely: a collection of “beatific pop dreams”, filtered through ambient; deeply personal, excised of irony and rationalisation. Organs and bells summon the basic vocabulary of Christian devotional music, at the root of Yosei’s upbringing, but his approach is imaginative and earnest. ‘Processionária’, ecstatic to its core, reminds me of being a kid in church, unsure of the homily’s meaning, but enthralled by the stained glass. Here is a document of grief and love incarnate, refracted through minimal compositions, reverb-soaked plainchant, and an open heart.
