Letuce

mpb

And Letuce enters the arena. An Amazon of totemic proportions, Leticia Novaes roots her long legs in the floor, grabs the microphone/spear with both hands, turns her face to partner Lucas Vasconcellos, who carries on his shoulders that which is, according to Patti Smith, the only revolutionary weapon, “this is the only weapon we need to revolution! An electric guitar” she once screamed in a carioca stage. Letícia was there and, hearing it, said Glory be!”! Leticia is an actress-rocker-bluesgirl-maenad. Lucas is a guitar player, conductor and restless researcher. The two of them, soul mates, are joined by accomplices of the highest level for a parade of several gem-songs from people who gaze beyond Tropicália, dig Dalva de Oliveira and Courtney Love, ride on a blue rocking horse throughout Marina’s illuminated Leblon and through the swinging Tijuca of Erasmos, Jorges and akin folk: Not pastiches but pistachios. Letuce wanna come, but Letuce doesn’t want only pleasure, Lettuce wants pleasure but it also wants revolution, and that’s not passé punk, nor teenager, nor naïve – although it can be all that – that’s the generous gesture. The gig is more than a happening, each glitter in the eyes, each image projected on the band, each sparkling light serpent entwined in the microphone pedestals, each saucy verse in French, each verse drunk with love, each discordant note in the contented chant of the masses is part of a spectacle which is larger because it is all...