Bossa Nova: The Story of the Brazilian Music That Seduced the World by Ruy Castro Page A

“Eager Beaver,” “Southern Scandal,” and other huge hits by Stan. And in turn, even the most rabid Brazilian Kentonians, during a romantic relapse, would sigh upon hearing “I Didn’t Know What Time It Was” by Sinatra, and they had great respect for Farney as a pianist although not as much for his talents as a singer. (This was not a problem: even Dick considered himself much more of a pianist than a singer.) They had a more than polite understanding. The two clubs were neighbors and even had members who belonged to both, which was never considered a case of split loyalty. One such member was João Donato, who had a framed photo of Kenton on his nightstand.
    But the reaction was very different when a group from Rua Marquês de Olinda, in Botafogo, had the audacity to form the Dick Haymes–Lúcio Alves Fan Club in the middle of 1949. It was complete provocation. How could anyone prefer Dick Haymes, a worthless imitator of Bing Crosby’s vocal style, to Sinatra? And since when could Lúcio Alves be compared to Dick Farney, to the point of deserving his own fan club? Strangely enough, it did not occur to the members of the Sinatra-Farney Fan Club that Farney owed almost his entire reputation as a singer to Crosby, not to Sinatra—and that, if either of the two Brazilians was truly original, it was Lúcio Alves. What linked them was their type of repertoire and the fact that they both had a “pillow voice,” as it was known.
    Another reason that Sinatra’s fans didn’t take Dick Haymes seriously was because, in addition to being a Bing Crosby wannabe, Haymes seemed to descend like a vulture on the jobs that Frank left behind. It was that way in1939, when Sinatra left Harry James’s orchestra to sing with that of Tommy Dorsey—and Haymes took his place. The situation repeated itself in 1942, when Sinatra left Tommy Dorsey to launch a solo career and, once again, Haymes filled his place with Dorsey. And finally, Haymes also left Tommy Dorsey to try a solo career. The only thing left was for Sinatra to divorce his wife, Nancy Barbato, and for Dick to marry her. (This did not in fact happen—but almost. Sinatra left Nancy to marry Ava Gardner, and Haymes promptly left his wife, but in order to marry Rita Hayworth.)
    This time, the stakes were high for the Sinatra-Farney Fan Club because the promoters of the Dick Haymes–Lúcio Alves Fan Club were Ney Lopes Cardoso, head of sales at Tonelux stores, and the journalist Sylvio Tullio Cardoso, who wrote a music review column in
Diário da Noite
(and soon after, in
O Globo
) and hosted a jazz program on Rádio Guanabara. In the Sinatra-Farney Fan Club members’ worst nightmares, they were already imagining that a conspiracy—involving a newspaper, a radio station, and an electrical appliance store (which sold records and record players)—had been hatched to crush their idols and replace them with usurpers, seducing innocent youngsters. Of course, this never entered the minds of Ney and Sylvio Tullio, but it appeared there was good reason for the Sinatra-Farney Fan Clubs members’ concern when they discovered there was a traitor in the club’s ranks.
    One of its dearest members was also a member of the Dick Haymes–Lúcio Alves Fan Club. There was an uproar in seeking out the serpent in the bosom. Who was the traitor? The Katzenjammer Kid, fifteen-year-old João Donato.
    Donato wasn’t just a fan of Lúcio Alves as a singer, which would have been heresy enough, but he also admired his talent as an arranger for vocal ensembles, which were the craze of the era. Donato’s treachery was revealed when he was heard whistling distractedly—on sacred Sinatra-Farney Fan Club property—Lúcio’s fabulous vocal arrangement of “Eu quero um samba” (I Want a Samba), recorded by his vocal group Os Namorados da Lua (Boyfriends from the Moon). It was the last straw. “Calabar! Judas Escariot!,” several people yelled, wanting Donato to be summarily forced to walk the