Blackheads, a sign of life

The beautiful classicism of "Save Our Souls" has been distorted by the modern "SOS." There is, however, a new and good reason in its favor: the return of Os Pontos Negros, a lightning-fast band that performs as a champion forward, where they began playing with four forwards (Filipe Sousa on vocals and guitar, Jónatas Pires on vocals and guitar, Silas Ferreira on keys; David Pires, on drums, was the other member of the band). The generational influence of three albums between 2008 and 2012 can be compared to the more recent and enduring Capitão Fausto, insofar as they first remade, in the language of Sá de Miranda, the new rock of New York's low-key bars. These are the good twins; those are the bad twins. These are from Alvalade, those are from Sintra. These are the successful cousins, those are the writer cousins.

Meanwhile, Silas Ferreira's brilliant keyboards have been seen in concerts by Benjamim and Samuel Úria, and Jónatas Pires' guitar solos have been found in vital solo concerts, as well as in concerts by Úria, the headliner of the now-defunct Flor Caveira label, who brought along old acquaintances—as well as B Fachada, the best of all in the harness of melody and lyrics. A return to celebrate the ephemeral 20th anniversary of the band, which began in 2005, with live and indirect projection in three concerts between September and November: the first festival-going, the second undefeated, and the last electric train of progress always takes place in the capital. Looking up, the climb is steep, as you can hear Chiado and peek out at a Princípe Real in the profusion of hillside parishes. Take your tickets for the libationary occasions: visit pontosnegros.com.

Stirring the dust of memories Os Pontos Negros' new song is introduced by the international acronym. 'SOS' (2025) will be characterized by its sublime chorus and brilliant keyboards. The first chord recalls the beginning of 'Conto de Fadas'; the second verse could be a tap on the shoulder of the greatest songwriter or a nod to youth; but it's in the chorus that the imbalance becomes text: "I just need to hold my head above water for one more minute.

I can't pay the bill anymore with what's left of the hurt.»

'SOS' tells the story of a romantic encounter using the image of a "message in a corked bottle later thrown into the sea with a high degree of improbability of being found by anyone else." The hyperbole is fruitful because it introduces a significant exaggeration into the success of the romantic conquest, one we can relate to. More importantly, this exaggeration concludes the song, stirring the dust of memories. I'll try to explain why. The chorus echoes like a chipped stone on a concave board, knocking over the smooth stone that was previously set there. Composed of two instrumental parts with disparate cadences and a final, touring peak, it combines the harmonic beauty of the keys with Dionysian guitar solos, in a polyphony attributable to my venerated Strokes. Listen to 'Under Cover of Darkness' (2011) and compare. The truth of the subject who has stepped over the threshold of pain is re-echoed in strong progressive music as a personal solution to the gray. Listen to 'The Modern Age' (2001), also with a playful feel. The song 'Terra Prometida' (2021) already has the adventurous aesthetic and the same sequence: automatic description, bright antithesis and climactic denouement.

Jónatas's declarative intonation doesn't always sound musical with the poor, paired rhyme of the song's first part. With the same classical, hollow, and blank style of declamation, the Beat poets wrote poems without rhyme. In them, too, the stream of consciousness was offset by a basic melodic intuition that Ginsberg never managed to explain to others. (He learned it from Blake's musicality.) In Jónatas's case, too, the flatness of loss in the grip of disillusionment is offset by the Dionysian intensity that follows in a libation of the sludge of his own soul. Free, festive, and restored, he shakes his head afloat and speaks the truth contrary to resentment.

In fact, Jónatas Pires' solo album, Terra Prometida (2021), may have been the beginning of the metamorphosis of Os Pontos Negros' voice: there was a shadow, then there was a first-person perspective. Reality begins to blend with personal experience. They resemble epics of humiliation with a scarf tied to the forehead, like Springsteen. You can hear here "Padeiro de Portalegre," "Eu só Preciso," and "Falsa Partida." There's lyricism, there's gradation, there's anger, and there are rumors. Before, Os Pontos Negros' songs felt a centripetal circularity. They revolved well, and so they didn't break. They said everything and didn't lift the curtain. The best exceptions were well-taken photographs: "Magnífico Material Inútil," "Salomé," "Conto de Fadas de Lisboa a Sintra," "Tudo Floresce," and "Senna."