Pomba gira as Alabê in Quimbanda:

Ritual Change, Musical Innovation, and Challenging Social Hierarchies in Southern Brazil

Marc M. Gidal, Harvard University

Prepared for delivery at the 2009 Meeting of the Latin American Studies Association, Rio de
Janeiro, Brazil June 11-14, 2009.

Marc M. Gidal 1
O sino da igrejinha fazer le blem blom
Da meia noite o galo ja cantou
Seu tranca rua é o dono da gira
O corre gira que Ogum mandou.
The chapel bell rings ding, ding, dong
At midnight the rooster has already sung
Thee Blocker of the Street is the lord of the
mediums’ ring
The spinning ring that Ogum ordered.

Attendees of Umbanda ceremonies in metropolitan Porto Alegre before 1970 would have
sung or heard this sung prayer, or ponto cantado, just before the malevolent spirits, called exus
and pomba giras or simply the “spirits of the street,” began “incorporating” some of the spirit
mediums in the circle mentioned in the prayer. The spirits would arrive grunting, drink a small
cup of Brazilian rum called cachaça, clear negative energy from the participants and the house,
and leave the mediums to conclude the service. This veneration of ancestral spirits of mal intent
typically occupied the last five to fifteen minutes of Umbanda rituals. Returning to the same
worship house around 1990, one could hear the same ponto cantado, but this time it would be
sung at the beginning of the ceremony. Instead of distinguishing the section for exus from the
other Umbanda spirits, it now establishes the objective for the entire ceremony and sets the tone
for the evening. Instead of calling this ritual Umbanda, many participants would distinguish the
veneration of the “spirits of the street” as “Quimbanda.” The performance of Quimbanda rituals
developed during the 1970s and 80s as they became more public and less restricted, though much
of the underlying theology would remain the same. The exus and pomba giras now comprise the
central focus of an entire evening that can last all night. Exus and pomba giras used to walk
hunched over with contorted postures and hand gestures. They grunted and shouted but did not
speak. Nowadays exus and pomba giras stand upright, dance, sing, and converse with each other
and congregants more than other types of spirits in Umbanda. During Umbanda ceremonies
spirit-mediums still wear white gowns or medical aprons, but for Quimbanda the mediums wear
lavish and often expensive outfits – such as ball gowns, suits, fancy hats, and capes. After
incorporated by the spirits, they drink hard liquor, sweet wine, Champaign, and beer, and smoke
cigars and cigarettes throughout the night (Teixeira 2005; Batalla and Barreto 2008).
During the resurgence of Quimbanda starting in the 1970s, rituals changed dramatically
and increased in popularity. Scholars have interpreted some of the transformations in connection
with the black-consciousness and women’s movements of the 1970s and as responses to the
economic crisis and antagonisms from Neo-Pentecostalism in the 1980s, as will be discussed.
Beginning in the 1970s, the wardrobe and behavior of the spirits changed in Umbanda, new
compositions proliferated, new drum patterns emerged, and song-leading and accompaniment
duties were shared among participants other than the musical leaders, including the possessed
spirit-mediums. These musical innovations have in turn challenged social boundaries.
My research shows that changes in musical participation, new compositions, and
rhythmic innovations created tensions with the musical leadership of religious houses over
authority and authorship. These power conflicts continue today, extending from the domain of
religious ceremonies to the music recording industry. This paper argues that an increasingly
egalitarian approach to musical practice and the proliferation of new liturgy in Quimbanda
bolstered other anti-hierarchical contestations within the Afro-Brazilian religious community of
Porto Alegre on theological and social levels. These efforts drew on the existing theology of
spiritual evolution, the trend in race politics of “re-Africanization” (Prandi 1991), and changing

Marc M. Gidal 2
gender roles. Despite these challenges, however, musical leaders maintain their authority within
an inherently hierarchical religion.

Batuque, Umbanda, and Quimbanda in Southernmost Brazil

In metropolitan Porto Alegre, the capital city of the southernmost Brazilian state of Rio
Grande do Sul, a majority of the religious houses dedicated to Afro-Brazilian religion practice
what is variously called “Afro-Gaucho religion” or “Afro-Umbandism,” a combination of three
religious lines: Batuque, Umbanda, and Quimbanda (Corrêa [1992] 2006; Brites 1993; Rodolpho
1994; Polvora 1994; de Assis de Almeida 2002; Teixeira 2005; Anjos 2006; Braga 2003).
Batuque, also called “Nação” and “Africanismo,” is one of the more orthodox, African religions
in Brazil, along with those from the northeast such as Candomblé from Bahia, Xangô from
Pernambuco, and Tambor de Mina from Maranhão. It has been practiced in southern Brazil at
least since the mid-eighteenth century (Bastide [1960] 1978: 206 ff.; Corrêa 1992). In the
Batuque feasts, or celebrations, reverence and thanks are paid to the divinities, called by the
Yoruba term “orixás,” through prayers and sacrificial offerings. The orixás, in turn, “manifest”
themselves, as batuqueiros say, in the bodies of disciples, to bless congregants by passing to
them sacred vital energy called “axé.”
Umbanda and its close relative Quimbanda are twentieth-century Brazilian hybrids, often
called “syncretic” religions. Umbanda is believed to have begun in 1908, but was codified in
1920s Rio de Janeiro by a group of Spiritists. They combined aspects of several older spirit-
mediumship religions: French Spiritism, Afro-Brazilian Macumba, Folk Catholicism, and
Amerindian Shamanism. During Umbanda ceremonies, mediums “incorporate” a diverse
assortment of ancestral spirits. The spirits then cleanse congregants and consult with individuals
seeking assistance and guidance, usually regarding problems of health, family, work, or finances.
Starting in the late 1960s Umbandistas all over Brazil began reclaiming Quimbanda, and its
theology and ceremonies began to change.
Quimbanda, originally a pejorative term for Macumba and “black magic,” now refers to
the veneration and incorporation of the so-called “spirits of the street.” These include spirits of
vagrants, hustlers, prostitutes, and graveyard attendants as well as certain orixás who command
these spirits, principally Ogum Medê. Unlike the benevolent spirits of Umbanda, these ancestral
spirits can cause both harm and good. They are grouped under the categories of exus, pomba
giras, and ciganos. The term exu was borrowed from the Yoruba orixá Exú, the messenger
between divinities and humans, the remover of obstacles, the so-called “trickster” divinity. In
Umbanda theology exus came to mean the male ancestral spirits of the street. Their female
counterparts are called pomba giras, literally meaning “spinning pigeons” (Prandi 2005: 82f.;
Trindade and Coelho 2006). Also notable are the spirits of Romani people from Spain and
Portugal, called “ciganos.”
Both Batuque and Umbanda feature hierarchical religious communities, with
relationships between spirits and humans, and priests and devotees, based on loyalty, patronage,
and protection. Francisco de Assis de Almeida viewed the hierarchical religious family
relationships of Batuque as both reflective of the divine family of its theology and nineteenth-
century rural settlements of Rio Grande do Sul (2002). In a similar vein, Diana DeG. Brown
presented Umbanda practices in Rio de Janeiro during the 1960s and 70s as reflecting the
hierarchy and bureaucratic interactions associated with Brazil’s military dictatorship ([1986]
1994). The Afro-gaucho religion features social relationships of Batuque more so than those of
the Umbanda community that Brown studied in 1960s Rio de Janeiro, thereby reflecting what

Marc M. Gidal 3
Roberto DaMatta calls a system based on socially connected “persons” rather than anonymous
“individuals” ([1979] 1991).
In the 1950s religious houses in Porto Alegre began practicing both Batuque and
Umbanda, somewhat distinct traditions that inadvertently began to mix, although cautiously.
Sociologist Reginaldo Prandi describes two modes of worship in the Bahian Brazilian religions
of Angolan-Bantu heritage that are useful here: worshiping divinities and venerating ancestral
spirits of the land (Prandi 2005: 122f.). He extends this distinction to other Afro-Brazilian
religious communities that evince a twofold division of practices, often within the same
community. On the one side are religious lines considered more orthodox and more African
whose central focus is the worship of divinities – such as Batuque and the Ketu-Nagô nation of
Candomblé. On the other side are the religious traditions considered more syncretic, hybrid, and,
in turn, Brazilian, which focus on consulting with ancestral spirits, such as Candomblé de
Caboclo, Jurema, Encantaría, Umbanda, and Quimbanda.
Musical differences between the more orthodox and more hybrid varieties of Afro-
Brazilian religion have occasionally been compared, but solely in the context of northeastern
Brazil (Kubik 1979; Béhague 1975, 1986; Carvalho 1984b, 1994b; Pinto 1991b, 1997; Piper
2006; Sandler 2002). Generally speaking, the orthodox liturgy is based in African languages,
antiphonal in form, and follows melodic conventions closely associated with West and
Southwest (roughly Angola) Africa. The liturgies of the more hybrid religions are eclectic and
dynamic. They use mostly vernacular Portuguese, strophic and antiphonal song-forms, melodic
and harmonic conventions associated with Luso-Brazilian folk music, and influences from samba
and other popular Brazilian music. Religious houses that practice both religious lines tend to
distinguish their respective musical practices. Gerard Béhague observed an increased acceptance
of “stylistic variety,” rather than “stylistic changes,” as Candomblé houses of Bahia began
integrating rituals from the syncretic traditions (Béhague 1986: 22). 1 Both Gerard Kubik and
José Jorge de Carvalho eschew distinguishing African from European musical systems and
aesthetics to contrast the more orthodox from the more hybrid traditions. Kubik argues that
distinguishing Yoruban from Angolan influences would indeed be more productive: since the
Angolan systems share key qualities with Portuguese folk music, their intermingling in Brazil
fostered more hybrid syncretic traditions such as samba and capoeira. 2 Having noted the lack of
ethnomusicological studies of the more syncretic traditions, Carvalho suggested that future
researchers create “new ethnomusicological criteria that can deal with the complexity and the
accelerated dynamics of this stage of the process,” that process being the “acculturation of
African music in Brazil” (1984b: 244).

1
Although perhaps overly influenced by Alan Lomax’s Cantometrics project, Béhague compared the musical styles
of Umbanda and Candomblé ceremonies in the Northeast to speculate connections between vocal styles, culture, and
demographics or religious lines (Béhague 1975).
2
“It was apparent that, in contrast to the Yoruba tradition, the “Angolan” strain in Afro-Bahian music had easily
assimilated certain elements of Western European strophic form, solo and refrain in the songs’ structure, and
diatonic harmony. The presence of modality and parallel thirds in the “Angolan” strain of street Samba could be
easily interpreted as “Portuguese”. The fact is, however, that in the domain of tone systems and multi-part singing
Angolan and Portuguese traits reinforced each other in Brazil. The near-equiheptatonic tone system of inland
Angola structurally linked with singing in (neutral) third-plus-fourth or third-plus-fifth chains and the diatonic tone
system of Western European folk music linked with singing in major/minor parallel thirds made a perfect blend
possible in Brazil. Yoruba music on the other hand continued in Bahia with its pentatonic system and absence of
harmonic part singing” (Kubik 1979: 22, italics in original).

Marc M. Gidal 4
 The present analysis of musical innovations in contemporary Quimbanda responds in part
to Carvalho’s call. But rather than trying to describe a process of acculturation, that is, how
African religion became more Brazilian, my goal is to reveal tensions between creative agency
and social power relations within the religious community and to connect changes in ritual
performance to cotemporaneous social movements during Brazil’s return to democracy from
military dictatorship and corresponding civil liberties movements.

Transformations in Quimbanda
Transformations in Quimbanda ritual and its increased popularity also resonate with
broader social challenges forged by the black consciousness movement and the women’s
movement of the late 1970s. These movements helped gain civil liberties during Brazil’s long
process of returning to democracy (Fontaine 1985; Andrews 1991; Hanchard 1994). Following
Prandi, scholars of religion call this process “re-Africanization,” meaning the intentional
assertion of aesthetics, theologies, and practices considered more African, a trend connected to
the black consciousness movement (Prandi 1991, 1998). Through the lens of re-Africanization,
the increased prominence of and respect for exus and pomba giras, spirits previously viewed as
malevolent, shows Afro-Brazilian culture reclaiming the Macumba religion from white racist
misinterpretations of it as black magic and an overarching ideology of “whitening” prevalent
during the first quarter of the twentieth century (Ortiz 1991; Brown 1999).
Brazil’s women’s movement, for its part, helped refigure gender roles that allowed the
proliferation of pomba gira spirits (Gibbal 1991; Hayes 2005; Thiele 2006). The pomba giras of
Quimbanda challenge notions of femininity within a patriarchal religion, as Monique Augras has
argued:
Umbanda seems to have promoted, in terms of the figure of [the orixá] Iemanjá, an
almost complete emptying of sexual content. Such sublimation (or repression?) gave an
opportunity for the growth of a new entity, a purely Brazilian creation, the pomba-gira, a
synthesis of the aspects more scandalous than can represent the free expression of
feminine sexuality to the eyes of a society still dominated by patriarchal values (Augras
2004: 17-18, translation by author).
Through the lens of women’s empowerment, the leadership role that pomba giras assume during
ceremonies in chanting the pontos subverts gender roles of musical participation in which
leadership has traditionally been a male domain (Henry 2004: 118-9).
Changes in Quimbanda ritual more broadly resonate with changes in Brazil’s governance
from authoritarianism to democracy. Freedom of religious practices prescribed in the new
constitution allowed more experimenting and innovating within the realm of Umbanda. The
freedom of speech paralleled a growth in new compositions and a freedom for exus to speak and
converse, though perhaps coincidentally. The evolution of exus began in Porto Alegre as early
as the late 1960s, during the height of the military regime’s control. So these ritual changes in
fact preceded eventual changes in governance, while the popularity of Quimbanda in the 1980s
coincided with increased civil liberties associated with re-democratization. During Brazil’s
cotemporaneous economic crisis, Quimbanda offered, and continues to offer, an inexpensive and
potentially speedy antidote for the poor who sought immediate refuge from financial, material,
domestic, and health problems (Westra 1988: 206).
Jorge Jose de Carvalho’s argument that Umbanda is the latest sign of acculturation in
Afro-Brazilian religion resonates with another common theme in the literature on Afro-Brazilian
religion, sometimes called “umbandization,” that the more hybrid religions have diluted the more

Marc M. Gidal 5
orthodox ones. Carlos Caroso and Núbia Rodrigues opine that the rise of exus in Bahian
candomblé-de-caboclo is a result of the increase in umbanidization, “introducing ritual elements
that permit them to compete in the market of good symbols.” 3 Roberto Matta calls the
“umbandization of Xangô” in Recife “a special type of mass production that inevitably brings the
degradation of mythic and aesthetic quality of religious articles.” 4 Through the lens of
umbandization, the popularity of composing pontos to the exus and more egalitarian forms of
participation are signs that the original meanings of Exú in Batuque (that is, the characteristics
and roles of the orixá Exú, not the ancestral Brazilian spirit) are being lost in the representation
of exu in Quimbanda pontos and looser ways of making music due to a diluted knowledge.
Through this interpretive lens, the more egalitarian nature of musical participation reflects
Umbanda’s corruption of authentic Afro-Brazilian ritual performance.
Yet another way that these recent changes in the religion have been interpreted are as
responses to cotemporaneous surges in Neo-Pentecostalism and Charismatic Catholicism in the
1980s, which have served as the greatest antagonist to Afro-Brazilian religions writ large
(Prandi, Oro, Caroso, Rodrigues, Trindade). Through this line of reasoning, the changing
behavior of the exus, from hunched over, grunting primitive beings to elegantly dressed, upright,
dancing, singing, and consulting spirits, could be part of an effort to restore respect for Afro-
Brazilian religion in the face of such animosity toward exus including mimicry of the older way
that exus behaved in Neo-Pentecostal exorcisms which are a central focus of conversion
ceremonies at the massively popular denomination called IURD.
Practitioners themselves have consistently explained to me that changes in Quimbanda
ritual and its increased popularity are related to, first and foremost, the evolution of spirits, and
rarely to any of the recurring reasons offered in the social-science literature. The theology of
spiritual evolution comes from the Spiritist contribution to Umbanda. Spiritism organizes all
spirits within an evolutionary hierarchy, with Jesus Christ at the top, residing in the “spiritual
plane,” having the most spiritual “light,” and malevolent spirits at the bottom, in the “dark”
“material plane” (Hess 1991; Greenfield 1992, 1995; Negrão 2005). In Umbanda, spirits can
increase their spiritual light, thus evolve, through the charity of helping people. They thereby
gain more attention, more devotees, and receive ritual offerings of greater quantity and quality.
In Quimbanda, these offerings include sacrificial pigeons, hens, roosters, goats, sheep, and bulls
(Rodolpho 1994), which in turn signify a spirit’s increased power, evolution, and efficacy. “The
religion evolved a lot,” explained Mãe Ieda de Ogum, an early innovator of Quimbanda practices
in Porto Alegre. “Before, the exu arrived shouting, hunched over, and with a candle. It was like
this for many years. Today the exu has evolved because the people call, the people request, the
people pray, the people present, the people thank, and they [the exus] oblige.” 5
I propose that the production, dissemination, and performance of pontos cantados (the
sung prayers of Umbanda and Quimbanda) function similarly to offerings and sacrifices by both
bolstering and signaling a spirit’s power. Mãe Miriam de Xangô of Porto Alegre, for example,
wrote the ponto cantado, “Dama da Noite” in 1994 “specifically because it was the first party
that I threw in my house, for her, so I made a new ponto for her.” 6 As exus, pomba giras, and

3
“introduzindo elementos rituais que as permitem competir no mercado de bens simbólicos.” (Caroso and
Rodrigues 2001: 332)
4
“acarretando entretanto uma espécie de produção em massa, levando inevitavelmente à degradação da qualidade
mística e estética do ‘artigo’ religioso.” (Motta 1999: 32)
5
Interview with author, May 13, 2008, Porto Alegre, Brazil, emphasis hers.
6
Interview with author, November, 30, 2007, Porto Alegre, Brazil.

Marc M. Gidal 6
ciganos are enabled to speak, sing, lead the chanting of pontos cantados, and provide
consultations to clients, they can earn more devotees and thus more power. The elongated
Quimbanda ceremonies and its ever-expanding repertory of pontos cantados both aid and reflect
the evolution of some of the lowest spirits. These ritual changes thereby challenge and alter the
existing spiritual hierarchy, at least in the eyes of the Quimbandistas.

Mãe Ieda de Exu Rei das Sete Encruziladas

Eu vi a lua, clareando a lua, a lua,
Tinha uma garafo de marafo, para o senhor
Bará tomar.
Passou homen, olhou e viu, tirou chapeu, e me
comprimentou.
Será macumba macumba, ou será imagem do
amor.
I saw the moon, the clear moon, the
moon,
I had a bottle of cachaça for Mister
Bará to drink.
A man passed, he looked and saw,
tipped his hat and greeted me.
It will be a macumba macumba, or it
will be the image of love.

Seu Sete, meu amigo das almas, His Seven, my friend of the souls,
Seu Sete, meu irmão quimbandeiro His Seven, my fellow Quimbandist,
Gira tudo mundo gira Spin, everyone spin,
Mas seu sete é mesangeiro de Oxalá But His Seven is a messenger of Oxalá

When I told Mãe Ieda de Ogum (Ieda Maria Viena da Silva), also known as Mãe Ieda de
Exu Rei das Sete Encruziladas, that I had heard her ponto sung in many religious houses, she
exclaimed:
“Who doesn’t copy my house? For my exu draws a crowd, so they use it. My exu was the
first to wear a cape on the sea shore. I was the first to make Quimbanda on the sea shore.
I was the first to make celebration on the crossroad. I did this. [...] Everyone sings it,
here, in Argentina, in Uruguay, in the United States. Everything is from Mae Ieda. It’s
good.” 7
Determining the extent of Ieda’s influence on the development of contemporary rituals aside, her
involvement with Quimbanda certainly parallels its resurgence in Porto Alegre. Her story
therefore serves to introduce the changes in ritual, theology, and music.
Mãe Ieda de Ogum and Pai Neco de Oxalá composed pontos cantados that are widely
sung in Quimbanda ceremonies, largely because they were early innovators in the 1970s. The
above ponto by Mãe Ieda is often sung in other houses, whether or not practitioners know its
origins. She wrote it with her daughter Anara around 1980 in honor of her exu spirit, Exu Rei
das Sete Encruzilhadas, and the spirit line of Kings which he commands.
The lyrics contain common images in Quimbanda pontos, including the moonlit night,
the stranger on the street, the street-side offering (macumba, in this context), and a bottle of
cachaça rum (also represented with “garafo de marafo”). The first stanza tells a story of
encountering the entity and its place in the world – outside and nocturnal – and it leaves us with
a question whether this encounter was romantic (amor) or devotional (macumba). The second
stanza exalts the exu in the form of a greeting to him and his phalanx, the line of kings.

7
“Quem é que não copia minha casa? Que meu exu botou galera, gaston. O meu exu foi o primeira que botou capa
na beira da praia. Eu fui primeira que fiz quimbanda na beira da praia. Eu fui primeira que fiz festa no cruzeiro. Fui
isso. [...] Tudo mundo tira, aqui, na argentina, na uruguai, nos estados unidos. Tudo que é mae ieda, é boa.”

Marc M. Gidal 7
Although Ogum is usually considered the orixá who commands the exus, Oxalá is the lord of
souls; so in this ponto Exu King is categorized as a soul under the command of Oxalá. This
ponto is usually sung at a medium tempo.
Mãe Ieda was born in 1940 in Porto Alegre in the Catholic religion and a member of the
Daughters of Mary. Her mother was a Spiritist, which Ieda also learned. Later in her childhood
she came to Umbanda to help cure a health problem. She was taken to a woman she described as
a sorceress living in a hut, and that was when she first received her ancestral Amerindian spirit
(caboclo). It was while serving as a ritual assistant (cabona) for an Umbanda ceremony in 1962
when she first received her exu, Exu Rei das Sete Encruzilhada, or “His Seven” (Seu Sete) for
short. Four years later she became initiated into the Batuque tradition of Nação Oyó.
Mãe Ieda is one of a number of pais- and mães-de-santo with long-standing transnational
ties, especially to neighboring countries of the River Plate region (Oro 1999). She began visiting
Argentina and Uruguay around 1980 to meet with clients, train disciples (filhos-de-santo), and
help open new religious houses. She currently travels there three to four times a year. She also
receives clients and disciples from Western Europe and the U.S. who have helped develop the
royalty theme in her gala Quimbanda celebrations.
When her exu first incorporated her, in 1964, it was during an era when exus briefly
arrived at the end of Umbanda sessions, while everyone wore white clothes, sometimes medical
aprons, sang pontos, and played only “maracas” (called in the U.S. an “afoche/cabasa,” an hand-
held idiophone with adjasent rings of metal beads tightly wrapped around a rippled-metal
cylander) without drums or the agé shaker. It is what happened to Ieda’s exu thereafter that
distinguishes her biography from others who came to the religion from Catholicism or Spiritism
motivated to solve health problems as well as the many practitioners who first entered Umbanda
before Batuque. She recounted to me the development of her exu, “His Seven,” paying particular
attention to offerings in order to illustrate that the exu evolved spiritually largely due to his
successful works assisting clients and their consequential gratitude. In so doing she directly
associates spiritual evolution with the efficacy of the spirit’s deeds.

“He used to arrive, discharge [negative energy], drink some cachaça in the street and go
away, at the end of the works. And then he had a marvelous evolution [...] And he, with
the crossing, with the rituals – the offering for him used to be one yellow tissue paper,
one beef steak, one cigar, and one drink of cachaça. It was carried to the crossroads.
From there it started increasing, enlightening. Afterwards he asked for a yellow hen, his
clothes were white pants and a yellow shirt and a cap, a little white hat. Ten years later,
he asked for a goat and – he came to have sacrificed for him a “four-footed” [goats and
sheep], as it is called. [...] After some fourteen years he came to earn seven cows for a
present, for thanks for the prayers of people. [...] There was a pai-de-santo, who is
deceased, Pai Edi, the other is Pai Joãozinho of [Exu] Midnight. They, in ten years, they
gave His Seven, seven cows. It was a promise while he lived. And His Seven came to be
godfather of those two houses. So His Seven reached the maximum.” 8
8
“Chegava, descarregava, botava a cachaça na rua e ia embora... no final dos trabalhos. E ali ele foi tendo uma
evolução maravilhosa de [...] E ele, com os cruzamento, com os rituais... a oferenda dele era um papel de seda
vermelho, um bife, um charuto e uma cachaça. Se levava na encruzilhada. Dali ele foi crescendo, foi iluminando.
Depois ele pediu um galo vermelho... a roupa dele era calça branca e camisa vermelha e um boné, um chapeuzinho
branco. Depois em... dez anos, ele pediu um cabrito e... passou a cortar o “quatro pé”, como se chama. [...]Depois de
uns quinze ano ele passou a ganhar sete bois de presente, de graças ao benzar das pessoas. [...]Teve um pai-de-santo,
que já é falecido, o Pai Edi(?)... o outro é o Pai Joãozinho da meia-noite. Eles, nos dez anos, eles deram pro seu sete,

Marc M. Gidal 8
 When describing the development of His Seven’s wardrobe and celebrations in the image
of European royalty, she noted the influence of non-Brazilians, especially Europeans and those
from other the Southern Cone countries where she maintains strong relationships with the Afro-
Umbanda communities. A large photo of His Seven hangs in her salon, in which he is dressed in
a green silk suit, a long green cape, and a green top hat.

“After many paths he requested a white pants and a yellow shirt, which is his banner,
yellow and white. After he was crossed, he came to have his guia [ritual beaded
necklace] be red and white, red and black. Afterwards he asked Bará for a circle of
devotees. So His Seven, in the terreiro, when working, doesn’t wear shoes, not in
luxurious clothes. It’s a pair of pants, a shirt, and a small hat. 9

“Before he used to wear pants and shirt. Today he dresses as King for the passage on his
birthday. The exu doesn’t make a birthday! But we have a date of passage for him, and of
the levels that he was increasing. And the people are the ones who make the party for
him. He earned it, from his friends, his clients. His Seven has clothes that he earned,
made in Spain, Germany, France, California. I have disciples, friends, who go there and
send me those wonderful clothes that I have [photos of] in albums.” 10

“He came without shoes. Today he wears shoes, a “gabela”. Oh, how do you call it, my
god? There in Argentina they say “galera,” I already exchanged it. “Cartola!” [top hat].
Do you know what that is?” 11

“And he reached the largest cape. The cape worn by all kings. He earned a crown bathed
in gold. The crown a king has. The crown an exu has. The spiritual entities, they already
come with light. He got it. But he earned it from clients and people. So we had his
coronation also in a club. The magic was done here.” 12

In addition to changes in offerings and the clothing of her exu, Ieda recalls how changes in the
exu’s behavior expanded the clientele the exu could receive and help, moving from a more
restricted position in the religion to a more public and open role.

sete boi. Era uma promessa que, enquanto ele vivesse... E o Seu Sete passou a ser o padrinho dessas duas casas.
Então o Seu Sete chegou ao máximo e.”
9
“Depois de várias caminhadas ele pediu uma calça branca e uma camisa vermelha, que é a bandeira dele, vermelho
e branco. Depois ele se cruzou, passou a ter a guia dele vermelha e branca, vermelha e preta. Depois ele pediu uma
corrente do bará. Então o Seu Sete, na terreira, em trabalho, não usa sapato, não é roupa de luxo – é uma calça, uma
camisa e um chapeuzinho...”
10
“Antes ele se vestia com uma calça e uma camisa. Hoje ele se veste de rei para as passagens das data de
aniversário. Exu não faz aniversário! Mas a gente tem aquela data da passagem dele, né? E dos graus que ele foi
crescendo. E... o povo é que faz a festa pra ele. Ele ganha... dos amigo, dos cliente. O Seu Sete tem roupas que ele
ganhou. Fazenda da Espanha, da Alemanha, da França, Califórnia... Eu tenho filhos, amigos, que vão lá e me
mandam aquelas roupas maravilhosas que eu tenho aí os álbuns. Deixa eu ver...”
11
“Ele chegou sem sapato. Hoje ele usa sapato, “gabela”(?). Ah... como é que se diz, meu deus? Lá na Argentina
eles dizem galera... eu já troquei. Cartola! Sabe o que que é?”
12
“E chegou ao máximo de capa. Que todos os reis usam capa. Ele ganhou uma coroa banhada a ouro. Que coroa
um exu tem. As entidades espirituais, elas já vêm com a luz. Ele conseguiu. Mas ele ganhou de clientes e de pessoas.
Então houve a coroação dele também, no clube. A magia foi feita aqui.”

Marc M. Gidal 9
 “Because the exu, forty-five years ago he was dark. He was and he is. Depending on the
levels that he reaches, when he’s learning to speak, to converse. When His Seven first
arrived, he didn’t accept children, didn’t accept elderly people, because he was a very
strong magic. And the hours of the exu are late. Today His Seven guards children, works
for children, works for people of age. He no longer has any problems. But he reached
that level.” 13

Saying that the exu “was and is” dark, or in the dark, refers to spiritual evolution. Each exu must
evolve at their own pace, for most exus are still in the dark, less evolved.
The level of spiritual evolution may correspond to the behavior and performance of an
exu during rituals. Often novices who exus first incorporated behave in a monstrous manner,
hunched over and grunting, rather than dancing upright. On the other hand, the exus of
experienced practitioners may arrive hunched over at every ceremony only to soon lift their
stance and dance, sing, and speak as other evolved exus do. This may depend on the person and
their comfort and control during the onset of possession as well as the culture of the group with
whom they regularly practice.
Mãe Ieda is proud to claim that she was the first to rent a hall to hold her annual
Quimbanda celebration that honors her exu. For many years she made large rituals in the street
intersection near her terreiro in the Cidade Baixa neighborhood, for which she received a license
from the police. In 1994 she moved the event to a private club to be able to hold a large gala
event of around fifteen-hundred people. She conducts the opening rituals in her terreiro, calling
the spirits to incorporate her and her inner-circle of filhos, “the queens of His Seven,” as she
says. Thereafter, while incorporating the exus and pomba giras, they drive to the club and greet a
multitude of disciples, clients, and dignitaries.
A hired videographer documented one such event in 1999, the thirty-seventh anniversary
of Exu Rei do Sete Encruzilhadas, which was the fifth year it was held in a social club. Club
Glória is located in the Glória neighborhood of Porto Alegre, a mixed income suburb near the
edge of the southern city limits. The video shows a large, function room filled with well dressed
guests awaiting the entrance of Mãe Ieda’s exu and his entourage. Most of the guests were of
European descent and middle aged, many of whom had come from Uruguay and Argentina for
the event. Some were dressed in lavish gowns and fur wraps. The evening had begun with a
dinner and live secular music. At a quarter to midnight an emcee welcomes the guests and
announces the entities. Druming can be heard from outside the hall, playing the first part of the
toque sambão (discussed later), as the entities slowly enter the room, spinning, dancing, singing,
and dividing the guests down the middle. Ieda’s exu entered with her queens, Pomba gira
Rainha.
They entered singing the antiphonal ponto, “O mulambe mulambe / a mulambe e ganga.”
The ponto praises Pomba Gira Maria Mulambo, who, according to Mãe Ieda, is in charge of the
exus, here collectively called, “ganga.” “We sang Mulambe, Mulambe to clean the dirt from the
street, and to sing a ponto lamenting the exus,” she explained. After her entire entourage had

13
“Porque o exu, há quarenta e cinco anos atrás ele era um escurecido [darkened/dark]. Era e é. Depende os graus
que ele vai chegando que ele vai aprendendo a falar, a conversar. Na época que o Seu Sete chegava, ele não aceitava
criança, não aceitava velho... porque era uma magia muito forte. Né? E os horários do exu são para grande. Hoje o
Seu Sete cuida de criança, trabalha pra criança, trabalha pra pessoas de idade. Não tem mais, pra ele, problema. Mas
ele chegou ao grau.”

Marc M. Gidal 10
reached the microphone at the front of the room and stopped singing, the announcer called out,
“Energy! Light! Life!” Then Ieda’s exu took the microphone and began singing her ponto
discussed above, starting with “Passou homen olhou eviu tirou chapeu e me comprimentou.”
They repeated the first stanza for five minutes and continued to the second stanza, “Seu Sete,
meu amigo de almas,” for another two. She then initiated another ponto that served as a coda
and underscored the royalty theme of the celebration.

Vamos salvar a coroa Let’s save the crown

Vamos salvar exu rei Let’s save Exu King
Vamos salvar a coroa Let’s save the crown
Vamos salvar nosso rei Let’s save our king

After a few minutes the pontos ended and His Seven greeted the crowd saying, “Friends,
this is our anniversary. [...] Good axé [vital energy] to all. Positive energy!” Thereafter the
guests each approach Ieda to offer well wishes and presents, the first of whom makes her
greeting into the microphone, addressing His Seven and “his court,” meaning the court of a king.
The pontos resume, entities begin incorporating the guests, and dancing spirits fill the hall. A
ponto to Bará da Rua (Bará of the street) is the first sung, followed by one for the queen pomba
giras, and other well-known pontos: one that wishes good axé to all the givers of presents,
another for pomba gira of the crossroads (cruzeiros), a ponto for the souls in general (called “Eu
adorei as almas,” discussed later), and pontos to Exu Tranca Rua, Bará da Rua, Cigano spirits,
Exu Maravo, and again Mulambo before the video ends. Meanwhile the stream of guests
greeting Ieda’s His Seven ends well after the video stops.

Musical Participation
Musical participation in Quimbanda differs from that of the more orthodox and more
African religions like Batuque and Candomblé. This case study examines in detail this
alternative, more egalitarian paradigm compared to the model of hierarchical group interaction in
Afro-Brazilian religion that is ubiquitous in the ethnomusicological literature (Herskovits 1944;
Merriam 1951; Cossard-Binon 1967; Lühning 1989; Béhague 1984; Carvalho 1984a; Pinto
1991a; Braga 1998). In this well-known model, either the religious leader or the musical leader,
called the “alabê,” is responsible for chanting antiphonal prayers of African origin. The alabê or
his assistants play percussion to accompany the prayers, called “rezas,” and the congregants
chant responsively. While the disciples move in a circle, counter-clockwise around the salon, the
orixás possess some of them, or “manifest,” as it is called in Batuque. There are indeed
exceptional situations, such as when an orixá manifests in an alabê and someone else must take
over his/her duties; or when an orixá of a disciple who has earned permission to speak initiates a
reza. But these are infrequent exceptions to normative mode of musical participation.
I filmed Video Example 1 at the religious house of Mãe Turca de Ogum in Porto Alegre
on November 17, 2007, which was the first Saturday night of her annual, two-week festival
dedicated to her patron orixá Ogum. The alabê leading prayers, or “rezas,” and playing the
drum, Cleber de Oxalá, chants the prayer and the congregants repeat it. It is traditionally
prohibited to photograph or video record the orixás once they have manifested, so this example
only shows the alabê and assistants, in an alcove to the left, and the disciples moving counter-
clockwise around the salon in a circle. Both the Batuque and Umbanda altars in the front of the
salon are partially visible in the right of the picture. Quimbanda altars are normally in a small

Marc M. Gidal 11
shed outside the main building, as is the case at Mãe Turca’s house. The instruments used in
Batuque ceremonies are the drum ilú, called more commonly “tambor,” the gourd shaker agê,
the double bell agogô, and a small bell adjá, which is rung continuously. In certain Batuque
houses, a larger, conical drum, inhã, is also used (Braga 1998). The atabaque drums used in
Candomblé and may be familiar to readers are not used in Batuque.
The prayer performed in Video Example 1, “Èsù lànà fò mi o,” is commonly used for
cleansing individuals in private ceremonies. In the context of this public celebration, it is part of
a longer series of prayers to the first orixá called in the ritual, Exú, otherwise known as Bará,
Lebara, Legbara, and Elegua. Figure 1 provides the text by the Uruguayan priest Pai Osvaldo
de Omotobàtálá in Yoruban orthography and Spanish translations. Since the 1960s, some
practitioners of Batuque and Candomblé have sought to “purify” the existing rezas by seeking
out the original words in African languages, primarily Yoruba, and attempt to translate the
revised prayers (Prandi 1991). 14

Figure 1: Batuque prayer (reza) “Èsù lànà fò mi o” (Omotobàtálá 2004: 8, English translation
by author)
O [Onílù] - Èsù lànà fò mi o, Bàrà lànà fun malè o!
(Oh! Exu, abre el camino limpiándome, oh! Bará abre el camino para los Orixás)
[Drummer: Oh! Exu, open the way cleansing me. Oh! Bará open the way to the Orixás]
D [Dáhùn] - Èsù lànà fò mi o, Èsù lànà fun malè!
(Oh! Exu, abre el camino limpiándome, oh! Exu abre el camino para los Orixás)
[Responder: Oh! Exu, open the way cleansing me. Oh! Exu open the way to the Orixás]

Figure 2. Toque aluja do bará with notation key.

Toque aluja do bará: (16) L x x x H x x x L x x x - L - L
Key to toque notation: 15
(16) = number of fastest pulses
L = accented lower-pitched tone (played near rim of drum head)
H = accented higher-pitched tone (played near center of drum head)
X = unaccented higher-pitched tone
- = rest; unarticulated pulse

The drum rhythm, or “toque,” used in this prayer goes by various names, including “aluja
do bará” by my teacher, Alabê Antônio Carlos de Xangô, one of the most renowned living
Batuque musicians and with whom Alabê Cleber used to perform (Braga 2003: 92 ff.). It is one
of a few Batuque toques that are commonly used today in Umbanda and Quimbanda, as will be
discussed later. Assuming a time-line of 16 fastest pulses (see Figure 2), the toque emphasizes
the first, fifth, ninth, fourteenth, and sixteenth pulses. Hearing the toque in a four beat meter, the
first three on-beats are accented followed by two off-beat strokes during the last beat, which
serves as a syncopated turnaround.
14
I collected various transliterations of this prayer into Roman script more easily read by Portuguese speakers,
including those of famous Batuque alabês: “EXÛ LANÃ FOMIO, EXÛ LANÃ FOMALÊ” (Paiva 1978), “Exú lana
fomiô, exú lanã fumaléo” (Machado [1990s]), “EXÚ LÃNA AFO OMIÔ, OBARÁ LÃNA FOMALEO” (Carlinhos
D'Osun [1990s]), “Eshú Lanã, fômio uô / Eshú Lanã, fômalé” (Ferreira 1997). The significance of these
transliterations will be explored elsewhere that deals with issues of transmission of liturgical knowledge,
authenticity, purity, prestige, and professionalization.
15
Drum-pattern notation derived from Kubik (1979).

Marc M. Gidal 12
 By contrast to Batuque, the musical roles are much more flexible in Quimbanda to the
point of offering an alternative, more egalitarian model of participation. The next video
examples illustrates how song-leading and accompaniment duties in Quimbanda are shared by
congregants other than the alabê and the religious leader, including women and youth, who do
not usually serve as alabês. I filmed the remaining examples during a Quimbanda celebration
held on November 10, 2007 at the religious house of Mãe Glaci de Oxum in Porto Alegre, a
house that practices all three traditions: Batuque, Umbanda, and Quimbanda. Mãe Glaci’s
husband Toninho serves as the alabê, though he is not visible in the video examples. In Video
Example 2, Alabê Toninho initiates off camera the popular and old prayer called “Eu adorei as
almas,” or “I loved the souls.”

Figure 3: Quimbanda prayer (ponto cantado) “Eu adorei as almas”

Eu adorei as almas I loved the souls
Eu adorei as almas I loved the souls
Eu adorei as almas I loved the souls
Sabe por quê? Do you know why?
Eu adorei as almas I loved the souls

As almas santas, almas bem dita The saintly souls tell good
Vem do reino de Oxalá They come from the kingdom of Oxalá
As almas vem da calunga The souls come from the cemetery
As almas vem pra trabalhar The souls come to work

The lyrics venerate the spirits of the deceased in general, noting that they emerge both
from the divine realm governed by the orixá Oxalá and from the “calunga” – here meaning
cemetery (according to the participants), but also refers to the grave of the sea and an Angolan
goddess of the sea who is venerated in Brazil (Bastide [1960, 1978] 2007: 288, 347). The lyrics
say that these benevolent spirits do “work,” meaning the charity of cleansing and consulting with
the congregants.
Paying attention to who is singing which parts of the prayer, the call or response, is
critical for my argument. Everyone visible in the video, except the drummers and some
congregants in the distant background, are “incorporating” spirits, as Umbandistas call spirit-
possession. At first the spirit of Pomba gira Maria Mulambo, whose medium Carla is wearing a
black hat and black-and-white checkerboard skirt, dominates singing the call and Exu Ze
Pelintra, whose medium Gustavo is wearing a white suit and white hat, leads the response.
During the verse, they each switch roles, singing the opposite part. Later in the excerpt an
assistant drummer, Luciano, becomes the loudest one heard singing the calls and response lines.
By this time Carla and Gustavo are dancing elsewhere in the room.
The use of drumming patterns adopted from those of Batuque is also noteworthy.
Consensus among my older interviewees is that Umbanda in Rio Grande do Sul began using
drums at least as early as the early 1950s when Batuque houses began practicing Umbanda. The
drummers borrowed a few common patterns from Batuque that fit the basic rhythms of the
pontos cantados, specifically the toques aré, jêje, and the one used here which also accompanied
the Batuque reza in Example 1 above. Alabê Toninho calls this toque “balanço,” the younger
drummers in his house Renata and Ariana call it “cabinda,” the name of a Batuque
denomination, while Antônio Carlos de Xangô calls it “aluja do bará.”

Marc M. Gidal 13
 Not only do incorporated spirits sing both call and response lines of pontos cantados,
they can also lead the chanting themselves, or as they say, “pull pontos.” The frequency of this
varies by house and although alabês tend to describe this as positively contributing to
celebrations, they avoid relinquishing full control to spirits and other participants. In Video
Example 3, which occurred earlier during the same Quimbanda celebration of Mãe Glaci, the
spirit Pomba gira das Almas of Mãe Miriam de Xangô pulls a ponto cantado to the pomba gira
named Sete Saia, meaning “Seven Skirts.” At this moment in the fest, all of the spirits of Glaci’s
disciples had already arrived and thus the pomba gira spirit of Miriam began calling spirits of her
own filhos-de-santo. Miriam is one of two disciples of Mãe Glaci to have become religious
leaders, or “mães-de-santo” (mother of saint). She opened her own house two years ago, but still
attends most events at Glaci’s house, along with some of her own disciples. The video shows the
second spirit she called, Pomba gira Sete Saia, whose medium is wearing a red dress and black
hat, and begins spinning in front of the drums near at the end of the segment.

Figure 4 : Quimbanda Ponto cantado to the spirit Pomba gira Sete Saia
Quando a sete saia no terreiro chegou When Seven Skirts arrived in the temple
Todos os exus ela saldou She greeted all the exus
Mas ela é bonita, ela é mulher, But she’s beautiful, she’s a woman
ela é a pomba gira, ela é exu mulher She’s a pomba gira, she’s an woman exu

This ponto cantado is more typical of Quimbanda liturgy than “Eu adorei as almas” in
that it addresses a specific spirit. The number seven appears throughout Umbanda liturgy,
cosmology, and writings as having special spiritual significance due to its importance in the
Biblical creation story and Jewish mysticism. The lyrics simply acknowledge the arrival of this
pomba gira, praise her beauty, and establish her connection to the pantheon of exus, “the spirits
of the street.”
The drums alternate between two drum patterns, or toques. Toninho heard the first toque
elsewhere and called it “macumba” because it sounded African to him. The second toque is jêje,
one of the three most common Batuque patterns used in Umbanda and Quimbanda, and also the
name of denominations in Batuque and Candomblé. At this house, Toninho and his assistant
drummers often alternate between the toques macumba and jêje within a single ponto. Both
toques fit into a four-beat meter, marked on the agé shaker, thus creating an audible contrast
between a slower sounding macumba and the rhythmically denser jêje.

Figure 5. Toques jêje and macumba as practiced by Alabê Tonhino.

Toque jêje: (16) H - x x L - L - H - x x L - L L
Toque macumba: (12) L - L L L L H x x H x x

Musical composition is also an egalitarian and flourishing activity for Quimbandistas. As

a religion using Portuguese liturgy, codified in the twentieth-century, Umbanda has always
benefited from inspired devotees who contribute new pontos cantados. At least half of the
religious leaders and musicians I spoke with have composed pontos cantados, whereas only some
participants said they compose. Most of those over forty years old have composed pontos for
Umbanda and Quimbanda spirits, while those younger tend to compose only for Quimbanda
spirits. Pai Verardi, Baba Diba, and Mãe Turca have all composed pontos which they use in
their houses during ceremonies. Alabês Antônio Carlos de Xangô and younger drummers I met

Marc M. Gidal 14
have composed pontos. Even the conservative Umbanda Branca center, Cavaleiros do São
Jorge, has an original anthem for its society that members sing at the beginning of most services.
With the increased popularity of Quimbanda over the past forty years, newer pontos tend
to address “spirits of the street” rather than the classic spirits of Umbanda. Even the ponto “Eu
adorei as almas” was originally sung for the Umbanda spirits of old black slaves, whereas now it
is sung to address exus during Quimbanda rituals. Mãe Ieda de Ogum and Pai Neco de Oxalá are
two of Porto Alegre’s oldest innovators of Quimbanda, who advanced and innovated practices in
the mid-to-late 1970s. Each had to compose new pontos to their preferred spirits out of necessity
as much as inspiration. Today devotees sing their pontos without knowing the composers or that
they are only thirty years old. One pai-de-santo who has practiced for twenty-five years told me
that he prefers the old pontos to the new, but he actually sings the pontos of Mãe Ieda and Pai
Neco in happy ignorance of their young age.
The same Mãe Miriam who was leading a ponto cantado in Video Example 3 and was
dancing with the exu of Gustavo in Video Example 2 also composes many that are sung during
the ceremonies of Mãe Glaci. She finds it easier to compose pontos for Quimbanda spirits
because they are more similar to her and her peers than are the antiquated Umbanda spirits of
mythological Amerindian warriors and old black slaves. Earlier in the same Quimbanda
ceremony, Alabê Toninho pulled a ponto called “Dama da Noite,” which Miriam composed, to
call her pomba gira to possess her. Video Example 4 starts when the participants are already
singing her ponto. Miriam’s pomba gira is the first spirit to arrive in front of the drums,
followed by those of two other disciples.

Figure 6. “Dama da Noite” by Mãe Miriam de Xangô

Numa noite linda ela chegou no gira, On a beautiful night she arrived at the
ceremony,
Dama da noite com seu povo vem girar The Dame of the Night with her people
comes to spin.
Até a lua fica mais bonita Until the moon became more beautiful
E toda a estrela brilha quando a dama da and every star shined when the Dame of
noite chega, the Night spins.
Alo pande dama da noite alo pande Greetings, Dame of the Night, greetings,
Alo pande dama da noite vai girar. Greetings, Dame of the Night will spin.

The lyrics in Figure 6 describe the nighttime arrival of this pomba gira and that she spins,
two common themes in pontos cantados. Spinning, which can be seen in all the Quimbanda
examples, helps induce or signals trance among Umbandistas. The greeting “alo pande” is
specific to pomba giras, just as each orixá has his/her own salutation.
Whereas Umbanda pontos merely used toques from Batuque, drummers who play for
Quimbanda ceremonies created a new toque, called “sambão” among other names, adopting
Batuque toques to the changing rituals of Quimbanda. “Dama da Noite” uses this toque. Rarely
have practitioners and drummers told me that sambão means “a big samba,” its literal translation,
reflecting a tendency to distinguish the religion from secular activities like Carnival and parties
in which samba music is played. Alabês have told me a range of origins of the sambão toque
including Candomblé Angola and the candombe music of Uruguay. Antônio Carlos de Xangô’s
explanation seems most likely, which is that sambão is merely an up-tempo variation of the

Marc M. Gidal 15
toque aluja do bará, which accompanied the examples of the Batuque reza, “Èsù lànà fò mi o,”
and the Quimbanda ponto, “Eu adorei as almas.”

Figure 7. Toque sambão compared to toques omãn and aluja do bará

First part of toque sambão: (16) L L - - H - x x H - x x H - x x
Toque omãn: (16) L L - H H - - H - x x H - H -
Second part of toque sambão: (16) L - x x L - x x L - x x L L - L
Toque aluja do bará: (16) L x x x H x x x L x x x x L - L

Figure 7 shows the two parts of toque sambão compared to two Batuque toques.
Comparing the second part of sambão to aluja do bará reveals a common cycle of 16 fastest-
pulses; the accent on the first, fifth, and ninth pulses; and the same off-beat turnaround pattern.
Among the twenty-six toques that Antonio Carlos de Xango uses for Batuque, aluja do bará is
the closest to sambão. The first part of toque sambão bears close resemblance to a Batuque
toque that Antonio Carlos de Xangô calls “omãn,” a toque played at quick tempi when
accompanying rezas in Batuque ceremonies. Both toques begin with two short low tones and
then accent a series of high tones. Given the overall four-beat feel of both toques, further
emphasized by the accompanying agé shaker, the first of four beats coincide with the first low
tone and the remaining three beats are each accented with high tones.
The purpose of composition is not always to disseminate pontos widely and/or to sell
recordings, but rather for self-expression of devotion to an entity and pride in one’s works can
certainly be enough personal gain. Most newly composed pontos remain unknown, except to the
composer and perhaps friends and fellow devotees within a religious house. Yet some new
pontos spread locally among houses in a word-of-mouth manner. As practitioners visit houses
other than their own for festivals or to visit friends, they hear and share new pontos as well as
older less-familiar pontos; when returning to their own houses, they may choose to share newly
learned pontos. The introduction of a new ponto can also receive resistance, however, for a
variety of reasons including a general dislike of its musical or lyrical content. Given the high
importance of familiarity and positive associations with pontos for them to effectively assist
possession during ceremonies, it is a challenge for new pontos to gain acceptance within a
religious house despite the fervor of composition activities in the community. It is no surprise,
then, that because of their authority within their own houses and the community, prestigious
religious leaders such as Mãe Ieda and Pai Neco have had the most success disseminating new
pontos.
New pontos are also disseminated through and with the aid of recording technology, the
entertainment industry, and now the Internet. These technology mediations seem to impact the
local community less than they do outside communities. Although there is a market for
commercial recordings in Porto Alegre, very few people in Porto Alegre told me they learn new
pontos through recordings. I nevertheless have witnessed people sharing new pontos from
outside Porto Alegre that they heard via recordings and television.

Authorship, Ownership, and Authority

The efficacy of these equalizing efforts is another question. Lest a picture be painted that
Quimbanda has allowed the marginalized to successfully overturn hierarchies in Afro-gaucho
religion – whether musical, theological, or social – consideration should be taken of how
authorship, ownership, and authority translate from the domains of worship houses to the

Marc M. Gidal 16
recording industry. Despite the egalitarian process of creating, performing, and disseminating
new pontos cantados, alabês often claim musical authority both by leading Quimbanda
ceremonies and, in some cases, by marketing their own recordings of pontos cantados. Those
who record pontos sometimes use those already registered, knowingly or not, including
contrafacts of old popular songs by Brazilian musicians of yesteryear as famous as Cartola and
Pixinguinha. Many try to avoid paying royalties by using old pontos already in the public
domain or newly composed, unregistered pontos, most of which are for Quimbanda.
Silver ti Oromilaia, the owner and producer of a small record label called Atabaques
Records, distinguishes his enterprise from those of independent entrepreneurial alabês as valuing
high production quality, providing detailed information, and abiding copyright laws. Silver takes
precautionary steps to insure that he is not recording already registered music by searching
online for copyrights registered in Brazil’s National Library and other sources. But even this
precaution has its pitfalls. It is believed, for example, that a certain J. B. de Carvalho registered
at the National Library many older pontos by unknown composers under his own name. Even
within the contemporary Afro-gaucho religious community, musical authorship is contestable.
Alabê Belerum, for instance, doubted that Pai Neco composed a ponto that others attribute to
him. Silver has also found that a majority of pontos are unregistered in these institutions, even
though most must have had at least one composer. Just the same, Silver defends the illegal
actions of the independent alabês. For although recording companies, especially the large ones,
have the wherewithal and means to verify the legal availability of the material they record, the
entrepreneurial yet relatively poor alabês making independent recordings lack both. 16
The stores selling Batuque and Umbanda religious articles in Porto Alegre sell CDs of
religious music made locally and from elsewhere from ten to fifteen Brazilian reais each (twenty
to twenty-five reais for double CDs), which is more expensive than they are sold in São Paulo.
The local CDs are either home-produced by independent alabês or professionally produced by
Atabaques Records. As of 2008, Atabaques Records had sold 5,000 copies of its four titles,
though Silver believes that many more pirated versions have been sold. The stores mark-up
seven to ten reias above the price that Silver sells them. Local stores also sell legal and illegal
copies of recordings made elsewhere, usually from Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo, most of which
were recorded in the 1980s and 1990s. The Caritas and Luzos labels in São Paulo also recorded
songs by popular musicians influenced by Umbanda such as Clara Nunes, João Bosco, Daniella
Mercury, Margarita Menenzas, Ivete Sengal, Mariene de Casto, and others (Carvalho 1984b).
Alabê Toninho has a home business producing and selling CDs of pontos cantados
performed by him, his family, and a few disciples of Mãe Glaci. He sells them to stores of
religious articles for eight reais, who in turn sell them for twice the price. Having produced six
titles to date, this business has become his main source of income. He is one of a dozen alabês
in greater Porto Alegre engaging in this commercial enterprise. Toninho’s CDs feature a photo
of himself in front of the Umbanda altar in the salon of his and Glaci’s worship house.

16
Interview with author, April 28, 2008.

Marc M. Gidal 17
Figure 8. CD cover of “Exu Bandeiros do Sul” by Alabê Toninho

Toninho’s first CD of pontos cantados for Quimbanda, called Exubandeiros do Sul (see
Figure 8), included a dozen pontos written by Mãe Miriam, including “Dama da Noite.” Yet
Toninho is listed as the sole composer on the back cover and Miriam’s name appears as one of
four vocalists. Unlike the communal practices of singing pontos cantados during ceremonies,
recordings of Umbanda and Quimbanda pontos tend to follow the more traditional paradigm of
Batuque where the alabê calls and the congregants respond – an arrangement that reaffirms the
alabê as the musical authority.
This situation illustrates the difficulties of transferring concepts of liturgical authorship
and ownership from the religious domain to that of the commercial recording industry due to at
least two power dynamics. First, an entrepreneurial alabê appears to be exploiting the
intellectual property of a disciple in his house for self-promotion and financial gain. His
justification for recording her pontos and not those of other composers is that the ownership
rights of pontos cantados only exist if the written lyrics are registered at Brazil’s National
Archive in Rio de Janeiro and if a ponto is less than seventy years old. Since Miriam had not yet
registered her pontos, it is legal for him to record them. Second is the hierarchical power
relationship between religious leaders and disciples which is governed by patronage, loyalty, and
obligation. The disciples are supposed to abide by the decisions of their religious leader. There
is no reason that Mãe Glaci, who supported the production of these recordings, should expect
that her disciples would object.
Miriam expressed to me mixed feelings about this situation. She is proud of her
compositions and their inclusion on the recording, yet generally disappointed in her dependence
on men when arranging, performing, and recording her pontos. At the same time, her pontos are
publicly tested during ceremonies in which the vast majority of participants that must be won
over are women, not men.
The story continues southward into the Rio Plata Region where Brazilian religious CDs
are currently being pirated and sold in stores of religious articles. In the suburbs of Buenos
Aires, for example, the pirated versions are sold for a fifth the price that they are in Brazil.
Silver spoke of the same situation in Uruguay, where CDs of Atabaques Records are copied and
illegally sold in stores. The spread of Umbanda and Batuque through the region since the 1960s
may have been significantly bolstered by tape cassette recordings of sung prayers, according to

Marc M. Gidal 18
Pai Clovis, the head of the Umbanda Union and a religious leader with many foreign disciples.
This allowed newly converted Uruguayans, Argentines, and Paraguayans to learn the prayers and
practice chanting them at home in between visits to their priests in Porto Alegre.

Figure 9. CD cover of the pirated version of “Exu Bandeiros do Sul”

I found a pirated version of Toninho’s CD for sale in one such store in Buenos Aires (see
Figure 9). The cover includes the original title, but lacks his name, his photograph, and any
contact information, let alone any mention of Miriam. Instead it has a number corresponding to
a large catalogue of pirated CDs, which evinces that the CDs are produced by a single group or
person. When I showed Toninho the CD back in Porto Alegre, he burst out laughing and
shouted, “I’ve been pirated!” This is a type of work commonly blamed on exus and pomba
giras, the “spirits of the street.”
Everyone has a different reaction depending on the scope and objectives of their venture.
Learning of a pirated CD two countries away is humorous for Toninho, as well as upsetting,
because his market is currently the network of stores in metropolitan Porto Alegre in which he
distributes himself. The situation frustrates Silver more because he is trying to expand beyond
his current distribution network in São Paulo and southern Brazil (Porto Alegre and
Florianópolis). Mãe Ieda expressed yet a different response. She has no business that produces
recordings or videos of her ceremonies, but the spread of her name, image, and pontos by others
through such media provides her with free publicity that increases her prestige and brings her
more clients and disciples. “Who doesn’t want a good thing?” she said, outright admitting the
benefits she gains from this situation. 17 Yet she finds the actions of the entrepreneurial
perpetrators immoral and retreats to a higher moral ground by citing her humble abode, which
also distances her from the ostentatious priests who have greatly benefited from their commercial
interests. Rehearsing a hypothetical conversation with such a person, she asserts herself:

“You come to my fest, don’t ask permission, record the ritual in my house, the playing of
my drummers, the voices of my religious filhas and sell it! If I went there in your house,
in your terreira, I will not do this. But they do it. There are millions of Argentines who I
don’t know. “Whose filho are you?” “I’m of Mãe Ieda of Porto Alegre.” Why? The
name? The fame? Fame because the people give fame. But you see that my house is
17
“Quem que não quer coisa boa?”

Marc M. Gidal 19
 humble. Humble for those who know my name, who come and tell me like this: “But
you are so famous and your house is too poor.” Then I respond, “No, my house is a
castle. Because here has to where many houses don’t have. But each one with his house,
each one with his shirt, with his clothes, right?” 18

Conclusion
This case study illustrates power conflicts extending from the domain of musical
interaction during ritual performance to issues of musical composition, dissemination, and
ownership. Egalitarian ideals for music making and the prolific production of Quimbanda
liturgy co-ordinate with a belief in the active evolution of spirits, the process of re-
Africanization, and changing gender roles over the past few decades to collectively challenge
hierarchies within Afro-Brazilian religion on musical, theological, and social levels.

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