Samba Circles in Brazil, Led by Women
Step up to a traditional samba circle in Brazil and you’ll find this: a group of up to 15 men, each playing an instrument — a tambourine, a cavaquinho, a drum. Then you’ll typically see women, not playing music, but rather shimmying in the front, dancing to the pounding syncopations.
The samba circle, or roda de samba, is a Unesco-recognized part of Brazil’s cultural heritage. These communal releases of weekday worries crop up across Rio de Janeiro regularly. The samba circles are free, they’re rowdy and, increasingly, they’re changing.
With astonishing speed, female musicians in Brazil have begun breaking into the male realm of samba circles. Just a few years ago, the musicians playing in a samba circle jam session used to be almost all male. In 2018, though, a clutch of all-female samba groups has set out to change that. They have generated what could be a sea change for this beloved Brazilian genre.
“A lot of times when you’re the only woman playing in a samba circle, you are also subject to a lot of harassing language from the guys around the samba,” said Silvia Duffrayer, a member of the all-female band Samba Que Elas Querem. “So by forming a group made up just of women, we kind of stop that vibe from starting.”
Another part of the movement is spurred by a newfound sense of revolt among female musicians against the lyrics of some of the samba circle anthems, which make light of serious crimes such as domestic violence and sexual assault.
Samba Que Elas Querem, a samba group made up of 10 women, is one of the most popular samba circles in Rio today. Its nighttime shows in Rio’s public plazas draw crowds. The group’s popularity grew overnight, said Cecilia Cruz, who plays cavaco, the stringed instrument present in most samba circles. “I think people were ready and waiting to see women,” she said.
The trend spreads beyond the traditional cradle of samba — Rio de Janeiro — and into other cities as well. In São Paulo, all-female groups like Samba da Elis and Sambadas are creating similar waves. All-female groups are growing, though their numbers are minuscule compared with the hundreds of mostly-male samba groups around the country.
Samba circles weren’t always male dominated. Kelly Adriano de Oliveira, a top samba scholar, noted that in 1930s post- slavery Brazil, women were the orchestrators of what are now known as samba circles. Afro-Brazilian religions like Umbanda and Candomblé, which have been persecuted for their perceived connection to “black magic,” burnished the cultural role of the powerful female “auntie” — nicknamed a Baiana in reference to the state of Bahia, the geographical center of Afro-Brazilian religions in Brazil. The women in these leadership roles, which are somewhere between a mother figure and a wise queen, became the de facto hostesses of the very first samba circles.
Early in the 20th century, mu- sicians — especially black men — could be arrested for simply walking around town with a tambourine in their hand. Baianas opened up their backyards for clandestine religious gatherings that included music — the first iteration of the modern samba circle. These women formed the first generation of women in samba, initiating an art form that gave rise to the crowded Samba Que Elas Querem shows.
Women were pushed out in the 1940s and ’50s as vagrancy rules relaxed and sambas started popping up in public spaces. Women were deemed too fragile to be in the streets playing music. Before long, women had disappeared from the samba circles, being cast back in- to accessory roles: the muse or the dancer.
With the place of women in samba shrinking in the 1960s, ’70s and ’80s, a few women managed to break through, usually thanks to an undeniably captivating singing voice.
Female samba musicians today voice their fears that the door these women pushed open for women in samba will close unless a new, third generation of female sambistas are rigorous in holding it open.
One of those women, Beth Carvalho, 71, said she hoped her impact would last. Ms. Carvalho is a Grammy Award-winning singer, and is considered to be the “godmother of samba,” thanks to her iconic compositions and for helping young women start their careers.
Her first album cover features a photo of her with her cavaquinho among male musicians, a design she says was intentional. “I grabbed it as a symbol of ‘let’s end this story of being a muse.’ Let’s be musicians instead.” She smiles sweetly, “It’s my feminist side.”
Still, Ms. Carvalho is not optimistic about women’s permanence in the circle. “Samba is still a circle of men,” she said.