Joao Gilberto was a pretty enigmatic guy.
Along with Jobim, he was part of the Bossa Nova craze of the early 60s. His 1964 album with saxophonist Stan Getz is one of the best-selling jazz albums ever. His wife, Astrud, became a superstar as the singer on his song, “The Girl From Ipanema,” which became one of the biggest hits of the century.
But Joao himself didn’t seem drawn to the spotlight. Bossa Nova faded from the mainstream, his wife left him (for his former collaborator, Stan Getz…ouch) but he kept chugging along, quietly making music on his own, performing occasionally, interviewing rarely.
He was a man of few words. Or in the case of this song, just one word.
After listening to this song on repeat one morning, I started to wonder about the meaning of its title and only lyric: “Undiu.” I figured it must be a significant word if Joao Gilberto was compelled to utter it repeatedly for six minutes. I also figured the internet would solve the mystery pretty quickly.
But the internet had surprisingly little to say. Google thought I meant to say “undhiyu,” which is an Indian vegetable dish, cooked upside down in an earthen pot. The likelihood that Gilberto had been inspired by Indian cuisine seemed pretty low, so I moved on. Translation sites couldn’t tell me what it meant. Gilberto fan sites barely mentioned the song at all, or offered an uninspired guess that it was a nonsense word, a kind of Portuguese version of “do-bee-do.” I didn’t buy it. I didn’t want to buy it.
I moved my search offline. I asked around at work. But the only thing I learned there was that nobody I work with speaks Portuguese. One colleague with a working knowledge of Spanish thought that it might have something to do with sinking (the verb “undir” in Spanish) but wasn’t sure.
And then, finally, a break in the case. One helpful colleague and music enthusiast (whose wife just happens to be Portuguese) found a concert review here, suggesting that undiu is “the sound of a bird in Portuguese.”
So, although I don’t exactly have enough evidence to declare this mystery solved, I’m happy with the bird hypothesis. Mostly, I like imagining Joao Gilberto sitting in a park somewhere, plucking away on his trusty guitar, years after the peak of his fame, years after his divorce, contentedly watching birds chase each other from branch to branch.
What makes this a beautiful song:
1. The low note on the guitar changes so rarely, that when it does (like at 2:30) it gives the whole song an eyebrow-raising lift.
2. The plucked chords just before the second and fourth beat of each bar are sometimes just slightly dissonant.
3. Gilberto’s singing style is so quiet and carefree that I would almost describe it as absent-minded. He sings the way your grandfather might sing as he wanders around the house looking for his glasses.
Recommended listening activity: