Aaah, women!
Today's been a day for collecting more tales about you, ranging in my African department from Charlize Theron -- uncharitably described as a "floozy" by somebody who thought the Factory might do better than to pick this 'Monster' Oscar-winner as South Africa's contribution in the overnight "package" for clients -- to Louisa Hanoune, the outspoken, charismatic Trotskyite who next month becomes Algeria's first woman to take on the politico-military establishment in a presidential election there.
However, all the attention AFP is putting into preparations the weekend ahead of International Women's Day (infoplease) makes an agreeable change from even good stories about appalling men like Charles Taylor (AFP/Yahoo) and Jean-Bertrand Aristide. Yet more copy arrived this afternoon, well-written too, about how Haiti's ousted president-priest is proving a fearful embarrassment to his impoverished hosts in Central African Republic, but I didn't do an English version; the world, I felt, could do with a break.
It was already patently obvious yesterday that the CAR people will have to do all they can to shut the fellow up, short of confiscating his 'phone, until South Africa decides to take him in after all ... once their elections are safely out of the way almost at the same time as the Algerian ones.
None of us are quite sure whether it's Washington or Paris which must be giving the CAR enough money to pay the usual wage arrears for public sector workers in return for this little favour.
Thabo Mbeki, the president sometimes taken to task here for his inscrutable stance on Zimbabwe and his nutty and dangerous policy on Aids, gushed over the "floozy", with more about how she, "in her own personal life, represents a grand metaphor of South Africa's move from agony to achievement. We rejoice in the recognition by the most critical minds in filming, that Charlize Theron is pure gold" ('iafrica' early this week).
Mbeki has a point. It takes a very brave woman to make it like Theron has done after the horror, at 15, of having your mum kill your drunken dad in self-defence.
But he's off the rails again with "the most critical minds in filming". Really? Quentin Tarantino chairing the team at Cannes (official site; Eng. version) this year promises a much more entertaining prospect than the tired old Oscars.
I ramble, but doing so reminded me to rush out to Francis's shop as he pulled all the newspaper stands in off the street to lock up, so I could grab the last copy of the 'Pulp Fiction' DVD he's been selling this week at a ridiculous knockdown prix choc...
Next week, I shall pay particular attention to the ladies. Even the Wildcat. I've felt a little bit guilty since cutting her short in "cold and rude" fashion when last she called, especially since it emerged that some of the gifts returned after our Christmas to-do came back to me "by accident".
However, it's taken rather longer to steal my heart back than anticipated or previously revealed here.
I owe her one.
The Wildcat gave me Mariza and there's no way I'd return 'Fado Curvo' (EMI, 2003).
Exactly like the man says in the Amazon review linked there, "this album takes a while to reveal its subtle charms", but the rising Portuguese fado singer with the striking hairdo has a voice which is out of this world. (I couldn't hear it on the Mac at first because of EMI's outrageous "copy protection" trick, but the La Cie DVD/CD drive happily ignored that nonsense and let me put it on the iPod without a hitch.)
There's no online sample version I can find of one of my favourite tracks, "O Deserto", which risks a jazzy intrusion and breaks the mould of the traditional fado style Mariza masters with a strong emotional investment and wide-ranging command of vocal skill.
This young woman is already a diva in the best sense, sensual and immensely talented. What she does with "Primavera" -- the only fado on the CD borrowed from Amália Rodriguez -- is in itself a gift from a star who has to be followed.
 For a follow-up, also partly in Portuguese, I bought 'Cibelle' (Ziriguiboom, 2003) by Cibelle in ignorance and on impulse after listening to a little in the shop -- and, I admit, because the lass's looks on the cover turned me on wildly. (Yes, I remember what I wrote about my mending heart -- out with the violins -- but other bits of me know that it's spring, the sap is rising and this is not yet another year to waste time... Ah! I have so much to give -- violins again... )
But let's forego the lust for a moment, though Cibelle brings a sultry, sexy style to bear when she wants: this Brazilian has another great voice, a refreshing and self-assured change from those who are made stars by their promoters without the punch that comes from their own insides.
I'm in love with this highly varied first album and the girl's "only" 25, all the songs her own or in part by her, some in her native language, others in English. If this is more of the new "Latin" wave, bringing sometimes unexpected instrumentation (mellotron, djembe, acrylic drums...), jazz and an electro touch to the Rio roots, it's yet another good reason to board a flight to Brazil.
Brazil and Berlin (two places where I'd dearly like to hear some live sounds right now, the latter for a future blog entry).
'Cibelle' comes with a surprise. The Kid has an uncanny talent for knowing which films are going to produce something unexpected at the end of the long credits, when most people have quit the cinema -- we always stay to the finish, because that's when the music gets listed. This CD is like that; the sting in the tail after a long silence proves that the singer has a great sense of fun!
10:08:26 PM link 
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