The Waters of March, Closing Elis Regina’s 80th

It’s the waters of March, closing the (Brazilian) summer. Another mid-March arrives, carrying the shifting winds of the season—and with them, the unmistakable melody of Águas de Março, the bossa nova classic by Tom Jobim and Elis Regina.

Every year, as the rains return, so does Elis. Not just as nostalgia, but as a voice that refuses to fade, reinventing itself with every new listen. Beyond Águas de Março, she is the voice behind Como Nossos Pais—a song that itself speaks of cycles, of past and present colliding, of history repeating in new forms.

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In 2024, we celebrated the 50th anniversary of Elis & Tom, a masterpiece that continues to enchant listeners across generations. Adding to this milestone, the documentary Elis & Tom: It Had to Be You (Roberto de Oliveira and Jom Tob Azulay, 2022) offered a rare glimpse behind the music. Now, in 2025, we mark what would have been the 80th birthday of Elis Regina—a voice that remains as powerful and timeless as ever.

Bossa nova was born in the Rio de Janeiro of the 1950s, crafted by young musicians blending samba with American jazz. It was minimalist yet sophisticated, a reflection of Brazil’s rapid modernization. João Gilberto cemented the genre in 1958 with his reinterpretation of Desafinado, while Tom Jobim and Vinícius de Moraes took it global with Garota de Ipanema (1962).

As bossa nova reached international audiences, Brazilian music underwent another transformation. MPB (Música Popular Brasileira) emerged as a response to bossa nova’s smooth sophistication, blending regional styles and samba, with foreign influences as in rock and jazz into a sound that felt both modern and distinctly national. Initially embraced by intellectual circles, MPB soon expanded its reach, becoming a powerful vehicle for cultural resistance during Brazil’s military dictatorship. Artists employed irony, satire, metaphors, and ambiguity in their lyrics to skillfully subvert censorship and address controversial topics—raising awareness of the regime’s underlying horrors while evading repression.

Yet, despite its deep roots in Rio’s culture, bossa nova has faced criticism as an elitist—perhaps even exclusionary—reinterpretation of samba. Brazil, the last Latin American country to abolish slavery in 1888, never fully integrated its Afro-descendant population. Johnny Alf, a Black pianist and composer fundamental in shaping bossa nova, remains an often-overlooked figure. But if bossa nova was crafted in exclusivity, Elis Regina was its great disruptor—undeniable, unapologetic, and electrifying.

Often hailed as Brazil’s greatest female singer, Elis Regina rose to prominence in the 1960s, captivating audiences with her fusion of bossa nova aesthetics, powerful vocal range, and dramatic expressiveness. She wasn’t just a singer—she was an interpreter, transforming every song into an emotional experience. While bossa nova introduced a distinctive style of singing, Elis sought to amplify the power of radio artists with elegance and interpretation. She was the first Brazilian woman to have an album charted, to win a televised festival in 1965, and the first Brazilian artist to achieve a million album sales. Her presence served as a springboard for many up-and-coming songwriters in Brazil, helping to consolidate their careers. Over two decades, she explored MPB, samba, rock, and jazz, leaving an indelible mark on Brazilian music. She had plans for the future when she tragically passed away at a young age.

The 1970s brought both artistic triumph and personal turmoil. Tom Jobim had secured his place in the U.S., while Elis—despite being an outspoken critic of the dictatorship—faced backlash for performing at an Army Cup event. Some saw it as a betrayal; others, a necessary compromise. Elis & Tom became a bridge over these troubled waters, uniting two artists with different struggles in a shared musical vision.

Recorded in California, the album captured a rare balance of tension and harmony. Elis’s raw intensity met Tom’s meticulous arrangements, producing a timeless masterpiece. More than a career highlight, it became a cornerstone of Brazilian music, proving that reinvention and tradition could coexist.

And Elis never truly left. Even in the digital age, her voice remains Brazil’s most iconic. Recently, an AI-generated Elis starred in a Volkswagen campaign, reigniting debates about legacy, ownership, and reinvention. The irony? A company once entangled with the military dictatorship resurrecting an artist who fought against it. In life, she resisted censorship; in death, she is reimagined by technology. Elis, even in pixels, still stirs the soul—and the controversy.

For two generations, her voice filled my home—an unstoppable presence, the favourite of the women in my family. Grandma. Mother. Como os Nossos Pais—a song of dreams deferred, of disillusionment, of a generation that fought for change but still found itself trapped in old cycles. Her voice played through quiet Sundays, through laughter and longing, through moments as intimate as a whispered secret.

But as The Economist recently pointed out, the world’s perception of Brazilian music remains frozen in time. The Oscar-winning I’m Still Here (Walter Salles, 2024) reinforces this nostalgia, shot on Super 8 film, with the grain and hues of 35mm evoking a 1970s Brazil —the same era Elis Regina’s voice defined and MPB rose. Yet, this is more than mere nostalgia—it’s saudosismo, a uniquely Brazilian longing for an idealized past, one that holds both beauty and the scars of history.

Despite the denial of its supporters, the years between 1964 and 1985 saw the rise of a 21-year-long military dictatorship characterized by authoritarianism, human rights abuses, political persecution, exile, and censorship. Amid this tumultuous scenario, there was a cultural boom, with art playing a crucial role in resisting oppression. To this day, this dark chapter remains taboo—its scars both seen and unseen. The physical harm, psychological trauma, social scars, disappearances, torture, and deaths of countless victims are too often dismissed, feeding into the dangerous tendency to repeat the past.

Yet, the global imagination of Brazil remains frozen in time. The Oscar-winning I’m Still Here (Walter Salles, 2024) reinforces this nostalgia, shot on Super 8 film, with the grain and hues of 35mm evoking a 1970s Brazil—the same era Elis Regina’s voice defined. Its soundtrack seamlessly matches the period, feeding into a longing for a Brazil that no longer fully exists. But this is more than nostalgia—it is saudosismo, a uniquely Brazilian longing for an idealized past, even when that past carries the weight of a military regime.

Bossa nova and samba still echo in foreign imaginations, yet modern Brazil pulses to different rhythms. A country as vast as Brazil shelters many microcosms, each with its own evolving soundtrack. The Elis & Tom era has passed, yet Elis lingers—not just in nostalgia, but in reinvention, in resistance, in the heartbeat of a nation that refuses to stand still.