How I met Lô Borges on a street corner.

I had just turned 15. Music festivals were all the rage, and our group (like all young people) was always up for the latest trends. We embarked on the adventure of composing music and entered the city festival. Unpretentiously, just to imitate what was happening in the big cities. To our complete surprise, we came in second place with a song that already addressed the conflicts in the Middle East. It wasn't enough to just participate. It had to be "pseudo" and fit the composition into what was then called "protest music." The audience reacted. They wanted us in first place, but a schoolmate's song, which dealt with the daily life of a fisherman, won over the jury. The real protests came from the fans, who considered the choice unfair. 

The song, which had come in second place, started receiving invitations to regional festivals, and that's how we ended up in Valença, a charming city in the state of Rio, in the Paraíba Valley, to perform that night at the festival. I had no idea of ​​the importance of the mission. 

We left our bags at the hotel and went for what we would now call "a stroll." The "went" is due to the generosity of the city's mayor, who chartered a bus so we could have a cheering section. From the garden to a nearby bar was a short hop. It was hot, and we wanted a soda. Surprise! Sitting on the curb was the whole Clube da Esquina group. Milton Nascimento, Lô Borges, and the musicians from Minas Gerais who were, at that time, just starting out in the profession. Also there was Dona Clementina (de Jesus), who, like us, didn't want water to drink. She also preferred the soda that had brought us there. She was worried because she had forgotten to bring a comb, and she was going to the show. Soon someone from the group volunteered to go to a nearby pharmacy to buy a "Flamingo" comb to make do. 

I now see that the year was when Borges and Milton met: 1969, when they started the club. 

Meanwhile, under the sun, Milton, in light jeans and a matching cap, was drinking something I can't quite remember, but it might have been a beer, accompanied by the group from Minas Gerais. Lô Borges was a "hunk"—back then we called him a "hunk"—that's what we noticed. Soon we were all getting along, humming, talking about everyday things, under the sun. No fawning. Things were simpler back then. It was enough to talk about music and poetry. They were there to put on the night's show, brightening up the festival. Going where the people were. We, brought together by mere chance, met on that corner, far from the club, which would later become the greatest success of their lives. 

Today Lô Borges closed that side window. I opened the curtains of the past to retrieve this memory, as prosaic as it is simple. Life can be magical. (By the way, the song came in third place. Ahead of a song by Zé Rodrix, which was also nominated. Believe it or not).