Pitchfork

It's striking how analogous the layout of one's local record store can be to modern U.S foreign policy. Mmm, okay, not exactly striking, but consider it; while acts from Iceland, France, or Japan are gladly filed under "rock," most modern artists from the Southern hemisphere are relegated to the rarely visited "world music" category. There, they're paired with the folk and field recordings, where they're not too apt to receive the foreign aid of a customer's purchase. There's something a little imperialist about filing away the attempts of "third-world" artists who mix rock with their own language and indigenous musics, while keeping Paul Simon's Graceland in full stock. And though some releases, such as the Putamayo compilations (proposed motto: "Tastefully ethnic for the upscale eclectic") are happy to play into the sense of exoticism this division engenders, an artist like Caetano Veloso is well past due for some greater recognition.

Handed the reins of popular Brazilian music from bossa nova godfather João Gilberto in the 60s, Caetano Veloso and lifelong friend Gilberto Gil founded the revolutionary "tropicalismo" movement, bringing influences of psychedelic rock, garage, and art-music into their still distinctly Brazilian songwriting. Since then, Veloso has continued to expand his musical influences and worldwide recognition. He has remained creative and vital in a way that's escaped most aging Western rockers, avoiding the trappings of ego as his popularity has grown. In relation to his cultural role and import, he's been dubbed the "Bob Dylan of Brazil."

Of course, that comparison begs a few differences. For one, though they're only a year apart in age, Veloso still appears respectable while Dylan bears an eerie resemblance to The Abominable Dr. Phibes. For another, as Zimmerman returned to a Greenwich loft after singing his tales of poetry and upheaval, Veloso was writing them while under house arrest in 1968, imprisoned and censored by Brazil's then-military dictatorship for his subversive lyrics, musical experimentation and general encouragement of bohemian/hippie ways. It can be hard to imagine that such a light melodicism as Veloso's could have been considered dangerous, but he writes from a cultural tradition that pairs lyrics of revolution and struggle with, to western ears, innocuous grooves. Along with Gil, the popular Veloso was exiled in '69, living in London and expanding his musical language until his return home in '72.

The "definitive" collection of such a prolific, globetrotting artist is inevitably going to be shaped by an availability of materials, as copyrights are sure to be held by a multitude of parties in various countries. Last year, Nonesuch attempted to compile The Best of Caetano Veloso, complete with liner notes predictably contributed by a certain pale, wide-eyed man whose name rhymes with "Mavid Fyrne." While a solid collection, it borrows heavily from Veloso's recent, easily accessed Nonesuch releases, with no representations of his revolutionary early sound. Antologia: 69-03 is a more career-spanning two-disc set (up until now only available as an import) which offers an admirably comprehensive representation of the artist's phases and styles.

Antologia nods to Veloso's history of cross-Atlanticism in placing his beautiful cover of Italian Nina Rota's "Que Nao Se Ve" as its opening track. The piece highlights an oft-overlooked facet of Veloso's musicality: So much emphasis is put on his brilliant songwriting that it's easy to forget what an excellent and subtle performer he is, as demonstrated here in his gentle falsetto. Throughout his career, Veloso has worked in styles ranging from avant-garde tape experimentation to Afropop, and rather than taking a chronological approach, Antologia demonstrates his eclecticity in its sometimes jarring leaps of style.

Disc One throws together dramatic choral interludes, pieces of syncopated 60s rock, and more traditional works that gesture back toward bossa nova. Veloso sings often about politics, but never fails to take the emotional and aesthetic angle on such topics, humanism trumping ideology. The popular "Haiti", from his celebratory 1993 collaboration with Gil, Tropicalia 2, combines subdued, dark spoken word that points to the aesthetics of political unrest and life in the Haitian ghetto with a beautiful, sleepy chorus.

The tracks of Disc Two are even more uniformly excellent, highlighting Veloso's most adventurous side. "De Palavra Em Palavra", is built from multitracked backwards voices and throat sounds a la Luciano Berio; "Doideca" is a dissonant ballad halfway between samba and Schoenberg; and "Tonda de Luna Llena" sounds like a piece of Philip Glass opera with rhythmic accompaniment. Veloso's arrangement skills are on display in the fantastically orchestrated, compact "Enquanto O Lobo Nao Vem", while the song "Maria Bethania", named for his sister and collaborator, is a propulsive English-sung ballad that ends in a slew of nonsense syllabics and strings. And one of the collection's highlights is Veloso's sparse, syncopated version of Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean", a cover surpassing even Devo's "Satisfaction" in so totally reinventing its subject.

Many of the best tracks on Antologia are Veloso's solo acoustic songs, where the tranquil surface of his gentle melodies belies musical waters as deep as the listener chooses-- Veloso makes musical complexity sound simple, and philosophy sound beautiful. Antologia demonstrates how cognizant he has remained of North American and European music over the years, thoughtfully considering the methods and consequences involved in evoking dual cultural influences. This album introduces listeners not only to the artist's prodigious output, but to a worldview in which the cross-cultural melding of styles is so natural as to be unconscious.