The Heart & Hustle of Portugal

Born in Angola and raised on the south bank of Lisbon, in Almada, by Cape Verdean parents, Carlão, the voice of the emblematic hip-hop band Da Weasel, joins Tony Gonçalves in an earnest and nostalgic conversation about being 50, about legacy and about growing up either too white or too black.
Carlão guides us from the isolation of Almada, on the south bank of Lisbo, where “nothing happened,” to the early rock and hip-hop that shaped him and the decision to finally start writing in Portuguese, pushed by his brother. This was the start of one of the most emblematic bands of Portugal: Da Weasel.
The singer and writer revisits the pandemic’s silence: the void that made it difficult to create and the hunger for emotional connection that fuels his music. Da Weasel’s cross-generational reach becomes a quiet thread, anchored in honesty and the refusal to look away from pain or joy.
For his latest record, “Quinta-Essência - 75/25Carlão” stitched together tracks made with Beatbombers, his brother and Fred Ferreira, adding spoken-word fragments recovered from old notebooks. He closes with a simple map: Angola gave him the cradle, Cape Verde the roots, and Portugal the life—while the national art of “desenrascanço” remains, in his words, the Portuguese answer to almost everything.
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For Richie Campbell, music has never been mere entertainment. Reggae offered him a profound sense of resistance and cultural depth that he found lacking in other genres, transforming his craft into a lifelong dedication rather than a fleeting commercial project. As part of a generation that sidestepped traditional radio and record labels, he helped forge an independent collective driven by a quiet defiance—a refusal to be dismissed by an industry that had previously overlooked them. This independence allowed him to protect his creative process, treating songwriting as an organic flow rather than a mathematical formula.
Yet, this unconventional trajectory forged a permanent duality in his life. In Jamaica, Campbell found an immediate sense of home, a sanctuary where the music itself was enough to validate his presence without question. In stark contrast, the Portuguese market demands perpetual reaffirmation. Even as a defining voice in his own country, he operates with the persistent feeling that he must continuously prove his worth to his audience, bridging the gap between local expectations and the uncompromised Caribbean culture he champions.
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Pedro Abrunhosa’s career is nothing short of incredible, but his words always speak louder than fame or talent. A man of causes, he is quick to denounce the bombings in Gaza and Iran… in less than 10 minutes since the beginning of this conversation. He started as a double bass player, went to New York where he learned discipline and played with all the “cats”, then came back to Porto and, inspired by the sounds of dance music, crafted “Viagens”, a record about “sex, drugs and corruption” that featured Maceo Parker, James Brown’s saxophone player, and mixed sweaty funk with raw ballads that were sung by millions and led to completely sold out shows. He crafted a sound and a vibe that was unheard of, and totally unexpected, in the “grey Portugal” of the early 90s.
That record was a hit, so he did more. His second album “Tempo” was recorded with The New Power Generation, Prince’s band. And it spawned even more hits. He proved that he could do it. And has been doing it for 30 years. But he doesn’t believe in inspiration, that’s for the “rich guys in Beverly Hills houses overlooking the sea”. He is inspired by the world, the good, the bad and the pain. Pedro Abrunhosa navigates his words like he navigates a double bass or the piano his grandfathers had when he was growing up: with seriousness, measured tempo and wisdom.
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The conversation between Joana Vicente and Tony Gonçalves examines the current strain on the industry: distribution bottlenecks, shrinking financing, and established directors struggling to secure budgets once considered routine. Vicente frames technology, including artificial intelligence, as a potential lever for independent cinema. Not as a replacement for creative work, but as a way to preserve ambition within tighter economic limits.
From that context, she introduces Open Cities, a production company built around an accelerator model. The approach is deliberately pragmatic: strong scripts, shorter development cycles, and decision-making that stays in the hands of directors and producers. AI as a tool for better stories, not better factories.
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Emerging from Coimbra in the 1990s with Tedio Boys, Paulo Furtado’s early career was marked by confrontation, underground momentum and a rapid leap to international stages, including tours in the United States. The shift to a one‑man band came after the exhaustion of group dynamics and a deep attraction to the raw energy of Delta blues and punk. What began almost by accident evolved into an obsessive pursuit of sound, performance and total artistic control, with albums recorded live and a stage presence that carried both risk and solitude. Over time, that intensity softened: Tigerman expanded into collaborations, filmmaking and soundtracks, embracing a broader creative universe while maintaining autonomy over his work.
Fatherhood has recently introduced a new recalibration. Once convinced that art had to be the central force in an artist’s life, Paulo Furtado now acknowledges a different hierarchy, learning to balance creation with care, urgency with presence. The spark, he insists, remains the same — the need to make something new — but it now exists alongside a quieter clarity. Art, he says, saved his life. Today, it continues to shape it, just no longer alone.
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