The first time I was invited on stage at a concert was by a band named Little Joy. Before performing their last song, Binki Shapiro’s coy voice came over the silent crowd inviting anyone who would like to come up on stage and join her, Rodrigo, and Fabrizio in “A Brand New Start.” Not thinking even once, I climbed on stage and greeted vocalist Binki as Fabrizio cued guitarist Rodrigo in from the drums. I found myself involuntarily swaying with my eyes closed, cheeks flushed and heart pounding.
I became enamored with all 11 tracks from the moment I discovered Little Joy’s self-titled debut album. To me, they’ve always been somewhat of a secret joy rather than a little one. And when I luckily found them on one of my many e-scavenger music hunts, I was immediately impressed by their seamless flow from one song to the next. Although songs lyricized between English and Portuguese, they their ends fit perfectly together, giving me no reason to become distracted or bored.
I was never fully engaged by albums and commonly stocked my iPod library with specific tracks I enjoyed from various artists. Little Joy, however, kept me listening from start to finish.
The group originally came together in 2007. Based in Los Angeles, Rodrigo Amarante, Binki Shapiro, and Fabrizio Moretti became good friends after having been introduced to one another by Devendra Banhart, another beloved of mine. Before then, Rodrigo had been in a popular Brazilian band called Los Hermanos, and Fabrizio had drummed for The Strokes. All three spent many hours getting to know one another not long before they decided to name themselves after their local hangout spot and work on a new project. The recording studio later became their place of pastime and work.
It was an undeniable love affair between me and them, me and their sound, and even me and myself. Their sensual, flirty, and vulnerable riffs, rhythms, and rhymes made me float somewhere blessed. They had wooed me with sound.
Little Joy used the shapes of pop indie-rock, folk, and Brazilian music, to create a filter through which their sound became vivid, crisp, and yet soft. Shear but meaningful, their placid songs included Binki Shapiro on “Unattainable,” singing with what sounds like puckered lips alongside two shyly talkative guitars with some hushed oooo-ing harmonies. “Evaporar” closes the album with a clearly Brazilian tinge, pushing and pulling rhythm with rubatos and sway-inducing syncopation. Rodrigo Amarante would often cradle me to sleep with his Portuguese lyric on the inevitability of death. His breath would put me at ease with the notion that I will one day turn into vapor.
Caught up in my own elation for a few months, I expected that they would put out more swirls of delight in the next year. But after breaking up in 2008 after their release, their repertoire went dry. I frantically searched in hopes of finding other works but there were none. And so, I settled for covers or live recordings I could find and added them to my “makemehappy” playlist.
The last I heard about Little Joy was a rumor that they had gotten back together last year. But all evidence pointed to the contrary as one website clearly reported it was a sham. Ever since, I’ve been feeling like somewhat of a heartbroken lover, waiting for Rodrigo, Binki, and Fabrizio to invite me on stage again. Till then, at least I have their only album to reminisce on our romance from the past.