By Ken Taylor

So consider the classification rendered even more useless with the release of these two mind-blowing collections of abstract rock from the politically tumultuous Brazil of the 1980s: Não Wave: Brazil Post Punk 1982-1988 (Man) and The Sexual Life of the Savages: Underground Post-Punk from São Paulo, Brasil (Soul Jazz). Sexual Life sheds some light on how traditionally Western ideas of punk, post-punk, and new wave affected other isolated scenes throughout the world (and vice versa, to a degree). But while the two discs mine from the same quarry, their extractions are entirely different and naturally further expand, and mess with, the post-punk rubric.

Whether it was by coincidence or by design that Não Wave and Sexual Life were released so close together is unknown. What is certain, though, is that the issuing labels, Berlin's Man Recordings (their first release) and London's Soul Jazz, have tapped into our desire both to understand and trace the music's routes – as imitative, uninspired, refractive, or brilliant as those directions may be. The less-than-desirable stones on the path serve as curio objects, or outposts at the very least, but the master strokes herein – by the likes of Fellini, Gang 90, and Agentss most notably – resolve the chords that ring on in our minds when we try to connect the satisfying present with the sublime past.

Where the members of Brazil's scenes were getting their influences, in the physical sense, isn't always easy to pin down, but in the case of some of these left-bent kids, especially in the capital city of Brasilia, being the children of rich public officers or diplomats allowed them a few handy resources to kick against the pricks. With their parents' money they formed bands and had plenty of access to records from Europe and the States.

And it's probably these buying habits that show through right away, particularly on Não Wave. Agentss' "Agentss" bears much resemblance to the sine-wave whimsy of Pere Ubu and Flying Lizards with their guitar effects stuck on phaser and squelchy synthesizers plugging through B-52's-ish chord progressions. Among other reasonable facsimiles, their contemporaries Akira S e As Garotas Que Erraram do passable Ian Curtis impressions and Akt's "Prince No Deserto Vermelho" follows up with Au Pairs-style bass thuds and weepy guitar trills and scrapes.

But just when the bouncy twang of Fellini's "Funziona Senza Vapore," where the shouted lyrics of vocalist-journalist (the lefty tone is obvious, regardless of the language barrier) Cadão Volpato shoot vague nods in Mark E. Smith's direction, Black Future's "Eu Sou O Rio" and Chance!'s "Samba Do Morro" reverse the trend and help to explain Brazilian-born, New York-based DNA guitarist Arto Lindsay's ethno-jazzy-freakout style.

Sexual Life, which focuses solely on the São Paulo scene, takes a finer approach and feels much more like the product of a tight – perhaps even insular – cadre of musicians. The bands here are more intent on rockin' it, groovin', and throwin' hands up in the air with reckless abandon. Suffice it to say that the record stores in São Paulo – with the city's incredibly large, cosmopolitan, club-friendly population – were much more apt to stock sides of ESG and disco than the rest of the country's locales. Outfits such as As Mercenarias and Gang 90 (their beautiful "Jack Kerouac" appears here) were unabashed pop-radio listeners, and in that sense one can quickly draw lines from their entries to Stereolab, Stereo Total, and other post-modern pop-ists hooked on the Farfisa's friendly fizzle.

Sexual Life's curators were plucked from the studios of London's not-so-easy-listening radio station, Resonance FM, (sometimes college or community radio programming does pay off), and their knowing what might strike the fancy of all sorts of listeners makes the disc an easier entry point into Brazil's wild musical landscape. Either way, the compilers of both Não Wave and Sexual Life deserve the utmost credit for succeeding in steering clear of navel-gazing ethnography. While many reissue labels tend to come off like self-proclaimed music archaeologists unearthing, Columbus-style, a hearty bounty of savage goods, these two compilations simply aim to share, and lend credence to, the naïve legacies of middle-class kids in São Paulo, Brasilia, Rio, and Curitiba, despite one's tongue-in-cheek title. They remind us that our listening experience shouldn't always be a search for song but rather a desire to understand tone, time, place, and emotion.