The narrow, cobbled alleys of Alfama possess their greatest charm in the late afternoon. As tourists retreat to the city center, the courtyards—those entrances that spark the imagination—are left to me alone. That is how I stumbled into a yard that offered nothing at first glance, yet echoed with a profoundly mournful Fado.
Lost in the Alleys: A Conversation with Joachim
Before a doorway sat a man on a low stool with a guitar. Not a Spanish guitar, but the Portuguese kind—twelve-stringed, with a sharper, more resonant tune. He had no “Authentic Fado” poster, no microphone, and no hat for coins. He played because, on an evening like this, he simply knew no other way to exist.
Saudade: The Word That Defies Translation
I stopped. He looked up, his eyes inviting me to sit. For a while, he just plucked the strings while I listened. Then, in surprisingly good English, he asked if I knew what he was playing.
“I know it’s Fado. What else in Alfama? But what exactly is Fado? I feel it, but I can’t describe it,” I said.
He rested the guitar on his knees. “That’s a good question. The wrong answer would be: Fado is Portuguese music or a sad song. The truth is, Fado is a state of soul. We Portuguese call it saudade—and you cannot translate that word into your language. Not because you lack the words, but because you perhaps haven’t had enough sea.”
Enough sea?
“Sit down. This will be a long conversation,” Joachim offered.
Fado is a state of soul. We Portuguese call it saudade.
Born of Pain and the Atlantic: The Origins of Fado
“Fado was born here,” he continued, “in Lisbon, sometime in the early 19th century. No one knows the exact date—and that’s how it should be. Things born of pain don’t arrive with a date stamp.”
“Born of pain, longing, and the sea. Lisbon has always been a port city. Sailors left for Brazil, Africa, India. The women waited. Sometimes the men returned, sometimes they didn’t. From this waiting, Fado was born.”
Joachim explained that Fado is like Lisbon itself—a mix of everything that passed through: Moors, Romans, Jews, Africans, and Brazilians. He spoke of Maria Severa, the daughter of a prostitute and a gypsy, who sang in taverns and became a legend before she died at twenty-six. Her black shawl remains a symbol of the fadista to this day.
Presence of Absence: The Philosophy of the Twelve Strings
Joachim struck a few quiet chords. “Listen. What you feel now, as this melody rises and heads somewhere but never arrives—that is saudade. Fernando Pessoa, our greatest poet, wrote that saudade is the ‘presence of absence.’ It is the memory of happiness you didn’t even realize you had until it was gone.”
Technical Truth: Voice, Guitar, and Silence
“Traditional Fado requires three elements,” Joachim explained. “The voice (fadista), the Portuguese guitar (guitarra portuguesa), and the classical guitar (viola baixo) for harmony.”
A true fado singer doesn’t sing about love—he sings love. He doesn’t sing about loss—he sings loss.
He held up his instrument. “The Portuguese guitar has twelve steel strings. Its sound is sharper, metallic—like an echo, like a memory. And the voice? Fado doesn’t need an academically trained voice. It needs a truthful one. You must hear that the person has lived through something. Technically perfect singing without pain? That’s just karaoke. There are bars full of it around here, but that’s just a tourist cliché.”
Two Schools: Lisbon vs. Coimbra
“Lisbon Fado is the Fado of the streets—raw, emotional, unfiltered. Coimbra Fado is different. It’s a university city; its Fado was born among students. It’s more aristocratic, poetic, and sung only by men in black capes. One comes from the gut, the other from the head. The best Fado comes from both at once.”
The Dark Century and the Rebirth
We shared a carafe of wine as the conversation turned to António Salazar, the dictator who ruled Portugal for decades. His motto was “Fado, Fátima, Football”—the three F’s to keep the people quiet.
“The regime tolerated Fado but controlled it,” Joachim said sadly. “Lyrics had to pass censorship. After the Carnation Revolution in 1974, Fado almost died because the youth associated it with oppression. But a new generation—Mariza, Ana Moura, Camané—rediscovered it. Not as nostalgia for dictatorship, but as their own identity.”
Fado for the Soul, Not for Instagram
“Where is Fado played today? Only for tourists?” I asked.
Joachim laughed bitterly. “In Alfama’s restaurants, they play it every night for fifty euros a head with a three-course meal. That’s Fado for Instagram. But real Fado? You find that in the ‘casas de fado’ at 2 AM, where a singer stands up from the table where they were just eating and sings because they were ‘struck’ by the moment. Or here, in this courtyard, because I felt it tonight.”
The wine was gone. Joachim picked up his guitar for one last song. As the notes drifted through the stone alleys, sounding like the sea and like waiting, I realized I had found the most authentic moment in a city otherwise bursting with tourism.
The Voices of Fado You Need to Hear
We are vinyl and fado lovers. If you want to understand the depth of Portuguese culture, explore these legendary artists:
The Queen of Fado – national Icon. A fruit seller with a “bronze voice” that fused deep registers with soprano clarity. Her Povo que Lavas no Rio is a haunting masterpiece.
The ultimate male voice of the 20th century. He elevated Fado to high poetry and became the first fado artist nominated for a Grammy.
Dramatic and visceral. She sings with her entire body. With her album Fado em Mim, she turned Fado into a global phenomenon for a new generation.
A velvet, intimate voice discovered in a Lisbon club. She has performed with the Rolling Stones, earning the public admiration of Mick Jagger.
The intellectual of Fado. She blends jazz with tradition, turning the verses of Saramago and Pessoa into pure musical literature.
The modern king of male Fado. A fragile tenor carrying tenderness and sorrow in every note. Start with the album Uma Noite de Fados.
The diva who brought theatricality and literary depth back to Fado in the 90s, focusing on the profound adaptations of classic poets.
“The man with a thousand fingers.” A virtuoso who took the Portuguese guitar from the streets to the world’s great stages.
A contemporary master. What the voice does in Fado, he translates onto the strings—often with even greater precision and soul.
