It’s a cliché, but Brazil really lives and breathes music. Whereas in most of the Northern hemisphere, music is either completely separated from everyday life or provides earbud-channeled background noise, in South America’s biggest country it is heard and experienced literally everywhere—often in the flesh. At any time of the year (and moment of the day), both traditional and modern rhythms bring local entertainment to the country’s diverse metropolises. There’s always a guy with a nylon-string guitar (violão) at the house party you’ve just arrived at. Given the rich musical landscape that this fertile creative climate has bred, it’s too bad northern and western audiences only champion a small portion of Brazilian musicians. As might be expected, more than just samba, bossa nova, and the hip Tropicália movement deserve serious scrutiny and awe from abroad.

One of the oft-overlooked pockets of Brazilian music developed right in the middle of the country’s oppressive, twenty-year military dictatorship, in the mining, mountainous state of Minas Gerais—a musical movement later dubbed “Clube da Esquina” (“The Corner Club”) by the press. The name was taken from the title of a 1972 double album credited to two men, Milton Nascimento, a swiftly rising singer-songwriter who is now famous to even those with a passing knowledge of Brazilian culture, and his lesser-known friend, Lô Borges. While living literally around the corner from one another in the state capital of Belo Horizonte, Nascimento and Borges gathered a collective of local musicians for a release that put Minas Gerais on the country’s musical map. The Clube da Esquina LP (1972) proved that Nascimento’s growing popularity was not a fluke; there indeed was a pool of talent coming from the hard-working, unglamorous region.

And it didn’t end there. With Clube da Esquina as its blueprint, the mineiros (as people from Minas Gerais are usually called) who created the album dreamed up an idiosyncratic, amalgamated sound that came to be associated with their tight-knit group in the seventies and beyond. Over numerous solo and collaborative releases from Nascimento, Borges and several of his family members, Wagner Tiso, Fernando Brant, Beto Guedes, Toninho Horta, Luiz Alves, Robertinho Silva, and many others, the corner club musicians took the generic form of a toada (short verse-and-chorus tune with humorous or romantic lyrics), updated it with the rhythmic complexity of bossa nova, and then fused it with a strikingly wide array of influences from abroad, ranging from Miles Davis to prog rock to The Beatles. By doing so, they played a big part in molding the shape of MPB (musica popular brasileira) in the 1970s: a lush, ornate sound, harmonically elaborate, in hindsight somewhat uncool, and yet (considering the turbulent political situation) quietly transgressive. One might jest that Brazilian dad rock was born.

Unlike samba and bossa nova, Clube da Esquina music didn’t make much of a mark globally at the time of its prominence in Brazil. Unlike Tropicália, it never enjoyed a resurgence of interest in the retromania era, either. Milton Nascimento’s international breakthrough arrived with his joint effort with Wayne Shorter on 1974’s Native Dancer album, and to this day his position in a musical collective—rather than simply being a brand of his own—is overlooked outside of Brazil. The playlist below serves as an invitation to exploring the vast catalogue of his extended pool of collaborators: the men and women who played an instrumental role in making Clube da Esquina much more than just Nascimento’s vision.

Milton Nascimento: “Durango Kid” (from 1970’s Milton)

Although several mineiros appeared on Nascimento’s debut LP three years prior, Milton can really be considered the first true Clube da Esquina release. It was his first to feature significant contributions from Lô Borges and the Belo Horizonte band Som Imaginario. Plus, the bulk of the lyrics on the album were penned by Marcio Borges (Lô’s older brother) and Fernando Brant, another go-to local collaborator for Nascimento (who usually doesn’t write lyrics for his own songs). A highlight of the record, “Durango Kid,” illustrates what made Nascimento stand out among the crowd of singer-songwriters of his time. Composed mostly on classical guitar and then recorded straight to tape, without much regard for constant meter and key, his songs have a way of sounding effortlessly complex, with unconventional chord progressions and rhythmic breaks. On the other hand, Nascimento’s far-reaching, buoyant voice makes it easy for him to sing melodies that soar suddenly and plunge unexpectedly. “Durango Kid” exemplifies that style by arriving at an unlikely catchiness between expansive harmonies and baroque melodic pomp; just like the rest of the album, it is also gorgeously arranged and recorded, with Nascimento’s gentle finger-picking enveloped in subtle percussive flourishes.

Som Imaginario: “Pantera” (from 1970’s Som Imaginario)

Som Imaginario was originally assembled to back Nascimento live, but quickly became one of Brazil’s most acclaimed psychedelic rock bands. It was helmed by classically-trained composer Wagner Tiso, a close friend of Milton’s and future arranger and orchestrator of many Clube da Esquina releases. Some of the corner club’s best-known instrumentalists were part of the group at one point or another, including drummer Robertinho Silva and renowned jazz guitarist Toninho Horta. “Pantera,” from their self-titled debut album, is a slow-cooking tropical stew that hints at the influence of drugged-out, electrified blues and the emerging British prog-rock scene. Its syncopated drum backbeat, however, makes sure the piece couldn’t have come from anywhere but Brazil. The rest of Som Imaginario bursts at the seams with both scopious, dream-like suites, and robust spurts of hard-rock stomp. One could argue that it was the coming together of Nascimento’s acoustic, folky balladry and Som Imaginario’s distorted fusion of prog, psych, and classical that laid the groundwork for Clube da Esquina’s sound.

Milton Nascimento & Lô Borges: “O Trem Azul” (from 1971’s Clube da Esquina)

One element that the above groundwork would be missing, however, is Lô Borges. A Beatles devotee with a penchant for complex, jazzy chords, Borges is responsible for some of Clube da Esquina’s sweetest ear-candy: catchy and melodious, yet densely labyrinthine, compositions. The spaced-out estival singalongs of “O Trem Azul” and “Paisagem da Janela” from Clube da Esquina ended up among the bastion of MPB standards that all Brazilians know and revere with religious zeal. They were also the vehicles by which English and American pop trends of the ‘60s entered the country’s mainstream. Although Tropicália artists drew heavily from the Beatles, folk-rock, and psychedelic pop, their music was considered too avant-garde and politically subversive to break into the mainstream; when performing at a huge music festival in Brazil in 1968, Caetano Veloso was even booed off stage for sounding “too” rock. The ground was paved though; by 1972, Borges’s songs were just smooth and lyrically ambiguous enough to go past the censorship of the military government and other musical prejudices, reaching a wide domestic audience.

Danilo Caymmi: “Ponta Negra” (from 1973’s Beto Guedes, Danilo Caymmi, Novelli, Toninho Horta)

While both Nascimento and Borges were pursuing solo careers (the latter with a well-received eponymous debut LP, released in 1972), four Clube da Esquina sidemen came together for a democratically collaborative effort. Beto Guedes, Danilo Caymmi (son of samba and bossa nova originator Dorival Caymmi), Novelli, and Som Imaginario’s Toninho Horta made an eclectic album that beautifully highlighted the men’s diverse starting points (including Guedes’s life-long obsession with sertaneja, the Brazilian equivalent of country music), and even more disparate destinations. The standouts include Guedes’s monumental prog-rock of “Belo Horror”; the first recording of Horta’s classic “Manoel, O Audaz” (read more below); and a pulsating, decadent piece of cosmic bossa, Caymmi’s “Ponta Negra,” on which the musician sang and played trippy, nebulous flute parts. Caymmi’s sister, Nana, guests as well, with a soaring, otherworldly cry that offsets the songs’ folky groove. Even though he did not come from Minas Gerais, Caymmi participating on the record was enough for the Brazilian press to subsequently lump him in with the rest of the corner club.

Beto Guedes: “Como Nunca” (from 1978’s Sol De Primavera)

Beto Guedes might just be Belo Horizonte’s most underrated musical figure. Neither Clube da Esquina’s nor Lô Borges’s best solo releases would’ve been the same without Guedes’s unorthodox, minimally melodic bass lines and fuzzed-out guitar solos (of which “Trem de Doido” shines the brightest). Gifted with songwriterly talents that rivaled Borges in florid maximalism and meandering lines of melody, his solo albums took the progressive pop element of the scene to the level of baroque grandeur. Nonetheless, it must’ve been Guedes’s paper-thin, high-pitched voice—at times making him sound like the Bobb Trimble of Minas Gerais, at times rendering his songs completely unlistenable—that prevented him from enjoying an international career worthy of his skill and vision.

He came the closest with “Feira Moderna,” a sharp tune and a minor MOR hit in Brazil. However, it is “Como Nunca” (from Guedes’s third solo LP Sol De Primavera) that sounds most universally appealing. Kicking off with a confident series of brush-stroke-like chords, it sounds as if Guedes purposefully kept his compositional ADD in check to reward, for once, the casual rock listener. Within the troubled, restless mood of the song, his uncontrollable voice sounds in place at last, like a gust of wind fueling a violent storm.

Milton Nascimento: “Saudade dos Avioes de Panair” (from 1975’s Minas)

Plenty of Nascimento’s solo records in the decade, like the commercially successful Minas in 1975, could’ve really been called Clube da Esquina. Featuring contributions from Guedes, Bastos, and Horta, as well as lyrics by Marcio Borges and Fernando Brant, Minas was the most psychedelic LP in Nascimento’s career up to that point, dubbed by Brazilian fans the “Sgt. Pepper’s of MPB.” Its third song, later made famous by Elis Regina, was also a rather bold political statement. Saudade is an untranslatable Portuguese word that refers to intense longing and nostalgia, its object in this case being the Brazilian airline of Panair. Once considered the largest carrier in all of Latin America, its operations were abruptly put to an end by the military government that took control of the country by a coup a year earlier. The subtitle of the track, “Conversando no Bar” (a conversation in a bar), is reflected in the choir of concerned voices supporting Nascimento, and points to the quiet opposition Brazil’s rulers faced from the people of Minas, long stereotyped in Brazil for their rebellious tendencies and secretive, reticent demeanor.

Lô Borges: “Clube da Esquina No. 2” (from 1979’s A Via Láctea)

A mostly instrumental rendition of this dazzling song debuted on Nascimento and Borges’s manifesto seven years prior, but it’s Borges’s solo take that really makes the composition shine. By 1979, Borges’s recordings had become frantically maximalist, with layers of competing instruments and clever key modulations. However, he never betrayed his ear for melodious accessibility, which is probably why his 1980 album Nuvem Cigana sounds like a Steely Dan record. “Clube da Esquina No. 2”’s gradually ascending melody works hand in hand with rich harmonizing, and tuning in closely to the progression of the chorus yields listening joy of the purely physical kind. The crowning point of the performance, however, comes from Borges’s sister, Solange, who takes over the second verse with her tomboyish, raw, and undeniably sexy vocals. And again, the strong political undertones of lines such as “Dreams do not age / Surrounded by tear gas” allude rather explicitly to life in military-ruled Brazil.

Toninho Horta: “Manoel, O Audaz (feat. Pat Metheny)” (from 1980’s Toninho Horta)

The delicate vocal jazz of “Manuel, o Audaz” on Horta’s long-overdue 1980 debut LP features a helping hand from smooth guitar hero Pat Metheny. When the two first met, Horta, who at that point was known mostly as a session guy and member of various backing bands for other mineiros, regarded Metheny as his role model; over time, they became closer to peers, ultimately leaving an equally strong mark on contemporary jazz and world music. During his first visit to Brazil, Metheny contributed parts to two songs on Toninho Horta, and years later described the Brazilian virtuoso as “one of the world’s great ‘composers’ on nylon-string guitar […] an incredible musician, the rare guitarist who understands harmony in its most intimate ways” in the liner notes to Horta’s Diamond Land album. And while in Brazil he is known better for his electric guitar playing, “Manoel, O Audaz” really showcases Horta’s smooth, effortless fingerpicking, which makes his chords flicker as bright as sparkling gems.

Milton Nascimento & Elis Regina: “O Que Foi Feito Deverá/O Que Foi Feito de Vera” (From 1979’s Clube da Esquina 2)

The second collective double album under the name Clube da Esquina arrived in an entirely different era. By 1979, Nascimento was a national heavyweight, and his long-favored collaborators all had solo records to their name. Thus, their input was noticeably smaller than on the first release, which allowed the duo of Nascimento and Fernando Brant to give a platform to some of the group’s satellite members, including Flávio Venturini (later of 14 Bis), as well as to bring two of MPB’s household names on board: Chico Buarque and Elis Regina. Although from the South of Brazil, Regina’s ties with Minas Gerais were strong: she recorded versions of Nascimento’s songs as early as in 1966. In the centerpiece of Clube da Esquina 2, she shares vocal responsibilities with Nascimento in a graceful but quietly exalted performance, reflecting on the necessity for change and transition in a turbulent era. Clube da Esquina 2 was decidedly a less rock-driven affair than its predecessor. Chris McGowan and Ricardo Pessada, authors of The Brazilian Sound: Samba, Bossa Nova, and the Popular Music of Brazil, call the album a “pan-South American fusion,” noting its interpretations of Chilean and Cuban songs. Monumental in both the scope of its ambition and quality of its execution, the album is now considered the prime artistic statement of the “club” by many critics and fans of Brazilian music alike.

14 Bis: “Perdido Em Abbey Road” (from 1979’s 14 Bis)

Founded by Clube da Esquina 2’s contributors Flavio Venturini and Vermelho, 14 Bis built up on the most radio-friendly leaning of the collective’s sound, to the point of once being marketed as children’s music. The opening cut from their self-titled debut album reacts against Clube da Esquina 2’s anti-pop sentiments. After kicking off with an energetic, glam-rock cabaret that sounds not unlike a Sparks number, Venturini and guest singer Suzana Nunes proceed to sing about “All the friends scattered around the world / And no-one left to sing these songs / That fired our hearts.” In the context of the song’s title (“Lôst on Abbey Road”), the lyrics can be read as an insight into the changing face of the Minas Gerais’s scene; going forward in the 1980s, the musicians associated with Clube de Esquina would appear on each other’s records much less frequently, focusing on – in the case of several of them – successful solo careers instead. Their influences changed, too, and the Beatles-esque jazz-rock fusion that typified Clube da Esquina was clearly on its way out. In a typically Brazilian, sentimental fashion, “Perdido Em Abbey Road” was a moment of reactionary nostalgia, and a general farewell to the scene.