interview with YAMANDU COSTA
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When we spoke yesterday about playing 'classical' repertoire, you said it doesn’t really feel like your music. Could you explain why?

 

I think my contribution to the guitar is to do something true, something that really matters. More than being about the guitar itself — because people in the guitar world often focus too much on technical parameters of the instrument. I am more than a guitarist: I am a musician, a composer. I try to express myself through the guitar, but making music that springs from me.

Of course, I play works by others when I feel I can approach them with intimacy and sincerity — pieces by Barrios Mangoré, Rafael Rabello, Baden Powell, musicians from my continent who are connected to its music and to my way of being. That feels natural. But to play music from composers of another universe… that doesn’t feel right for me.

I am, above all, a toca-autor — a performer and composer of my own music, and of music from my region. That is where I believe my contribution lies. Beyond that, I don’t feel that same intimacy.

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Does playing at a guitar festival feel different to you compared to performing in other settings, such as a jazz club?

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It’s the same — the music is the same. When music starts, everything else stops: the fatigue of travel, the weariness of this life of playing in a different place every day. Once the music begins, it is all worthwhile. There isn’t much difference, really, because in the end it’s about your own discourse. You come with your ideas, proposing your own universe to those who listen. It doesn’t matter if you are in

a concert hall or in a bar — what matters is that the people listen in silence and are open to communicating with the music you bring.

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Many South American musicians see music as a political force, more so than in Europe. What is your own perspective on the relationship between music and politics?

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That’s an interesting question, and there are many possible answers. I think music stands above politics — it is a more beautiful manifestation. Nobody remembers who the mayor was in the city where Shakespeare lived, right? Music, I believe, should always be above that.

At the same time, music can be used as a tool — as in religion, where it can be very powerful. Music is like a coin with many facets, it can be used in many ways. Personally, I try to keep these things separate. I have my political convictions — I’m more of a socialist, left-leaning type. When I pay taxes in countries where I live, and I see a return in education, culture, health — I feel content.

I live between two countries: Brazil, which is politically chaotic, and Portugal, which is smaller and more socialist. So I experience both. But I try not to mix politics with my music. As a citizen, I have my ways of reacting. But as a musician, I aim to be universal — above that conversation.

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One of my favorite questions: what goes through your mind while you are performing on stage?

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It’s a mix of concentration and relaxation. That combination is one of the most interesting and challenging situations for a musician — to be relaxed and focused at the same time.
But even more than that balance, the key is to find a connection with people. They need to feel that you are there, playing for them. Otherwise, perfection and concentration mean nothing if you don’t transmit something. For me, music is above all a currency of connection. More than beauty or depth of sound, it is about connecting. Without that, nothing happens.

That’s why people come to me after concerts and say 'thank you for tonight.' Because they felt

I gave myself completely to the audience. Of course, some musicians approach it differently — they just play and don’t care. That’s fine too, everyone has their way. But for me, it only works when there is connection. That’s when music fulfills its role of making life a little fuller of beautiful things.

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Do you still have musical dreams for the future?

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Of course, without a doubt. I dream of staying healthy so I can keep playing, even at an advanced age, with inspiration and clarity. I dream of continuing to discover what I can do well, of resigning myself to the musical condition and creating something unique. Not out of ambition to be great or famous — no. Simply for the privilege of having a guitar in my hands and an audience willing to listen, whatever I choose to play. That respect from the audience is the true gift.

That is my dream — to keep playing well and communicating with people. Musicians need to realize the importance of this — that making music, that moment of happening, is what matters most. Not success, not money, not global recognition. The gift is the moment of being with people, making music, and making time elastic — music has the power to stretch time. That, to me, is already the dream.

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How would you describe your journey toward developing your own musical style?

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I am still pursuing it — I haven’t reached it yet. With age, things change: you lose certain technical energy but gain new nuances and colors. A musician is always under construction, always reinventing and re-creating. Of course, I have my style, my way of playing, but every day I try to improve.

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What advice would you give to young guitarists at the beginning of their performing journey?

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There is time for everything. Young musicians go through different stages: technical development, learning the instrument, all of that. But the most important thing is to perceive what you can really do well. That’s the key. Beyond your desires or ambitions, discovering what you truly do best defines your confidence in life.

Some people have a talent for deep interpretation, for playing slow pieces. Others want to play fast, but maybe don’t have the means. Human perception is the true currency — finding clarity about what you can do well gives you confidence and direction.

 

How did you experience your time in Bratislava and at the J. K. Mertz Guitar Festival?

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That’s the interesting part of playing and traveling — the unknown, never knowing what will happen. The sound check was ordinary, nothing special. The venue, though, was unique — a boat moored in the strong current of the Danube. Watching the river flow, the strength and speed of the current, was fascinating.

But when evening came and the audience arrived, the sound improved a lot. I really enjoyed it. It’s a pity it wasn’t recorded — I think we lost a very special live album that night, with many great moments and improvisations. It was one of the concerts I enjoyed most.
The audience was warm, but not overly so — well prepared, and part of a festival with 48 years of tradition. I felt truly happy to be there, and I hope I left behind all my affection and desire to create a beautiful evening of guitar and connection through music.