Lorenzo De Almeda Lyrics by Gypsies

Lorenzo de Almeida

The fine navigator who came to the port of Colombo
Frilly lace and “putting” at the junction shop
A dinner party, all hands and mouths

He runs up debt right around the country
Nothing matters to him but putting on white-man airs
Piano, tambourine, banjo, mandolin
Pulling electric current wires
Lights strung on all four posts

To out-English the English
Piling the English on thick
A tailcoat, a top hat
Wrapped up in white cloth
The lady waves her hand at me
I sit there saying no, no
Oh, she sits and says, come, come
We all say no, no

The lady waves her hand at me
We all say no to her

Brandy drunk, staggering about
Whispering gossip in a corner
Imported Morinaga, apples, mail piled up
The lady waves her hand at me
I sit there saying no, no
Oh, she sits and says, come, come
We all say no, no

The lady waves her hand at me
We all say no to her

This is one of those cheeky Gypsies baila songs, a comic sketch set in the colonial era that pokes fun at the social climber who wants nothing more than to look like a proper European. Lorenzo de Almeida is a Portuguese-style name, and the whole song is a portrait of a man who has fully bought into the “sudda” act, the act of imitating the white colonial master. There is no heartbreak here, no longing. It is satire, set to a dance beat, laughing at a very Sri Lankan figure that everyone of that time would recognize.

The fun is all in the details, and they pile up fast. He pulls electric wires and strings lights on all four posts of his house, back when electricity itself was a status symbol. He fills his home with imported instruments, piano, banjo, mandolin, and throws dinner parties. He drinks brandy and staggers about, gossips in corners, and hoards imported goods, Morinaga (a foreign brand), apples, stacks of mail, things an ordinary villager would never have. The line about wanting “to out-English the English” and “piling the English on thick” is the sharpest jab: he overdoes the English language and English manners so badly that he ends up a caricature, a tailcoat and top hat and a body wrapped up stiffly in white cloth.

The chorus is where the comedy lands. A “nona”, a fine lady, keeps waving him over and saying “come, come”, and he sits frozen, stammering “ba, ba” (no, no, I can’t), while the whole group around him also chants “no, no”. It is the awkward picture of people putting on grand airs but having no idea how to actually behave at such a party, all dressed up and tongue-tied, pretending to a world they do not belong to.

What the listener is left with is a grin and a gentle dig. The song mocks the colonial hangover, the rush to imitate the European and look down on one’s own roots, by showing how silly it all looks up close. It is light, it is meant to make a crowd laugh and dance, and underneath the jokes there is a quiet pride in not being fooled by the borrowed top hat.