Maria Amor & Shcuro: Do It
The label heads at Lisbon’s Paraíso are trying to stop themselves from overthinking the process.
I’m sat on a large L-shaped couch in Oeiras, a 20 minute train ride west of Lisbon along the coast. It is a July evening. The skies have a pastel hue and the Atlantic breeze is gentle and the last of the day’s sun fills the modern kitchen-cum-living room of Maria and Joao (aka Shcuro). As I slowly sink into the couch, their dog is running around me. Named after Portuguese revolutionary artist Zeca Afonso, Zeca will sometimes stop running in order to hump any inanimate object he can get his paws on. Sometimes he will take a break from both, in order to pant and gasp for air.
“Zeca is crazy,” Maria says, upright with her legs folded on the protruding portion of the L-shaped couch. “Don't worry, he’s going to be on antidepressants next week.”
“Is he too active?” I ask.
“He's actually anxious.”
“Oh, is that it?”
“Yeah,” says Joao, who is also being swallowed by the couch.
“But he has no clue,” says Maria. “He's actually been to a behaviorist who told us that he needs meds.”
“I did see your Instagram post saying that getting the dog during lockdown is the best thing to happen to you,” I say.
“It is,” says Maria, “but I'm sorry for him because he has no clue. He's in panic mode.”
“I see.”
“But he'll be fine. You see, now, he's rested.”
“For five minutes,” Joao says.
“I've always had panic attacks but I've never known what they were,” Maria says.
“Really?” I ask.
“I have a family member that was a drug addict, so I have a very traumatizing relationship with drugs. I always try and stay away from the night thing because there's a lot of drugs.”
Maria begins to pet Zeca after he jolts up. He’s seen something outside in the garden which is bordered by tall white walls.
“I always ran away from it, but music continued to call me back in, which was weird. And at a point, I told myself that I wasn't going to be stopped by fear because that's not good in any way. If I don't want to do this then I don't want to do this, and that's fine. But I don't want to not do this because I'm afraid. Joao was very helpful with that. He always told me this since he met me about everything because I tend to overthink things: 'If you're enjoying it, do it. If you're not enjoying it, stop.'“
“And what about now?”
“I do love to dance in a dark space, but I'm very afraid. It's almost like I'm afraid of being afraid now, because I'm not that afraid anymore.”
Zeca barks. Joao orders him to calm down.
“Our friend is a psychotherapist,” says Maria, “and his thing was always therapy with LSD.”
“LSD and ecstasy,” says Joao.
“And ecstasy, yeah. He wants to see what it changes in the mind. And I do find that very interesting and I'd love to maybe have an experience like that, but the fear is so big that I know that I have to let go of the fear first.”
“The fear of getting addicted?” I ask.
“No, the fear of not being in control and being high as fuck and not being able to leave.”
“If anything, I try and reinforce the notion that I'm not in control, instead of grasping at it. Nothing that is going on in this universe is under my control.”
“Yeah,” Joao says.
“It's all out of my hands.”
Maria nods. “Life is now showing us that.”
“But it works. My ego shrinks when I tell myself I'm not in control and that I have nothing to do with this. Just try and experience it through your senses.”
“I love that,” says Maria. “I just have to say it more. We have no clue what is on the other side. Not that we're even sure there's another side, but will we still be playing? I don't know. Joao had one gig this year.”
“One gig last Friday,” says Joao. “And I have another one on Saturday.”
“And that's only in Lisbon?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Are you scared about your position even within the Lisbon scene? Never mind internationally.”
“I'm not even scared. I'm just not sure what is going to happen.”
“We have no notion about it,” says Maria. “But Joao's mum is the most positive person in the world. She's always like, ‘Everything will be fine. You just need to believe it'll be fine.’”
“I can tell you take after your mother,” I say to Joao. “You seem not to care.”
“No, it's not like that. I care a lot,” says Joao.
“But you're a bit more carefree. ‘Whatever happens, happens.’”
“I think Joao is way better than me at accepting that he doesn't control things,” says Maria.
“I guess,” Joao says.
“What was that quote from earlier?” I ask. “I like when people apply a really elementary motto to something. 'If you enjoy it, keep doing it. If you don't, just stop it.'“
“Joao always said that to me. Ever since I met him, because I overthink everything and he's always been like that. He always does it directly, which is why I think it works so good. Directly speaking to me, he'll say, 'Are you enjoying this? Yes? Then do it.'“
“It's a great way to get back into the present moment. 'Are you enjoying right now?'“
“Yes. He's always done that with me. About everything. Even about our relationship. When we met we were in very different places, like, emotionally. Both of us were very hurt from other relationships and I was overthinking if it was too soon and if we were jumping into it. Joao always said that to me: 'Are you enjoying this?' And I say, 'Yes.' 'Then just keep on doing it.'“
I turn to Joao. “And is it almost a daily occurrence for you that you always keep yourself present or is it only in trying times?”
“I'm better at saying that to-”
“-Others,” Maria says.
“Than myself.”
“You don't apply it to yourself?” I ask.
“I do, but-”
“You do,” Maria says. “I think you do. You underestimate yourself.”
“No, I'm joking about it because it's always easier to say that to other people than to practice that yourself. And that applies to everything.”
“Of course. Always easier said than done.”
“Yeah. Obviously I care and obviously I want to keep playing. I'm just not sure if that's going to happen after this or not. And I can't control it because it's literally 100% out of my hands.”
Maria and Joao show me around their home. We walk up a confusing flight of stairs made of staggered cubed blocks that alternate leftward and rightward. It requires my full attention.
"You get used to it," says Maria. Christ, I hope you do.
When we get to the top of the stairs, I notice Maria and Joao’s studio has been converted into a stockroom as the new merchandise for their label, Paraíso, has just arrived. I see written on the back of one of the t-shirts: underground house music from a paradise called portugal.
We walk back down the stairs. It is even more disorientating than the way up.
“That’s a nice tagline on the t-shirt,” I say from the comfort of the couch. “Self-explanatory, really.”
“Yeah,” says Joao. “We've been obsessed with the origins of dance music in Portugal for a long time. Our mission as a label is to showcase local talent.”
“Joao started Paraiso,” says Maria, “because he wanted to track down when did house and techno and rave parties start in Portugal and the whole concept of it.”
“And to bring together the pioneers of dance music in Portugal and our contemporary peers and people who are younger than us-”
Joao tends to Zeca, who is panting as he rests his chin on his knee.
“Inevitably new people come in,” says Maria, “and they have the same vibe and then it all melts together and it's this beautiful combination of past and future and everyone has the same values and ethics.”
“Sometimes,” I say, “I think of a legacy, which, again, is just a completely egotistical practice. Is that something you ever think about?”
“People seek different things in jobs and things they do in life. And to me, it's very important that it's something that has a positive impact, or a positive outline in some way. For me or for someone else or for the community. I think people just want to do what they love and be able to do it in a way that's respected.”
I turn to Joao. “Do you think about the legacy you’re leaving behind?”
“No.”
“Not even a legacy for you, Joao, but even for Paraíso to have a legacy and be remembered for doing something.”
“More for the music than for the label or myself.”
“Yeah,” says Maria. “I think both of us with Paraíso are very excited to let people know what happened.”
“Yeah. It's not about the recognition.”
Joao manages to climb out of the couch to get some water. Zeca walks over with him to the sink.
“Regardless of a legacy,” I say, “you’re blessed simply to work so closely with each other on creative endeavours while maintaining a healthy marriage.”
“I think it's mostly because we're very good friends,” says Maria. “I've been in a few long-term relationships before and, I don't know, I don't even think I was mature enough to realise how important that is, to be friends. Not friends first, or whatever, there's no hierarchy there. It depends on the day. Some days we're more friends, some days we're more lovers. Some days we're one thing at night and one thing during the day. It doesn't matter.”
“Everything is always there,” says Joao, as he returns to the couch.
“Yeah,” says Maria. “Everything is always there.”
