Martinho da Vila is regarded as the greatest living sambista. He began singing and composing in the late 1960s. However, when he was first invited into the record studio, he didn't want to sing. "I kept telling the executives, "I am a composer, not a singer. I just want to write material for other singers." Finally, after a series of arguments, they convinced the young Martinho to record a CD. His cool, smooth voice, combined with a suave spontaneous wit has kept him at the top of Brazil's music scene for three decades.

When Martinho da Vila began singing in the late 60s, his music, like that of most Brazilians, was censored by the government. It is hard to imagine today, as sambas aren't inherently political. The subjects of most sambas are of daily life, of love, dreams, passions, and "futebol" (soccer). "I wasn't able to record the song "Menina Moca" until my third album," explains Da Vila in his unique form of a hybrid singing and talking. "In the song, I talk about a young girl, how she dreams of a man, they meet, fall in love, they start to fight, and then she dreams again, but dreams of divorce." At the time, anything considered "anti-family" was prohibited by the government, so this song was banned.

Later in Martinho da Vila's career, he joined the samba school Vila Isabel. In Rio, samba schools are much more than musical groups, they are neighborhood associations, often involved in community work such as health care and education in a country with no social safety net. During Rio's famous carnival, each samba school - with its 3 to 4 thousand singers, drummers and dancers take to the streets of the sambódromo, Rio's enormous stadium dedicated to samba. It is an effort that takes almost an entire year of preparation. Vila Isabel finally won its first carnival championship at the 1988 carnival with the song, "Kizomba, Festa da Raça", a song that became a Brazilian anthem against racism and apartheid. "When we sung, it was something fantastic," explains Da Vila. "It was spectacular. It was the work of a whole year, the work of a lifetime. We gave our souls to it. In the favelas, sometimes people don't feel like Brazilian citizens. People from the high levels feel like they own Brazil. It is different from the United States where people say, "I am an American, I am from America.' Here in Brazil, because of this incredible financial inequality, people from the favelas don't feel like real citizens [or that] Brazil is for them. So, when our escola de samba Vila Isabel did this for carnival, they gave [their] everything. When they lose, they cry, and when they win, they cry from happiness. It is something I cannot describe. It was a huge emotional experience."

Contributed by: Dan Rosenberg