ZUZU F.C.

The 1970s propelled football (soccer) to new heights. A generation of legends such as Pelé, Franz Beckenbauer, Michel Platini, and Johan Cruyff elevated the game into an art form. The sport was taking the shape of what we know today as modern football (a.k.a. the beautiful game), influenced by legendary squads, from Brazil’s legendary World Cup in Mexico to the “Total Football” philosophy from the Dutch.

This eruption in quality and popularity made football (soccer) an intrinsic part of the culture, establishing a fascinating symbiotic relationship with each other. Like a double-helix DNA structure, what was happening on-pitch inspired creative minds off-field to create artistic manifestations that circle back, influencing how players reimagine the game. The cycle spirals out, weaving soccer and culture.

Released in 1976, the majestic “Ponta de Lança Africano, Ubabarauma” by the Brazilian Jorge Ben Jor is one of these gems that deserves a closer look—underneath the simplicity of lyrics and beats lies a sophisticated reflection on Brazilian identity and the introduction of a sound that changed Samba and influenced the way Brazilian players dribble. All ignited by a song about a mythical African player, Babbaraum.

(NOTE: I recommend listening to the track to fully appreciate this journey. The lyrics are in Brazilian Portuguese, so I’ll loosely translate it to English.)

Babbaraum, the number 10. Or was he?

Jorge Ben Jor tells a story about watching a football game in France when he saw an African striker — in Brazilian slang, “Ponta de lança” or “spearhead”—wearing the number 10 called Babbaraum. Jorge Ben was so moved by his performance, a genuine representation of the Football Art, that he wrote a song about him.

It’s pretty straightforward, right? Well, let me remind you that Joger Ben Jor is anything but direct. He’s known to be a bit of a jokester in interviews, dodging questions, sometimes making up stories, to the point that only recently have people figured out his age. That match he saw in Paris? There’s no evidence confirming it took place. Babbaraum? No evidence of his existence.

Besides, why does a Brazilian musician write a song about a mysterious African player?

Umbabarauma, the goal-Man.

The question takes us deep into Jorge Ben’s wondrous mind. Football (soccer) works as a galvanizing channel to celebrate his identity as an African-Brazilian artist and elevate the roots of these two multi-diverse cultures.

As millions of Brazilians—myself included—Jorge Ben is the son of a mixed couple. He has a father who descends from Europeans. His mother is from Ethiopia. As a kid, he was surrounded by his mom’s cultural heritage. The sounds and music from Ethiopia spoke to him, revealing his identity as a person and artist. As his career took off, artists and critics began to refer to him as a Brazilian “heir” of African sounds. And plays with them he does.

“Umbabarauma” is a name with no meaning other than the sound it creates, an African-Brazilian sound. Note that the name he uses in the lyrics differs from the supposed original name of the player, from “Babaraum” to “Umbabarauma.” Studies suggest this was a creative call, Jorge Be figured the second fit better within the song’s melody.

Point is, we don’t know who “Umbabarauma” is, and we don’t have to. All we need to know is how the name sounds.

Africa, Brasil, Rock & Samba.

The opening guitar riff for “Umbabarauma” is a revolution in itself. It’s Jorge Ben’s “Bob Dylan” moment, choosing an electric guitar over an acoustic for the first time in his career. No one in the samba scene has done it before him. It introduces a new groove inspired by another Black influence in his life, American rock ‘n’ roll. We are then hit by percussion and drums that combine elements of his Ethiopian musicality and samba—played in a slightly different and suave tempo.

The melody acts like a casual and feel-good song when his creative choices show it’s drenched in meaning and intention to put his African-Brazilian sound front and center. Note right in the middle of the track, he drops the guitar and drums, leaving only the percussions while repeating the line:

He’s stripping the song of all elements to highlight the African percussion with simplicity and grace. “Corocondô” works like “Umbabarauma,” a musical word with no other meaning. Genius. The track mixes electric guitar, percussion, and samba to introduce to the world what’s known today as Samba-Roque (Samba Rock). It becomes quite evident why he strategically placed this song as the opening track of the album called “Africa-Brasil.”

Football inspires music that changes the game. 

Jorge Ben’s “Ponta de lança Africano, Umbabarauma” and the album “Africa Brasil” shifted the trajectory of Brazilian culture and quite literally changed how Brazilians move. I like to think of it as the Rosetta Stone of Brazilian coolness. Dancing to Samba Rock has a different swagger, a different “ginga,” as we call it. Ginga, by the way, is a quality that can be applied to dance moves and football dribbling. The more you have it, the better you are at them.

The effortlessness of Brazilian players like Ronaldinho, Neymar Jr., Romario, Denilson, and many others have to pass by defenders like they’re dancing it’s because, well, they are. The Brazilian cultural DNA is imprinted with Jorge Ben’s music and the revolution-evolution he introduced to Brazilian music.

Next time you see Brazilians celebrating goals with little dances that piss off Roy Keane so damn much, know it’s not provocation. It’s identity. It’s that double-helix-structure of football-inspiring culture pouring out. It’s no coincidence you can play “Umbabarauma” over any footage of Ronaldinho doing steps over, dribbling past an opponent, and watching them match as if they were made for each other. Because they were.