I grew up in a middle-class home in Brazil. My parents divorced when I was just 4, in 1982 — a very uncommon thing back then. Being the only kid with divorced parents at school led to some basic bullying, which drove me into slight introversion. No, I was never traumatized enough to be socially awkward. I was indeed friends with everyone but had a deep block when speaking in public.
It was just in the 9th grade that I decided I had to end this stage fright. It was hurting my grades. I hated doing homework, so I had to improve my scores with the assignments that needed to be presented in front of the class. On top of that, I started paying more attention to the girls, and I was never good at the traditional flirting game. At the peak of my puberty, that had to change.
I forced myself to take on more leadership roles and try to stand out. I was invited to lead the team at our school sports day, and a few months later at the school’s music festival (my school had the largest music festival in the country back then, professional events included). I got along amazingly well with the other leaders. It was an interesting group of “cool kids” who were also misfits.
When “Paralamas do Sucesso” was doing the soundcheck at the festival’s main stage a few hours before the concert, I was mesmerized. They were not playing to any audience, and yet having so much fun on stage. And the girls from our group, well... they just all turned to Herbert Vianna. My mind remembers a symphony of “aaaaaahss” and “oooooohs” (which might not have happened, but it definitely felt like it). I had to be that guy!
I learned how to play, met my immediate goals (getting the attention from the girls), but it was not until 2002 that I was actually in a band. And what a band! Trama D was fun to be part of. Having our base in Brazil’s country-music capital, Goiania, being a rock band would sound not too appealing. But the city had a Nashville vibe and a good rock ecosystem underground.
Our third single was a song that a friend’s band had ditched when they were launching their first album. And I loved that song so much that I refused to let it die. So we recorded it.
“Um amanhã, um despertar,” composed by the dear Bruno Viana, was catchy, the band members were all handsome (I know, I know...), and becoming the house band for the best club in town on their main night was just a matter of time. I really thought we stood a chance of hitting the jackpot.
But trying to live off music is no easy task. It’s actually f***ing hard!
I had to learn how to sell ourselves. I had to learn how to sell, period. Thankfully, overcoming the stage fright came in handy. I had to pitch, I had to negotiate, and I didn’t even notice the changes these new skills would make to my professional career take off.
We played great performances, opened concerts for amazing and acclaimed artists. Some were nice, some I hated with all my guts. But eventually, like 99% of all bands, we had to come to an end. I had side projects ever since, including a band with my brother when I lived in Dubai, called the “Shakin’ Shaikhs” which never hit the stage.
Lately, my music projects have been playing with my daughter, finding old trashed instruments and fixing them up (my Gibson below was my art piece of 2023), and exploring AI in songwriting, composition, and production. But I truly believe that without music I would never be the creative I became, nor be able to sell myself and my companies the way I currently do.