October 05th 2010
By Sérgio Gomes da Costa

They say tornadoes and lightning bolts can't have names, unlike. They say it's because they don't last long enough. Some people follow tornados through whole countries, but find themselves at a loss what to make of it. Lightning bolts, on the other hand, only gain recognition for the damage they do. All things considered, baptizing them seems entirely appropriate.

But as well as coming in handy in encounters of the third kind, names are great at sticking to your memory. A simple name is enough for neurons to establish diplomatic relations among themselves. And when information lies in the antipodes of the brain, hard drives and the internet are available to help however they cam.

Let me give you an example. Since we haven't heard from Bor Land in a while, the mere sight of its written name should be enough to generate associations. And much of the most personalized Portuguese music of late springs to mind, the kind that makes you feel you are unraveling someone's secret. Over the last years, we got to know intimate music, made by people like us, as different as we might be. This music is not navel-directed, rather it seeks to enlarge communities. It's a sort of "music next door", with some foreign tweaks. But this music became familiar also by the way it came to us. Disparate projects often seemed related because there was a Bor Land way of bringing them to the public. There was a distinctive mark, expressed in the carefully planned artwork, in the choice of venues for concerts, in the constant search for surprise. There were limited editions in cloth pouches, formats that challenged our home shelves, split CDs with (seemingly) unrelated artists. Everything was so perfectly put together that all that was missing was handing the records in personally to each listener. However, that not being possible, fans were invited to dinner and concerts at Bor Land's house - all for the good of the community.

Above all, Bor Land showed us music projects that made the 2000's far more interesting. Norberto Lobo, La La La Ressonance, Alla Polcca, Alexandre Soares, Jorge Coelho, Lobster or Most People Have Been Trained to Be Bored are among them. This decade may have not presented us with revolutionary music genres, but it did brings us new forms of listening to music. And that was the real revolution. Somewhere between digital warming and the thawing of established concepts, small labels like Bor Land were able to lend visibility to unknown projects. Technology made access easier, and access enhanced boldness. The frontiers between genres blurred, and the "record of the year" could now be from a well-known artist as well as from the neighbor next door. Browsing through Bor Land's catalogue, we come across a new way of listening to music – and that is creating different musicians and artists.

In the meantime, ten years have passed. A round figure and a circle coming to an end. It's time to pick up a pencil and start drawing new geometries. That's what the people in charge at the moment, Rodrigo Cardoso and Inês Lamares, intend to do. But they're not leaving without saying goodbye. They give us one last event that combines everything that made the label's name: closeness, aesthetic sense and surprise. They've called it "What Can it Be: Bor Land 2000 – 2010".

A decade is more than the life cycle of a natural phenomenon. For Bor Land it was enough to build a renowned name with sufficient turmoil to leave its mark. In a perfect world, or any territory of unestablished routines, Bor Land would be next in line to name hurricanes, tornadoes, lightning bolts and other hair-disheveling things. In our world, it will live on in many record collections and in our memories.

Bor Land ends here!