One of the unintended advantages of the album's decline as a complete work has been the disappearance of the single as a purely promotional tool. Singles now function almost as a preview of something larger — released in parts. That shift gave rise, on the other hand, to the EP — which, let us be honest, is a smaller, faster format, often used simply to dispatch a release and move on.
In our music, one name stands out for the way she handles singles. Cremilda Medna.
Cremilda knows how to treat a single as a genuine discographic work. When she releases one, it arrives prepared and produced with artistic intent before commercial intent. It starts with the way she announces each release: considered, deliberate — almost as if following the real commandments of a proper music launch. It answers exactly what a musical work demands, as opposed to a commercial one.
What also draws me in is the entirely independent, alternative process through which she builds the product. That is not always possible for everyone — but when it is, it tends to be because the music itself carries an embedded quality that earns it. I respect the position Cremilda occupies: she does not depend on the choices of sponsors who, I will admit, are often guided by a blindness that only clears when something has been approved by the masses — who are, more often than not, stripped of their own critical judgment. The truth is, here in the islands, our patience for listening to music and actually reflecting on it is shrinking. Alarmingly so. And the worst of it is that sponsors sometimes follow the same path — "I'll back it because it has more audiences" — leaving one to wonder: what if sponsors were willing to inject genuine risk and a sense of pedagogy into what they choose to support?
Cremilda does not need to be listened to. She offers herself to be heard — through a product built to musical measure.
What also strikes me is the ability Cremilda and her team have to recover forgotten music — beautiful music, always from master composers and the most authentic traditional repertoire — a tradition that shows in the instrumentation, always chosen with care. This independence of production, combined with her deep commitment to tradition, makes Cremilda an increasingly rare figure in our music.
And in doing so, she fills stages and rooms — without needing the approval of hollow media expertise. Yes. It is possible.
To open the year, Cremilda Medina brought us B. Leza and Amizade: tradition in mastery, and a word that connects perfectly to the beginning of a year. In a truly beautiful morna — the style Cremilda has made her home — the singer seems to be living through a particularly interesting moment, both musically and, above all, vocally. The ascents carry the taste of vocal maturity, and that reflects across the whole of the voice. The instrumentation, with great care, does not stray from the traditional: elaborate, translating what is ours into something that can belong to the world. That said, I believe the remarkable Palinh could afford to take a few more risks — differentiating slightly from previous touches — without, of course, stepping outside that traditional universe.
In an interesting music video, one question lingers: is the drone always necessary in our videos? Even acknowledging it was used well here, over the wide plain — which brought to mind Soren Araújo's video released a few months ago. The plains of Cabo Verde are always beautiful.
One note of criticism regarding the lyric display in the video: why not use our written language correctly? A suggestion, left here.
Congratulations, Cremilda, for this appetiser that brings friendship, a ray of sun, and tradition in its highest expression. Thank you for your commitment to this music. May this appetiser already be a slice of the album to come.
Amizade.
