The tradition of popular music at the festivals of agony

Anyone passing through Viana do Castelo in August feels the city pulsate. The streets are filled with color, gold, and costumes, but what binds everything together is the sound—constant, strong, and close. The popular music of the Agonia festivals is not merely a backdrop; it is the thread that weaves devotion into everyday life, guiding the steps in the procession and freeing the feet in the square. It is music learned by ear, attuned to the body, and experienced in community.

Sounds that make Minho vibrate

The pilgrimage has its own calendar and melodic clock. There are dawns that wake the city with drums and bugles, street parades that wind through narrow streets, rallies that connect entire neighborhoods, a hymn that floats over the river, and improvised songs that spark laughter. Sound has no owner or fixed stage; it appears on every corner.

In Viana, popular music is demanding. Music is played so everyone can dance, sung so the verses speak for everyone, and an aesthetic style is maintained that gives the festival its identity. It's neither nostalgic nor museum-like; it's a shared gift, full of details: the accordion's beat that sets the tone, the braguesa's whisper that sets the beat, the thunder of the Zés Pereiras pushing the procession.

The sound arsenal: instruments that give body to tradition

• Concertina: queen of the ruckus. Its bellows give swing to viras, malhões, and chulas. In experienced hands, it leads the dance and gives space for the singers to improvise.

• Cavaquinho: small in size, enormous in brilliance. It provides a firm beat and lively fingering, interacts with the braguesa and cements harmony.

• Viola Braguesa: low, metallic timbre, doubled strings, the rhythmic heart of Minho toccatas. Stabilizes the tempo and adds weight to the choruses.

• Minho bagpipes: harsh and penetrating timbre. They attract attention in the square, mark entrances to dances, and carry through streets with melodies that can be heard from afar.

• Bass drums and snare drums, the Zés Pereiras: percussion you can feel in your chest. Openings during the day, accompanying parades, and moments of pure collective ecstasy.

• Tambourines and ferrinhos: They decorate, accentuate, and maintain the pulse of circle dances. In the hands of singers, they also represent choreography.

• Other presences: mandolins here and there, occasional acoustic bass on more recent stages, and wind instruments in philharmonic orchestras that elevate hymns and marches.

Each instrument carries a social and sonic function. In a march, the accordion leads; in a procession, the philharmonic orchestra serenes the atmosphere; in the parade of giants, percussion rules.

Dances and forms: the grammar of the people

If there's one thing the music of the Agonia festivals teaches, it's that dancing is talking.

• Vira: a lively circle, in ternary time signature, with entrances and exits that stage encounters. The accordion points, the ensemble responds, the pairs rotate. The choruses have a catchy melody and simple lyrics, perfect for backing vocals.

• Chula: binary time signature, stamped foot, marked steps. Less circle, more figure. Ideal for demonstrating skill, but made to be shared.

• Malhão: Responsorial chant, question and answer between soloist and choir. The lyrics vary according to the moment, and the rhymes range from flirtatious to witty.

• Cana Verde: balanced rhythmic pattern, mid-tempo that pleases those who arrive and want to start dancing without rushing.

• Singing to the challenge and desgarradas: a verbal arena where improvisation reigns supreme. Two singers, sometimes a man and a woman, play quatrains back and forth with humor, mischief, and subtle irony. The accordion provides the floor, and the audience delivers the verdict with applause and laughter.

Variety isn't whimsy, it's language. In each part of the party, a different combination of form, rhythm, and lyrics makes sense.

Zés Pereiras, giants and big heads: the street shock

The Zés Pereiras are the hammer that strikes the heart of the event. Groups of bass drums and snare drums, with old tunes and others invented along the way, lead the openings and push the processions. When the giants and big-headed people enter, the city becomes a stage. The long strides of the figures, the dancing of the big-headed people, the laughter of the children—everything rests on the firm beats of the bass drums.

The beats range from straight beats to foot-bouncing offbeats. Repetition never tires; it creates a state. At every turn, a new collage of echoes and rhythms.

Rusgas, tocatas and the night that never ends

Rusgas are the life of the night. Groups of friends, often with roots in folklore, grab accordions, braguesas, cavaquinhos, and tambourines and traverse the city. They stop where they're called, play two or three songs, break into a vira, and move on. Each neighborhood has its own group, its own style, its own way of calling out.

In these toccatas, the repertoire is both familiar and fresh. The traditional melody is present, but the twists and turns of the accordion, the rhythm of the cavaquinho, and the singer's booming voice give a taste of the present. The audience sings, dances, and, when the energy rises, space opens up for an improvised desgarrada.

There are nights when you move from one beat to another, as if you were changing rooms in a house with doors always open.

Marching bands, choirs and the anthem that echoes

The pilgrimage has moments of solemnity. The procession to the sea, with the floats en route to Lima, and the solemn procession through the downtown streets call for a different musical palette. Marching bands perform a repertoire of marches, light movements to accompany the pace, and arrangements of local themes. There's no shortage of hymns dedicated to Our Lady of Agony, choral melodies for two and three voices, and instrumental passages that reinforce the devotional dimension.

On the riverbanks, as the decorated boats arrange themselves, the sound changes. A band can be heard in the distance, bagpipers announcing passages, and boat whistles and sirens. Music brings order to the chaos, gives order to the spectacle, and finds silence where silence is needed.

Sung words: quatrains, rhymes and humor

The popular music of these festivals is also oral literature. Love verses, warnings to the stewardesses, gentle political irony, greetings and mischief between neighboring parishes. Improvisation is both technique and play. The singer practices rhymes, arrives with a bag of ideas, but trusts the moment. The audience is attentive to the stroke of genius, the quick response, the accurate image.

The simplicity is apparent. Every expression carries weight, every pun hits home because it's timely. The celebration shapes the language, and the language shapes the celebration.

Wind frontier: affinities with Galicia

Viana looks out over the Atlantic and Galicia. The Minho bagpipes converse with the Galician bagpipes, melodies recount kinships, and rhythms cross rivers. In informal gatherings, it's common to hear muñeiras entering the rusga repertoire, while Galician bagpipers pick up a vira with ease. Neighborhood doesn't erase differences; it gives them context. Minho responds with braguesa and cavaquinho on one side, and on the other, tambourines arrive with drier beats, clapping, and two-line voices.

This coming and going fuels the party, refreshes the ears and shows that tradition is a bridge where the step is taken safely.

The sensory map of a great day

Music organizes the day. From the first drumbeat at dawn to the latest craze at dawn, each moment brings a different timbre. An auditory guide helps you understand how it all fits together.

Moment	Location	Sounds and rhythms	Protagonists
Dawn	Center, neighborhoods	Bass drum and snare rolls, harmonica hits	Zés Pereiras, bagpipers
Stewardship Parade	Main axes	Marches, pasodobles, local themes	Philharmonic bands
Ethnographic Procession	Avenues, squares	Turn, chula, malhão, sung narrations	Dance and singing groups, toccatas
Procession to the Sea	Lima River and Banks	Hymns, solemn movements, punctual harmonica	Philharmonics, bagpipers, choirs
Night of the Giants	Historic center	Bass drums in series, snares, support corners	Zés Pereiras, masters of gigantones
Ruins	Neighborhoods and taverns	Accordion, braguesa and cavaquinho toccatas	Informal groups, singers
Singing to the challenge	Arches, wide	Improvisation with accordion, rhyming verses	Singers and singers

This framework simplifies, but reveals the essential: the festival accepts many musical languages, organized by context and intention.

Rehearsals and transmission: how to learn without sheet music

The music of these festivals is learned with the body and the ear. Folklore groups, groups of friends, neighborhood associations, and local music schools all serve as schools. Rehearsals bring together the basic repertoire and add details; each toccata has its favorite variations, and each bagpiper keeps a handful of notes that they only release at the right moment.

There are accordion masters who welcome apprentices in their living rooms, band players who teach marches to kids barely able to play the trumpet, and braguesa players who offer tunings and tricks to help the right hand gain agility. The process combines patience and urgency. Summer doesn't wait, and the party demands a ready-made approach.

Old recordings circulate, recent videos help to cement lyrics and gestures, but transmission thrives on proximity. The emotional charge of the first vira played on the street is worth months of study.

Creative tension between stage and arena

Recent decades have brought larger stages, enhanced sound, and elaborate programming. Alongside the terreiro, where the music grows organically, there's the late-afternoon show, with a lineup featuring renowned names and a gathering of musicians with microphones and monitors. The curation strives to balance rigor and freshness. When it goes well, the stage serves as an amplifier of what's already happening on the street. When you make a mistake, the sound loses its edge and the music becomes too polished for spontaneous dancing.

There are also crossover experiences. Projects that combine accordion and global percussion, braguesa and electric guitars, harmonica and light electronics. The filter is simple: if it makes you want to spin on the vira, if the quadra keeps beating, and if the audience recognizes your voice, then it works. The party is generous, but with a fine-tuned radar.

The silence that gives meaning

Not everything is sound. The party knows how to stop. At the moment of the blessing on the pier, during the slow pace of the floats, during the pause before the anthem, there is a heavy silence. It is this space that makes the music more necessary. When the accordion returns and the people's choir enters, goosebumps rise.

The ability to alternate between expansion and contraction makes the musical calendar breathable and human.

What a repertoire you can't miss

On the mental lists of many Viana residents and attentive visitors, there are trends that always demand passage:

• Viana Turn
• Viana Fair
• Chula do Minho
• Wheel mallet
• Vianense green cane
• Verses of longing and dating, ready for the challenge

The titles may vary from village to village, and what is called vira de roda in one parish is named after a place in another. What matters is the pulse, the refrain, the similar language.

Sound ritual of belonging

Going to a beat and being pulled into the circle by someone you've never met is a repeated gesture that can only be explained by collective habit. Sound creates belonging, dance creates complicity. You don't need to know the steps memorized, just the desire to join in and let your body learn.

On the banks of the Lima, the same feeling extends to those holding the candle in the procession. The band leads a familiar march, the choir enters, and suddenly many breathe together.

Behind the scenes: secrets from those who play

• Tuning the strings: paired strings require attentive listening and patience. Before tuning, the octave that gives the whole body is checked.

• Concertina with ease: playing in a ruse is a marathon, not a sprint. Controlled breath, left hand economical, and right hand leading the phrasing.

• Bass drum on stone patios: drier skin to avoid unwanted resonances, mallets with adjusted heads to avoid saturating the bass.

• A harmonica that can withstand the sea air: prepared reeds, a well-maintained bag, be careful with sudden changes in temperature near the river.

• Invisible setlist: start with a well-known song to capture the audience, gradually increase the tempo, open up space for challenge, and close with an easy chorus.

These details don't appear on the poster, but they make the difference between a night that passes and a night that stays in memory.

Memory in motion: records, files and shares

The festival now also lives on in personal archives, field recordings, folklorist collections, and municipal archives. The audio and visual recordings don't freeze tradition; they offer material for young people to recognize the voices and rhythms of previous generations. A vira from 1978 can be heard, and the same pulse can be felt in the square today, with variations that tell the story of time.

Marching bands maintain handwritten scores and arrangements passed down from conductor to conductor, while toccatas keep quartet notebooks, often in the handwriting of grandparents. Technology brings us closer, but authority remains in the live gesture.

Stories of those who make the party ring

• A bagpiper who learned from his grandfather lost his fear of playing alone when the entire town stopped to listen to him on the pier, one minute before the anthem.

• A singer who, between songs, sang a verse to the stewardship, drew laughter and applause, and saw young people ask her for rhymes to take to school.

• An accordion master who has been going around taverns with the same energy for thirty years and guarantees that his foot still trembles whenever a vira begins.

• A suicide bomber who swore he preferred silence, until he realized his heartbeat matched the rhythm of his snare drum.

• A choir member who only sings during the pilgrimage and who, at the end of the procession, feels that his voice has made more friends than the rest of the year.

These stories remind us that the music of the Agonia festivals isn't just a stage, it's a practice. It requires work, dedication, and gives meaning.

To hear better: focus on detail

When you return to Viana in August, it's worth listening carefully to the mix that fills the air.

• Try isolating the cavaquinho in a full vira, notice how it holds the phrase between the strokes of the braguesa.

• In the gigantones' parade, notice the snare drum's setbacks under the bass drum, the secret of the march that seems to never end.

• In a desgarrada, focus on the bridge between the stanzas, where the accordion holds the center while the voice searches for rhyme.

• In the procession, let the band guide your breathing. The cadence of the step and the slow harmony create an almost hypnotic effect.

• In the distance, hear the harmonica announcing the arrival of a beat. The timbre pierces the mass of voices and establishes direction.

A trained ear increases the pleasure, and the party rewards those who allow themselves to be guided by the details.

A calendar that can be heard

With each edition, the program changes around the edges, but the core sound remains. Dawn, parades, processions, raids, songs, gigantones, philharmonics, toccatas. The list is simple to say and endless to repeat.

Between the murmur of the river and the echoes off the facades, the popular music of the Agonia festivals confirms that tradition is a verb in the present tense. Those who live, play, and sing aren't reproducing a mold; they're renewing a way of being together. And that's why the city vibrates, year after year, as if for the first time.