Elsa Laboreiro
Ten photographs from one night at Café Luso, scrolling over the actual recording as it plays through. Turn the sound on in the corner, and give it a few quiet minutes.
Founded in 1927 on Avenida da Liberdade, Café Luso moved to its current home in Bairro Alto in 1941 — into the old wine cellars and stables of the Palace of São Roque, whose stone arches survived the 1755 earthquake. Regulars still call it "A Catedral do Fado," the Cathedral of Fado.
Amália Rodrigues recorded her 1955 album No Café Luso in this room — believed to be her oldest surviving live recording. There's still no stage — singers perform standing among the tables, the way they always have.
Elsa has been one of Café Luso's resident voices for more than two decades — a fixture of this room long before this camera ever was.
In fado, sorrow and improvisation share the same breath — the same verse is rarely sung quite the same way twice. The music grew out of Lisbon's riverside neighbourhoods, Alfama and Mouraria, sung first by sailors and dockworkers, and by a legendary young fadista named Maria Severa in the 1830s.
This session leans on piano rather than the guitarra portuguesa most people picture when they picture fado — Manuel Oliveira, known to everyone as Mapi, is the guest musician behind the keys. In 2011, UNESCO recognised the whole tradition as Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.
Capítulo I opened this project — the first time it set out to document one full fado session exactly as it happened, without asking anyone to perform for the camera. Tiago Correia hosts every chapter; Ângelo Freire, a well-known figure in the fado world, is the series' artistic director.
The song is "Chamar-te Meu Amor" — the poem by Joaquim Pessoa, the music by Júlio Proença. This is where the project started listening.
The word at the centre of fado has no clean translation into English — closer to longing than to sadness, closer to memory than to either. Eyes closed for this one; it's easier to feel than to explain.
Female fadistas have traditionally sung in a black shawl — a mourning garment turned into something closer to a uniform, one more way the music carries loss without needing to name it. Nobody at these tables has touched their glass in a while.
There's a house rule in every casa de fado, spoken or not: silêncio, que se vai cantar o fado — quiet, the fado is about to be sung. No one claps until the last note has finished hanging in the room.
Ten frames and four minutes from a much longer night — the full film runs longer, and the series keeps going from here.
Photographed and recorded by Luis Roquette Valdez, Café Luso, Lisbon, 14 November 2025.