(I can’t recall what this bio was written for…but I found a draft of it in my files)

Of all the zillions of musicians and singers and artists and songwriters and entertainers I ran into through my LA Weekly columnist gig, Katia is one of my favorites. In fact, I’d say she’s one of my top two very favorites but it might start a catfight. So we’ll just leave it as one of my very very favorites. She’s a helluva singer, an incredible live performer, and even her lyrics in that heavily accented English are wonderful. She is brilliant and intensely intellectual and way smarter than me and I hate saying that. And when a couple years ago she decided for the sheer hell of it to start writing short stories it was infuriating because she was instantaneously so goddamn good at it. In English no less, a language she has yet to master verbally, to say the least. And don’t get me started on her enthusiasm and sincerity. There isn’t  a jaded cell in that body of hers.

Not long ago she asked me to help polish up a press release. Her copy was a lugubrious mess, as often happens to people who write fiction when they try to write something as dull as a press release. I whipped it into shape quickly. Not quick enough, though, as she was on my case in a panic the moment she emailed it to me. I said call me if you have any questions. Ring ring, she’s on the phone arguing. Ten minutes later she calls again and fights me on another sentence. Then another call, another sentence. I had planned on going out and here I was spending a Friday night at home trying to teach English to an angry carioca. She argued and argued and argued. I was right on every point, of course–I mean, the English language is what I do–but I had to fight line by line anyway. Not that I wanted to argue. She did. And she gets her way.  When at last she was satisfied I swore I’d never do that again. No more writing for Katia. Of course, I had said that before. And will say again next time. She’s a writer, a helluva short story writer. I have a soft spot for writers,  especially the crazy ones.

That press release was for her tribute to Elis Regina. Katia is soooo Elis. Her voice. Her vitality. Her vivaciousness and charisma. Her mastery of the gamut of Brazilian music. The high voltage sexuality. Guys swoon. They melt. They have terrific crushes on her and can’t believe I am blessed to know her. They ask me if it would be OK if they emailed her. I laugh. She’s in show biz, man, she loves that kind of attention. Email her. And they do and then tell me that Katia answered, and are thrilled to death.

Ya know…. I probably blurbed her dozens of times in the Weekly. Ran out of adjectives. She’s that good. You don’t run out of adjectives unless they’re good.

She ought to be a super star.

Brick