Singer-songwriter Mochita begins a new chapter in his career with the release of “Tanto Faz,” a single that combines bossa nova, circus aesthetics, and emotional depth in a bold and expansive sound. Available since November 17th through Marã Música, the track explores the balance between playfulness, sarcasm, and darkness, reflecting a moment of personal liberation for the artist and revealing a deeper, more experimental version of his musical identity.
When you look back at this process today, do you feel that the ‘it doesn’t matter’ feeling was the end, the beginning, or a mixture of both?
I think it was more the culmination of a process—an end that brought learning. And, in the end, every ending generates a new beginning. The song shows exactly that: that this distinction between beginning and end is illusory. Every process that leads to the closure of something ends up becoming a bridge to a new phase.
When did you realize that the contrast between bossa nova and circus aesthetics was the right way to translate your story?
What kept coming to mind was the atmosphere of A Clockwork Orange: that feeling that intense joy can simultaneously carry anxiety, strangeness, even a certain sadness. Opposing emotions walking hand in hand.
The circus brings a lot of that—it’s joyful, but also strange, almost frightening. And this aesthetic perfectly matched the proposal of creating lyrics with ambiguous layers, as in the line “if you want to know if I still feel something, I feel sorry for you,” which can mean both feeling very sorry and feeling nothing anymore, besides an ironic apology. This ambiguity was exactly what I wanted to explore.
What situations in your life do you feel are also somewhat circus-like—tragicomic, unexpected, and transformative?
Whenever we go through some kind of drama, whether in relationships or any area of life, there’s that moment of total identification with the problem, where everything seems very serious and tragic. But when we distance ourselves and look at it more broadly, we realize how many situations that seemed enormous have been overcome—and how many, even without being “resolved,” have ceased to weigh us down once they’ve been accepted.
When we revisit those moments, there’s often a comical side to them. They were just chapters in life, not catastrophes.
Do you leave the interpretation of the line “I feel sorry for you” open because life rarely provides clear answers either?
Yes. Ambiguity is part of human relationships. We never know exactly what the other person thinks, feels, or what their motivations are. People’s actions carry nuances, doubts, and gray areas.
The music plays with this uncertainty—and, in a way, embraces this condition. Ambiguity is part of life.
What recent lesson has taught you how to better cope with what ends, changes, or doesn’t come back?
A simple example: tattoos. I just got two new ones, and they remind me that certain choices are permanent—and even if you try to “erase” them, some scars always remain. At the same time, everything passes: the body passes, phases pass.
This has a lot to do with Buddhist teachings that I try to incorporate into the music: accepting impermanence, including the marks that remain.
What is being revealed in you, as an artist and as a person, that didn’t fit into previous versions of yourself?
Primarily in my songwriting, I feel I’m exploring a more playful and ambiguous side. I’m also drawing closer to influences from Brazilian music, which I hadn’t explored much before.
I come from rock and indie rock, so these new layers didn’t really fit into my previous work—not because they were forbidden, but because I hadn’t yet opened up that space within myself.
Do you feel that your life, too, has been made up of seemingly disconnected pieces that later reveal a larger picture?
Yes. I think that translates to faith. Life is made up of infinite variables, inaccessible to our understanding. And to move through this world, you can only trust: trust that synchronicities exist, that seemingly negative experiences can prove necessary, and that what seemed like pure chaos can, in time, make sense.
Faith is the element that binds chance together.
What do you hope someone will find in “Whatever” when listening to it—is it about an ending, an emotional mess, or a liberation?
I don’t have a set agenda for the music. It was born from a very authentic moment that I wanted to express: the coexistence of opposites, ambiguity, impermanence, the acceptance that the world is indeed confusing and not everything needs to be understood—only lived.
If a person finds laughter, comfort, courage, or simply a safe place to feel and move forward, that’s enough.
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