So, in addition to the obvious connection to Zé Mário Branco's song, this unease is linked to your personal ghosts but also to a feeling about our collective path... 

Yes, of course, my concerns come from everywhere. I don't live in a bubble; I live in relation to others, to the world. And everything that happens around me makes me even more concerned all the time. I know it's a bit of a cliché to say, ‘Have you seen this? It looks like it was written today,’ but I think good poetry, good texts, good writing have this ability to live in time and make us think, ‘This is exactly how I feel’ or ‘This is exactly what I wanted to say.’ So I can only thank the people who wrote these texts, these songs, because they help me. And another thing, when I was preparing this line-up – because this was supposed to be a concert and not an album – I realised that these songs are diluted, they've mostly disappeared, you only come across them if you really go looking for them. And it's very important that this songbook is alive and well. If, for example, you're driving or walking and you hear one of these songs, that journey, which probably takes three minutes and in the middle of your day is just a trip to the supermarket, can also help you position yourself or understand how you feel, and perhaps be a starting point for you to think about the things you just consume while you're in the middle of the foam trying to swim so you don't drown. I would feel my mission accomplished if someone said to me: "look, the other day I heard you singing that song by Zeca or that song by Sérgio, and suddenly I found myself thinking about all these things that are happening here". When people have time to think, they have time to take a stand and to speak and discuss openly. Only through much discussion is it possible to get anywhere. 

In the song ‘Que Força é Essa’ (What Force Is This), instead of Sérgio Godinho's original lyrics, you opted for Capicua's more recent version, which has a more feminine and, above all, more feminist angle. Was this also to make people think in the way you just described? 

It was, clearly. And to have a woman in the middle of all the songs I recorded. When Ana [Capicua] released that song the year before, on Women's Day, I was thrilled, I thought, ‘This is really cool.’ From the beginning, I wanted the album cover to be just my face with a somewhat defiant look and representing femininity, and I find it funny that it's a woman singing about freedom, since women had no freedom at all. But it wasn't enough for me to be the only one representing women, I needed more. And Ana's lyrics are incredible. I've said this many times, I'm a huge fan of Ana's, I think she writes incredibly well, it's like she's a machine where I send my thoughts, I talk and talk and talk, and then she processes it and it all comes out very well structured. There's a part in this version that fascinates me, where she writes, ‘What is this strength, my friend, that makes you carry the whole world in your belly?’ I fall in love with phrases, and this one hits me in the gut. Because, in fact, women literally carry the whole world in their bellies. Men and women come out of women's bellies.

Did you also think about your mother when making this choice? In a recent interview, you said that she worked every day and when she got home she still had to cook for seven [Gisela is the eldest of seven siblings]. 

I thought so, of course. But I thought about all women. Because even those who say very confidently that they don't want children have that power in their wombs. I find the image beautiful, very powerful, very dense. When faced with anyone who has those strange conversations, saying ‘no, we're not equal, women shouldn't be asking for this or that’, that sentence immediately ends any kind of discussion. Because that's how it is: where did you come from? 

It's like a sentence...

Yes. And Ana had to be there too. I like the idea of continuity, of working with the people I've always worked with. I have this romantic idea that we'll be old ladies and [we'll know that] we've been doing these things, that we have a history together beyond friendship, a professional history together. I think that's beautiful.

Yes, but I didn't get to study. I went to Porto because I wanted to go to the old Citex, but I had to work. And when it was time to enrol, I didn't have time to study, work and sing in fado houses. I needed to earn money, because this is all very nice, but at the end of the day we need to pay the bills and put food on the table. For many years, many years indeed, I looked back on that moment in my life as a failure. Of course, I could have been working and studying and singing; there are so many people who have two or three jobs. But I've made peace with that, because not all of us have enough energy at the exact moment we need it. I couldn't do everything at once, but what I've done has been very good, it's been a lot. 

How long did that phase last? 

Hmm, I think I went to Porto in 2005 and stayed until 2010.

And did you sing at a place in Ribeira, or in other places too?

I started singing fado at Fado, which is still there in Largo de São João Novo – I recommend it, the food is really good – with Mr Artur, who is no longer with us. He was a great friend, a very important person, who came along at just the right time. Then I also went to sing at Malcriado, which is in Ribeira. And, as in any professional field, I got to know people, exchanged ideas, and then one musician invited me to sing at a community event, another at a party, and that was it. When you enter the job market – I think it's like that for everyone – if you're willing, opportunities will come your way. Someone once told me something I've never forgotten, because it works: ‘Luck comes your way once, the second time it's already gone.’ This is really true. Opportunities arise, we have to be able to recognise them, be available and fearless.

Was it during that search, that openness, that you realised fado would have such an impact on your life? Or was it only when you went to Lisbon? 

This album features pianos, distorted electric guitars, and more experimental sounds (such as brooms sweeping and buckets of water being emptied). When you compose, do you always feel connected to fado, or do you feel first and foremost like a singer and songwriter? 

In this case, I am not a songwriter; in these songs, I am only doing the arrangements...

... yes, but in more general terms?

... in terms of production, I think fado is in everything I do, even in what I choose to make for dinner. I think it's much more a way of looking at life than the shawl, the Portuguese guitar or the black clothing. Fado is in the way I look at life, but it's always very important for me to avoid making what I do sound like fado just for the sake of it. I don't like things that are made to sound like something. Things have to be what they need to be, honestly, and they're interesting if they're done that way. For example, that sound of the broom [in the song Que Força é Essa] was necessary for me, because when I look at that poem, what I think about is the physical work that women do, which is so exhausting, and all the intellectual work they do. Right at the beginning – ‘I saw you working all day / cleaning the city of men’ – I imagined the number of women we see sweeping doorways, houses, offices. I thought about that image – my mother with a broom in front of me, my grandmother with a broom, me with a broom since I was little – and that sound had to be there. My starting point is always the poems, the story I'm telling, what it needs. 

In January, you'll be returning to the Coliseu. Will the show revolve around the album?

Hey! It's not just any coliseum, it's the Coliseu do Porto [laughs]. I'm not from Porto, but I have a connection to Porto, it's where I became a woman, where I grew up, where I found myself. And I'm going to perform at the Coliseu do Porto because my first big concerts are always in the north, precisely to decentralise this idea that you always have to go to the capital.

I think all kinds of collaborations are very important. Personally, I don't fall in love with artists who don't experiment, who always stay in their comfort zone. I think that it is through exchange and experimentation that you can grow intellectually, musically, in everything. All kinds of experimentation are always welcome, I always applaud them. 

You've performed in many countries and have several concerts scheduled abroad for 2026. Do you have any interesting stories about how you were received outside the Portuguese community?

Actually, I don't remember doing anything focused on the Portuguese community, but of course there are always Portuguese people there. And when we hug, kiss or exchange a few words, I feel like they are missing Portugal. It's as if...

...as if you belong to them... 

Yes, yes, and I think that's really cool. Now, I have so many funny stories... Once, at an outdoor festival, I think it was in Zaragoza, it was very hot and it was a huge, beautiful garden. Everyone was testing the sound, and I left the venue, went for a walk around the garden and had nothing with me, no mobile phone, no ID, nothing. And when I tried to go back in, the security guard wouldn't let me in and I didn't know what to do [laughs], because I couldn't communicate with anyone...

Didn't you say you were the one who was going to perform? [laughs]

Yes, I said, ‘I'm the one who's going to sing’ [laughs], and he looked at me very seriously, very professional, and wouldn't even talk to me. I sat on a stool, waiting, until someone from my team came by and asked me what I was doing there. It all ended with laughter, because they were already looking for me.