Music: Bossa Nova Nova

Most people thought bossa nova was dead, and most were glad to have simply survived the hucksterized flood of bossa nova dances, bossa nova shoes and sweatshirts, boogie bossa nova, soul bossa nova.

But last week a packed audience at San Francisco's Jazz Workshop listened raptly as slim, meek Astrud Gilberto, 24, stood before a microphone and sang The Girl from Ipanema, in a voice so soft and introverted that it barely cut the smoke. Behind her, Stan Getz wove wispy filigrees on his tenor sax to produce the most infectious "new sound" around—the bossa nova nova.

Eloquent Sermon. It all started a year ago, when the easy charm of bossa nova had been drowned in a din of bongo drums, maracas and raucous studio bands. Getz met with Singer-Guitarist Joāo Gilberto, Brazil's "pope of the bossa nova," and decided to cut one "true" bossa nova album. Gilberto's wife Astrud, who had never sung outside the kitchen before, was enlisted as an afterthought to sing the English lyrics to The Girl from Ipanema that Joāo sang in Portuguese. This spring, when it was felt that the odor of the butchered bossa had cleared, the Getz-Gilberto album was quietly released. To the trade's astonishment, the record soared toward the top of the bestseller lists.

Most of the melodies are provided by Antonio Carlos Jobim, Brazil's leading bossa nova composer, who also backs up the lead duo with sensitive piano playing. The result is an eloquent sermon on what the bossa nova was originally all about. The relaxed, almost flat vocal styling of Joāo sounds as if he were whispering in your ear, and it is exquisitely embroidered by the ethereal solos of Getz's lyrical tenor sax.

Six, & Adding. Two months ago, just as Joāo and Getz were about to launch a countrywide tour, Joāo developed a "cramp in his playing arm" and had to bow out. Astrud replaced him and suddenly found herself a star. Astrud is herself a girl from Ipanema, a section of Rio de Janeiro's sparkling beach front, who came to the U.S. two years ago with Joāo. Last week, with the single edition of The Girl from Ipanema burning up the teen-age record market, Astrud Gilberto was trying to get used to her new billing—at least to the extent of trying to add to her six-song repertory.