Articles on Argentine tango





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The first 3 articles by Linda were originally published in T.O. Tango &  Dance Review.

The last article, a tribute to Carlos Gavito, was written by Rocco Cornacchia, a Toronto tango teacher.



The birth of the tango

Tango has been called many things-  “a secret danced between two people”, “not a dance but an obsession”, “a sad thought that is danced”, “that reptile from the brothels”.  It has been said that  “tango is not in the feet.   It is in the heart.”

Tango is both a musical style and a dance.  Its origins are obscure, and even its name remains a mystery.   Tango is a place name in Angola and Mali, and, in some African languages, tango means a “closed space”.   Buenos Aires had been one of the main ports of entry for the slave trade, and, in the mid-19th Century, a quarter of the population of Buenos Aires was black.   In the Spanish colonies, tango referred to a place where Africans gathered to dance.  Some historians believe the word was picked up by African slaves from their Portuguese captors.   Perhaps tango comes from the Portuguese tanger, (to play a musical instrument), from the Latin tangere  (to touch).   Or was it the Spanish fandango?


Tango music and dance were born in the streets, bars, and brothels of mid-19th Century Buenos Aires and Montevideo, Uruguay.   During the 1880’s, immigrants (mostly men) from Europe flooded the cities with dreams of a better life.  The well-known tango dancer, Carlos Gavito has said, “Tango was an immigrant music, so it does not have a nationality.  Its only passport is feeling.”   Lunfardo, the language of tango, is a hybrid of European languages.  The bandoneon, the instrument that is the musical soul of the tango, was an immigrant from Germany.  Carlos Gardel, the icon of tango and one of Argentina’s great heroes, was born in France.  From this mix of cultures emerged the collage that borrowed from all of them and became the tango.  Its roots lie in African candombe, Cuban habanera, and the waltzes, mazurkas and polkas of Europe.  


Reality for the immigrants was very different from what they had dreamed.  They worked long hours in the slaughterhouses and tanneries and lived, crowded five or six to a room, in the conventillos (tenement houses).  At night, dreaming of the women they had left behind, they looked for comfort and distraction - a few drinks, companionship, and a little happiness.  The tango arose out of the melancholy, nostalgia, pain, and desire of ordinary people far from home.   In a world where men often outnumbered women five to one, men often had to wait in lines at the brothels to visit a prostitute.  The bordello owners, not wanting to lose customers who got tired of waiting, hired musicians as entertainment.    The first tango lyrics were improvised and usually about sex.  The first great tango artist was the singer and guitar player, Angel Villoldo, who, in 1905, wrote and recorded El Choclo (the corn cob), a comedic song that he made more respectable by loosely disguising its bawdy lyrics. 


The first “academies” of tango were the cafes and bars in the arrabales (suburbs), where the waitresses could be hired for dancing and more.   The men had to be skilled dancers to entice the most desirable prostitutes.  It was not uncommon to see men practicing tango among themselves.  Dancing well was a sign of masculinity and the tango was a prelude to sex.   Without women, there would be no tango.


In this world of men, violence was common.  Compadrones (toughs) with knives made their own laws and settled their disputes with knives.  Some of the early tango dances re-enacted a fight between two men or the relationship between a prostitute and her pimp.  Tango lyrics are filled with words and expressions in lunfardo, a language developed in the underworld of Buenos Aires.  In Argentina, the word lunfardo means thief. 


In the early 1900’s, tango became popular with rich young men who searched for the exotic in the outskirts of Buenos Aires.  Tango worked its way up into the high-class bordellos, finally finding its way into respectable dance halls, cafes, cabarets (such as Armenonville and Hansen’s in Buenos Aires) and even dance schools.  Tango, the “reptile from the brothels”, dressed itself up, painted itself with a veneer of sophistication, and went to Paris with the sons of rich Argentinean families, sent to France to study.  The salons of Paris welcomed the tango with open arms.  The English writer, H.G. Wells, called 1913 the “Year of the Tango”.  Tango became the rage, influencing fashion, art, music, and opera.  In Germany, Juan Llosa dedicated a tango to Greta Garbo.  Rudolph Valentino danced the first Hollywood tango in the movie, The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse.  The tango has since been danced (mostly badly) by many luminaries of the cinema - Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy, Peter Ustinov, and even the Flintstones! 


When the tango came home to Buenos Aires, more respectable and subdued, smelling of French perfume, it was embraced by every level of society.   Classically trained musicians such as Julio de Caro started playing tango.  Tango music competitions were held and the winners were recorded.  Tango musicians were in demand as accompanists for silent movies.  Tango venues flourished and multiplied, and people flocked to places like the Café Nacional on Corrientes Street, the Pigall, and the Petit Parisien.   The triumph in Europe and the adoption of tango by popular singers ushered in the Golden Age of Tango, when the orchestras of Juan D’Arienzo,  Anibal Troilo, Carlos di Sarli,  Miguel Caló,  Lucio Demare,  Alfredo de Angelis and  Osvaldo Pugliese were at their peak.


Since 1930, Argentine tango has survived military coups, censorship, and social upheaval and is now experiencing a new Golden Age.  We are fortunate to be part of its worldwide Renaissance.

                                                                                                                               ©Linda Walsh

The bandoneón

The bandoneón is the musical heart of the tango. It originated from the German Koncertina, a square instrument with 14 buttons and a bellows, invented around 1830 by C.F. Uhlig. After this, many different models developed, with varying numbers of notes. In 1850, Heinrich Band began selling the instrument, which became known as the bandoneón. The Argentinean bandoneón usually has 71 buttons, each with two different notes, depending on whether the bellows is open or closed. The two reeds are tuned exactly an octave apart. No tremolo is audible when a single note is played. It cuts through the sounds of the other instruments in the orchestra, impossible to ignore.

Ironically, the bandoneón was originally developed to play church music, as a portable substitute for the organ. Stories of the arrival of the first bandoneón in Argentina, probably around 1870, vary widely. It may have been brought by a German, English or Brazilian sailor, or a soldier who traded clothes and food for it.

Musicians from many countries have composed classical music for bandoneón. There have been many great Argentinean bandoneón players, such as Eduardo Arolas and Aníbal Troilo. However, it was Astor Piazzolla who did the most to take the bandoneón from the dance floor to the concert hall. His more than 750 compositions included concerti, operas, film and theatre scores, and he made over 70 recordings.


The bandoneón is the perfect instrument for tango. Tangos have been written to it, such as Ché bandoneón (Hey, bandoneón), and Quejas de bandoneón (Laments of the bandoneón). The slang for it is fueye (bellows). It breathes in and out with the dancers, the bellows pumping like the heart. It is irresistible, drawing you inside the music. To dance tango, you must listen to the bandoneón.


                                                                                                                           ©Linda Walsh


Carlos Gardel

Just as the origins of tango are surrounded by myth and mystery, so is the icon of tango, the legendary singer and composer, Carlos Gardel. It is thought that he was born Charles Gardes in Toulouse, France on December 11, 1890, but other versions of his biography give his birth date as 1883 or 1887 and his birthplace as Tacaruembó, Uruguay. He became an Argentinean citizen in 1923 and, some time before that, had changed his name to Carlos Gardel. He once said, “My country is the tango, and its capital is Corrientes Street.”

Gardel moved to Buenos Aires with his mother, Berthe Gardes, in 1893. In the Abasto Market neighbourhood where he grew up, he was called El Francesito (the little Frenchman). Raised in poverty, he earned a little money by singing folk songs at parties and at some of the cafés surrounding the Abasto Market. In about 1912, in a folk singing competition at one of these cafés, he met the Uruguayan singer, José Razzano, with whom he formed a duet that lasted until 1925.


Until 1917, tango had primarily been an instrumental genre. In that year, Gardel’s recording of Mi Noche Triste, with lyrics by Pascual Contursi set to Samuel Castriota’s tango music (originally entitled Lita), changed the face of tango history. It was a tremendous success. Gardel invented the tango song and became the model for all tango singers. In 1925, he began his solo career and established his international reputation. In Barcelona, he recorded 22 songs, 20 of them tangos. In 1928, he sang with Josephine Baker at the Fémina Theatre in Paris and sold 70,000 records in three months.

Gardel’s first film, El Flor de Durazno, was made in Buenos Aires in 1917, and many short films of him performing his songs were made in 1930. His career as a film star blossomed from 1933 to 1935 with the release of films made in France (Luces de Buenos Aires, Esperame, La casa es seria, and Melodía de arrabal) and New York (Cuesta abajo, Cazadores de estrellas, El día que me quieras, Tango on Broadway, and Tango Bar).

It was at this time that Gardel began his collaboration with the poet Alfredo Le Pera. Together they composed a series of songs that have become classics of tango. To name just a few: Cuesto abajo, Por una cabeza, Golondrinas, Sus ojos se cerraron, and of course, Mi Buenos Aires querido (My beloved Buenos Aires), the anthem of nostalgia for porteños (people from Buenos Aires) far from home.

On June 24, 1935, near the end of a Latin American tour, the plane carrying Carlos Gardel and his band on the short flight from Medellin to Cali, Columbia crashed during take off from the Olaya Herrera airport, and Gardel lost his life. In Cali, he was to have made his final radio appearance before returning to Argentina. When his remains were brought to Buenos Aires, the city stopped, as its people mourned their beloved Carlitos. Multitudes came to his wake at the Luna Park arena and his funeral procession along Corrientes Avenue to the Chacarita Cemetery. The man had died but the myth was born.

Even though the old Abasto Market has now been replaced by a modern shopping centre, a bronze statue of Gardel stands nearby. In Argentina, El zorzal (the songbird) is immortal and forever young. President Juan Perón once said, “To govern Argentina, you have to put on a Gardel smile.” To this day, people still leave a lit cigarette in the hand of his life-sized statue beside his tomb. His music is still played in every corner of Buenos Aires, and, as the popular expression goes, “Cada día canta mejor”. He sings better every day.

                                                                                                                            ©Linda Walsh

Carlos Gavito

"The secret of tango is in this impossible moment of improvisation that happens between step and step. It is to make the impossible thing possible, to dance silence...A good dancer is one who listens to the music...We dance the music not the steps." Carlos Gavito

Carlos Gavito, beloved dancer, teacher and choreographer, died on July 1, 2005. The following tribute to him was written by Rocco Cornacchia, a Toronto teacher of tango, who studied with Gavito when he visited Toronto.

Memories of Gavito


My contact with Carlos Gavito was in workshops hosted by Cristina Rey, milongas, or dinners after class. Personally, he was like an elder brother, or an uncle I could identify with- the one with the interesting stories, who had the courage to leave home at an early age to join the circus. Whenever the tango circus came to town, it had a profound impact. It was inspiring, fun, fascinating, allowing me the excitement only experienced as a child looking forward to a special event.


In December 1994, when I started, there may have been 100 people involved in tango in Toronto, with a hard-core group of 20 at most. Then, as today, the tango community was fractured, but Gavito was able to bring together even people who were antagonistic to one another. In those early days, Club Milonga was tango central. Everyone went there, including Gavito. There was the monthly Strictly Tango (hosted by Sandra & Ruben); then came El Rancho on Sunday nights (hosted by Luis Luna) and In Citta every second Friday (started by Bob Waugh, later hosted by Patricia Katz and Regina Salman). Myra and Ian hosted Sunday afternoon tango teas at the Moonlight. Finally, there was Xango (hosted by Cristina Rey and Keith Elshaw).


In those days, it was unaffordable for teachers to come “directly” from Buenos Aires except as performers in shows (Tango Argentino, A Rose for Mr. Tango, and Forever Tango), such as Mayoral, Pepito Avellaneda, and Gavito, both a stage star and a traditional milonguero. He was a fabulous ambassador, able to speak English and French, and a key element in the front line that has become a worldwide renaissance of Argentine tango. He had a profound impact on tango communities like Toronto’s. Many of his students in the early days were the first wave of Toronto dancers, such as Keith Elshaw, Barry Byrne, Bob Waugh, Joyce, Iva and Howard. He drew people to the tango from other studios - salsa teachers, such as Elizabeth Sadowska, actors, modern dancers, and ballroom teachers from Rita Ridaz Studio.  My first workshop with him was in the fall of 1995, nine months after I was introduced to the tango. Although I barely managed to get around the dance floor, he gave me enough attention to be relaxed and not overwhelmed by the material or the seasoned dancers at the workshop. His February 19, 2000 workshop, his last in Toronto, was particularly memorable because, for the first time, he taught with his stage partner, Marcela Duran.


He was unlike other teachers. For him, the tango was rooted in social dance, and he was always very clear on what he was teaching, admonishing people who danced “show steps” on the dance floor. In the first workshop I attended he said, “When I am on stage, I play the buffoon. Do not mimic me on the dance floor - unless of course you want to be considered a buffoon or a clown?” In the last workshop he said, “When I dance, I dance for enjoyment, not for exhibition. If you dance for others it becomes a stage. When people do that, I don’t know, am I supposed to clap?”


He was not a technician of the tango, not infatuated by the steps heavily influenced by Nuevo Tango. He taught movements that became part of you, with which you could endlessly improvise. He would say, “You know more steps than I do”, implying “Why do you not know how to dance”? He was able to create intuitive windows of awareness, evoking and teasing the next level out of you, drawing out understanding, seeding your mind with a principle, a fresh point of view you could never forget. He would say, “you only dance in one square metre” and then show you how. He was poetic, elegant, and simple.


“When you embrace your partner you dance holding your heart in front of you.”


“I take my lady for a walk. How do I walk? It is like walking with a lover in park. You will walk together in harmony and balance. I don’t know who adjusts to whom. All I know is that one does."


“There is nothing more beautiful than basic steps. In Argentina you won’t see people doing a lot of steps. In a dance, three steps is too much.”


His death was very sad for me but a reminder of what I really value. I do not think I would have had the tenacity to stay with such a difficult dance without his inspiration and depth of understanding of what it means to dance the tango. He had the greatest impact on me, opening a part of my soul long suppressed. He was a mentor, my bridge to the tango. Tango was his religion, the milonga his temple, the embrace his communion. Who can forget his demonstration with two broom sticks at In Citta; his milonga with Leeliana at Xango; his dancing at L’ Academie de Tango in Montreal; his interview with Paula Todd on TVO; or his appearance in the film, Tango in a Cold City? He is part of our tango history- a brilliant teacher, a charismatic performer, a man of deep feelings about life, fate, his country, and his tango, always forthcoming, with charm, insight, foible, wit, pain, courage, and sobriety about his own mortality. To the end, he was true to himself, heartening, inspiring.


Adios Maestro.


                                                                                                                              ©Rocco Cornacchia


©Linda Walsh