ARGENTINA

CONTINENTAL DRIFTER
In Buenos Aires, tango is in the air
by Elliott Hester

Born in the back streets of Buenos Aires during the late 19th century, tango, the sensual ballroom dance, is as much a part of Argentine culture as bife de chorizo (strip steak) at the local parrilla (barbeque restaurant).

And tango music is the soundtrack for the city.

I stroll down Avenida Corrientes, past the Broadway-style theaters, and hear tango music drifting from the record stores. The orchestral sounds of Carlos Di Sarli and Osvaldo Pugliese soar above the broken sidewalks. Carlos Gardel, the country’s most famous tango singer (long deceased, but as popular as ever), serenades pedestrians as they navigate the pavement.

I jump into a taxi and am treated to a heartbreaking tango performance. This time the music comes from a car stereo. The singer’s voice—raw, feminine, a tad melancholy—is accompanied by an acoustic guitar.

The taxi driver eyes me in his rearview mirror. Perhaps he notices that I’ve tilted my head, intrigued by the soulful guitar solo. He reaches over to the passenger seat and hands me a copy of the featured CD: “Argentina … Flor de Mina”, by Lulú, a local favorite.

The guitarist’s name is Orlando Gómez. As it turns out, Orlando Gómez is also the taxi driver. At night, he plays guitar in the bars, restaurants and recording studios of Argentina’s largest city. During the day he drives a taxi. From this rolling record store he sells me a copy of “Flor de Mina” for 30 pesos ($9.50).

At Velma Café, a small concert venue in barrio Palermo, I am sitting with tango violinist Jacinta McPhillamy. Drawn by her love for tango music, Jacinta relocated from Sydney, Australia. She is one of the rare foreign musicians accepted by a local tango orchestra.

On this particular night at the Velma Café, Jacinta will play a few songs with Alfredo Piro, a popular tango singer. Somehow, Alfredo introduces Jacinta while she’s still seated at my table and she nearly chokes on her chardonnay. She leaps to her feet and runs past rubbernecking spectators to the stage, where she should have been minutes earlier. This adds even more drama to Jacinta’s dramatic violin solo. When she finishes the piece, the audience gives her a rousing ovation.

On a warm December day in Parque Tres de Febrero near Palermo, tango music drifts from a gazebo. Like many tango songs this one sounds antiquated, vaudevillian. It seems to crackle through the horn of an ancient gramophone. And yet, the music pours from a pair of brick-sized speakers hooked up to a notebook computer.

Compelled by the moment and the music, four friends tango in the gazebo. I sit on the floor, watching their fluid postures and fighting off a tidal wave of envy.
Within minutes, a third couple appears. They join the strangers on the gazebo floor and just like that, an impromptu melonga (tango dance party) begins.

Every Sunday in barrio San Telmo, tango performers lay a makeshift dance floor on the concrete ground of Plaza Dorrego. A crowd gathers to watch their bodies clash. The music, the applause, the “ooohs” and “ahhhs”—all these sounds drift across the street and into my living room window.

Normally, I rush outside to watch the performers. But every once in a while, I lay on the sofa, listening to the music, imagining myself as a competent tango dancer.

I need to dance.

El Tangauta magazine (the leading source for tango-related information in Buenos Aires) lists more than 500 group classes in a given week. Add to these an unlimited number of private lessons and it’s easy to see why Buenos Aires is the world capitol of tango.

On Mondays and Fridays, I take lessons at La Academia Tango Milonguero, a prominent school in the city center. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I train at Estudio de Esquina. I’ll never be a polished professional. But in a city where tango is as close as your next breath, blending in on the dance floor is enough.

Next stop: Next Stop: ?

RETURN TO TOP OF PAGE   RETURN TO HOME PAGE