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I walk down to the embankment, and I am mostly alone, save for the hungry swans who come eagerly swimming toward me at my approach to the waterfront, apparently expecting me to feed them. But I have nothing to give. I have only my camera.
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Enrique Binda, “Clarin” interview on the occasion of the 2nd edition of the book: “tango was born into a normal society, as existed in Buenos Aires at the time”; “[by 1910] it existed in the city center as well as in arrabal, in as many academias as prostibulos”; “who do you think was buying tango sheet music for piano by the thousands, hoodlums and whores or people who actually owned pianos?” |
El Porteñito (1903) Letra: Ángel Villoldo Soy hijo de Buenos Aires, Por apodo “El Porteñito” El criollo más compadrito Que en esta tierra nació. Cuando un tango en la vigüela Rasguea algún compañero, No hay nadie en el mundo entero Que baile mejor que yo… |
Little Porteño translated by Derrick Del Pillar I’m a son of Buenos Aires, they call me Little Porteño, the toughest, coolest criollo ever born in this land. When one of my buddies strums a tango on his ol’ guitar, there’s no one in the whole world who dances better than me… |
The most classy milongas of the late 1890s and 1900s may have been held nightly at Lo de Hansen, or Restaurante del Parque 3 de Febrero, in Palermo, in the city’s largest and fanciest park inspired by Paris’s Bois de Boulogne (and, of course, commonly known as Bosques de Palermo). Mr. Hansen, a German immigrant, remodeled his 1869 park restaurant in 1877, as a part of redevelopment of the park. The new concessioners in the 1900s kept a fleet of five cars to ferry the guests around town at night. The daytime orchestra from Milan was being replaced by a tango orchestra for the night, and the rich and pampered daytime clientele, by the tango crowd with its share of malevos and shushetas and occasional fights and shootouts. The tabletops were made of very heavy marble slabs, lest anybody swings a table in a brawl. A posted sign asked the customers to please avoid tapping spoons or plates or bottles to the beat of their most loved tango tune, Villoldo’s “El Esquinazo” (because the earlier ban on “tapping the rhythm with hands or shoes” proved to be inefficient, as the crazed guests invented other ways to accompaniment the music)! By 1908, quality tango salons started appearing elsewhere in the best neighborhoods of Buenos Aires, and the golden days of old Hansen were gradually winding down. It was demolished in 1912. But the scene of tangoing at Lo de Hansen is lovingly reenacted in a 1937 movie, complete with fighting over choices of music, quebradas, boleos, and even a soltada. And the location has even seen an archaeological excavation in 2009, which unearthed bits and pieces of French floor tiles! (but the Porteño historians still argue if it was “the” dancing floor - in fact some oldtimers even insisted that the tango music there was only for listening, that dancing wasn’t allowed and that there wasn’t even room for it; while others, like Leon Benaros, wrote that many “disallowed” things were simply relegated to the back of the building, with its outdoor patio floor of white and black tiles … and lots of bugs at night, so the women didn’t sit in there – they were out in the front). |
Mi noche triste (1915) letra de Pascual Contursi Percanta que me amuraste En lo mejor de mi vida Dejándome el alma herida Y espina en el corazón. Sabiendo que te quería Que vos eras mi alegría Y mi sueño abrasador. Para mí ya no hay consuelo Y por eso me encurdelo Pa’ olvidarme de tu amor. Cuando voy a mi cotorro Y lo veo desarreglado Todo triste, abandonado Me dan ganas de llorar, Me detengo largo rato Campaneando tu retrato Pa’ poderme consolar… |
My Sorrowful Night translated by Derrick Del Pilar Deceitful woman, you left me in the prime of my life, leaving my soul wounded and a thorn in my heart, knowing that I loved you, that you were my joy, my burning dream. For me there is no more comfort and so I’m getting wasted to forget about your love. When I go up to my pad and I see it all messy, everything sad, abandoned, it makes me want to cry; I hang back a long time, pining after your portrait so I can console myself. |
Mandria (1926) Letra: Juan Miguel Velich y Francisco Brancatti … Esta es mi marca y me asujeto ¡Pa’ que peliar a un hombre mandria! Váyase con ella, ¡La cobarde! Dígale que es tarde Pero me cobré… |
Wretched translated by Derrick Del Pilar … This is my mark and it has kept me in check – Why should I fight a wretched man? Go with her, that coward! Tell her that it’s late but I’ve made my claim. |
“El Mocho”, “the Stub” David Undarz was called so because he lost a finger to an accident. El Mocho danced with his wife Amelia “La Portuguesa” (or sometimes remembered as “La Brasilera”) under the scenic name Los Undarz. In the cabarets of the 1910s, in the fine theaters of the 1920s, wildly popular. El Mocho’s trademark style was to showcase the follower, to make her moves and her footwork look stellar while the steps of leader himself remained understated. I’m sure you can recognize El Mocho’s legacy in the unwritten rules of gender roles of today’s tango dance! Progressing tuberculosis made El Mocho Undarz leave the city just before “Adiós Arrabal” was composed; soon, he died, aged only mid 30s. The other legendary dancer from the lines of Adiós, Arrabal, Ovidio José “Benito” Bianquet, was better known as El Cachafaz (“The Troublesome” / “The Outrageous” as the lunfardo word may be translated). In truth, both of his nicknames predated his tango fame – his mother called him “Buenito”, “sweet little boy”, to the cops who wanted to punish the nice little guy for some broken windows in the neighborhood, and his father called him “El Cachafaz”, “the incorrigible rascal”, after he’s got a bit older and got in trouble with the girls. El Cachafaz must have been the first Argentine to try teaching tango in the US, before WWI; not much came out of it. But in 1919 he went to Paris and dazzled the City of Lights – he was remembered in Discépolo’s lyrics of “El Choclo” as “Caracanfunfa”, a dancer with a fancy footwork who “carried the flag of tango across the ocean, and mixed Paris and Buenos Aires barrios into an intoxicating drink”. As it turns out El Cachafaz wasn’t finished at all in 1930, when Carlos Lenzi wrote the letras of “Adiós, Arrabal” – what happened was that he parted with Emma “La Francesita” Boveda, after more than a decade of dancing together. But in a year or two, “Cacha” met Carmencita, and they went on to win movie roles and awards together. Their photograph accompanies every article about El Cachafaz, but since we paused at a page of tango history when the two haven’t yet met, I’m not going to include this picture. El Cachafaz died in 1942, age 55, slumped at a piano dressed in his best dance attire, waiting for a drink after a performance. |
Adiós, Arrabal Letra: Carlos César Lenzi Mañanita arrabalera, Sin taitas por las veredas Ni pibas en el balcón. Tus faroles apagados Y los guapos retobados En tu viejo callejón. Yo te canto envenenao, Engrupido y amargao Hoy me separo de vos. Adiós, arrabal porteño, Yo fui tu esclavo y tu dueño Y te doy mi último adiós. … El baile “Rodríguez Peña” El Mocho y el Cachafaz, De la milonga porteña Que nunca más volverá. Carnavales de mi vida Noches bravas y al final, Los espiantes de las pibas En aquel viejo arrabal. |
Goodbye, arrabal! translated by Derrick Del Pilar Sweet morning in the arrabal, no tough guys on the sidewalks, and no dames out on the balconies, your streetlamps all put out and the pretty boys all passed out in your old alleyway. I sing to you venomously, boastfully and bitterly – today I’m leaving you. Goodbye, arrabal of Buenos Aires! I was your slave and your master and here’s my last goodbye … The dances at Rodríguez Peña, el Mocho and el Cachafaz of the milongas of Buenos Aires that never shall return, my life’s great parties, awesome nights and in the end the blow-offs from all those dames in that old arrabal. |
Cambalache (1935) Letras de Enrique Santos Discépolo ¡Que falta de respeto, que atropello a la razon! Cualquiera es un señor! Cualquiera es un ladron! Mezclao con Stavinsky va Don Bosco y La Mignon, Don Chicho y Napoleón, Carnera y San Martín… Igual que en la vidriera irrespetuosa de los cambalaches se ha mezcla’o la vida y herida por un sable sin remache ves llorar la Biblia contra un calefón. |
Pawnshop translated by Derrick Del Pilar What a lack of respect, what an affront to reason! Anyone can be a baron! Anyone can be a bandit! Stavinsky and Saint John Bosco go hand in hand with La Mignon, Don Chicho and Napoleon, Carnera and San Martín, just as the rude window displays of every pawnshop have mixed up life itself and you can see a wounded Bible weep next to a boiler somewhere, hanging on a hook. |
Milonga del 900 (1933) Letras: Homero Manzi Me gusta lo desparejo y no voy por la vedera; uso funghi a lo Massera, calzo bota militar. La quise porque la quise y por eso ando penando – se me fue ya ni se cuando, ni se cuando volverá. Me la nombran las guitarras cuando dicen su canción, las callecitas del barrio, y el filo de mi facón. Me la nombran las estrellas y el viento del arrabal; no se pa’ que me la nombran si no la puedo olvidar. |
Milonga of the 1900s Translation by Derrick Del Pilar I like mismatched things and I don’t go out on the sidewalk; I wear a Massera porkpie hat and military boots on my feet. I loved her because I loved her and ’cause of that I’m hurting now – she’s left me and I don’t even know when, don’t even know when she’ll come back. Guitars remind me of her when they are speaking their songs, so do the little neighborhood streets, and the edge of my dagger. The stars remind her name to me and so does the wind of the arrabal, I don’t know why they remind me of her since I could never forget her… |
Tristezas de la calle Corrientes Letra: Homero Expósito (1942) Calle Como valle De monedas para el pan. Río sin desvío Donde sufre la ciudad. ¡Qué triste palidez tienen tus luces! Tus letreros sueñan cruces, Tus afiches, carcajadas de cartón. Risa Que precisa La confianza del alcohol. Llantos Hecho cantos Pa’ vendernos un amor. Mercado de las tristes alegrías Cambalache de caricias Donde cuelga la ilusión… Triste, sí, Por ser nuestra… Triste, sí, Porque sueñas… Tu alegría es tristeza Y el dolor de la espera Te atraviesa. Y con pálida luz Vivís llorando tus tristezas… Triste, sí, Por ser nuestra… Triste, sí, Por tu cruz… |
Corrientes Street Blues translated by Derrick Del Pilar Street like a valley of coins for buying bread, dead end river where the city suffers – what sad pallor under your lights! Your signs dream of crosses, your posters, cardboard cackling Laughter that requires liquor’s confidence, laments become songs to sell us a love, market of sad joys, pawnshop of caresses where they hang up all our dreams. Sad? Yes. Because you’re ours… Sad? Yes. Because you dream… Your joy is sadness, and the pain of waiting cuts across you and with faint light you live weeping your sadness. Sad? Yes. Because you’re ours… Sad? Yes. That’s your cross… |
Yo soy el tango, 1941 Letra: Homero Expósito Soy, el tango milongón Nacido en los suburbios Malevos y turbios. Hoy, que estoy en el salón Me saben amansado Dulzón y cansado. Pa’ que creer Pa’ que mentir Que estoy cambiado, Si soy el mismo de ayer. Escuchen mi compás ¿No ven que soy gotán? Me quiebro en mi canción, Como un puñal de acero Pa’ cantar una traición. Me gusta compadrear Soy reo pa’ bailar, Escuchen mi compás Yo soy el viejo tango Que nació en el arrabal. Hoy, que tengo que callar, Que sufro el desengaño, La moda y los años. Voy, costumbre del gotán Mordiendo en mis adentros La rabia que siento. Pa’ que creer Pa’ que mentir Que estoy muriendo, Si yo jamás moriré. |
I Am the Tango translated by Derrick Del Pilar I am the tango of the milongas born on the outskirts, rough and tough. Now that I’m in these fancy halls, they think I’m tamed, sappy and worn out. But why lie, why believe that I’ve changed, if I’m the same as yesterday? Listen to my beat: don’t you see that I am gotán? I bust myself in my song, like a steel dagger, to sing about a betrayal. I like to strut around, I’m cool for dancing, listen to me beat: I’m the same old tango born in the arrabal. Now that I have to quiet down, that I suffer from disillusionment, fashion and the years, I’ll follow the tango custom: I’ll bite my tongue at the anger I feel. But why think, why lie that I’m dying since I’ll never die? |
In the days “Una emoción” was composed, the listeners might have read its message of cleaner, humbler tango as a call for purge of the remnants of the underclass origins of tango (culminated several years later with the ill-advised Peronist proscription of lunfardo, which replaced letras and even titles of the tango pieces with censorship-approved mediocrity) or maybe a jealous partisan attack on the irreverence of “El Rey de Compás” D’Arienzo and his followers. Indeed Raul Kaplán, its composer (and probably the only Jewish fiddler to ever direct a tango orquesta tipica), firmly belonged to the camp of tango romanticism. But we now see the message of “Una emoción” through the prism of Gavito’s legacy – as a passionate call for humble respect to tango’s roots and for the mutual respect and community-building. |
Una emoción (1943) Letra: José María Suñé …Envuelto en la ilusión anoche lo escuché, compuesta la emoción por cosas de mi ayer: La casa en que nací… la reja y el parral… la vieja calesita y el rosal. Su acento es la canción de voz sentimental… su ritmo es el compás que vive en mi ciudad. No tiene pretensión, no quiere ser procaz. se llama tango… y nada más. |
An emotion translated by Derrick del Pilar Wrapped up in a dream last night I heard it – an emotion composed of things from my yesterdays: The house where I was born, the iron fence and the ivy, the old carousel, the rosebush. Its accent is the song of an emotional voice, its rhythm is the measure that lives in my city – it has no pretensions, it doesn’t want to be lewd, it’s called tango, and nothing more. |
My dear son | write immediately |
Previous letter (indicated in grey on the map): • Szerencs, 28 August 1914 |