In a dimly-lit bar, sitting at a wooden table sharing a bottle of Malbec, with the sickly-sweet smell of marijuana drifting in occasionally as the door opened to the patio where people were smoking, first listening and then dancing to a singer and guitarist, with people banging out 3-3-2 rhythms on tabletops and singing along to the choruses, I felt the pull of history, the connection with the first tango vocalists strumming along to their melodies, with Gardel, Barbieri, Razzano. In the mild autumnal night, with so many people transfixed by the songs of yesterday, I felt almost transported back to an earlier age. Its amazing that people born in the 80s still feel this way, can still be enraptured by the old songs, the Homeric ballads of the Buenos Aires of their grandparents. There was an almost seamless transition between the live musicians of today and the recorded music, which sounded rich and full -- how do they get that fantastic effect, in which the whole room seems to fill with sound, from floor to ceiling, not loud (and I have extra-sensitive ears and wear earplugs at volumes that dont bother most normal people) not loud at all and yet completely enveloping, so that entering the dance floor is like diving into a pool of sound, swimming underwater, just drifting and letting yourself be buoyed up by the currents of the music. Many musicians play at this venue, a friend told me, they like the acoustics and the sound system. I cant tell you how much I love the music when it fills the space like that: clear, detailed, nuanced, precise. And, full of happy inspiration, I suddenly had some moments in which I could lead, really lead. The trick was to be aware of what my partner was doing, but unworried by it, to not care if what I was doing was making her ocho or giro or boleo, to be delighted by her part almost like a disinterested but curious observer -- oh, thats what she does; thats fun. And meanwhile, for some longish moments there, I just held her in close embrace and walked freely in a number of different directions, any way the music dictated and that felt natural within the syntax of the movement, turning, changing direction, striding out here, twisting and ochoing there. Dancing my leaders dance, trusting her to do her part, not monitoring or checking or making sure, observing with surprise that the less I wondered what effect my movements would have on her responses, the more fluent, effortless and harmonious our dance became. It was like playing in a violin duet, never having seen the whole score, having learned only my own part and discovering, with joy, that the other players part fitted with mine beautifully and echoed it in surprising ways: listening to my partner, yes, but not trying to play his notes for him. Thats the feeling I want to recapture when Im leading. (Being led badly so often feels, for the follower, like trying to play the violin with someone constantly jogging and jolting your right elbow). And in that state I led the Pugliese-Maciel tanda, with my current favourite tango of all and which I rarely get to dance to: Recuerdo in its sung version. Memories resurrected from the grave of time, alive and well this early morning. Happy Easter, my friends!
Posted on: Sun, 20 Apr 2014 07:35:58 +0000
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