had a very severe headache at the milonga tonight, so much so that I didnt want to dance (very unusually for me, I actually avoided the glances of men I usually enjoy dancing with, as I felt so physically rough). However, despite the fact that I didnt dance a single tanda, I could not tear myself away. The music was intense and lovely, especially with the wonderful surround-sound system that makes you feel as though you are floating in an auditory tango bubble. Even the long cortinas were enchanting (especially Goran Bregovic). And the dancing -- ahhhh the dancing. Most of those on the floor were undisputably among the best dancers in the world -- yes, those ones, the ones you admire, the ones youve watched on YouTube. Their quality of movement is beautiful, but what especially struck me was the incredible, subtle, high energy, dramatic, committed musicality. In particular, during the Troilo instrumentals, a couple, who dont normally dance together, interpreted them with such wonderful changes in dynamics: whirling, twirling, spinning and pivoting then stopping dead in sudden frozen paradas in which they both stayed as still as meditating Buddhist monks, placid rocks in the centre of the whitewater rapids, for a second or two before she whipped her free leg, lightening fast, through some adornos that matched the piano embellishments in the music, stepped over and they were away again. I was captivated. Among the gorgeous dancers, they stood out, they glowed like a pearl among peas. Here, tonight, in Buenos Aires, in an upstairs room on a noisy avenue in Palermo, the tango gods were honoured. They received a burnt offering which was surely pleasing to them. And, although I didnt dance myself, it made my heart glad. Tonight in Buenos Aires, people danced. They really danced tango. Thats how its done, my friends.
Posted on: Fri, 04 Apr 2014 07:34:10 +0000