...milonga, but hardly as I know it. Have fun!
Sunday, 16 August 2009
A real treat
The riches continue to pour out of Marisa Galindo's archives. This (and a few others) appeared two days ago. For anyone who saw Mingo and Esther Pugliese at Carablanca a few weeks back, here's a reminder of how they were in 1991. Plus a charming little 'incident' involving Pupi Castello and Roberto Tonet...
Friday, 14 August 2009
Thursday, 13 August 2009
Tango and food
Tango al Fresco was its usual amiable self: all the fun of the milonga, but out of doors, surrounded by trees and gardens on a pleasant Sunday afternoon. We've been lucky this year: both events have been bright, but overcast enough to keep off the sun's heat. The floor was crowded, as ever, and people aren't really used to dancing in small spaces, but it was great. We ended up in a huge picnic, presided over by Paul and Michiko, with masses of excellent home-cooked food. (The pictures are from the event a few weeks back: this Sunday was much busier.)A French woman who lives in London and plays musette, a smallish French button accordion, was at
the picnic and gave us an impromptu concert. She plays, sings and runs a band professionally: check her out here. Since she likes tango music and the dance I asked her why they don't play tango, and she said no, it's too repetitive, not free enough, actually boring to play.It's a strange paradox: the dance is improvised from start to finish, but the music is highly organised. The tango player lives with disciplined ensemble playing from written music scores, night after night. Would we continue to dance if we had to dance exactly the same steps, night after night? I've often wondered why tango never embraced the longer format of
recording in the late 1940s, as did jazz, but jazz had always been a series of improvisations held together by choruses, and it was natural to extend the improvisations. Unlike tango dance, the music isn't improvised: if a band wants to play a seven-minute tango, someone has to sit down and write the score. Maybe it's beginning to change, but the golden age tangos were played from written music. I must recommend Rodolfo Mederas, Julio Pane, Joaquín Amenábar playing solo bandoneón, as they have complete musical freedom. Dancing to Joaquín Amenábar's solo bandoneón in London last winter, was a great experience. Maybe 'Fifi la Mer' could become 'Flor del Mar'...
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Geraldine, Gerardo and Gustavo
Thanks to Simbatango for the good news that Marisa Galindo has put a personal archive of her videos onto YouTube. A lot of treasures there to be enjoyed. Amazing to think that four years ago YouTube had relatively little tango. It's become very valuable.
Geraldine Rojas and Gerardo Portalea together first caught my attention. & it's such a wonderful dance, intensely tender and gentle. Even the way he steps seems to show care and respect for this gifted child who dances so beautifully, and he offers her space in which to dance beautifully. Portaleo late in his life and Geraldine early in hers: there's a sense that they recognise and respect this polarity. & the music comes across very clearly.
Geraldine Rojas and Gustavo Naveira together is very different. Gustavo is a true virtuoso, dexterous, lightning-fast, and capable of endless extraordinary variations. And yet there's something hard about it. She has to keep up with him, and dance to his music rather than having the opportunity to dance to the music as she hears it; it's as if she's in an exam and needs to find the right answers all the time. Instead of the sense of two human beings, they start to look a bit like speeding marionettes. And then there's that avalanche of 'steps' towards the end, which seems out of all proportion to the music. Too many steps!
You could say Gerardo Portalea is a very limited dancer beside Gustavo. He gets through a whole tango with fewer than half a dozen steps, he's slow, lacking inventiveness, energy, liveliness. It's probably just me, but I know I'll watch that clip of Geraldine Rojas and Gerardo Portalea many times, and still be moved by it. I can't say that of the clip of Geraldine with Gustavo.
Geraldine Rojas and Gerardo Portalea together first caught my attention. & it's such a wonderful dance, intensely tender and gentle. Even the way he steps seems to show care and respect for this gifted child who dances so beautifully, and he offers her space in which to dance beautifully. Portaleo late in his life and Geraldine early in hers: there's a sense that they recognise and respect this polarity. & the music comes across very clearly.
Geraldine Rojas and Gustavo Naveira together is very different. Gustavo is a true virtuoso, dexterous, lightning-fast, and capable of endless extraordinary variations. And yet there's something hard about it. She has to keep up with him, and dance to his music rather than having the opportunity to dance to the music as she hears it; it's as if she's in an exam and needs to find the right answers all the time. Instead of the sense of two human beings, they start to look a bit like speeding marionettes. And then there's that avalanche of 'steps' towards the end, which seems out of all proportion to the music. Too many steps!
You could say Gerardo Portalea is a very limited dancer beside Gustavo. He gets through a whole tango with fewer than half a dozen steps, he's slow, lacking inventiveness, energy, liveliness. It's probably just me, but I know I'll watch that clip of Geraldine Rojas and Gerardo Portalea many times, and still be moved by it. I can't say that of the clip of Geraldine with Gustavo.
Monday, 10 August 2009
Tango and Dreams
It seems strange to me, even perverse, that though I spend a lot of time in tango I have never, ever, in four and a half years dreamed about tango. If I spend so much time with it maybe there's no need, but it occurred to me that I do dream about landscapes I no longer live in. I used to work 3,000 feet up in the Himalayan foothills, and I had friends 7,500 feet up in a 'hill' station. The road between climbed a mile, along 25 miles of twisting stomach-churning switch-back grind in old buses. There was a path, too, which I used whenever I had time: a five-mile walk to climb a mile. It took a few hours, from the heavy summer heat below up into cool fresh air, or vice-versa and, either walking up or down, for me it's still the best walk in the world. & I don't recall ever dreaming once about it while I was there, but I do now. It's become a metaphor, a dream-world visual shorthand for difficulty, anxiety, with cheerfulness and comfort at the end of it. A few years back I had a bit of 'flu, or a seriously bad cold that went on for a weary long time, and I dreamed of struggling up that hill and getting to the top. I knew the moment I woke up that I was better.
This seems to tie in with thoughts about other people's tango stories. They are the real thing, but they aren't mine; the meaning I was told is in relation to the way other people see their lives. It's possible to compose a collection of other peoples' stories but it doesn't seem a very interesting or even honourable thing to do. What is interesting is to find something in those stories that is mine, and to make something out of that, in the same way that distance makes a hill climb into a metaphor rather than a 'real' thing.
All of this comes together after last Friday at Carablanca, a great evening because I enjoyed some good dancing, but also because I heard some extraordinary stories. There was also a demonstration which amazed me by the amount of arm-wrestling, his left to her right, something I'd been warned against from my first lesson onwards. It was also extraordinary for how busy and inelegant the dance actually looked, in contrast to the calm elegance of the music. I'm a bit sorry I didn't bother to film it, as I'd love to remove the tango tracks and try replacing them with... perhaps the sound of all-in wrestling? The groans, the cries, the cheers... Just out of curiosity. Soundtracks are so much the key to how we see film, it's always curious to consider changing them. That spooky corridor could become gentle and happy, and that tango performance could look quite different to a different soundtrack.
&, in the context of watching Ashes of Time, perhaps a milonga could be filmed in terms of the dance and all the fragmented narratives around it.
This seems to tie in with thoughts about other people's tango stories. They are the real thing, but they aren't mine; the meaning I was told is in relation to the way other people see their lives. It's possible to compose a collection of other peoples' stories but it doesn't seem a very interesting or even honourable thing to do. What is interesting is to find something in those stories that is mine, and to make something out of that, in the same way that distance makes a hill climb into a metaphor rather than a 'real' thing.
All of this comes together after last Friday at Carablanca, a great evening because I enjoyed some good dancing, but also because I heard some extraordinary stories. There was also a demonstration which amazed me by the amount of arm-wrestling, his left to her right, something I'd been warned against from my first lesson onwards. It was also extraordinary for how busy and inelegant the dance actually looked, in contrast to the calm elegance of the music. I'm a bit sorry I didn't bother to film it, as I'd love to remove the tango tracks and try replacing them with... perhaps the sound of all-in wrestling? The groans, the cries, the cheers... Just out of curiosity. Soundtracks are so much the key to how we see film, it's always curious to consider changing them. That spooky corridor could become gentle and happy, and that tango performance could look quite different to a different soundtrack.
&, in the context of watching Ashes of Time, perhaps a milonga could be filmed in terms of the dance and all the fragmented narratives around it.
Saturday, 8 August 2009
Ashes of Time Redux
I've seen Wang Kar Wai's films in reverse order: I saw 2046 first, and I've just watched Ashes of Time, one of the first films he directed after a decade of writing for the Hong Kong film industry.
Ashes of Time Redux is simply a staggering film, and it's hard to know where to begin; the acting, the story-telling, the cinematography, the music, the setting... Astonishing that when it was first released in 1995 it didn't create much of a stir. It wasn't until WKW, by then well-known, discovered that the original negatives had been so badly stored that they were disintegrating and needed restoration, spent time restoring and revising the film, re-recorded the sound track with Yo-yo Ma, and re-released it as the redux, that it's really come into its own. There's some question about how much digital enhancement was used, but that's not new: it's been used in films since the late 1970s.
Chinese films are often visually striking, but this one is in a category of its own in the use of image, and of the potential of film and filming. A lot of credit to Australian cinematographer Christopher Doyle, but it's WKW's film, his imagination, his way of working, his ability to use the talents available to him to get more than the best out of them.
A couple of visual moments: towards the end, at a transition point, WKW fills the screen with fire. I think it's a combination of the way the fire is shot, with the contrast of preceding scenes, dark, quiet, cool colours, that makes that fire like nothing I've ever seen before. (& I've seen forest fires up close.) & there's another moment, when the bandits appear, galloping across a foothill in the desert, against a blazing yellow background, sand, as flat brilliant yellow as a wall painted with emulsion. In long shot, of course, so they are flattened against the flat colour, and they keep rising up over the foothill: the beginning of the action part of the film, fighting, shown in brief blurred fragments. The background, the desert, is an important part of the film, and it looks amazing.
The film is amazing to look at, both the desert background and the faces in the foreground; the meeting of Ou-yang Feng and Brigitte Lin, for instance, under stunted trees in intense daylight, but this beauty is just the nature of what we're looking at, never a distraction. There are several stories, and they all interconnect, often in implausible ways. Ou-yang Feng (the late Leslie Cheung) lives alone in a hermitage in the desert as a fixer, usually 'fixing' the elimination of people for reasons of revenge. A perplexing couple, a brother and sister who want each other eliminated, but who are actually the same person, or are acted by the same person, a village girl who has no money, only a mule and a basket of eggs, are two of his clients. Sword fighters come to him looking for work: one survives, another doesn't. Desperate people. The end of the film isn't a climax to all these separate stories, but the discovery of how Ou-yang Feng came to be there in the first place, a story of love, of death, of nostalgia, a story about memory, loss, the seasons, a cyclic story...
In the extras, WKW appears, interviewed; calm, articulate in near-perfect English, eyes completely hidden behind the most impenetrable of dark glasses, like a blind seer. One can only wonder what visions he sees in there. The films are so moving, so intense and perfect, they might well hide tears, too.
Ashes of Time Redux is simply a staggering film, and it's hard to know where to begin; the acting, the story-telling, the cinematography, the music, the setting... Astonishing that when it was first released in 1995 it didn't create much of a stir. It wasn't until WKW, by then well-known, discovered that the original negatives had been so badly stored that they were disintegrating and needed restoration, spent time restoring and revising the film, re-recorded the sound track with Yo-yo Ma, and re-released it as the redux, that it's really come into its own. There's some question about how much digital enhancement was used, but that's not new: it's been used in films since the late 1970s.
Chinese films are often visually striking, but this one is in a category of its own in the use of image, and of the potential of film and filming. A lot of credit to Australian cinematographer Christopher Doyle, but it's WKW's film, his imagination, his way of working, his ability to use the talents available to him to get more than the best out of them.
A couple of visual moments: towards the end, at a transition point, WKW fills the screen with fire. I think it's a combination of the way the fire is shot, with the contrast of preceding scenes, dark, quiet, cool colours, that makes that fire like nothing I've ever seen before. (& I've seen forest fires up close.) & there's another moment, when the bandits appear, galloping across a foothill in the desert, against a blazing yellow background, sand, as flat brilliant yellow as a wall painted with emulsion. In long shot, of course, so they are flattened against the flat colour, and they keep rising up over the foothill: the beginning of the action part of the film, fighting, shown in brief blurred fragments. The background, the desert, is an important part of the film, and it looks amazing.
The film is amazing to look at, both the desert background and the faces in the foreground; the meeting of Ou-yang Feng and Brigitte Lin, for instance, under stunted trees in intense daylight, but this beauty is just the nature of what we're looking at, never a distraction. There are several stories, and they all interconnect, often in implausible ways. Ou-yang Feng (the late Leslie Cheung) lives alone in a hermitage in the desert as a fixer, usually 'fixing' the elimination of people for reasons of revenge. A perplexing couple, a brother and sister who want each other eliminated, but who are actually the same person, or are acted by the same person, a village girl who has no money, only a mule and a basket of eggs, are two of his clients. Sword fighters come to him looking for work: one survives, another doesn't. Desperate people. The end of the film isn't a climax to all these separate stories, but the discovery of how Ou-yang Feng came to be there in the first place, a story of love, of death, of nostalgia, a story about memory, loss, the seasons, a cyclic story...
In the extras, WKW appears, interviewed; calm, articulate in near-perfect English, eyes completely hidden behind the most impenetrable of dark glasses, like a blind seer. One can only wonder what visions he sees in there. The films are so moving, so intense and perfect, they might well hide tears, too.
Thursday, 6 August 2009
False Economy
I read this in a Guardian review of a recently published book, False Economy: A Surprising Economic History of the World by Alan Beattie: "'Just as good policies can make the poor rich, repeated wrong turns can plunge a first world nation into the ranks of the third world. At the beginning of the 20th century, Argentina was among the world's richest countries; the creation of a landed oligarchy and then Peron's myopic populism meant that, 100 years later, it was a serial bankrupt.' The book ends with a warning: 'If it does not address the flaws that brought its financial system into crisis, the US could end up like Argentina.'" Which is a breathtaking warning, not to mention a breathtaking summary of 20th century Argentine history.
I grew up with the notion of Argentina as an impoverished distant land of vicious generals in ridiculous hats, but we've got to remember that they (including Galtieri, and Noriega from Panama) were trained, indoctrinated, in the infamous School of the Americas, based in Georgia, USA, where they were taught to be paranoid and to use a wide range of counter-insurgency measures. There was a terrible distortion of Latin American politics as a result of the cold war, and the people have suffered greatly. All it takes is a couple of wrong turns, and then the global situation made it a lot worse. The country is getting back onto its feet; it takes time, but there's optimism and creativity, and a huge respect for creativity too.
Through tango, we're all implicated in Argentine history, in the economy that supported the production of up to 100,000 tango recordings, and also in the poverty and suffering of the second half of the 20th century. You can visit ESMA, the naval centre in Buenos Aires where until 1983 detainees were held and routinely tortured, and from which they disappeared, if only to get an idea of the background against which most of the older teachers, of their children who teach now, and of the partners you dance with in the milongas, grew up. Everyone wants to put it behind them, but it shouldn't be forgotten. If you lose your past, said musician Branford Marsalis, you lose your future. He was talking about music, but it's another warning.
I grew up with the notion of Argentina as an impoverished distant land of vicious generals in ridiculous hats, but we've got to remember that they (including Galtieri, and Noriega from Panama) were trained, indoctrinated, in the infamous School of the Americas, based in Georgia, USA, where they were taught to be paranoid and to use a wide range of counter-insurgency measures. There was a terrible distortion of Latin American politics as a result of the cold war, and the people have suffered greatly. All it takes is a couple of wrong turns, and then the global situation made it a lot worse. The country is getting back onto its feet; it takes time, but there's optimism and creativity, and a huge respect for creativity too.
Through tango, we're all implicated in Argentine history, in the economy that supported the production of up to 100,000 tango recordings, and also in the poverty and suffering of the second half of the 20th century. You can visit ESMA, the naval centre in Buenos Aires where until 1983 detainees were held and routinely tortured, and from which they disappeared, if only to get an idea of the background against which most of the older teachers, of their children who teach now, and of the partners you dance with in the milongas, grew up. Everyone wants to put it behind them, but it shouldn't be forgotten. If you lose your past, said musician Branford Marsalis, you lose your future. He was talking about music, but it's another warning.
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Good news!
I've just spotted that Andreas Wichter and Monica Lopez will be teaching at Carablanca on August 21 and August 28 (the updated programme).
While we've struggled to dance like Tango por Dos in London, our friends on the continent have been getting on with social dancing. Andreas Wichter is now based in Totnes, and I think this is his first teaching in London. I hope there will be much more. It's getting harder all the time to get social dancers from Buenos Aires: they are the old masters, but they are old now, not so many of them ever spoke English, and enforcing UK immigration policy occupies so much more of the time of our border authorities that recently they failed to spot an illegal immigrant who entered the country underneath their bus as they returned from France. He ran off in Folkstone and hasn't been seen since. It's unlikely that he was a milonguero desperate to get here to teach us.
Fortunately there are now good dancers and teachers of tango salon on the continent. Andreas Wichter doesn't boast of years spent with Tango por Dos, nor of having choreographed Broadway tango shows. He says: 'We are salón dancers and teachers, not show dancers. So you will see neither choreography nor open embrace figures in these videos. We just dance pretty much as we would in an (uncrowded) milonga.' It's got to be a refreshing change of emphasis.
While we've struggled to dance like Tango por Dos in London, our friends on the continent have been getting on with social dancing. Andreas Wichter is now based in Totnes, and I think this is his first teaching in London. I hope there will be much more. It's getting harder all the time to get social dancers from Buenos Aires: they are the old masters, but they are old now, not so many of them ever spoke English, and enforcing UK immigration policy occupies so much more of the time of our border authorities that recently they failed to spot an illegal immigrant who entered the country underneath their bus as they returned from France. He ran off in Folkstone and hasn't been seen since. It's unlikely that he was a milonguero desperate to get here to teach us.
Fortunately there are now good dancers and teachers of tango salon on the continent. Andreas Wichter doesn't boast of years spent with Tango por Dos, nor of having choreographed Broadway tango shows. He says: 'We are salón dancers and teachers, not show dancers. So you will see neither choreography nor open embrace figures in these videos. We just dance pretty much as we would in an (uncrowded) milonga.' It's got to be a refreshing change of emphasis.
Sunday, 2 August 2009
Pina Bausch
Pina Bausch was one of the great creators of contemporary dance, running her own company for many years in Wuppertal, the Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch, which achieved international acclaim. She died at the end of June.
On a visit to Buenos Aires with her company in 1994 she saw Tete Rusconi dance, and they became friends, performing together. The whole story has been added to Tete and Silvia's website, with some good photos: it is here. On YouTube there's plenty of Pina Bausch, and plenty of Tete and Silvia, but sadly there's nothing of Pina and Tete.
On a visit to Buenos Aires with her company in 1994 she saw Tete Rusconi dance, and they became friends, performing together. The whole story has been added to Tete and Silvia's website, with some good photos: it is here. On YouTube there's plenty of Pina Bausch, and plenty of Tete and Silvia, but sadly there's nothing of Pina and Tete.
Can tango change?
There was a comment a few weeks back that '...it's not right to think that the dance cannot change', and I'm still not really sure what that can mean. On one level the dance is always changing. No two dancers dance identically; everyone dances their own tango, and that is how it should be, in constant renewal. We aren't choreographed show dancers who work hard to present simultaneous and identical moves; we don't slavishly imitate our teachers. Moreover, there's a limit to what two people in close, or fairly close embrace can do together to that music on a crowded dance floor. But my impression is that that limit had been very fully explored by 1950, if not earlier.
'Nuevo' dancers seem to suggest that they are the creative leaders of a new tango, of exciting new directions and new possibilities, but I wonder if that isn't just marketing talk. I have to admit I don't watch them a lot, but I've never noticed anything that wasn't explored by Todaro (1929-1994) (in this video of him and his daughter from the early 1950s) and 'Petroleo' (1912 - 1995), as taught today by Mingo and Esther Pugliese, a detailed exploration of all the possible ganchos, saccadas and barridas at every step of the giro. The style and presentation may change, but I'm not sure the core of the dance has changed.
Pablo Veron dismisses claims to a tango nuevo dance as deceitful, in an interview with El Tangauta in December 2008 (you have to create a login to access the material). 'Speaking of tango nuevo as a dance is difficult because the name proposes a division with the past, and that is very debatable, relative and deceitful. It is the definition of the music of Piazzolla, and to copy the name, as if that was enough to be equivalent and thus to be different, does not seem correct. It is as if they want you to believe that they invented tango. In that case: What was danced before? Tango is tango and has always been transforming itself since its origins, and if each renewal was a new tango, today we would have many new tangos. Tango was made by all of us dancers of all generations who contributed something, and this has been happening for more than 100 years!'
A rapid exploration of possibilities seems to have happened in cinema in much the same period of time. The language of cinema, the way stories are told with pictures and sound, was perfected between 1900 and 1930 and that language is still current. The way von Sternberg shows the stories of his two 1932 films, Blonde Venus and Shanghai Express, both with Marlene Dietrich, is totally familiar, even contemporary. The opening to Shanghai Express is one of the most memorable opening sequences ever, a classic piece of film-making. There have been technical advances, but the basic visual language hasn't changed much, and yet we still enjoy films.
Contact improvisation seems the only area in which a tango-like dance actually changes and develops, but there it starts to move into an area of contemporary dance. Personally I find there's a huge legacy in tango to discover, to try to perfect, and to enjoy. Dancing it well is most important to me: and it's important to enjoy dancing to the music, and I can only hope that as many partners as possible will enjoy it with me. & if 'change' means to be a step collector, what's the point? That's sterile, futile.
I recently came across this from Ney Melo: 'There will never be a step, sequence, or trick in tango that will come close to matching the power of the embrace.' Yes, yes, and yes again!
'Nuevo' dancers seem to suggest that they are the creative leaders of a new tango, of exciting new directions and new possibilities, but I wonder if that isn't just marketing talk. I have to admit I don't watch them a lot, but I've never noticed anything that wasn't explored by Todaro (1929-1994) (in this video of him and his daughter from the early 1950s) and 'Petroleo' (1912 - 1995), as taught today by Mingo and Esther Pugliese, a detailed exploration of all the possible ganchos, saccadas and barridas at every step of the giro. The style and presentation may change, but I'm not sure the core of the dance has changed.
Pablo Veron dismisses claims to a tango nuevo dance as deceitful, in an interview with El Tangauta in December 2008 (you have to create a login to access the material). 'Speaking of tango nuevo as a dance is difficult because the name proposes a division with the past, and that is very debatable, relative and deceitful. It is the definition of the music of Piazzolla, and to copy the name, as if that was enough to be equivalent and thus to be different, does not seem correct. It is as if they want you to believe that they invented tango. In that case: What was danced before? Tango is tango and has always been transforming itself since its origins, and if each renewal was a new tango, today we would have many new tangos. Tango was made by all of us dancers of all generations who contributed something, and this has been happening for more than 100 years!'
A rapid exploration of possibilities seems to have happened in cinema in much the same period of time. The language of cinema, the way stories are told with pictures and sound, was perfected between 1900 and 1930 and that language is still current. The way von Sternberg shows the stories of his two 1932 films, Blonde Venus and Shanghai Express, both with Marlene Dietrich, is totally familiar, even contemporary. The opening to Shanghai Express is one of the most memorable opening sequences ever, a classic piece of film-making. There have been technical advances, but the basic visual language hasn't changed much, and yet we still enjoy films.
Contact improvisation seems the only area in which a tango-like dance actually changes and develops, but there it starts to move into an area of contemporary dance. Personally I find there's a huge legacy in tango to discover, to try to perfect, and to enjoy. Dancing it well is most important to me: and it's important to enjoy dancing to the music, and I can only hope that as many partners as possible will enjoy it with me. & if 'change' means to be a step collector, what's the point? That's sterile, futile.
I recently came across this from Ney Melo: 'There will never be a step, sequence, or trick in tango that will come close to matching the power of the embrace.' Yes, yes, and yes again!
Friday, 31 July 2009
Capsulitis...
...is the inflammation of the membrane that protects joints. It frequently affects the joint at the base of the second or third toes and the ball of the foot. It's more common in women; even if you don't wear high heels you'll probably still dance on your toes. Apparently most patients are found to be wearing shoes that are too small. It seems to be important not to ignore discomfort in that area: try to dance through it and it will get worse, and long-term inflammation can damage the joint and deform the foot. A friend and dance partner has just been put out of action for a while. Beware! Seek expert help early.
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Eva Wolff
Since I'm always going on about the Orquesta Escuela: the BBC broadcast a short programme about Eva Wolff, a bandoneón player from Belgium, who won a scholarship to study with the Orquesta in 2001, and now lives and plays professionally in Buenos Aires: it should be here. It's in the Musical Migrants series.
Monday, 27 July 2009
Happy Together
Happy Together (1997) is a surprisingly tough, difficult film by Wang Kar Wei, which really took me by surprise. I think of In the Mood for Love (2000) and 2046 (2004), both of which I saw before Happy Together, and remember some of the most beautiful female actors China and the Chinese territories have found, dressed and presented with alluring elegance. Zhang Ziyi, the young princess in House of Flying Daggers, in sumptuous 1940s brocade costumes and elaborately elegant hair, for instance, and male counterparts to match. Not that these films are lacking in toughness; their lack of certainty about event, sequence and character make them constantly challenging.
But the tale of two young Chinese men who have run away together from Hong Kong for various reasons, whose relationship is turbulent, intense, often violent, and ultimately disintegrating as they struggle to survive in Buenos Aires, came as a surprise. There's not a great deal of 'plot' in the conventional sense. Ho Po Wing (Leslie Cheung) is the more resilient of the two, getting work as a doorman at a tango club – and meeting other men. They manage to buy an old car to visit the Iguaza Falls in the north of the country, but it breaks down. They learn a bit of tango, and dance together, but it's hardly a 'tango film': it's more about being an outsider speaking a foreign language and struggling to survive in a difficult city.
Ho Po Wing meets another young Chinese traveller, who invites strangers to tell stories into his tape recorder: he takes Ho Po Wing's story down to the lighthouse at the extreme south of Argentina, a place where it is said that reconciliations take place, but the 'story' on the tape is just the sound of sobbing. & Ho Pi Wing does finally visit the Iguaza Falls, an overwhelming, destructive force of nature, like desire, and beautiful, too. The compassion and emotional strength of the film is extraordinary. & like all Wei's films it looks amazing, black and white for the more intense scenes, and powerfully altered colour for the run-down boarding house at the edge of the old docks in La Bocca: the area has probably been 'regenerated' since then. Homage, I guess, to Argentine novelist Manuel Puig, (Kiss Of The Spider Woman) in style, although Puig has a dark sense of humour. Happy Together is a film of despair.
The 'Extras' reveal that Wang Kar Wei kept his cast and crew in Buenos Aires months longer than planned, writing and filming scene after scene to try and work out what seemed to him the right sequence. Everyone became increasingly fraught and homesick: Tony Leung reveals that at one stage he'd packed his suitcase, bought a ticket and plotted his escape. All of this, of course, fed into the film, which won Wang Kar Wei the Best Director award at Cannes in 1997, and some Best Actor awards elsewhere.
But the tale of two young Chinese men who have run away together from Hong Kong for various reasons, whose relationship is turbulent, intense, often violent, and ultimately disintegrating as they struggle to survive in Buenos Aires, came as a surprise. There's not a great deal of 'plot' in the conventional sense. Ho Po Wing (Leslie Cheung) is the more resilient of the two, getting work as a doorman at a tango club – and meeting other men. They manage to buy an old car to visit the Iguaza Falls in the north of the country, but it breaks down. They learn a bit of tango, and dance together, but it's hardly a 'tango film': it's more about being an outsider speaking a foreign language and struggling to survive in a difficult city.
Ho Po Wing meets another young Chinese traveller, who invites strangers to tell stories into his tape recorder: he takes Ho Po Wing's story down to the lighthouse at the extreme south of Argentina, a place where it is said that reconciliations take place, but the 'story' on the tape is just the sound of sobbing. & Ho Pi Wing does finally visit the Iguaza Falls, an overwhelming, destructive force of nature, like desire, and beautiful, too. The compassion and emotional strength of the film is extraordinary. & like all Wei's films it looks amazing, black and white for the more intense scenes, and powerfully altered colour for the run-down boarding house at the edge of the old docks in La Bocca: the area has probably been 'regenerated' since then. Homage, I guess, to Argentine novelist Manuel Puig, (Kiss Of The Spider Woman) in style, although Puig has a dark sense of humour. Happy Together is a film of despair.
The 'Extras' reveal that Wang Kar Wei kept his cast and crew in Buenos Aires months longer than planned, writing and filming scene after scene to try and work out what seemed to him the right sequence. Everyone became increasingly fraught and homesick: Tony Leung reveals that at one stage he'd packed his suitcase, bought a ticket and plotted his escape. All of this, of course, fed into the film, which won Wang Kar Wei the Best Director award at Cannes in 1997, and some Best Actor awards elsewhere.
Sunday, 26 July 2009
Stories
Carablanca was closed last night, so I went to Negracha and had an unexpectedly good evening, dancing for the most part with partners I didn't know.
I'm always fascinated by tango stories, the one-sentence stories people tell strangers about themselves in between dances. They always follow the same pattern: a situation, then an event that leads to a new situation. It's a traditional story pattern, in a single sentence. Less is usually more: so little is said that a lot is often suggested, intentionally or unintentionally, or perhaps simply imagined. Immediately, you know a lot about your partner – and nothing at all, really. I've thought of writing them down, but although they actually say very little, and the teller can be anonymous, there is something quite personal about the telling of them. I'd feel uncomfortable about writing them here for anyone to read.
An evening with plenty of dancing in a crowded room: it gets easier, particularly with a partner who can be led easily. Yes, it's a lot more pleasant in an open space, and Negracha was crowded, the usual clogged-up floor. Not that there were actually that many people there: it's just that their dancing takes a lot of room. Beginners and gancho-throwers occupying the line of dance: not much to chose between them! I notice that Igor Polk, the deep apilado man, or rather the man with the deep apilado partner, comments on it (you'll need to scroll down to 2009 April 20). He observes that forming a 'bus' of several couples moving round is one possible response, much as I've heard the 'convoy' suggested here. More interestingly, he says that '...floor stagnation is quite a recent phenomenon' and he wonders why.
& Leandro Palou and Romina Godoy, Tangosoul, were there. Good to see them again briefly. I haven't attended their classes for a while. & good music: plenty of favourite D'Agostino.
I'm always fascinated by tango stories, the one-sentence stories people tell strangers about themselves in between dances. They always follow the same pattern: a situation, then an event that leads to a new situation. It's a traditional story pattern, in a single sentence. Less is usually more: so little is said that a lot is often suggested, intentionally or unintentionally, or perhaps simply imagined. Immediately, you know a lot about your partner – and nothing at all, really. I've thought of writing them down, but although they actually say very little, and the teller can be anonymous, there is something quite personal about the telling of them. I'd feel uncomfortable about writing them here for anyone to read.
An evening with plenty of dancing in a crowded room: it gets easier, particularly with a partner who can be led easily. Yes, it's a lot more pleasant in an open space, and Negracha was crowded, the usual clogged-up floor. Not that there were actually that many people there: it's just that their dancing takes a lot of room. Beginners and gancho-throwers occupying the line of dance: not much to chose between them! I notice that Igor Polk, the deep apilado man, or rather the man with the deep apilado partner, comments on it (you'll need to scroll down to 2009 April 20). He observes that forming a 'bus' of several couples moving round is one possible response, much as I've heard the 'convoy' suggested here. More interestingly, he says that '...floor stagnation is quite a recent phenomenon' and he wonders why.
& Leandro Palou and Romina Godoy, Tangosoul, were there. Good to see them again briefly. I haven't attended their classes for a while. & good music: plenty of favourite D'Agostino.
Friday, 24 July 2009
You said candombe and I said canyengue...
… which rather confused things. I'd never sorted out the difference: now I need to.
Candombe is the only music with drums we're likely to hear in a milonga. It's still a big part of the popular music tradition in Uruguay, but has more or less disappeared from public view in Argentina, along with most of the black population. But it used to be there: the black milonguero Facundo Posadas told RFT that when he was a child in 1945 the candombe drums used to play at the Shimmy Club in Buenos Aires for black audiences, who would go into trance, and that he was warned not to bother them. RFT says: '...key candombe steps were inserted into the habanera and the result of this was the milonga'. Facundo says: 'The candombe of today is not the candombe danced a long time ago. But the little that remained we put into the milonga.'
According to RFT's sources, canyengue was the pre-1900 precursor of tango, and it started to evolve rapidly after 1900. Rodolfo Cieri and his childhood friend, 'El Gallego' Manolo learned the canyengue of 1900, along with tango, when they were growing up in the 1940s. 'El Gallego' Manolo and his partner Martha Anton still teach in Buenos Aires.
RFT claims an African origin for both canyengue and candombe but says that along the way they met the polka, newly arrived from Europe...
(RFT = Robert Farris Thompson: Tango: The Art History of Love, an exploration of the black origins of tango music and dance.)
Candombe is the only music with drums we're likely to hear in a milonga. It's still a big part of the popular music tradition in Uruguay, but has more or less disappeared from public view in Argentina, along with most of the black population. But it used to be there: the black milonguero Facundo Posadas told RFT that when he was a child in 1945 the candombe drums used to play at the Shimmy Club in Buenos Aires for black audiences, who would go into trance, and that he was warned not to bother them. RFT says: '...key candombe steps were inserted into the habanera and the result of this was the milonga'. Facundo says: 'The candombe of today is not the candombe danced a long time ago. But the little that remained we put into the milonga.'
According to RFT's sources, canyengue was the pre-1900 precursor of tango, and it started to evolve rapidly after 1900. Rodolfo Cieri and his childhood friend, 'El Gallego' Manolo learned the canyengue of 1900, along with tango, when they were growing up in the 1940s. 'El Gallego' Manolo and his partner Martha Anton still teach in Buenos Aires.
RFT claims an African origin for both canyengue and candombe but says that along the way they met the polka, newly arrived from Europe...
(RFT = Robert Farris Thompson: Tango: The Art History of Love, an exploration of the black origins of tango music and dance.)
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
The Alfano Decree
I haven't seen this referred to anywhere else, but perhaps we should all be aware of it:
"On July 15 around 200 Italian bloggers gathered at the Piazza Navona in Rome. They wore gags to protest a proposed law that is a direct threat to internet freedom in Italy. If passed it could impose heavy fines on bloggers who don't correct 'offensive' comments within 48 hours. Hundreds of other bloggers 'froze' their blog posts for a day in a show of solidarity with the protesters.
"Given the appetite for repressive measures in Italy these days, it's not surprising that Italian bloggers have become a target. Berlusconi and his sycophantic retinue of crypto-fascists, compliant bureaucrats, models-turned-politicians and party girls doesn't like negative attention.
"Italian bloggers are some of his most vociferous critics. Legislative measures are under way to place them on a short leash and possibly put some of them out of business altogether.
"The tactic being employed is the so-called Alfano proposal, named after Justice Minister, Angelino Alfano. But you could also call it an 'internet killer' because in effect it is an attempt to silence and intimidate online critics by means of a law that is at root anti-democratic.
"The Alfano decree has already been approved by Parliament and if passed by the Senate, will become law. The provisions have far-reaching implications for freedom of speech in Italy.
"If a citizen deems a blog post to be defamatory, he or she can lodge an official complaint that could require the blogger to edit the offending content within 48 hours. A blogger's refusal to correct 'offensive' comments would allow the denouncing citizen to sue for as much as $18,000... The effect will be to mute blog content, particularly criticism of government and public figures.
"Bloggers are already liable to penalties in the case of defamation. The Alfano proposal is a bureaucratic tactic that crosses the line and handcuffs bloggers as they sit at their keyboards. It is nothing less than an attack on a fundamental freedom under the guise of 'responsibility'."
"On July 15 around 200 Italian bloggers gathered at the Piazza Navona in Rome. They wore gags to protest a proposed law that is a direct threat to internet freedom in Italy. If passed it could impose heavy fines on bloggers who don't correct 'offensive' comments within 48 hours. Hundreds of other bloggers 'froze' their blog posts for a day in a show of solidarity with the protesters.
"Given the appetite for repressive measures in Italy these days, it's not surprising that Italian bloggers have become a target. Berlusconi and his sycophantic retinue of crypto-fascists, compliant bureaucrats, models-turned-politicians and party girls doesn't like negative attention.
"Italian bloggers are some of his most vociferous critics. Legislative measures are under way to place them on a short leash and possibly put some of them out of business altogether.
"The tactic being employed is the so-called Alfano proposal, named after Justice Minister, Angelino Alfano. But you could also call it an 'internet killer' because in effect it is an attempt to silence and intimidate online critics by means of a law that is at root anti-democratic.
"The Alfano decree has already been approved by Parliament and if passed by the Senate, will become law. The provisions have far-reaching implications for freedom of speech in Italy.
"If a citizen deems a blog post to be defamatory, he or she can lodge an official complaint that could require the blogger to edit the offending content within 48 hours. A blogger's refusal to correct 'offensive' comments would allow the denouncing citizen to sue for as much as $18,000... The effect will be to mute blog content, particularly criticism of government and public figures.
"Bloggers are already liable to penalties in the case of defamation. The Alfano proposal is a bureaucratic tactic that crosses the line and handcuffs bloggers as they sit at their keyboards. It is nothing less than an attack on a fundamental freedom under the guise of 'responsibility'."
More music notes
I'm afraid I under-represented Emilio Balcarce. I wrote that he was ...'an octogenarian who takes on a new orquesta, directs it, and writes its repertoire'. But he is also a composer (Bien Compadre, Si Sos Brujo, La Bordona among others) – and he played bandoneon with the Orquesta Escuela too. Although he often conducted them, you may hear a bandoneon that is incredibly expressive, that really sings, that has an incredibly fine sense of volume and a marvelously supple sense of rhythm, and that may well be Emilio Balcarce. A truly extraordinary musician.
Fabio Cernuda, a bandoneonista from Buenos Aires, recently completed a discography of music recorded by tango musicians: it took him 20 years. Between 1902 and 1992, 90 years of accoustic recording, he found an astonishing 70,000 tracks were recorded. Not all of them still exist as records, unfortunately, but what an achievement. In terms of duration that's about 5,000 full-length classical symphonies: in terms of quantity, in a single century Buenos Aires may have produced almost as much music as the whole of Europe in three centuries. Perhaps that's indicative of the importance of tango in creating an identity that unified the diverse cultures of Buenos Aires.
Fabio Cernuda, a bandoneonista from Buenos Aires, recently completed a discography of music recorded by tango musicians: it took him 20 years. Between 1902 and 1992, 90 years of accoustic recording, he found an astonishing 70,000 tracks were recorded. Not all of them still exist as records, unfortunately, but what an achievement. In terms of duration that's about 5,000 full-length classical symphonies: in terms of quantity, in a single century Buenos Aires may have produced almost as much music as the whole of Europe in three centuries. Perhaps that's indicative of the importance of tango in creating an identity that unified the diverse cultures of Buenos Aires.
Sunday, 19 July 2009
Some music notes
I enjoyed Color Tango but, as someone pointed out, their performances are still very much Pugliese: nothing wrong with that, but the arrangements they use are those familiar from Pugliese recordings. There are five albums for free (plus a few ads) on Spotify.
I've liked the Orquesta Escuela since I first heard them a few years ago, and the arrangements they use are new. The film Si Sos Brujo hardly mentions that Emilio Balcarce, who was an arranger and bandoneon player with Pugliese and who directed the Orquesta, seems to have written new arrangements for everything they play; an octogenarian who takes on a new orquesta, directs it, and writes its repertoire. I wanted to link their Cumparasita from the Contrapunta album, which is just absolutely the best and a long-time favourite, and was actually the first tango I heard in Buenos Aires: stuck in downtown gridlock the driver turned off the radio and put on a cassette – and out came this very distinctive Cumparasita. I wanted to link it, but you can't link from Spotify, and although LastFM has the Contrapunta album, for some bizarre reason they have substituted another Cumparasita, by 'Various artists' in place of the orquesta one, and it's dire. But the album is available as a download from Amazon for £5.99, which is great value and has the right Cumparasita on it. Listen out for the bandoneon solo: it rocks. Like any Pugliese-style music it would be a challenge to dance to, but it's exciting listening.
But it's easy to link their Gallo Ciego and La Bordona.
A music journalist and music addict, musically illiterate and with no music skills, spends a year at the Royal Academy of Music learning composition, trying to understand his obsession. He can hardly tap out a simple rhythm to start with: music, its structure and how it's made, has to be explained to him from the very basis upwards. The luxury of suggesting ideas to groups of talented students to improvise on, and having another talented student to write them down, is his. How to be a Composer is on BBC4: the first episode is here, for anyone within reach of the BBC. The editing is innovative, very fluent. (PS. & some of the best young and not so young faces I've seen anywhere for a long time. There is hope for the world, and it is called music.)
I've liked the Orquesta Escuela since I first heard them a few years ago, and the arrangements they use are new. The film Si Sos Brujo hardly mentions that Emilio Balcarce, who was an arranger and bandoneon player with Pugliese and who directed the Orquesta, seems to have written new arrangements for everything they play; an octogenarian who takes on a new orquesta, directs it, and writes its repertoire. I wanted to link their Cumparasita from the Contrapunta album, which is just absolutely the best and a long-time favourite, and was actually the first tango I heard in Buenos Aires: stuck in downtown gridlock the driver turned off the radio and put on a cassette – and out came this very distinctive Cumparasita. I wanted to link it, but you can't link from Spotify, and although LastFM has the Contrapunta album, for some bizarre reason they have substituted another Cumparasita, by 'Various artists' in place of the orquesta one, and it's dire. But the album is available as a download from Amazon for £5.99, which is great value and has the right Cumparasita on it. Listen out for the bandoneon solo: it rocks. Like any Pugliese-style music it would be a challenge to dance to, but it's exciting listening.
But it's easy to link their Gallo Ciego and La Bordona.
A music journalist and music addict, musically illiterate and with no music skills, spends a year at the Royal Academy of Music learning composition, trying to understand his obsession. He can hardly tap out a simple rhythm to start with: music, its structure and how it's made, has to be explained to him from the very basis upwards. The luxury of suggesting ideas to groups of talented students to improvise on, and having another talented student to write them down, is his. How to be a Composer is on BBC4: the first episode is here, for anyone within reach of the BBC. The editing is innovative, very fluent. (PS. & some of the best young and not so young faces I've seen anywhere for a long time. There is hope for the world, and it is called music.)
Friday, 17 July 2009
Schools
I remembered reading this interview with Maria Nievas a while ago, and dug it out again last night. Maria Nievas, lying about her age, first went to milongas when she was 12, and when she was 14 she started to dance with a young Juan Carlos Copes, who she danced with for many years, in Paris and on Broadway, and around the world. Here she is, interviewed by Silvia Rojas:
“I learned by watching, girl, nobody taught me,” she starts to tell, this living legend of the milonga and stage tango…
- So, what do you think of the schools?
- I’m against the schools. Absolutely! It’s a con. Nobody’s the owner of the truth in tango. I always tell them when I give a lesson: there’s no better teacher than to go to the milonga! Wear out shoes, get kicked and have your feet stepped on, and do the same yourself. It’s true, girl!”
I listened to a recent programme on jazz trumpeter Booker Little, who died aged 23 in 1961. He was one of the first generation to learn to play jazz in school, whereas his peers had learned on the job. I was struck by his observation that learning jazz in school led to an over-reliance on technique, a tendency he had to struggle against. & I wonder about the tango academies of present-day Buenos Aires. I can't help imagining a syllabus: third semester, major in Estilo Milonguero with a minor in Villa Urquiza... (PS. I hope I'm being unfairly cynical.)
“I learned by watching, girl, nobody taught me,” she starts to tell, this living legend of the milonga and stage tango…
- So, what do you think of the schools?
- I’m against the schools. Absolutely! It’s a con. Nobody’s the owner of the truth in tango. I always tell them when I give a lesson: there’s no better teacher than to go to the milonga! Wear out shoes, get kicked and have your feet stepped on, and do the same yourself. It’s true, girl!”
I listened to a recent programme on jazz trumpeter Booker Little, who died aged 23 in 1961. He was one of the first generation to learn to play jazz in school, whereas his peers had learned on the job. I was struck by his observation that learning jazz in school led to an over-reliance on technique, a tendency he had to struggle against. & I wonder about the tango academies of present-day Buenos Aires. I can't help imagining a syllabus: third semester, major in Estilo Milonguero with a minor in Villa Urquiza... (PS. I hope I'm being unfairly cynical.)
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
A performance
Somebody asked me what I thought of Rachel Greenberg's dance on Friday night, and I've been thinking about it. Rachel gave a demonstration dance with Ivan: there were several performances that night and theirs was the only one I saw apart from Brigitte and Leo. It was crowded, and I was more interested in the orquesta, and I have to admit I'm not that interested in performances anyway. I love to watch the occasional couple in a milonga managing crowded circumstances with elegance, creativity and musicality. But give a couple the whole floor to themselves... Where's the challenge?
I like watching contemporary dance. I've watched a lot, enjoyed a lot; occasionally I've seen something that didn't quite work, but more often than not I've come away from it enthralled by the imagination of the staging and choreography, the energy and intelligence of the dancing. But I think that if I'd ever seen a whole performance that was little more than technically amazing I'd have felt cheated: you expect something more. The dance on Friday night lasted little more than three minutes, but I couldn't see more than technical excellence. Compare that with Gavito's three-minute dances: his little stories and apilado steps can be repetitive, but there was always a heart and passion and musicality to it, which I felt was absent from that dance on Friday night. It was cold, technically amazing and cold.
My impression is that this is an entirely new type of Argentine tango teacher. The teachers of the older generation danced all their lives because they loved and valued tango, and that a few of them have been or are teachers now is almost an accident. I believe the new type often starts out brilliantly at a young age in gymnastics or classical dance, and my impression is that the choice to become tango teachers is a career decision promising travel and change. They can manage effortlessly the complexities of stage tango, and they study how to teach. They are skilled dancers and teachers, but their tango seems heartless.
I like watching contemporary dance. I've watched a lot, enjoyed a lot; occasionally I've seen something that didn't quite work, but more often than not I've come away from it enthralled by the imagination of the staging and choreography, the energy and intelligence of the dancing. But I think that if I'd ever seen a whole performance that was little more than technically amazing I'd have felt cheated: you expect something more. The dance on Friday night lasted little more than three minutes, but I couldn't see more than technical excellence. Compare that with Gavito's three-minute dances: his little stories and apilado steps can be repetitive, but there was always a heart and passion and musicality to it, which I felt was absent from that dance on Friday night. It was cold, technically amazing and cold.
My impression is that this is an entirely new type of Argentine tango teacher. The teachers of the older generation danced all their lives because they loved and valued tango, and that a few of them have been or are teachers now is almost an accident. I believe the new type often starts out brilliantly at a young age in gymnastics or classical dance, and my impression is that the choice to become tango teachers is a career decision promising travel and change. They can manage effortlessly the complexities of stage tango, and they study how to teach. They are skilled dancers and teachers, but their tango seems heartless.
Monday, 13 July 2009
Color Tango 2
This gives some idea of the performance. Sound quality is better for the first milonga: there was a dance performance. But it was open dancing during the second milonga and the tango, and it was a bit noisy.
Sunday, 12 July 2009
Color Tango
Wonderful to hear Color Tango in London at Negracha on Friday night, an orquesta with the whole history of tango behind it. It's very much a Pugliese-era band, all the rending dissonances, complex rhythms, and lyricism too, of Pugliese. And although dancing at Negracha on Friday wasn't easy as the floor was very crowded, not only with dancers but also with people standing to get a view of the band, of course it was a real treat to dance to. Another problem for dancers was that there was a lot of talking, people shouting above each other to be heard while the band was playing, so the sound at the back of the room wasn't great. A pity it couldn't have been held at Conway Hall, which would have been big enough, although it wouldn't have had the same intimate club-like feel to it. A real feast of great sound, real tango and of the highest quality.
There seem to be three orquestas, led and trained by bandoneonistas of an older generation. Color Tango was founded in 1989 by Roberto Alvarez, first bandoneon of Osvaldo Pugliese's orchestra, and is still led by him. Emilio Balcarce, who played violin with the Donato orquesta and later was bandoneonista and arranger with Pugliese, was invited to form and lead the Orquesta Escuelo de Tango about eight years ago: the orquesta has since been renamed after him. & Rodolfo Mederos, a bandoneonista who played with Piazzolla and Pugliese has led his own orquesta tipica, among other groupings and solo performances. Between them, these have trained a new generation of musicians.
Tango is a dance music that's avoided percussion. When it does get used (Fresedo's cymbals, for instance)it sounds out of place. The musicians have learned to play more percussively, and also incredibly closely as an ensemble, so that even when the whole orquesta marginally slows the beat, or speeds up, the beat is absolutely clear, and entirely characteristic of tango. Good tango is ensemble playing of the highest order. Thanks for the music, Color Tango.
PS. There are five complete Color Tango albums you can listen to for free on Spotify.
There seem to be three orquestas, led and trained by bandoneonistas of an older generation. Color Tango was founded in 1989 by Roberto Alvarez, first bandoneon of Osvaldo Pugliese's orchestra, and is still led by him. Emilio Balcarce, who played violin with the Donato orquesta and later was bandoneonista and arranger with Pugliese, was invited to form and lead the Orquesta Escuelo de Tango about eight years ago: the orquesta has since been renamed after him. & Rodolfo Mederos, a bandoneonista who played with Piazzolla and Pugliese has led his own orquesta tipica, among other groupings and solo performances. Between them, these have trained a new generation of musicians.
Tango is a dance music that's avoided percussion. When it does get used (Fresedo's cymbals, for instance)it sounds out of place. The musicians have learned to play more percussively, and also incredibly closely as an ensemble, so that even when the whole orquesta marginally slows the beat, or speeds up, the beat is absolutely clear, and entirely characteristic of tango. Good tango is ensemble playing of the highest order. Thanks for the music, Color Tango.
PS. There are five complete Color Tango albums you can listen to for free on Spotify.
Friday, 10 July 2009
Tango Fatal
A friend tells me she reads everything I write, unless it's about films. But this is a tango film...
A mysterious stranger wearing a white hat walks into a tango bar, full of beautiful women in fishnet stockings. There's a lot of dancing, but no po-faced stage tango, it's colourful, it's a fun film. A skilled dancer (Copello, who part-directs) dances with his favourite partner. The mysterious stranger invites her to dance, seduces her in dance. The skilled dancer attacks him... and is knifed. The stranger leaves. The stranger returns to dance again with the favourite partner... who knifes him. As he dies we discover he's a... but I wouldn't want to spoil the ending.
The dance includes social tango as well as theatrical numbers. The score is by Argentine-born Carlos Franzetti who, I discover, performs with well-known jazz musicians, writes for well-known film directors, and has also written operas, symphonies and concertos. The score includes straightforward tango as well as symphonic tango, with Nestor Marconi on bandoneon.
Franzetti talks in the 'Extras' about working with non-Argentine musicians. The subtitles say: 'It's very, very difficult to convey it to non-Argentine musicians. For instance, the double bass is played quite differently to the way it's played by symphonic musicians. It could take a whole year to teach this to a symphonic musician... It's said that tango is a way of walking through life. For me the most difficult popular music is tango because it doesn't have a constant vibe ('ritmo'). It doesn't have a constant rhythm like jazz, like Afro-Cuban music, like rock. The rhythm changes. It has rubatos, accelerandos, calderones, pauses.' (A 'rubato' is a slowing down. I'm not sure what 'calderones' are: translate.google says they are pilot whales, which doesn't sound quite right.)
The whole film is less than an hour, and the music carries it from start to finish, defines the characters, expresses the action, supports the dance. The film is just enough over-the-top; they had fun with all the cliches, and it's funny and a bit sad too.
“El tango es una manera de atravesar la vida.” Jorges Luis Borges.
A mysterious stranger wearing a white hat walks into a tango bar, full of beautiful women in fishnet stockings. There's a lot of dancing, but no po-faced stage tango, it's colourful, it's a fun film. A skilled dancer (Copello, who part-directs) dances with his favourite partner. The mysterious stranger invites her to dance, seduces her in dance. The skilled dancer attacks him... and is knifed. The stranger leaves. The stranger returns to dance again with the favourite partner... who knifes him. As he dies we discover he's a... but I wouldn't want to spoil the ending.
The dance includes social tango as well as theatrical numbers. The score is by Argentine-born Carlos Franzetti who, I discover, performs with well-known jazz musicians, writes for well-known film directors, and has also written operas, symphonies and concertos. The score includes straightforward tango as well as symphonic tango, with Nestor Marconi on bandoneon.
Franzetti talks in the 'Extras' about working with non-Argentine musicians. The subtitles say: 'It's very, very difficult to convey it to non-Argentine musicians. For instance, the double bass is played quite differently to the way it's played by symphonic musicians. It could take a whole year to teach this to a symphonic musician... It's said that tango is a way of walking through life. For me the most difficult popular music is tango because it doesn't have a constant vibe ('ritmo'). It doesn't have a constant rhythm like jazz, like Afro-Cuban music, like rock. The rhythm changes. It has rubatos, accelerandos, calderones, pauses.' (A 'rubato' is a slowing down. I'm not sure what 'calderones' are: translate.google says they are pilot whales, which doesn't sound quite right.)
The whole film is less than an hour, and the music carries it from start to finish, defines the characters, expresses the action, supports the dance. The film is just enough over-the-top; they had fun with all the cliches, and it's funny and a bit sad too.
“El tango es una manera de atravesar la vida.” Jorges Luis Borges.
Thursday, 9 July 2009
Carmencita Calderon
Welcome to the D'Agostino appreciation society! When I hear Adios Arrabal, I always listen out for the nostalgic, and mysterious verse towards the end:
El baile "Rodríguez Peña"
el Mocho y el Cachafaz
de la milonga porteña
que nunca más volverá...
Very roughly:
The “Rodríguez Peña” dance (hall?)
el Mocho and el Cachafaz
of the milonga of Buenos Aires
that will return no more.
Recently I found a video of Carmencita Calderon, who was the partner of El Cachafaz eighty years ago. There's a video of her dancing with Jorge Dispari on her one hundredth birthday last year, which isn't that clear, but this one is good. I don't know when it was made; not so many years ago, I guess. She not only dances but makes a very spirited, passionate speech about 'el tango', I think: I understand only a few words, but I love watching it as she's marvellously enthusiastic and cheerful. & it's followed by a very brief clip from a late 1930s film of her dancing with El Cachafaz, who died in 1942.
What struck me immediately is how clearly, decisively and unhurriedly she marks with her heels the milonga double time when it's in the music, without disturbing the flow of the dance. In fact, her rhythmic stepping, combined with short heels almost looks like flamenco, and really shows the excitement in the music.
El baile "Rodríguez Peña"
el Mocho y el Cachafaz
de la milonga porteña
que nunca más volverá...
Very roughly:
The “Rodríguez Peña” dance (hall?)
el Mocho and el Cachafaz
of the milonga of Buenos Aires
that will return no more.
Recently I found a video of Carmencita Calderon, who was the partner of El Cachafaz eighty years ago. There's a video of her dancing with Jorge Dispari on her one hundredth birthday last year, which isn't that clear, but this one is good. I don't know when it was made; not so many years ago, I guess. She not only dances but makes a very spirited, passionate speech about 'el tango', I think: I understand only a few words, but I love watching it as she's marvellously enthusiastic and cheerful. & it's followed by a very brief clip from a late 1930s film of her dancing with El Cachafaz, who died in 1942.
What struck me immediately is how clearly, decisively and unhurriedly she marks with her heels the milonga double time when it's in the music, without disturbing the flow of the dance. In fact, her rhythmic stepping, combined with short heels almost looks like flamenco, and really shows the excitement in the music.
Monday, 6 July 2009
Tanguarda
The Tanguarda performance at Carablanca ten days ago left me slightly confused. The concert, mainly of Piazzolla, was pretty good, apart from over-amplification: at their loudest the violin seemed to screech, and the double bass came over as a booming thud. But I found I got little from their sets for dance. Dancing to live music is usually magical: I remember being very moved by Joaquín Amenábar's solo bandoneon at Carablanca some months back, moved emotionally but even more in the sense that the sound he made led me to move. 'Golden age' recordings do that. But Tanguarda...
Listening to Orquesta Escuela Tango on the train this evening, I started thinking about this. (It's been renamed Orquesta Escuela Emilio Balcarce in honour of the violinist, bandoneonista and arranger who grew up in the golden age and worked for some 20 years with Pugliese. A fuller story is on the video Si Sos Brujo.) There's a wonderful elasticity of rhythm in their playing, which is a characteristic of the golden age recordings. A phrase can be very slightly slowed as an introduction, as a springboard to another voice, another instrument entering, making up for lost time. I think this is a legacy of musicians learning to play by playing together, by listening to each other. The musicians in the Orquesta are all young and learned to play in school, but maestros like Emilio Balcarce have schooled them in playing by ear, rather than by the literal printed note. It was this quality that struck me in the first tango lesson I ever went to: the music was alive, it seemed to draw me forwards, hold me back. I think of this instinctive and quite precise use of shifting tempo as the idiom of tango.
I felt this was missing in Tanguarda. They are highly trained European musicians and they make all the right noises, but their music is flat alongside the Orquesta, or Color Tango, or even Astilleros (definitely not golden age), as if it shouts at you rather than gently leading you. They are a quartet, so perhaps a good comparison would be with D'Agostino, who often recorded as a quintet. There's a kind of easy clarity about his music, a few quiet chords on the piano effortlessly supports a bandoneon line, which itself leads into a violin line that seems to arise as a part of it. There's a total harmony, five musicians all part of the same music, and dancers still want to move to it all night long.
I think Tanguarda are more at home in concert tango, and in Piazzolla in particular, music written to be listened to rather than danced to. I don't think they play as a dance band, possibly they don't even have much feeling for dance tango.
Listening to Orquesta Escuela Tango on the train this evening, I started thinking about this. (It's been renamed Orquesta Escuela Emilio Balcarce in honour of the violinist, bandoneonista and arranger who grew up in the golden age and worked for some 20 years with Pugliese. A fuller story is on the video Si Sos Brujo.) There's a wonderful elasticity of rhythm in their playing, which is a characteristic of the golden age recordings. A phrase can be very slightly slowed as an introduction, as a springboard to another voice, another instrument entering, making up for lost time. I think this is a legacy of musicians learning to play by playing together, by listening to each other. The musicians in the Orquesta are all young and learned to play in school, but maestros like Emilio Balcarce have schooled them in playing by ear, rather than by the literal printed note. It was this quality that struck me in the first tango lesson I ever went to: the music was alive, it seemed to draw me forwards, hold me back. I think of this instinctive and quite precise use of shifting tempo as the idiom of tango.
I felt this was missing in Tanguarda. They are highly trained European musicians and they make all the right noises, but their music is flat alongside the Orquesta, or Color Tango, or even Astilleros (definitely not golden age), as if it shouts at you rather than gently leading you. They are a quartet, so perhaps a good comparison would be with D'Agostino, who often recorded as a quintet. There's a kind of easy clarity about his music, a few quiet chords on the piano effortlessly supports a bandoneon line, which itself leads into a violin line that seems to arise as a part of it. There's a total harmony, five musicians all part of the same music, and dancers still want to move to it all night long.
I think Tanguarda are more at home in concert tango, and in Piazzolla in particular, music written to be listened to rather than danced to. I don't think they play as a dance band, possibly they don't even have much feeling for dance tango.
Sunday, 5 July 2009
Spotify
I was about to uninstall Spotify when I noticed it offers the complete recordings of John Coltrane... and the complete recordings of Miles Davis, too. Which seemed too good a thing to do away with. Then I found how to list by album, so tracks play in the intended order, and how to control the amount of hard disc space it uses. In fact it is a huge collection: 14,000 CDs were added to it one day at the end of June. The classical recordings aren't always the most recent, but it does seem to offer the entire Naxos catalogue and much else besides. Sound quality is adequate, but for £9.99 a month you can get close to CD quality, as well as freedom from ads. As for tango, Pugliese and Troilo are well served but there's no D'Agostino (apparently overshadowed by Latin singer Gigi D'Agostino). There are recordings by younger musicians: Orquesta Escuela, the bandoneon solos Instantaneas of Julio Pane, and several CDs of Orquesta El Arranque and Color Tango, but Rodolfo Mederos only appears through his CDs with Daniel Barenboim. So it is a patchy tango collection, but useful. At the rate it is being expanded it won't be long before the tango collection improves, especially if it is used. & it's entirely legal.
Saturday, 4 July 2009
Of Time and the City
This film seems to have been 'legendary' since it began as a commission for Liverpool as European Capital Of Culture 2008. Terence Davies has made just nine films: those I've seen are intimate, small-scale, a close focus on scenes of life, his own experience.
The film is about time and about the city, the city being Liverpool, the time being Davies' own growth into consciousness there, from childhood in 'some of the worst slums in Europe', through the movies and, as Liverpool was singing 'Yeah yeah yeah', to his discovery of classical music from Bruckner onwards, and of T S Eliot's The Waste Land, itself very much about time. And also about the effects, 'ravages' of time on the city and on people.
A lot of unforgettable archive footage of Liverpool from the 1940s onwards. Masses of people: an unimaginably overcrowded Mersey ferry, the crowds disembarking into the city, soldiers embarking for the Korean War, the vast sea of faces at a football match. & the streets of crumbling brickwork and rotting windows, the front doors hardly ten feet apart, and the people, the adults struggling through work and cleaning, and the children, who lived in them: the faces of children at play half a century ago. Then the demolitions and, memorably to Peggy Lee singing The folk who live on the hill, the transition to high-rises. Immaculately put together, could be watched over and over: the strange, unexpected quality of the archive footage, the juxtapositions of image and soundtrack, music, song, Davies talking or reading. Here's the trailer.
The DVD also includes Humphrey Jennings' Listen to Britain, a 'seminal' (these overused words) documentary poem of life in Britain in 1942. This short extract gives the feel of it, and includes a wonderful ballroom sequence, a huge crowd of couples strolling and turning in calm happy order round the floor. Floorcraft? Why the problem?
Too bad YouTube doesn't have an extract showing the Myra Hess concert at the National Gallery, an old friend damaged by bombs, patched up, shorn of pictures, outside which people stand relaxed in the sunshine. Who knew what terrors the night would bring?
The film is about time and about the city, the city being Liverpool, the time being Davies' own growth into consciousness there, from childhood in 'some of the worst slums in Europe', through the movies and, as Liverpool was singing 'Yeah yeah yeah', to his discovery of classical music from Bruckner onwards, and of T S Eliot's The Waste Land, itself very much about time. And also about the effects, 'ravages' of time on the city and on people.
A lot of unforgettable archive footage of Liverpool from the 1940s onwards. Masses of people: an unimaginably overcrowded Mersey ferry, the crowds disembarking into the city, soldiers embarking for the Korean War, the vast sea of faces at a football match. & the streets of crumbling brickwork and rotting windows, the front doors hardly ten feet apart, and the people, the adults struggling through work and cleaning, and the children, who lived in them: the faces of children at play half a century ago. Then the demolitions and, memorably to Peggy Lee singing The folk who live on the hill, the transition to high-rises. Immaculately put together, could be watched over and over: the strange, unexpected quality of the archive footage, the juxtapositions of image and soundtrack, music, song, Davies talking or reading. Here's the trailer.
The DVD also includes Humphrey Jennings' Listen to Britain, a 'seminal' (these overused words) documentary poem of life in Britain in 1942. This short extract gives the feel of it, and includes a wonderful ballroom sequence, a huge crowd of couples strolling and turning in calm happy order round the floor. Floorcraft? Why the problem?
Too bad YouTube doesn't have an extract showing the Myra Hess concert at the National Gallery, an old friend damaged by bombs, patched up, shorn of pictures, outside which people stand relaxed in the sunshine. Who knew what terrors the night would bring?
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
The medium
Pause the messages a moment to pay tribute to the medium, the internet. It's astonishing that we can have a worldwide dialogue, exchange experiences, learn, and look at videos too. I'm stunned at the immediacy of it. I post comments about Luisito Ferraris and within a week he's noticed it and thanked us all. I fantasise about a milonguero tango festival in London, and get an email of encouragement from a milonguero born in Buenos Aires. And inevitably I get a bit worried when I look for information and am directed to... a blog called Tangocommuter.
A couple of new things on it that I've come across recently. A legal music service called Spotify. Unlike LastFM you can listen to everything on Spotify, but you have to put up with a couple of short ads every 15 minutes: they are fairly quiet, and they go away if you pay £9.99 a month. The tango holding is reasonable, with some gaps. Not much Piazolla. A fair list of Miguel Calo and Julio de Caro, not much Pedro Laurenz. But Troilo, Canaro, D'Arienzo, of course, and a reasonable list of Hugo Diaz. The classic side has a good range but for the most part the recordings don't seem to be anything special and they are listed by individual tracks, so 'Finale' is listed before 'Scherzo': the 'album' listing isn't much use. & it's a streaming service that has stored 500mb of files on my hard drive in a few days... I don't need it since my tango collection is almost as good, and Radio 3 never stops, but for someone who wants to get to know the music it might be worth a try.
An online petition to the Westminster parliament to relax the 2008 immigration controls that are making it difficult for visiting artists (including tango teachers) and academics to make brief working visits to the UK. Over 6,000 'signatures' collected so far: the aim is 10,000.
& the tango database a work of love being created. The list of blogs includes several we are familiar with, and 454 films are listed under 'Films', but 'Teachers', for instance, remains blank.
A couple of new things on it that I've come across recently. A legal music service called Spotify. Unlike LastFM you can listen to everything on Spotify, but you have to put up with a couple of short ads every 15 minutes: they are fairly quiet, and they go away if you pay £9.99 a month. The tango holding is reasonable, with some gaps. Not much Piazolla. A fair list of Miguel Calo and Julio de Caro, not much Pedro Laurenz. But Troilo, Canaro, D'Arienzo, of course, and a reasonable list of Hugo Diaz. The classic side has a good range but for the most part the recordings don't seem to be anything special and they are listed by individual tracks, so 'Finale' is listed before 'Scherzo': the 'album' listing isn't much use. & it's a streaming service that has stored 500mb of files on my hard drive in a few days... I don't need it since my tango collection is almost as good, and Radio 3 never stops, but for someone who wants to get to know the music it might be worth a try.
An online petition to the Westminster parliament to relax the 2008 immigration controls that are making it difficult for visiting artists (including tango teachers) and academics to make brief working visits to the UK. Over 6,000 'signatures' collected so far: the aim is 10,000.
& the tango database a work of love being created. The list of blogs includes several we are familiar with, and 454 films are listed under 'Films', but 'Teachers', for instance, remains blank.
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Ricardo, very slowly
The story so far... I commented that I'd been taught to lean first from the torso, either forwards, sideways or backwards, and that then the free leg needs to follow. I posted some slomo of Luisito Ferraris just to check if what I'd been taught was actually how tango is danced: the torso-first movement is visible, but only just.
I then posted another video in which torso-first is very exaggerated. This led to an interesting comment from Tango en el Cielo that when Ricardo Vidort danced his stance inclined forwards – 'he really gives his upper body to her'. I checked out the YouTube clips of him, which reinforced my own memory (from video) of how he drove forwards with the upper body. Miraculously a new clip had appeared, filmed from very close by. Although this has limitations it means that it's much easier to see details. I hope Jessica Grumberg, his partner in this video, will excuse me for quoting a very brief extract from it in very slow motion. & I hope very much that she has more video like this.
The first few seconds shows just how upright his posture was. He's relaxed, joking, but there's no hint of round shoulders. The back is straight from the lower back upwards, the head high, which means the chest is naturally well out. The second and third few seconds show how far forwards he leaned when he led forwards. He leans so far forwards that when he steps forwards his foot is still more or less under his shoulders. His partner is in no doubt what is happening!
It's quite a simple dance, nothing elaborate, but gives the sense that he's creating the music rather than following it. I always get to know the music better by watching his dance to it. In the dance of Junior Cervilla & Rachel I feel the music is little more than a background beat: substitute a different piece of music and I think the dance would be much the same.
Anonymous, you asked about how the old dancers led; I hope this suggests an answer. It looks clearly as if the chest moves before the foot. As to dancing close with shorter partners, I've been taught never to bend down, always to keep upright. 'Let your partner reach up to you'. One short partner told me she really hates leaders bending over her.
I then posted another video in which torso-first is very exaggerated. This led to an interesting comment from Tango en el Cielo that when Ricardo Vidort danced his stance inclined forwards – 'he really gives his upper body to her'. I checked out the YouTube clips of him, which reinforced my own memory (from video) of how he drove forwards with the upper body. Miraculously a new clip had appeared, filmed from very close by. Although this has limitations it means that it's much easier to see details. I hope Jessica Grumberg, his partner in this video, will excuse me for quoting a very brief extract from it in very slow motion. & I hope very much that she has more video like this.
The first few seconds shows just how upright his posture was. He's relaxed, joking, but there's no hint of round shoulders. The back is straight from the lower back upwards, the head high, which means the chest is naturally well out. The second and third few seconds show how far forwards he leaned when he led forwards. He leans so far forwards that when he steps forwards his foot is still more or less under his shoulders. His partner is in no doubt what is happening!
It's quite a simple dance, nothing elaborate, but gives the sense that he's creating the music rather than following it. I always get to know the music better by watching his dance to it. In the dance of Junior Cervilla & Rachel I feel the music is little more than a background beat: substitute a different piece of music and I think the dance would be much the same.
Anonymous, you asked about how the old dancers led; I hope this suggests an answer. It looks clearly as if the chest moves before the foot. As to dancing close with shorter partners, I've been taught never to bend down, always to keep upright. 'Let your partner reach up to you'. One short partner told me she really hates leaders bending over her.
Sunday, 28 June 2009
Leaning, a bit more
Tango en el Cielo mentioned these two clips of the couple dancing apilado, Pasquale Bloise & Laura Grinbank, in a comment to 'Leaning'.
Interesting comment that 'One thing that Laura's partner seems to have in common with Ricardo is that his stance inclines forward'. Pasquale Bloise is quite a lot taller than Laura, and might also be stooping a bit to accommodate her. Ricardo was shorter and very upright, and he clearly inclines forwards when leading forwards. Very good posture, back straight and chest well out, must have a lot to do with it, but I suspect that he couldn't achieve it comfortably without some opposite pressure from his partner. Interesting too that there actually might be something a leader can do to create that contact: as a leader I've experienced it coming from a partner, and felt obliged to maintain it.
There are sadly few clips of Ricardo, and most are on tangoandchaos, so I can't embed them. This clip must be the best from YouTube; I can't get enough of it, but I've included it before. However, a new clip has very recently turned up. It's in a confined space, which limits what you can see although details are clearer, but a new clip of Ricardo Vidort is good news.
Interesting comment that 'One thing that Laura's partner seems to have in common with Ricardo is that his stance inclines forward'. Pasquale Bloise is quite a lot taller than Laura, and might also be stooping a bit to accommodate her. Ricardo was shorter and very upright, and he clearly inclines forwards when leading forwards. Very good posture, back straight and chest well out, must have a lot to do with it, but I suspect that he couldn't achieve it comfortably without some opposite pressure from his partner. Interesting too that there actually might be something a leader can do to create that contact: as a leader I've experienced it coming from a partner, and felt obliged to maintain it.
There are sadly few clips of Ricardo, and most are on tangoandchaos, so I can't embed them. This clip must be the best from YouTube; I can't get enough of it, but I've included it before. However, a new clip has very recently turned up. It's in a confined space, which limits what you can see although details are clearer, but a new clip of Ricardo Vidort is good news.
Saturday, 27 June 2009
Dancing flowers and the RA
Dancing flowers have been in the news recently (that is, the news one enjoys reading instead of news about fraud (financial and electoral), greed and destruction), so it seemed necessary to note one of the silliest and most delightful installations I've seen in a long time, at the Royal Academy degree show. The RA is a teaching college, and once a year the doors at the back of the exhibition rooms are opened, and it's possible to walk through to the studios at the back of the building, passing by cabinets of animal and human skeletons and plaster casts drawn by students since before Turner taught there, and see what the students have produced for their MA finals.
The studio that caught my attention had eight or so bicycles on racks. It became apparent that generators were connected to the back wheels, and the generators powered a display of fans. Following the sequence, the fans provided the wind to turn a small wind turbine that powered a loudspeaker. & on shelves under the loudspeaker were... rows and rows of dancing flowers. It obviously needed eight or so people to set the whole daft contraption in process, so I had to assume it worked. Heath Robinson, rather than Marcel Duchamp, in action.
The rest of the student show involved a fair amount of serious and interesting painting, and a rather magically quiet room of simple shapes in stone and card, reflected in simple drawings. It is strange that the simpler and more pared down the work is, the more complex and mysterious it becomes, the more questions it asks. Show ends June 28.
The summer exhibition upstairs was as stimulating and interesting as ever. The variety of it, in style and quality, always prompts interesting questions: why do I like this and not that? Why does this painting seem full of life and that one insipid? What's right here, what's wrong there? It was a great time to visit, soon after opening time on a Saturday morning, excellent light and not too many people. I didn't spent long there because I'd got back from a milonga hardly eight hours earlier, but I look forward to another visit soon. It's on until August 16.
The studio that caught my attention had eight or so bicycles on racks. It became apparent that generators were connected to the back wheels, and the generators powered a display of fans. Following the sequence, the fans provided the wind to turn a small wind turbine that powered a loudspeaker. & on shelves under the loudspeaker were... rows and rows of dancing flowers. It obviously needed eight or so people to set the whole daft contraption in process, so I had to assume it worked. Heath Robinson, rather than Marcel Duchamp, in action.
The rest of the student show involved a fair amount of serious and interesting painting, and a rather magically quiet room of simple shapes in stone and card, reflected in simple drawings. It is strange that the simpler and more pared down the work is, the more complex and mysterious it becomes, the more questions it asks. Show ends June 28.
The summer exhibition upstairs was as stimulating and interesting as ever. The variety of it, in style and quality, always prompts interesting questions: why do I like this and not that? Why does this painting seem full of life and that one insipid? What's right here, what's wrong there? It was a great time to visit, soon after opening time on a Saturday morning, excellent light and not too many people. I didn't spent long there because I'd got back from a milonga hardly eight hours earlier, but I look forward to another visit soon. It's on until August 16.
Friday, 26 June 2009
Leaning
I wrote above (well, below, actually): 'I found in BsAs, and to a certain extent in Paris, that partners expect to lean into each other more noticeably: you feel the contact more firmly. It makes leading more positive as there's a better connection. It also suggests an immediate trust'. This lean is slight, hardly something you can actually see in normal circumstances. Leandro Palou teaches that couples should stand one foot's-length apart, then lean together so their upper torsos meet. Of course height, posture and girth affect this, so it can only be a general rule. You hardly see it, but you feel it: instead of constant contact, you can feel constant, if slight, pressure, and you feel the need to maintain this pressure as something precious, even as a challenge. I rarely notice it in London: in London accidental contact from the torso down to the knees is more likely, which is confusing and uncomfortable. We are mostly taught in open embrace by stage dancers, and very rarely by dancers whose practice is 'milonguero'.
In normal circumstances you can't see this, but in abnormal circumstances you can. I came across this video in which it is exaggerated. This might be a useful classroom exercise, but it certainly wouldn't be practical in a milonga. & it probably works here only because the follower has a very supple back and hips, so she really reaches back instead of just stepping back.
In normal circumstances you can't see this, but in abnormal circumstances you can. I came across this video in which it is exaggerated. This might be a useful classroom exercise, but it certainly wouldn't be practical in a milonga. & it probably works here only because the follower has a very supple back and hips, so she really reaches back instead of just stepping back.
Tuesday, 16 June 2009
Back to 'grach 2 (nothing about coloured lights).
When I was first learning, a teacher who'd spent some time in BsAs told us something that made a lot of sense: that your torso moves first, creating a slight imbalance that makes your foot want to follow. Obviously you lead a turn with the torso, but you also lean to the side, forwards or backwards, and then the step follows with a bit of urgency.
Leandro Palou of Tango Soul, London, confirmed this in a class last year, and I gather that he spent many hours in his teens in milongas, and got all his basic experience there before dancing in Tango por Dos. Between dances in milongas partners tell you how you can lead better, where you're going wrong, and Leandro said that older leaders would take him aside and teach him. (I remember discussions whether dancers should comment on each others' dance at milongas, but porteñas don't hesitate to do it, and it's useful. If leaders take offence at a polite observation it might suggest a problem with more than just dance skills.)
Negracha was quiet last Friday, so it was a good opportunity to check what had happened to my torso movements: you wouldn't have time to think of such things when Negracha is busy. I realised it was something I'd partly lost. I decided to check the theory against video, since 'slomo' video is a great tool, and I chose Luisito Ferraris because I've enjoyed watching his videos a lot recently. Just 18 secs.
Well, it isn't as clear as I thought it would be, but his weight certainly stays right above his moving foot, and he carries his partner with him.
I found this by chance: an interesting comparison.
Junior shoots his leg out energetically and his torso catches up with it a lot later, that's clear. So what is he leading with? It looks as if he actually didn't lead her right step, she saw it. The dance that follows (here)is acrobatic, at arms length, and both partners are for the most part looking down to see what is happening. I'm afraid it doesn't engage me. They keep to the beat but it's hardly musical or an expression of the music. It looks no more than a breathtaking display of skill. Junior Cevila is one of the best-known post-Copes display dancers; Rachel Greenberg currently teaches at Negracha.
A bit more slow Luisito. Perhaps it doesn't disclose his secrets, but it makes it easier to see what he's doing. I wanted to watch that wonderful swirling movement again that expresses the feel of the music so well. There's a slight change in posture between leading forward and backward steps, and right at the very end there's a double time he clearly leads with his torso, by leaning forwards more. I found in BsAs, and to a certain extent in Paris, that partners expect to lean into each other more noticeably: you feel the contact more firmly. It makes leading more positive as there's a better connection. It also suggests an immediate trust.
Incidentally, MsH and Arlene, if you're reading this, a comment appeared after your comments on the video of Luisito I linked (here). I was amazed.
PS: Should add a correction. I mentioned feedback in milongas, but that's not correct. Feedback in classes and in the practica area where classes segue into milongas. There are other topics for the brief pauses between dances in a milonga.
Leandro Palou of Tango Soul, London, confirmed this in a class last year, and I gather that he spent many hours in his teens in milongas, and got all his basic experience there before dancing in Tango por Dos. Between dances in milongas partners tell you how you can lead better, where you're going wrong, and Leandro said that older leaders would take him aside and teach him. (I remember discussions whether dancers should comment on each others' dance at milongas, but porteñas don't hesitate to do it, and it's useful. If leaders take offence at a polite observation it might suggest a problem with more than just dance skills.)
Negracha was quiet last Friday, so it was a good opportunity to check what had happened to my torso movements: you wouldn't have time to think of such things when Negracha is busy. I realised it was something I'd partly lost. I decided to check the theory against video, since 'slomo' video is a great tool, and I chose Luisito Ferraris because I've enjoyed watching his videos a lot recently. Just 18 secs.
Well, it isn't as clear as I thought it would be, but his weight certainly stays right above his moving foot, and he carries his partner with him.
I found this by chance: an interesting comparison.
Junior shoots his leg out energetically and his torso catches up with it a lot later, that's clear. So what is he leading with? It looks as if he actually didn't lead her right step, she saw it. The dance that follows (here)is acrobatic, at arms length, and both partners are for the most part looking down to see what is happening. I'm afraid it doesn't engage me. They keep to the beat but it's hardly musical or an expression of the music. It looks no more than a breathtaking display of skill. Junior Cevila is one of the best-known post-Copes display dancers; Rachel Greenberg currently teaches at Negracha.
A bit more slow Luisito. Perhaps it doesn't disclose his secrets, but it makes it easier to see what he's doing. I wanted to watch that wonderful swirling movement again that expresses the feel of the music so well. There's a slight change in posture between leading forward and backward steps, and right at the very end there's a double time he clearly leads with his torso, by leaning forwards more. I found in BsAs, and to a certain extent in Paris, that partners expect to lean into each other more noticeably: you feel the contact more firmly. It makes leading more positive as there's a better connection. It also suggests an immediate trust.
Incidentally, MsH and Arlene, if you're reading this, a comment appeared after your comments on the video of Luisito I linked (here). I was amazed.
PS: Should add a correction. I mentioned feedback in milongas, but that's not correct. Feedback in classes and in the practica area where classes segue into milongas. There are other topics for the brief pauses between dances in a milonga.
Saturday, 13 June 2009
Back to 'grach
It's been a while, but CaraB was closed last night.
There was an curious moment at the end of the class, when the milonga started but the lighting wasn't changed. For about ten minutes the lighting used for the class was on for the milonga. Then someone remembered and it was switched off, and the coloured spots and flickering lights were back on. It was a curious moment because for those ten minutes Negracha looked like... a milonga! A good parquet floor, tables round the periphery, couples dancing. Ten minutes of nostalgia!
It made me wonder: if there is one single factor that could improve the floorcraft in London milongas, it might well be the lighting. When you dance in semi-darkness, with pools of light, and with varying colours and flickering lights too, it might just be harder to be aware who is around you. & because it is darker you feel less exposed, so you might be less responsible. In my very limited experience I don't know a single milonga in BsAs that is dark and unevenly lit, or a single milonga in London that is light and evenly lit. Simba, in that very helpful post on starting a milonga, suggests that dim lighting isn't a good idea, because people should be able to see each other: he recommends good lighting for social reasons, but I think it might be advisable for the quality of the dance too.
There was an curious moment at the end of the class, when the milonga started but the lighting wasn't changed. For about ten minutes the lighting used for the class was on for the milonga. Then someone remembered and it was switched off, and the coloured spots and flickering lights were back on. It was a curious moment because for those ten minutes Negracha looked like... a milonga! A good parquet floor, tables round the periphery, couples dancing. Ten minutes of nostalgia!
It made me wonder: if there is one single factor that could improve the floorcraft in London milongas, it might well be the lighting. When you dance in semi-darkness, with pools of light, and with varying colours and flickering lights too, it might just be harder to be aware who is around you. & because it is darker you feel less exposed, so you might be less responsible. In my very limited experience I don't know a single milonga in BsAs that is dark and unevenly lit, or a single milonga in London that is light and evenly lit. Simba, in that very helpful post on starting a milonga, suggests that dim lighting isn't a good idea, because people should be able to see each other: he recommends good lighting for social reasons, but I think it might be advisable for the quality of the dance too.
Thursday, 11 June 2009
Organising traditional milongas
Thanks, Simba, for that marvellous photo of Humberto Primo 1462, where the Nino Bien milonga is held. It says it all, really, the neat formality of it, the tables lined up with a pathway behind them, the neatly arranged table cloths. Those table cloths might well be threadbare, even worn out, but they will be clean and freshly ironed. If the management knows you, you will be shown to one of the front-row tables, on the left of the photo if you are female, on the right for males: if you are a stranger you'll be in the second row. This formality is like a background: once the place fills up and people are dancing, eating and drinking it doesn't feel particularly formal. Then the cortina starts, the floor clears completely, and everyone awaits the next tanda, wondering what will play and whose eye they can catch, and you become aware again how formal it is. The smaller clubs feel less formal, but that formal structure is still there beneath the surface. This is confirmed by the host greeting you at the door: this isn't just an event you pay to enter.
& thanks for all the experience and advice on starting a milonga, which read like a love poem to the milongas of Buenos Aires, nostalgic because of the distance. I suspect that any milonga here will have to be a compromise, although perhaps the situation is beginning to change, with more people interested in tango. Perhaps it's becoming possible to host a more traditional milonga that covers its costs. But I think that one factor, table service of hot snacks, drink and coffee, which makes people happy to stay all night, is always going to be hard to manage here. Too bad. One day, I hope!
& thanks for all the experience and advice on starting a milonga, which read like a love poem to the milongas of Buenos Aires, nostalgic because of the distance. I suspect that any milonga here will have to be a compromise, although perhaps the situation is beginning to change, with more people interested in tango. Perhaps it's becoming possible to host a more traditional milonga that covers its costs. But I think that one factor, table service of hot snacks, drink and coffee, which makes people happy to stay all night, is always going to be hard to manage here. Too bad. One day, I hope!
Saturday, 6 June 2009
The first simultaneous broadcast, ever.
An interesting and curious footnote to the posts a few weeks back on using video conferencing for learning from the older milongueros in Buenos Aires. A friend I dance with at Carablanca told me that at the bank she works in they use videoconferencing weekly with a large screen. I asked how it works, and she said it works fine (except: 'Why do we have to look at those people?'). So I outlined the idea of using VC for tango, and her eyes lit up: she thought it was a great idea. She then told me that Gardel, in the early 1930s, did a radio broadcast in which he was in New York and his guitarist was in Buenos Aires, and that it was the first simultaneous broadcast, ever.
A difficult legacy... and a good night at Carablanca
A good night at Carablanca, which means there weren't so many people there, enough to create a buzz, enough to make dancing interesting, but not enough to make leading stressful. & it can be a bit stressful when there's a lot of sudden random movement and inconsiderate dancing going on around, not to mention flying Comme il Fauts... It's great to enjoy a whole evening of dance and to come out feeling relaxed, rather than a bit exhausted, even if I'd enjoyed dancing, which was how I felt when I left last week. & DJ Jill Barrett's music kept the evening going, as ever.
So London milongas can be good, but only when there aren't too many people...
I identified my bête noir, not as the 'nuevo' in which there's nothing very new but as stage tango danced in milongas. I have it on good authority that the greatest nightmare of stage dancers, particularly in ballet, is forgetting your choreography, not knowing what comes next, like an actor 'drying up'. It's a world in which dance is controlled, absolutely. So the milonga is entirely the reverse. You never know in advance where the music is going to lead you, and the space in which you can move is constantly, unpredictably changing. It's a world of immediate, instant reaction: there's no time to think. All popular dances sink (or rise) into a state in which individuality is absorbed into the whole, into a trance of some kind, and I'd like to think that tango is the most complex of all these dances, in which the partner, the music, and the floor as a whole, become undifferentiated. Which for me is why anyone's attempt to be a star, to show off how good he or she is, to ignore the floor as a whole and the music, cut across the best possibilities of a milonga.
Thanks for the comments on the previous post:
Game Cat: funny you should mention First Friday, exactly what I had in mind! I think DB and First Friday have already gone a long way, not only by organising events but also by their interest in a 'milonguero' way of dancing. But I can't think of a smallish milonga playing decent music in central London that could be 'infiltrated'. The Wine Bar comes to mind, and I'm sure Nikky would be delighted if we all turned up there. Did you have one in mind?
Thanks, Janis, for reminding me of the rules at Cachirulo. Actually I'm not really in favour of rules and excluding people. I'd hate to turn up at one of my regular milongas to find a note reading: 'No close-hold dancing! No turning on the spot!' It's a pity it became necessary at Cachirulo, but at least it remains a very popular event with local dancers.
If a small milonga gets going in London its name and advertising would suggest its orientation. As I see it, size matters. Dancers who like big moves will avoid small spaces and go for large popular places where they can be seen to perform. I haven't been there much, but I think dancing at the Wine Bar is generally pretty good: everyone is aware of the space limitation and everyone tends to treat everyone else well. & I think it's easier to apologise to people, if necessary, for the lack of space, and ask them to keep their movements small. If they don't like it they won't come back, but at least it won't seem personal.
DB: I agree it might be possible. But I must say profitability wouldn't be a great concern, although lossability certainly would. It would be brilliant if something like that could cover its costs from the start. & sorry I didn't recognise you for a moment last week after Carablanca: tangocommuters get in a panic about the last train!
So London milongas can be good, but only when there aren't too many people...
I identified my bête noir, not as the 'nuevo' in which there's nothing very new but as stage tango danced in milongas. I have it on good authority that the greatest nightmare of stage dancers, particularly in ballet, is forgetting your choreography, not knowing what comes next, like an actor 'drying up'. It's a world in which dance is controlled, absolutely. So the milonga is entirely the reverse. You never know in advance where the music is going to lead you, and the space in which you can move is constantly, unpredictably changing. It's a world of immediate, instant reaction: there's no time to think. All popular dances sink (or rise) into a state in which individuality is absorbed into the whole, into a trance of some kind, and I'd like to think that tango is the most complex of all these dances, in which the partner, the music, and the floor as a whole, become undifferentiated. Which for me is why anyone's attempt to be a star, to show off how good he or she is, to ignore the floor as a whole and the music, cut across the best possibilities of a milonga.
Thanks for the comments on the previous post:
Game Cat: funny you should mention First Friday, exactly what I had in mind! I think DB and First Friday have already gone a long way, not only by organising events but also by their interest in a 'milonguero' way of dancing. But I can't think of a smallish milonga playing decent music in central London that could be 'infiltrated'. The Wine Bar comes to mind, and I'm sure Nikky would be delighted if we all turned up there. Did you have one in mind?
Thanks, Janis, for reminding me of the rules at Cachirulo. Actually I'm not really in favour of rules and excluding people. I'd hate to turn up at one of my regular milongas to find a note reading: 'No close-hold dancing! No turning on the spot!' It's a pity it became necessary at Cachirulo, but at least it remains a very popular event with local dancers.
If a small milonga gets going in London its name and advertising would suggest its orientation. As I see it, size matters. Dancers who like big moves will avoid small spaces and go for large popular places where they can be seen to perform. I haven't been there much, but I think dancing at the Wine Bar is generally pretty good: everyone is aware of the space limitation and everyone tends to treat everyone else well. & I think it's easier to apologise to people, if necessary, for the lack of space, and ask them to keep their movements small. If they don't like it they won't come back, but at least it won't seem personal.
DB: I agree it might be possible. But I must say profitability wouldn't be a great concern, although lossability certainly would. It would be brilliant if something like that could cover its costs from the start. & sorry I didn't recognise you for a moment last week after Carablanca: tangocommuters get in a panic about the last train!
Thursday, 4 June 2009
A difficult legacy.
It's said that tango is popular world-wide now because of Copes and the popularity of his show, first in France then on Broadway, in 1984. Without that, it's possible that tango now would be danced in a just few milongas in Buenos Aires, and we simply wouldn't know about it. If that's true, thanks, many many thanks!
But the downside is that our sights have become fixed on stage tango. If our teachers aren't stage tango dancers, their teachers probably were. Getting instruction from dancers who have never danced on stage or been taught by stage dancers, whose entire background is dancing in the milongas, is really difficult. A few of them live in Europe, and others visit Europe from time to time. Most of them would never dream of teaching anyway: they dance because it's their social world, it's what they've always loved to do for a night out.
Stage dancers are quite different. They are trained dancers, often with backgrounds in contemporary, in ballet; quite a few come out of gymnastics. They are trained from childhood in display, in showing, even in showing off, whatever gets applause on stage. They are often trained teachers too, and what they teach us comes out of this world, the world of the stage rather than the world of the milonga. It's more than just the 'steps', it's a whole mind-set. Hence, I think, the volume of complaints about 'floorcraft': MsH and her jivetango friends aren't the only people I hear loud and clear. Floorcraft doesn't concern stage dancers, with their well-designed choreographies, but it was vital in the old milongas of BsAs where you wouldn't get to dance if you weren't competent, and dancing well didn't always mean displaying a huge repertoire of flashy steps.
That's the difficult legacy: stage dance.
In Paris recently I learned some simple turns from Tete and Silvia. I've seen these often enough in videos, and they are used frequently in BsAs milongas. They can be done in little space, and they enable leaders to turn 360 degrees and see what space is available. They are simple and elegant, but I'd never learned them in four years of classes in London. I'd been taught giros, with saccadas at every step and a gancho or two thrown in, which take a lot more room and a huge amount of practice to look even remotely effortless, but not simple, practical moves that evolved to suit crowded dance floors.
MsH's friends aren't responsible for the problems they complain about. I'm sorry to say that I don't think their attempt to analyse the dance, the type of music, the shape of the floor, is going to help. I think that turning our (since I'm one of them) backs on the big London milongas and starting a small milonga (or two) is the only thing to do. Small, because it won't cater to so many people, and there won't be room for big moves. Just small friendly gatherings where people, friends, can get together for evenings to enjoy dancing together, and gatherings that can invite dancers who have long experience of the milongas, to teach. They won't be trained teachers, but they'll have spent a lifetime watching and dancing social tango, and they know when it doesn't look right, and why. & they have a warmth and love of tango that is really encouraging.
But the downside is that our sights have become fixed on stage tango. If our teachers aren't stage tango dancers, their teachers probably were. Getting instruction from dancers who have never danced on stage or been taught by stage dancers, whose entire background is dancing in the milongas, is really difficult. A few of them live in Europe, and others visit Europe from time to time. Most of them would never dream of teaching anyway: they dance because it's their social world, it's what they've always loved to do for a night out.
Stage dancers are quite different. They are trained dancers, often with backgrounds in contemporary, in ballet; quite a few come out of gymnastics. They are trained from childhood in display, in showing, even in showing off, whatever gets applause on stage. They are often trained teachers too, and what they teach us comes out of this world, the world of the stage rather than the world of the milonga. It's more than just the 'steps', it's a whole mind-set. Hence, I think, the volume of complaints about 'floorcraft': MsH and her jivetango friends aren't the only people I hear loud and clear. Floorcraft doesn't concern stage dancers, with their well-designed choreographies, but it was vital in the old milongas of BsAs where you wouldn't get to dance if you weren't competent, and dancing well didn't always mean displaying a huge repertoire of flashy steps.
That's the difficult legacy: stage dance.
In Paris recently I learned some simple turns from Tete and Silvia. I've seen these often enough in videos, and they are used frequently in BsAs milongas. They can be done in little space, and they enable leaders to turn 360 degrees and see what space is available. They are simple and elegant, but I'd never learned them in four years of classes in London. I'd been taught giros, with saccadas at every step and a gancho or two thrown in, which take a lot more room and a huge amount of practice to look even remotely effortless, but not simple, practical moves that evolved to suit crowded dance floors.
MsH's friends aren't responsible for the problems they complain about. I'm sorry to say that I don't think their attempt to analyse the dance, the type of music, the shape of the floor, is going to help. I think that turning our (since I'm one of them) backs on the big London milongas and starting a small milonga (or two) is the only thing to do. Small, because it won't cater to so many people, and there won't be room for big moves. Just small friendly gatherings where people, friends, can get together for evenings to enjoy dancing together, and gatherings that can invite dancers who have long experience of the milongas, to teach. They won't be trained teachers, but they'll have spent a lifetime watching and dancing social tango, and they know when it doesn't look right, and why. & they have a warmth and love of tango that is really encouraging.
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
Osvaldo and Coca
Thanks to Tango en el Cielo for the link to this video of Osvaldo and Coca dancing milonga. A much gentler style than that of El Flaco, and one I personally can learn more from: El Flaco is hard to follow! & I notice clearly how Osvaldo leads with his torso before moving his feet. Definitely something I need to learn.
They taught in Turin in 2007, but I doubt they are still travelling.
They taught in Turin in 2007, but I doubt they are still travelling.
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