CAN TANGO SURVIVE IN ARGENTINA?
A REVIEW OF THE QUINTESSENTIAL ARGENTINE MUSIC IN ITS POLITICAL, SOCIOLOGICAL, ECONOMIC ASPECTS
by Juan Porteño
(Alasdair Lean)
Right from the start one must acknowledge the impossibility of doing justice to such a demanding subject in a short article. Nevertheless, one can try, simplifying and extracting the essential marrow of a bewildering array of facts, and present a succinct, perhaps simplistic, analysis.
A short time ago I read a web page on the book by Juan Ramón Lodares, "Gente de Cervantes" [Cervantes' People], recently published in Madrid, dealing with why Spanish is, rather than an international language, a multinational one. This was not always the case, Spanish having been what anyone wanting to be someone in the world had to go to the trouble of learning, until the early 1700s, when French took over.
The tone of the article is somewhat sad at the loss of prestige of a tongue spoken by around 300 million speakers. Of course, this decline corresponds exactly with that of Spain itself, which went into a state of somnolence lasting more than three centuries. Only recently has Spain made a somewhat dramatic comeback, in apparent readiness to assume a central role in world affairs.
Yet, it may not be much more than a flash in the pan. There is a rather meandering book by an Argentine university lecturer, Rodolfo Kusch, called "América profunda," [Profound America], which does, however, make one telling point: the Spanish were never really of an innovative, progressive mentality, but only reacted at being left behind and seeing others forge ahead. Admittedly simplistic, this does still contain a kernel of truth. What is also true is that America (Latin) has inherited this legacy, and nurtures it to this day. This is probably the explanation why Argentina is a copycat country (a fact readily recognized by many Argentines) and why such a richly endowed country should be, if not exactly destitute, certainly not nearly as prosperous as it ought to be (compared with Japan, a pile of rocks in the ocean with scant natural resources, which has done pretty well for itself. One can think of other instances, such as Belgium, the size of my thumbnail, which enjoys a considerable degree, not only of wealth, but of worldly influence.)
Until fairly recently, tango was to all intents and purposes virtually dead. Due to some unexplainable international fad (starting in Japan, Finland, and spreading elsewhere— and who can say why?) it has enjoyed an amazing recovery, having caught on EVEN in Buenos Aires some considerable time later. The truth is that tango was never popular among certain social classes in Argentina, who considered it below their dignity. Very often the ruling classes not only rejected it, but actually proscribed and persecuted it. It was only due to its acceptance in Europe, mainly France, in the early 20th century, that it was at all able to acquire a certain respectability. This allowed it to thrive through the 40s, and survive thereafter through most of the 60s, when a series of military regimes severely mutilated it.
Numerous exponents suffered political ostracism at different times, e.g. the Castillos (José González Castillo, an avowed semi-anarchist who, together with his family, including Cátulo Castillo, one of the foremost tango lyricists, had to flee to Chile on account of the local atmosphere, and only returned after the populist government of Yrigoyen took over in 1916. Others that suffered persecution for their political views were Homero Manzi, possibly the most brilliant tango lyricist, who lost his university chair and other positions owing to his nationalistic political militancy (originally as a Radical, later as a Peronist), though he was able to survive as a tango lyricist thanks to his tremendous poetic gifts; Enrique Santos Discépolo, another celebrated lyricist and composer, who also suffered pressures from officialdom, and expressed his complaints in the form of poignant and often rather depressing texts. One of his most famous tangos, Cambalache (Junk Shop) which is, admittedly, fairly negative in tone, was banned by the military for many years. Or Osvaldo Pugliese, one of the doyens of tango musicians, a life-long card-holder of the Communist Party, who was relegated to near oblivion for many years, until rehabilitated by the Radical government of Raúl Alfonsín in the 1980s.
Though the 40s marked the flood-tide of tango, the crowning point of a period that had allowed some tango musicians and singers to live in relative comfort for three or four decades, political pressure still existed. Dictator Juan Perón, who took over in 1946, though supposedly a populist ruler— actually a mild version of Mussolini, Hitler, or Franco— nevertheless decided to sit astride the fence and, in order not to displease the clerical sphere (for the time being, anyway) gave in to their desires that tango lyrics should be bowdlerized of their more outspoken or realistic elements. Additionally, schoolteachers were instructed, on pain of dismissal, to teach children to use the Castillian "tú" instead of the local "vos," a modality painfully put into practice which happily has, one hopes, forever been left aside. Nowadays "vos" is as current as ever, and has perhaps even come back with a vengeance, tending to encroach on all former efforts at eliminating it.
But if you sang (and wanted official backing to get your song listened to) you not only had to use "tú" but also clean your language of most "lunfardo" terms. Lunfardo is Buenos Aires slang, originally the language of pickpockets, pimps, and immigrants, consisting of mainly Italian and Creole elements, but now normal currency among "Porteños" of all classes. Today you will hardly hear an informal conversation without at least the occasional Lunfardo term cropping up. Let me introduce you to the most recent I have heard, quite hilarious: the verb "pimponear" meaning, "to shuttle back and forth indecisively"— to "ping-pong." It may even be a foreign loan, who knows, doesnt matter. Yet, like all slangs, Lunfardo swells and metamorphoses daily, growing fat on figures of speech and wry humour.
An example of this bowdlerizing is seen in the tango "Farolito de papel" [Little Paper Lantern], one of many.
FAROLITO DE PAPEL
Francisco García Jiménez / Teófilo y M. Lespés
[Aníbal Troilo / Alberto Marino]
Original version:
En tus grupos(1) me engañé y a tu arrullo me dormí
y dormido me quedé solo, pato(2), y hecho un gil(3)...
Farolito de papel que alumbraste en mi bulín(4)
con la luz amiga y fiel de amoroso berretín(5)...
Solo quedé, yo no tenía más que a vos(6),
Pato(2), porque eras un mundo de ilusión;
Bowdlerized version:
En tus cuentos me engañé y a tu arrullo me dormí
y dormido me quedé, solo y pobre en mi vivir...
Farolito de papel que alumbraste mi vivir
con la luz amiga y fiel del amor que ya perdí
Solo quedé, yo no tenía más que a ti,
Pobre porque eras un mundo de ilusión;
This just shows how unsettling self-censorship can be. There is nothing wrong with any of the above Lunfardo terms. Grupo: lie, deceit; bulín, bachelor apartment; pato, broke; gil, fool, ninny; berretín, fad. This is all rather Orwellian or Kafkaesque: guilty till proven innocent. (I hope you are beginning to draw conclusions, for it has a lot to do with the general gist of my contention.) Yet a liberty taken with any of these SELF-IMPOSED restrictions could result in rejection of the song by the powers that were, and its consequent ban on radio. Perhaps you are beginning to realize the craziness involved. Nowadays, the age of public filth and sewer language, when you can say whatever you list in the most select company or over the airwaves, this is of course no longer the case, so maybe people indeed have no sense at all of a happy medium. Nonetheless freedom of expression, even profanity, is always far preferable to censorship.
So... how DID tango survive?
Tango has had its ups and downs, but there were times when it definitely throve. How else could it have produced such abundance? In its early period, say 1870-1920, it was mostly an amateur activity, but eventually it became more professional. Not all its cultivators were able to live by it, though. In an interview a month before his death in July 1994, pianist Sebastián Piana, the main creator of milonga in its modern form, notes that he was unable to subsist on tango alone, and had to teach music in schools. He also mentions some who were able to live by it, such as a few early orchestra leaders (Firpo, Canaro, Fresedo) as well as, of course, Gardel.
(It should be observed that "milonga" has two distinct meanings: 1. A genre of music, akin to tango, but livelier and, often, with more cheerful lyrics; and 2. A place where people meet to dance tango and milonga, a ball or dance. The term has acquired additional meanings, and is sometimes used for any kind of dancing party, or even— figuratively— any kind of complex situation.)
To continue— Tango musicians were able to make a living by two or three means: live recitals, radio, and records. Live presentations were regular gigs at milongas, at cinemas (in the silent-film era and later) and local and international concert tours (such as the one during which folk-hero Carlos Gardel, together with his collaborator Alfredo Le Pera, composer Guillermo Barbieri, and four others died in a plane accident in Medellín, Colombia, in 1935.)
Radio was immensely important for tango. In a recent interview, one of the surviving oldtimers, bandoneonist and orchestra-leader Leopoldo Federico, states: "My uncle was not a musician but nevertheless had a great ear for music... He was a fan of Pedro Maffia and went to listen to him playing with Laurenz and Julio De Caro in the city cinemas."
"Young people can't believe it when I tell them about live orchestras on radio. On Saturdays and Sundays an incredible throng of people would turn up at dancing sessions held from 4 to 8 p.m. at [private] radio stations Belgrano, Splendid, and El Mundo... [At the latter], in what is now the premises of Radio Nacional, the large "A" hall upstairs would fill up choc-a-bloc. There were tango and jazz orchestras. It was a very happy period. Nowadays radios are tiny rooms where they transmit only news bulletins and records."
Piana, in the above-mentioned interview, notes: "On their own, young people can't do anything [to foster tango]. The ones that can contribute are the owners of dance-halls, by lowering admission prices. In olden days you could listen to a good orchestra for the price of a coffee. Radios and television should transmit more of our citizen music. When I was a primary-school music-teacher I used to teach my pupils tangos."
"During [military dictator] Onganía's time [1966-70] they behaved very badly with performers, taking away all our live performances on radio and in cinemas. Even I suffered the consequences. But... best forget it."
Yet even in times of plenty, there was a seamier side to the picture, with corrupt practices clearly visible. In an article on tango lyricist Carlos Bahr, Gaspar Astarita notes: "...And an unexplainable contradiction: in spite of Bahr's prolific [and highly popular] writing, from SADAIC [the authors and composers' association responsible for paying royalties] he never recieved meet retribution in view of the quality and quantity of his work. In order to keep himself and his family he always had to fall back on other activities." Being knowledgable in entomology, he used to make and sell collections of desiccated butterflies.
"Possibly, had he dealt more carefully with the final destination of his work, and somewhat adapted his demands to the bureaucracy and politics that have always been part and parcel of SADAIC, he might have done better for himself. But for Bahr, a man of strict ethical standards, such negotiations meant, as he saw it, a sort of breach of those codes...
"So the years went by, and he adapted to the austerity of a modest pension and SADAIC's meagre settlements, but never renounced the dignity that marked every step of his life."
The live performances in cinemas referred to above (obviously in the era of talkie films) were legally obligatory at a certain period, as a means of helping performers to subsist. These were often quite mediocre, and indicate the questionability of official interference in artistic matters, never mind how laudable the underlying intention. This interference continues today and, though it does mean some financial aid for struggling musicians, it not only distorts the market and clouds issues, but also points to the unsavouriness and inefficiency of political control of artistic activities (its objective invariably being the acquisition of political influence, wrapped up as promotion of the arts). To give an example, local symphony orchestras have reached a point of indifference by the public which renders them veritable white elephants. To (vainly and inexpertly) try and remedy this, authorities organize free public recitals, on occasion even subjecting orchestras to the indignity of playing in the street. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with street music (which I have done myself) but those that attend these concerts are not in the least interested in classical music. Not knowing what else to do, they go to them because they are free, in contrast with, say, watching monkeys at the zoo, which is not. So you get these multitudes of bored, disoriented youths milling around, talking on their mobile phones while the music plays. (There is obviously something utterly wrong in all this.)
Admittedly, all this is very debatable: whether official sponsorship is justifiable or not. In fact, there would exist no classical music had it not been for diverse mecaenas in the past. One can also ask if music should be a professional activity. Consider a country like England: there are of course professional musicians there, but at the same time a host of highly proficient amateurs. Money tends to get in the way of musical enjoyment, as of many other things. A lot of young people learn an instrument in the hope of making big money out of it, and as soon as they discover this is not to be, lay it aside for good. Makes one want to puke.
Official meddling has another drawback: it sets up certain categories of music or other human endeavour as "cultured," or fit to be included in university curricula and suchlike. Other categories are relegated to an inferior rank. As Argentina is not only a young country but, in many senses, one of impaired or undeveloped judgment and thus an imitator rather than a creator, this dichotomy has been a rather frequent feature. A lot of middling poets, even hacks, who have copied European models have been favoured by the powers that were to the detriment of other more popular, genuine ones. If it were a matter of mere popular preference, this would be no problem, as the public would choose for itself— but unfortunately it does mean that a lot of doors remain closed to those not approved by the authorities. Nepotism enters the picture, so that it is not the most talented that access the positions where they could shine, but those who happen to know someone influential. So, excellence suffers. Admittedly there is a tad of this in every country, but in Argentina it is more or less endemic.
Tango, despite the opposition it has had to counter, fortunately survived notwithstanding, and has recently enjoyed a revival (after a grim interval in the 70s and 80s). This resurrection, however, is an exogenous phenomenon, owed to tango's popularity abroad. "Cultured" and popular music and poetry, the one artifical and contrived, the other natural and spontaneous but looked down on by snobs, have always existed side-by-side in Argentina. Tango belongs to the latter category, but has made the grade thanks to foreign approval.
The sad truth, though, is that the average Argentine is uninterested in music (or anything else artistic, for that matter), so musicians have a hard time scraping a living together. The country has innumerable conservatories churning out musicians free of charge like sausage-machines. This is pretty peculiar for a country unwilling to support them. No doubt the competition of commercial music from abroad has much to do with the situation, but the net result is that any local musician wanting to make a career has to consider emigration. To mention only the best-known, Martha Argerich, Baremboim, Lalo Schiffrin, Piazzola have all succeeded abroad. Even Charly García, with a large following amongst local youth, has done a lot of his recording in the US and elsewhere. And there are legions more of the lesser known. This brain-drain is a bleeding wound that severely undermines the country economically and culturally.
Tango is no exception, but it has the advantage of copious foreign tourism that, to a certain degree, softens harsh reality. All the same, most present-day orchestras do rely considerably on frequent foreign tours to fill their coffers.
Thank you.
Juan
Contact: juan.port@gmail.com
