I hope you'll enjoy Luís Rubistein's 1933 tango Cuatro Palabras (Four Words) by Adolfo Carabelli and his Orquesta Típica with vical by Charlo and the great Elvin Vardaro on violin. Vardaro has a gorgeous solo on this track.
The song was penned by Luis Rubistein (that's him in the pic), a prolific and highly regarded Russian-Jewish-Argentine tango composer whose many titles include Charlemos, Ya sale el tren, Cadenas, Nada más, Tarde gris, and Marión. There's an extensive bio of Rubinstein at TodoTango.com. Worth a read.
After dancing to this song many times and understanding that the title meant "Four Words," I found myself wondering, "What are the four words?" So of course I had to find out! My version of the lyrics--and the four words--is below.
CUATRO PALABRAS (1933) Words and music: Luis Rubinstein
Que te vaya bien me dijiste colgandome el tubo de tu telefon Que te vaya bien murmuremos tu llanto entre dientes una maldición. Que te vaya bien significa que nunca en la vida volverás a ser mia otra vez.
Cuatro palabras que sintetizan mi amargura Cuatro palabras que me robaron tu ternura Pero sin embargo fuiste mala porque yo te quise como a Dios No solo te quise, aún te quiero así mala y todo como sos.
“I wish you well,” you said to me, as you hung up the phone. “I wish you well,” we both muttered, your tears an unspoken curse. “I wish you well,” means never in this life will you be mine again.
Four words that summarize my bitterness. Four words that rob me of your tenderness. But even so, you were wrong, because I worshipped you like God. Not only did I love you, I love you still, wrong and all that you are.
The organito [a portable, mechanical barrel organ--MK] is the missing link between the bordello tango of the arrabal--the outlying slums of Buenos Aires--and the refined tango of the café. The organito is the great emancipator of tango, that which lifted it out of its miserable childhood, dressed it in fancy clothes, and found it a decent home. The organito projected its mechanical tangos into the windows of the middle class neighborhoods, thus transforming the forbidden melodies into something domestic and familiar.
The organito of Buenos Aires and Montevideo is the twin brother of the organillo madrileño. But the more sedentary organillo is born and dies in place, while the organito of the Río de la Plata is restless: it leaves the suburbs and makes its way to the center of the city. The organillo goes nowhere, while the organito expands and conquers.
1900 is the keydate for this modest but efficient diffuser of tango. The cardboard cylinders that house the melodies become plentiful,and new tunes are composed for it—some as beautiful as El Choclo. When it has completed its mission, the organito dies. Tango has been accepted; the orchestra takes the place of the organillero. Homero Manzi left this beautiful lyric in memory of The Last Organito:
The mud-caked wheels of the last organito Will appear out of the evening, seeking the arrabal:
An emaciated horse, a lame fellow, a monkey,
Trailing a chorus of girls dressed in percale.
With muted steps, he’ll choose the corner
Where the moonlight mixes with the light of the shopfronts
So that the pale marquis and the pale marquess can dance
Their mechanical waltzes in the vaulted niche....
Before it dies, the organito seeks assistance from fortune. This final stage of its destiny is very poetic and tanguero. The humble musicians of the organito, seeing their repertoire passing into more capable hands, station trained parrots on the lid of the instrument. For the price of a coin, the bird dips his beak in a bag and pulls out a slip of paper with a fortune written on it. There are only twenty or thirty fortunes available to the hapless patron. Tango has lost its leading role, and is reduced to musical accompaniment for these doubtful predictions.
These scenarios combining fate, misfortune, and music were not lost on the lyricists of tango. One of them was recounted in Cotorrita de la suerte (Lucky parrot), written by José de Grandis:
How the obrerita—little working girl—coughs at night,
Coughs and suffers the cruel premonition
That the candle of her life is dimming,
That her tender heart will never be free of this torment!
This frisky, high-spirited obrerita, Who once brought such happiness to her little home,
Now endures long hours of agony
Knowing there’s no salvation from her malady.
A man passes, crying,
“Lucky parrot!
Predicts life or death.
Want to try your luck?”
The obrerita resists, doubting and fearing
the rose-colored paper
The parrot is picking out.
On reading it, her face brightens,
and trembling at the promised good fortune
she joyfully reads: A sweetheart, long life. And she stifles the sob in her throat.
From then on her days slip by,
Anxiously awaiting her dearly beloved,
And on the afternoon of her sad death
She asks her mother: “Didn’t he come?”
A man passes, crying,
“Lucky parrot!”
The organito, its shabby operator, the couples who danced to its sickly-sweet tones and, moreover, the memory of them, the nostalgia for them, has survived into the twentieth century to become the subject of numerous tangos: Organito (Juan Carlos Gravis), Música de organito (Manuel Buzón and Osvaldo and Carlos Moreno), Organito del suburbio (Antonio Bonavena), Organito arrabalero (Ernesto Baffa y José Libertella), along with Organito de la tarde, with music by Catúlo Castillo and lyrics by his father, José González Castillo, which was recorded by Carlos Gardel in 1925.
For me, tangos by the Two Angels--bandleader Angel D'Agostino and singer Angel Vargas (right)--always have an uplifting feeling, even when they sing of sadness or loss. Sometimes the atmosphere at a milonga can feel really heavy, and then Tres Esquinas or Madreselva comes on, and everything changes. I feel like I'm getting a second wind, and I could dance all night.
Here's one of my favorite D'Agostino songs, the bouncy, oft-heard "El Yacaré." The title, which means The Alligator, refers not to the fearsome marine reptile but to the nickname of a wildly popular jockey of the 40s, Eliás Antúnez. Remember, not all tango lyrics are about lost love or duels to the death! Some are about drinking, gambling, mother, flowers, the sea, or tango itself. And then there's this one, all about a jockey.
A nice bio of El Yacaré lyricist Mario Soto is at TodoTango.com. There's more commentary from me in the notes following the lyrics. There's a YouTube video of the song down there, too, and of course Soto's lyric in the original language.
El Yacaré (The Alligator) Music by Alfredo Attadia, lyrics by Mario Soto English version by Michael Krugman
It's Sunday, Palermo* glitters in the sun, Hope rides on every horse* in the ring. The thoroughbreds toe the line And at the shout of “They’re off!” they leap out of the gate. In the middle of the pack, biding his time, A jockey waits with quiet poise. Now he's getting ready to charge...an infernal outcry... He hits the home stretch and the crowd goes wild.
"Come on, Alligator!" The deafening cry explodes. They all flog like crazy But it’s no use: Antúnez* is already in the winner’s circle. You sure know how to pick a loser To win a Grand National... Wild Angel*? What a longshot! But there she is, the top of the scoreboard, As always your triumphant finish line.
An artist at the reins, the courage of a lion, All the marks of a true champion. Surveying the track like a sharpshooter, The path to the winner’s circle is in your sights. In the grandstand they all marvel at your tenacity and skill, Your winning ways have got them all wound up. In one crazy outburst they yell themselves hoarse When hell for leather* you start your furious charge.
Notes: *Palermo: El Hipodromo Argentino de Palermo, Buenos Aires' main racetrack. *Horse: Pingo, Arg. slang for a good horse. Nice word! *Antúnez: Eliás Antuñez (b. 1907), legendary jockey known as El Yacaré, won the Gran Premio Pellegrini in 1941 and 1950 and the Gran Premio Nacional in 1949. *Wild Angel: Muñeca Brava. I don't see any evidence that this really was one of Antúnez's horses. The name may be fanciful. *Hell for leather: The original is a taco y lonja, literally, by heels and by leather strap. Sounds like "hell for leather" to me.
[Original text en castellano follows]
El Yacaré
Es domingo, Palermo resplandece de sol, cada pingo en la arena llevará una ilusión. En las cintas los puros alineados están y a la voz de “¡Largaron!” da salida un afán. En el medio del lote, conteniendo su acción, hay un jockey que aguarda con serena atención, ya se apresta a la carga... griterío infernal. Emoción que desborda en un bravo final.
¡Arriba viejo Yacaré! Explota el grito atronador. Todos castigan con rigor, pero no hay nada que hacer, en el disco ya está Antúnez. Sabés sacar un perdedor, ganar un Premio Nacional... Muñeca brava y al final el tope del marcador siempre es tu meta triunfal.
Un artista en las riendas, con coraje de león, tenés toda la clase que consagra a un campeón. Dominando la pista con certera visual el camino del disco vos sabés encontrar. Las tribunas admiran tu pericia y tesón y se rinde a tu arte con intensa emoción. Se enronquecen gargantas en un loco estallar, cuando a taco y a lonja empezás a cargar.
I hope you'll enjoy Luís Rubistein's 1933 tango Cuatro Palabras (Four Words) by Adolfo Carabelli and his Orquesta Típica with vical by Charlo and the great Elvin Vardaro on violin. Vardaro has a gorgeous solo on this track.
