Tango Time Machine — Tango Decoder

TRENZAS ("Tresses"): Vidéo de tango sous-titrée en français et en espagnol

TRENZAS ("Braids"): Full text plus subtitled video in Spanish and English

TRENZAS (Braids)
Tango, 1944
Lyrics by Homero Expósito
Music by Armando Pontier
Recorded by Orquesta Típica Miguel Caló with vocal by Raúl Iriarte, 1945-02-20.

Subtitled tango video in Spanish and English, followed by full text, including unsung third stanza.

Trenzas, seda dulce de tus trenzas, luna en sombra de tu piel y de tu ausencia. Trenzas que me ataron en el yugo de tu amor, yugo casi blando de tu risa y de tu voz... Fina caridad de mi rutina, me encontré tu corazón en una esquina... Trenzas de color de mate amargo que endulzaron mi letargo gris. ¿Adónde fue tu amor de flor silvestre? ¿Adónde, adónde fue después de amarte? Tal vez mi corazón tenía que perderte y así mi soledad se agranda por buscarte. ¡Y estoy llorando así cansado de llorar, trenzado a tu vivir con trenzas de ansiedad... sin ti! ¡Por qué tendré que amar y al fin partir! [Pena, vieja angustia de mi pena, frase trunca de tu voz que me encadena... Pena que me llena de palabras sin rencor, llama que te llama con la llama del amor. Trenzas, seda dulce de tus trenzas, luna en sombra de tu piel y de tu ausencia, trenzas, nudo atroz de cuero crudo que me ataron a tu mudo adiós...

Braids, soft silk of your braids, moon in the shadow of your skin, and of your absence. Braids that bound me in the yoke of your love almost tender yoke of your laughter and your voice. Exquisite charity of my daily routine, I found your heart on a street corner.... Braids the color of bitter maté that sweetened my dull lethargy. Where did it go, your wildflower love? Where, where did it go after loving you? Maybe my heart had to lose you and so my loneliness is magnified by looking for you. And now I’m weeping so, tired of weeping, braided into your life with braids of longing... without you! Why do I have to love and in the end, to part! [Sorrow, old anguish of my sorrow, fragments of your voice that enchain me.... Suffering that fills me with words without rancor, passion that calls you with the flame of love. Braids, soft silk of your braids, moon in shadow of your skin of your absence, braids, unbearable rawhide knot that binds me to your wordless farewell...]

Subtitled Tango No. 33: SE VA LA VIDA (Edgardo Donato, 1936)

SE VA LA VIDA (Life Goes...)
Tango, 1936
Music: Edgardo Donato
Words: María Luisa Carnelli (a.k.a. Luis Mario)
Subtitled video in Spanish and English: Michael Krugman

Note: Edgardo Donato's familiar, super-danceable performance of Se Va La Vida, below, includes only partial lyrics. Azucena Maizani's very fine tango canción version includes full lyrics. Please hear our subtitled video of that, too!

Woman to woman: An intimate interview with Tania

"She Turned Down 300 Dollars A Day By Returning to Buenos Aires..."

Any Tania fans out there? I certainly am one.

For those who may not know, Tania (13 October 1893-17 February 1994!) was a Spanish singer and actress best known for her artistic and personal association with actor, director, poet, playwright, and tango lyricist Enrique Santos Discépolo. (They met after the poet heard her sing his super-edgy tango ESTA NOCHE ME EMBORRACHO in Buenos Aires's "Folies Bergère" cabaret, and was delighted with it, and her.) But Tania was a star in her own right, and she had her own unique personality and aura which is charmingly revealed in this very intimate, woman-to-woman interview that she gave to tango bandleader Ebe Bedrune for the weekly magazine "Cantando" in 1945. We hope you'll enjoy it!

(A very nice bio of Tania at TodoTango.com calls her un cascabel radiante, "a radiant jingle bell." Worth a read.)

Click on the image to see a fully legible, hi-res version of the original article. (Photo source: Tango Time Machine.) Or read our English-language transcript below.

***

Ebe Bedrune Asks, and Tania Answers...

She Turned Down 300 Dollars a Day By Returning To Buenos Aires

Tania, "the actress of tango." I would say, tango made emotion. A coquettish little room, of exquisite simplicity. Not even a painting on the wall. This is marvelous. Each and every corner breathes the soul of our popular music. In each and every corner is Tania and Discépolo. 

Ebe: Did you always sing, Tania?

Tania: Always, Ebe, from the day I was born, there was not a moment in my life in which I wasn't a singer.

And she herself is song, her gestures, her eyes, her smile, have that magnificent expression of those who have soul.

What impression did you have on your tour of America?

It was a dream; my performance in Chile, that was supposed to be only a few days, had to be extended for three months, with such success that they were truly emotional days.

And then?

I went on to Mexico. The Mexican public is really sympathetic; and the only word I can say is "thanks."

You were there quite a while, weren't you?

Performing in El Patio for five consecutive months, which set a real record; one of the few cases in which an artist has had such a long appearance without a break.

And why didn't you continue your tour?

You see, Ebe: Out of homesickness for Buenos Aires.

Homesickness?

Yes, it's odd, it reminds me of an earlier visit to Europe when Discépolo and I were performing in Paris. From Italy we received a message saying that in twenty days we were to start a new tour leaving France, returning to Italy, and arriving at Cairo to go across India.

A most promising trip, was it not?

Really, Ebe; but then I felt, without knowing why, an enormous desire to return to Buenos Aires; to walk the port-city streets, to hear the friendly voices, to see its blue sky and its marvelous stars. I was seized by an enormous heartbreak; I had to return, and I did. I didn't do the tour.

Her eyes seem clearer; and there is in them a trace of infinite sadness; they seem to be longing for the suggestion of those strange lands with their breath of mystery and legend.

But, Tania, if you felt such homesickness that you had to return, why this sorrow in your eyes now that you remember the lost trip?

For just that, Ebe, for the lost trip.

And it happened to you again this time, right?

That's right. After being in Peru, and then in Mexico again, they offered me a salary of thre hundred dollars a day to perform in Cuba. [Almost $4000 in today's currency, according to dollartimes.com.--TD] Tempting, right? But I couldn't do it. My desire to return was stronger.

I've heard that it was easy for you to convince the authorities to give you the visa necessary to visit North America. Why didn't you choose to go, Tania?

Not only as a tourist, Ebe, but they offered me a contract to perform in my capacity as an artist for six months.

And...?

And the same as when I was supposed to see the wonders of India, the Havana offer, and the North American visa.

It's that Tania, above all, is a woman. The spiritual grandeur of one who is truly a woman who knows the why of each one of her emotions, and puts them first before whatever flattery the world may bestow; who has her coquettish little apartment in El Centro and her grand home in Olivos, because she knows when to devote herself to her fans; and she knows when to wrap herself up in herself.

One thing surprises me, Tania: that you haven't "done" radio this last season.

It's true. They made me some offers but they "could not be"; so I have put aside the microphone that I love so much because it brings me closer to the listeners. Now, casually, in conjunction with of the confitería where I sing, we're going to solve that problem.

I still remember your performance in "Caprichosa y millonaria" [Capricious Millionaire, a 1940 film directed by Discépolo, with Tania in a starring role.—TD] and I can't understand how such a gifted actress has not returned to the screen.

That's another problem—the question of character (personaje). The one you cited was one I wouldn't mind doing again. Now I can only hope for a film role.

Currently, Tania?

I am performing in a stylish confitería [probably the cafetería "Luba," at Suipacha 580--TD] where I have nothing but praise for the the audiences, whom I now consider to be my fans.

Will you be there for a long time?

Yes, my contract is long; but possibly I'll take some short vacations for a month or two; because I'm a little tired; for some time I've been working very intensively, and I feel the desire now to be all by myself a little.

In truth, Tania is very conscientious about her work; about that which she has to give the fans who love her and follow her; she rehearses constantly, she prepares her repertoire with supreme care, and she attends to her costumes, because, as I said before, Tania is, before anything else, a woman.

Of an exquisite elegance; fine, delicately feminine. Tania possesses the marvelous gift of making herself understood to every heart, because she puts a little of her "self" into every one of her songs, which is what makes them so moving.

Listening to Tania, I lost track of the time and my coffee went cold. Without my noticing, it had gotten very late.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Subtitled Tango #30: PERO YO SÉ (D'Agostino/Vargas 1942)

"I know that in the wee hours, when you leave those wild parties, you feel your heart burdened by a fond memory, and you start to cry...."

PERO...YO SÉ (But...I know)
Tango, 1942
Words and music by Azucena Maizani

Our subtitled video follows. Scroll down for side-by side Spanish and English lyrics. A complete playlist of all our subtitled tangos is here.

Llegando la noche recién te levantas y sales ufano a buscar un beguén.* Lucís con orgullo tu estampa elegante sentado muy muelle en tu regia baqué. Paseás por Corrientes, paseas por Florida, te das una vida mejor que un pachá. De regios programas tenés a montones... Con clase y dinero de todo tendrás. Pero yo sé que metido vivís penando un querer, que querés hallar olvido cambiando tanta mujer... Yo sé que en las madrugadas, cuando las farras dejás, sentís tu pecho oprimido por un recuerdo querido y te ponés a llorar. Con tanta aventura, con toda tu andanza, llevaste tu vida tan sólo al placer. Con todo el dinero que siempre has tenido todos tus caprichos lograste vencer. Pensar que ese brillo que fácil ostentas no sabe la gente que es puro disfraz. Tu orgullo de necio muy bien los engaña... No quieres que nadie lo sepa jamás.

Night is falling You’ve just awakened and happily you set out to pick up your latest conquest. You show off with pride your elegant appearance seated very comfortably in your snazzy sports car. You drive along Corrientes, your drive along Florida, you lead a life better than any pasha. You’ve got piles of magnificent plans... With money and class you’ll have all of that. But I know that inside you’re still grieving for a love that you’re trying to forget by changing women all the time. I know that in the wee hours, when you leave those wild parties, you feel your heart burdened by a fond memory and you start to cry. With so many affairs, with all your adventures, you dedicated your life to pleasure alone. With all the money you’ve always had you’ve managed to conquer your every desire. To think that this brilliance that you facilely flaunt, people don’t know that it’s pure disguise. Your foolish pride fools them completely... You hoped that no one would ever know.

 

 

Azucena Maizani (1928)


























Julio De Caro's Carnaval Gig, 1941

Carnavál 1941. Julio De Caro plays 7 shows at the Teatro Pueyrredon de Flores opposite Eddie Kay and his Alabama Jazz. Segments of the shows were broadcast live on Radio El Mundo.

"...and remember that the traditional dances of the PUEYRREDON de FLORES, Rivadavia 6871, are starting tomorrow. Típica Julio de Caro - Eddie Kay and his Alabama Jazz."

The building (top, right, from parabuenosaires.com) was created by Belgian architect Alberto Edmundo Bourdon (1881-1965). It still stands, but is currently slated for demolition.

The ad from El Mundo newspaper is below, right. The text is:

"...and remember that the traditional dances of the PUEYRREDON de FLORES, Rivadavia 6871, are starting tomorrow. Típica Julio de Caro - Eddie Kay and his Alabama Jazz."

"At the Foot of the Holy Cross": A Tango Protest Song

"Sin trabajo, sin pan," Ernesto de la Cárcova, 1893

The 1933 tango Al pie de la santa cruz ("At the foot of the holy cross") tells the poignant story of a striking worker who is punished by being transported, probably to the notorious Ushuaia prison in Tierra del Fuego, leaving his wife, child, and aging parents weeping at dockside. It is one of the few explicitly political protest-songs among tango lyrics.

Lyrics in Spanish and English, notes, recording history, and further commentary are below the text.

AL PIE DE LA SANTA CRUZ
"At the foot of the holy cross"
1933
Music by Enrique Delfino
Lyrics by Mario Battistella

Declaran la huelga, hay hambre en las casas, es mucho el trabajo y poco el jornal; y en ese entrevero de lucha sangrienta, se venga de un hombre la Ley Patronal. Los viejos no saben que lo condenaron, pues miente, piadosa, su pobre mujer. Quizás un milagro le lleve el indulto y vuelva en su casa la dicha de ayer. Mientras tanto, al pie de la santa Cruz, una anciana desolada llorando implora a Jesús: "Por tus llagas que son santas, por mi pena y mi dolor, ten piedad de nuestro hijo, ¡Protégelo, Señor!" Y el anciano, que no sabe ya rezar, con acento tembloroso también protesta a la par: "¿Qué mal te hicimos nosotros pa' darnos tanto dolor?" Y, a su vez, dice la anciana: "¡Protégelo, Señor!..." Los pies engrillados, cruzó la planchada. La esposa lo mira, quisiera gritar... Y el pibe inocente que lleva en los brazos le dice llorando: "¡Yo quiero a papá!" Largaron amarras y el último cabo vibró, al desprenderse, en todo su ser. Se pierde de vista la nave maldita y cae desmayada la pobre mujer…

A strike is called, there’s hunger in the houses, the work is long and the wage is low; and in that confusion of of bloody struggles, the Boss's Law* takes its revenge on a man. His parents don’t know he's been sentenced, and his unlucky wife, out of pity, she lies: Maybe a miracle will bring him a pardon and return to his home some of yesterday’s joy. Meanwhile, at the foot of the Holy Cross,* a forlorn old woman, weeping, begs Jesus: “By your wounds that are holy, by my sorrow and pain, take pity on our son, and protect him, O Lord!” And just then the old fellow, who doesn’t yet know how to pray, he, too, protests with shaking voice: “What did we ever do to you, that you'd give us such pain?” And the old lady, in turn, says, "Protect him, Lord!" With shackled feet he crosses the gangplank. The wife looks at him, wishing she could scream... And the innocent kid that she holds in her arms says to him, crying, “I love you, Daddy!” They cast off the moorings and the last headland; in her whole being she was shaking, as the hulk pulled away. And as the cursed ship was lost from sight the poor woman fell down in a faint....

NOTES

* The Boss's Law: As far as I can tell, La Ley Patronal is not the name of a specific law, but a poetic and derisive characterization of the law in general, implying that it serves the patrones  (bosses) rather than the working people. 

* Holy Cross: The image of the worker's mother praying at the foot of the "holy cross" is a touching one; it links the suffering of the worker and his family to the suffering of Jesus Christ. The words may have a double meaning, however: according to some sources (one is cited below), the ship that transported prisoners to the Presidio de Ushuaia in Tierra del Fuego was called Santa Cruz. Hence many bereft families actually stood on the pier, literally "at the foot of the Santa Cruz," when they saw their loved ones carried away by that "cursed ship."

Further commentary from Gardel.es (translated by TD):

"Al pie de la santa cruz was born as a reflection of the socio-economic deterioration suffered by Argentina after the economic crash of 1930. It denounces the brutal repression by the de facto government of General Uriburu, which ordered the suppression of protests by means of shootings, mass imprisonment, and deportations.

"The lyric is explicit yet leaves room for poetic allegory, suggesting by its title the suffering of Jesus Christ. Santa Cruz was in its day the name of a navy prison-ship at the foot of which, from the pier, the teary-eyed family would see the loved one leave on his calvary.

"Transports," they were called. In the National Penitentiary it was known that the most feared punishment was being transported to "The Land" [Tierra del Fuego—TD]. After a medical checkup and a meal, the prisoners were told they would be transported to Ushuaia. In the morning they had to put all their things together, submit to an inspection, and then be shackled with iron bars that didn't permit them to advance more than fifteen centimeters. In short order, the condemned not only had the skin peeled from their ankles, but from their souls, too. (Guillermo Saccomanno, 2008)

RECORDING HISTORY

The song was recorded by Carlos Gardel in 1933 and by the Orquesta Típica Victor with vocal by Alberto Gómez in the same year. A heavily rewritten, apolitical version of the lyric was recorded by Alfredo De Angelis in December 1949, during the reign of Juan Perón but almost a year after the formal lifting of the censorship of tango lyrics. Asked about the bowdlerized recording years later, De Angelis answered, "What do you want? By other means, they held me prisoner, too." It would seem that this lyric, with its social-realist imagery, its sharp political commentary, and its compelling appeal to humanistic values, was still too incendiary for the time.

THE LYRICIST

Lyricist, translator, dramatist, and talent agent Mario Battistella (1893-1968) was born in Verona, Italy and spent much of his life in Argentina. He was the author of Cuartito Azul, Melodía de arrabal, Bronca, Remembranza, and approximately two hundred other lyrics, many of which were written for the stage and were heard only during the run of the shows for which they were written. He was a collaborator and advisor to Carlos Gardel, the manager of Argentino Ledesma and Edmundo Rivera, and the director of several Buenos Aires theaters.