Tango Time Machine — Tango Decoder

NINGUNA: Magnolias, mirrors, murmured memories

"Your skin, magnolia drenched in moonlight. Your voice, whisper warmed by love. No one like you will there be; they all died the moment you said goodbye."

Ninguna (No one)
Tango, 1942
Music: Raúl Fernández Siro
Lyrics: Homero Manzi

From the pen of one of tango's greatest poets comes one of the greatest love songs in any genre, Ninguna (No One). 

Ninguna on YouTube:
Alberto Castillo - Aníbal Troilo (From the movie Tango vuelve a París, 1948)
Ángel Vargas - Ángel D´Agostino
Orlando Medina - Ricardo Malerba

Esta puerta se abrió para tu paso. Este piano tembló con tu canción. Esta mesa, este espejo y estos cuadros guardan ecos del eco de tu voz. Es tan triste vivir entre recuerdos... Cansa tanto escuchar ese rumor   de la lluvia sutil que llora el tiempo sobre aquello que quiso el corazón. No habrá ninguna igual, no habrá ninguna, ninguna con tu piel ni con tu voz. Tu piel, magnolia que mojó la luna. Tu voz, murmullo que entibió el amor. No habrá ninguna igual, todas murieron  en el momento que dijiste adiós. Cuando quiero alejarme del pasado, es inútil... me dice el corazón. Ese piano, esa mesa y esos cuadros guardan ecos del eco de tu voz. En un álbum azul están los versos que tu ausencia cubrió de soledad. Es la triste ceniza del recuerdo nada más que ceniza, nada más...

This door opened to let you pass. This piano trembled with your song. This table, this mirror, these paintings hold echoes of the echo of your voice. It’s so sad to live among these memories... It’s so tiring to hear this murmur of light rain that weeps unceasingly over that which the heart desired. No one like you, no one will there ever be, no one with your skin, your voice. Your skin, magnolia drenched in moonlight. Your voice, whisper warmed by love. No one like you will there be; they all died the moment you said goodbye. Even if I want to distance myself from the past, it’s useless... my heart tells me. This piano, this table and these paintings hold echoes of the echo of your voice. In a blue album are the verses that your absence filled with loneliness. They are the sad remains of the memory, nothing more than ash, nothing more....

Index of all Tango Decoder titles at the Tango Translation Database.

NEW FEATURE: Index of Tango Decoder titles at TTDb

Tango Decoder's great friend and collaborator Sasha Vicente-Grabovetsky has added something new to his Tango Translation Database (TTDb). Each translator can have an index listing all their own translations. What a gift! Thank you, DJ Sasha! Here's ours:

Tango Decoder Index at TTDb

Use this link to find out which titles Tango Decoder has translated, and to conveniently access them all. At the time of this writing, there are sixty.

[Photo: DJ Sasha Vicente-Grabovetsky]

COMO ABRAZADO A UN RENCOR: Last tango in Bolivia?

On October 9, 1967, Che Guevara was summarily executed by US Rangers working in collaboration with the Bolivian army. On this day, October 15, Fidel Castro acknowledged Che's death and proclaimed three days of public mourning throughout Cuba. 

It is said that during the guerrilla war, on nights when there was a lull in the fighting, Che and his compatriots liked to drink a bit of maté and listen to recordings of tangos by Carlos Gardel. It is also said that Che's favorite was the 1930 tango Como abrazado a un rencor ("As if bearing a grudge"), words by Antonio Miguel Podestá and music by Rafael Rossi. Here, perhaps for the first time in English translation, are the lyrics to Como abrazado a un rencor.

[Tango Decoder's English-language version of Como abrazado a un rencor is a joint venture of maestro de tango Paul Bottomer and TD's own Michael Krugman. Be sure to visit Paul's fascinating Facebook page, "Today's Tango Is..." Many thanks for your invaluable contribution, Paul. As always, it was a pleasure working with you! Thanks also to Dr. Martha Santos of Buenos Aires for last-minute correction of the text.] 

On YouTube:
Carlos Gardel
Angel Díaz w/ Horacio Salgán
Roberto Goyeneche
Aldo Campoamor w/ Astor Piazzola
Fernando Díaz w/ Francisco Lomuto 

Como abrazado a un rencor
(As if bearing a grudge)
Tango, 1930
Music: Rafael Rossi
Lyrics: Antonio Miguel Podestá

“He’s done for,” declared the womenfolk,* and the man, 
already a corpse by all omens, in the last moment 
of his short life of crime, left to the world the testament 
of these bitter words expressing his resentment.



Tonight my bold exploits end forever; 
a mysterious babble engulfs my heart.* 
In the corner someone’s honing the blade of the Scythe; 
he comes a bit closer to the bed, sniffing around the coffin. 
 
The most pointless memories assault my mind: 
an infancy without toys, a past without honor, 
the pain of the chains that burn my wrists, 
and a girl who brings my manhood to its knees.

I want to die by myself, 
without confession and without God, 
crucified in my sorrows 
as if bearing a grudge. 
Nothing do I owe to this life, 
nothing do I owe to love: 
one gave me bitterness 
the other, betrayal.



I don’t want the hypocrisy of false tears, 
nor words of consolation, I’m not looking for absolution; 
I don’t expect sacraments or funeral speeches: 
I surrender as calmly as I surrendered to the cops.* 
Only to you, my far-away mother, if you’re still alive, 
would I grant the right to light four candles for my farewell, 
to pour your heart out over my heretical dying moments, 
to weep over my hands and ask me for my heart.

NOTES:

* declared the womenfolk: sentenciaron las comadres. The primary meaning of the verb sentenciar  is to sentence, as in "The judge sentenced him to death." The protagonist is dying—we don't know the exact cause—but he is also receiving a metaphorical death sentence.

* his short life of crime: su pobre vida rea. The word reo/rea can simply mean unhappy or deprived, but it also implies imprisonment or criminality. The latter sense seems more accurate in the context of the lyric.

* mysterious babble engulfs my heart: un chamuyo misterioso me acorrala el corazón. Chamuyo is a slang word with many meanings: a conversation, sweet talk, a lie, rubbish, nonsense. The verb acorralar means to corral (like a horse), to entrap, to corner, to enclose in a limited area, to surpise or disconcert. An alternate readings of line could be, "All sorts of mysterious rubbish unsettles my heart."

* as I surrendered to the cops. como me entregué al botón. Botón is slang for a police officer, and apparent reference to the many shiny buttons on their coats. 

[Castellano]

"Está listo", sentenciaron las comadres y el varón,
 
ya difunto en el presagio, en el último momento 

de su pobre vida rea, dejó al mundo el testamento 

de estas amargas palabras, piantadas de su rencor... 

Esta noche para siempre terminaron mis hazañas 

un chamuyo misterioso me acorrala el corazón, 
 
alguien chaira en los rincones el rigor de la guadaña 

y anda un algo cerca 'el catre olfateándome el cajón. 
Los recuerdos más fuleros me destrozan la zabeca:
 
una infancia sin juguetes, un pasado sin honor,
 
el dolor de unas cadenas que me queman las muñecas 

y una mina que arrodilla mis arrestos de varón.

Yo quiero morir conmigo,
 
sin confesión y sin Dios,
 
crucificao en mis penas 

como abrazao a un rencor.
 
Nada le debo a la vida,
 
nada le debo al amor: 

aquélla me dio amargura 

y el amor, una traición.

Yo no quiero la comedia de las lágrimas sinceras,
 
ni palabras de consuelo, no ando en busca de un perdón;
 
no pretendo sacramentos ni palabras funebreras:
 
me le entrego mansamente como me entregué al botón.
 
Sólo a usté, mama lejana, si viviese, le daría 

el derecho de encenderle cuatro velas a mi adiós,
 
de volcar todo su pecho sobre mi hereje agonía,
 
de llorar sobre mis manos y pedirme el corazón...

Raul Courau: Composing a life in tango

Uruguay's Raúl Courau was a very solid pianist, bandleader and composer who tirelessly plied his trade for thirty-five years and achieved some very real success, yet is virtually unknown today. That's Courau at the piano, above, and dig that crazy drumkit—maybe the very one that got him kicked out of the stodgy Pianists' Association (see below for that story). And dig also that Afro-Uruguayan drummer, unnamed, who couldn't be a day over fifteen, and who appears to be sitting on top of the world. How delightful! Be sure to listen below to Courau's beautiful composition, "Mientras llora el tango" as recorded by the Eldorado Tango Band in 1930.

The following biography of Courau is from todotango.com, and was written by Uruguayan tanguero, photographer, and historian Horacio Loriente. It's a bit long and detailed, but I translated it in full because it gives such a good idea of Corau's varied accomplishments. Translation by Tango Decoder, Copyright © 2014. (Foto: Museo y Centro de documentación AGADU) 

Raúl Courau (15 October 1896 - 11 June 1956) was born right in the center of Montevideo, at Buenos Aires and Ituzaingó. A scholarly pianist, he had solid training with the maestros Martín Lopez and Tomás Mujica.

His professional debut as an orchestra director with a classical repertoire took place in the Cine Doré, a charming little room that operated at Mitre 1376, although before that he was informally the pianist of a small conjunto típico in the Café Liropeya, a few steps from the Doré, at the corner of Sarandi. These things happened over the course of five years, ending at the beginning of 1920.

Contracted by Max Glücksmann’s firm, he gave performances in almost all the cinemas operated by that great company. Upon including a drum kit in his group and getting himself banned by the Pianists’ Association, he had to distance himself from that organization. In the cinemas, interchangeably with the orquestas típicas or classical, he played an extraordinary role and accompanied the tenor Enzo Fusco and Libertad Lamarque, among other famous artists. (Keep reading below the video...)

 

Spurred by the rise of the of the repertoire of Uruguayan authors promoted by the agents of the Victor label, Bernardo Glücksmann offered Raúl Courau a paid position, in exchange for exclusive rights to his output (as related to us by Víctor Soliño).

In the year 1927, Courau presented two tangos in the contests put on by the Disco Nacional label. In the Buenos Aires contest, it was “En silencio,” fourth prize, performed in the Palace Theatre, and in Montevideo it was “Canchero Viejo” (not to be confused with the tango of the same name by Ricardo Brignolo) performed at the Teatro Urquiza, distinguished by special mention. Both tangos had lyrics by Víctor Soliño.

The following year saw a link between the composer and the Montevideo carnaval, writing the music for the repertoire American Dancing troupe, with the outstanding tango “Artículo de lujo,” that won the first prize offered by the Municipal Festival Commission. The recordings of Ignacio Corsini and the orchestra of Francisco Canaro with refrain sung by Agustín Irusta, meant Courau’s first great popular success. And so, in those days, he made his debut in CX20 Radio Montecarlo and in the Stella d’Italia cinema. 

In the carnaval of 1929 he provided the music for the Black Bottom dance troupe, from which we emphasize “Mientras llora el tango” with lyrics by Esteban Barabino which was performed by the singer Amadeo Violante. The work, presented in the second contest of Disco Nacional, won the first prize upon being performed by the Francisco Canaro orchestra with the singer Charlo. 

For the Glücksmann contest in Buenos Aires, Courau saved a work with a difficult structure that, on being played by Roberto Firpo’s orchestra, won the highest distinction. It was the tango “Rancho emrujao,” with lyrics by Francisco García Jimenez. 

In the carnavals of 1930, probably already under contract with Disco Nacional, the songs and sheet music of Courau began to appear on the Victor label, but with the name “Carlos” Courau. In this carnaval as usual collaborating with the Black Bottom troupe, he achieved one of his greatest successes: the tango “Marquesita de arrabal” wth lyrics by Raúl de Castro, and the vals “Florcita primaveral” with verses by Luis Viapiana. The tango won first prize and the vals, special mention. The following year he debuted his tango “Dulce gitana,” again with Raúl de Castro.

In a musician of his category it’s not surprising that he was successful in other genres. These include his maxixas “Cascarita” and “Che, Antenor hacé el favor,” the ranchera “Trago amargo,” and Venganza de Pierrot,” a beautiful unsigned tango recorded by the Roberto Firpo orchestra, the fado “O ninho dos passarinhos,” popularized by the Uruguayan voice of Luis Díaz, and a rumba, “Cubanita flor.” More than 60 titles are on file with AGADU (Asociación General de Autores de Uruguay). 

Courau was closely linked for many years with CX30 Radio Nacional, where he headed several groups and also was the station’s artistic director. In 1935 he formed a classical quartet, giving it the name of Pérez Méndez, in homage to the great violin master Patricio Méndez Pérez. He also had a jazz group called Harry.

He was a tireless diffuser of and contributor to music and was known for his good nature and his honesty. We note that his final work registered with AGADU is a polka titled “El coronel” with a date of 16 April 1956. That very same year his obituary would appear, just two months after the listing of the polka in his file.

 

 

 

LARGA LAS PENAS: Milonga speaks truth to power

Largá las penas
(Cast off your sorrows)
Milonga, 1935
Letra: Manuel Romero
Música: Alberto Soifer (Abraham Moisés Soifer)


[An earlier version of this translation appeared on Facebook.]

I was born to be Milonga 
and so through life I go,
wherever a bandoneon growls
that’s where I do grow.
Milonga, I was born Milonga,
and I have to die as I am.

I don’t know what love is
and suffering never stays,
there’s not a passion so deep
as to make me mend my ways.
Milonga I came into the world
and Milonga I will die.

Yesterday love called to me,
but now it is today,
and the love I give a man*
never long does stay.
And now I say: enough, I’m gone,
like Milonga that I am.

I want to live my life
like a bird that sings; 
the chains and reins of love 
will never bind my wings.
Milonga, cast off your sorrows,
that better you may live.

The ox that's loose,
licks best they say;* 
no boss, no master, no king
will ever stand in my way.
Milonga, I was born Milonga,
and I must die by my law.*

NOTES:

* the love that I give to a man: The text says El amor que a un hombre doy, the love that I give to a man. On the recording, Maida sings, el amor que siempre doy, the love that I always give.

*by my law: en mi ley, possibly a reference to Chronicles 6:16. ‘You shall not lack a man to sit before me on the throne of Israel, if only your sons pay close attention to their way, to walk in my law as you have walked before me.’

*ox...yoke: Variant of the popular saying, “El buey solo bien se lame,” literally, a free ox licks itself well. An ox takes pleasure in licking itself (!), but it can’t lick when it’s in the yoke. When it’s free of the yoke, it licks itself all over--very pleasurable. In other words, Milonga will be happy only when it is free of authority and social control (master, boss, or king).

English-language version Copyright © 2014 by Michael Krugman and Tango Decoder.

Nací para ser milonga
Así por la vida voy,
Donde un bandoneón rezonga
Yo prendida siempre estoy.
Milonga, nací milonga
Y he de morir como soy.

No sé lo que es el cariño
Ni sé lo que es el sufrir,
Ningún metejón profundo
A mí me ha de corregir.
Milonga yo vine al mundo
Y milonga he de morir.

Ayer amor me pediste
Pero ya estamos en hoy,
Y no duró nunca tanto
El amor que a un hombre (que siempre) doy.
Y hoy digo: basta, y me planto
Como milonga que soy.

[Yo quiero vivir mi vida
Como el pájaro cantor,
No me atan ni con cadenas
A la cincha del amor.
Milonga, largá las penas
Que así se vive mejor.]

[Afirman que si está suelto
Lo más bien se lame el buey,
No admito que se me oponga
Dueño, ni patrón, ni rey.
Milonga, nací milonga
Y he de morir en mi ley.*]

EL CUARTEADOR: The movie

In 1977 an Argentine tele-novela El cuarteador was aired, starring Rodolfo Bebán and Gabriela Gil. It was inspired by the Cadícamo song. (Wikipedia)

 

NO ESTA: She's not here!

"Each time I call you with greater anxiety; each time that 'no' is said more coldly... I am to blame, I was living in another world, and now I’m waking up to reality...." 

No está (She's not here)
Tango, 1942
Music and lyrics: José Bohr

On YouTube:
• Alberto Podestá sings with Orquesta Típica Carlos Di Sarli
• Danced by Alicia Pons & Jason Laughlin

Cada vez que te llamo me dicen: ¡No está! Que caso tan extraño, ¿por qué será? Será que tu cariño se aparta ya del mío, ¿será que mi cariño cansándote está? Cada vez yo te llamo con más ansiedad, cada vez ese “no” es con más frialdad... Yo tengo la culpa, viví en otro mundo y ahora despierto a la realidad... Yo te quiero, yo te quise y te querré... Entre mis brazos me juraste amor eterno... No había en el mundo nada más que mi cariño, nada más que mis caricias, para ti yo era tu cielo... Ni me quieres, ni quisiste ni querrás... Igual que todas, tus promesas fueron vanas... Has olvidado un fiel amor, has destrozado un corazón que hoy se desangra al compás de su dolor. Hoy, mañana, cada día, siempre igual... El que las hace, bien lo sabés, siempre paga... Así algún día tu también te cegarás con un querer y en este mundo, para ti, ya no habrá nada... Como yo, igual que otros, tú también, juguetes somos de la rueda del destino... A cada instante llamarás, con ansia loca pedirás, y con “no está” cruel así contestarán... Cada vez que te llamo me dicen: “¡No está!”

Each time I call you they say “She’s not here!” What a strange situation! How could that be?  Could it be that you've withdrawn your affection?  Could it be that you’re tiring of my caresses? Each time I call you with greater anxiety;  each time that “no” is said more coldly... I am to blame, I was living in another world, and now I’m waking up to reality. I love you, I loved you, and I will love you... In my arms you swore me your eternal love... There was nothing else in the world but my affection, nothing but my caresses, for you I was your heaven.... You don't love me, you never loved me, you never will.... The same as all the rest, your promises were in vain... You’ve forgotten a faithful love, you’ve destroyed a heart that is now bleeding out to the beat of its pain. Now, tomorrow, each day, always the same... What goes around comes around, as well you know.* Thus someday you too will blind yourself with a love and in this world, for you, now there will be nothing...  Like me, the same as others, you too, we’re toys on the wheel of destiny. Every time you’ll call, with wild anxiety you’ll ask;  and with “He’s not here” they’ll cruelly answer.... Each time I call you they tell me, “She’s not here!”

 

MAÑANA IRE TEMPRANO: Never keep a lady waiting....

"The autumn rain weeps on your tomb and on my sadness. Now as never before, you’re so alone! Both of us are alone...! Bitter loneliness...!"

 

Mañana iré temprano
(Tomorrow I'll come early)
Tango 1943
Music: Enrique Francini
Lyrics: Carlos Bahr

On YouTube:
Orquesta Típica Miguel Caló w/ Raúl Iriarte 
Osvaldo Fresedo w/ Oscar Serpa
Julio Sosa
Atilio Stampone w/ Roberto Goyeneche 
Sexteto Milonguero

Desde hace un mes estoy postrado... Cuántos domingos que me extrañas. Y hoy, en tu día, bien amada, Te faltarán mis flores Y no estaré a tu lado. Llora la lluvia del otoño Sobre tu tumba y mi tristeza. Hoy como nunca ¡estás tan sola...! ¡Los dos estamos solos...! ¡Amarga soledad...! Mañana iré temprano Con las flores que tú amabas. Y el estar allí, a tu lado, Será un consuelo, mi dulce amor. Te llamaré para decirte: ¡Amada, aquí estoy...! No te olvidó jamás mi emoción. Y te hablaré, Y no estarás tan sola... Tan sola como estoy yo. Mañana iré temprano, En cuanto despunte el alba, A llevarte, bien amada La siempreviva de mi dolor. Sigo postrado en esta cama. Hace seis meses que me esperas... Hoy me he asomado a la ventana, Y vi la primavera Pintando la mañana. El cielo tiene golondrinas, El árbol, flor; el aire, aroma... Pero tú siempre sigues sola, Y yo vivo un otoño De amarga soledad.

For a month now I’ve been bedridden.... How many Sundays you've missed me. And today, on your day, dearly beloved, You won't have my flowers And I won’t be at your side. The autumn rain weeps on your tomb and on my sadness. Now as never before, you’re so alone! Both of us are alone...! Bitter loneliness...! Tomorrow I’ll come early with the flowers that you loved. And being there, at your side, will be a consolation, my sweet lover. I’ll call out to tell you: Beloved, here I am...! I never forgot you, my joy. And I’ll speak to you, and you won’t be so lonely.... So lonely as I am. Tomorrow I’ll come early, as soon as the dawn breaks, to bring you, dearly beloved, the everlasting flower of my sorrow. [I’m still bedridden. You’ve been waiting six months for me... Just now I’ve gone to the window and I saw the spring painting the morning.]  There are swallows in the sky, the trees, flowers; the air, fragrance.... But you forever go on alone, and I live an autumn of bitter loneliness.

El cuarteador: Stuck in the mud of love

"In the street of desire, the love of a woman sunk my heart in a pothole... Now, not even my dappled mare can pull me out of this deep ditch!" 



"In Argentina, el cuarteador was someone who drove one or a team of horses that towed vehicles in trouble—typically stuck in mud or needing help getting up a hill. The poets and lyricists of tango have made the figure of the Buenos Aires cuarteador a symbol of the city at the beginning of the 20th century. Enrique Cadícamo's tango El cuarteador (1941) is the most well known work that describes and extols the Argentine cuarteador. Another is the milonga El cornetín de cuarteador by Alberto Vacarezza. Borges mentions it in his poem La Chacarita and in his story El muerto. In 1977 an Argentine tele-novela El cuarteador was aired, starring Rodolfo Bebán and Gabriela Gil. It was inspired by the Cadícamo song."—source, Wikipedia, la enciclopedia libre. Translation, Tango Decoder. 

El cuarteador
(The Tow Man of Barracas)
Tango, 1941
Music & lyrics: Enrique Cadícamo*

On YouTube:
Orquesta típica Aníbal Troilo c. Francisco Fiorentino
Angel D'Agostino y su orquesta típica c. Angel Vargas

Yo soy Prudencio Navarro, el cuarteador de Barracas. Tengo un pingo que en el barro cualquier carro tira y saca. Overo de anca partida,  que en un trabajo de cuarta de la zanja siempre aparta ¡Chiche! La rueda que se ha quedao.  Yo que tanta cuarta di, yo que a todos los prendí a la cincha de mi percherón, hoy, que el carro de mi amor se me encajó, no hay uno que pa' mi tenga un tirón. En la calle del querer el amor de una mujer en un bache hundió mi corazón... ¡Hoy, ni mi overo me saca de este profundo zanjón! Yo soy Prudencio Navarro, el cuarteador de Barracas. Cuando ve mi overo un carro compadreando se le atraca. No hay carga que me lo achique, porque mi chuzo es valiente; yo lo llamo suavemente ¡Chiche! Y el pingo pega el tirón.

I am Prudencio Navarro, the tow man of Barracas.*  I’ve got a fine horse that can pull any wagon and get it out of the mud. Dappled horse with a split rump,* that on every towing job always pulls out of the ditch... Easy now! ...the wheel that's got stuck. I, who did all that towing,  I, who roped everyone to the saddle strap of my Percheron,*  now that the cart of my love is stuck,  there’s no one who can give me a pull. In the street of desire,  the love of a woman  sunk my heart in a pothole... Now, not even my dappled mare  can get me out of this deep ditch! I am Prudencio Navarro, the tow man of Barracas. When my dappled horse sees a wagon, capering, he comes alongside. There’s no load I’ll shrink from, because my whip is unafraid; I who softly call, Easy now! And the horse gives a pull.

* Enrique Cadícamo: Enrique Domingo Cadícamo (June 15, 1900 – December 3, 1999) was a prolific tango poet, lyricist, and novelist. From an initial Symbolist bent, he developed a distinctive, Lunfardo-rich style from an early age, and by 1925 he had his first piece, Pompas de jabón, sung by Carlos Gardel. Other notable compositions include Madame Ivonne, Che, papusa, oí, Anclado en París, Muñeca brava, Pa' que bailen los muchachos and Los mareados ("The tipsy ones"). (Wikipedia)

* Barracas: Barracas is a barrio in the southeast part of the city of Buenos Aires, Argentina.... The name Barracas comes from the word barraca, which refers to a temporary construction of houses using rudimentary materials.... In the 18th century, "Barracas" began to grow on the banks of the Riachuelo River, becoming a slave quarter, as well as an area for leather tanneries, and abbatoirs.... Throughout most of the 19th century, the neighborhood was home to some of the wealthiest families of the city. Santa Lucía avenue was the principal center of activity and contained many of the city's most famous stores at the time. However, an 1871 yellow fever epidemic that swept through many southern parts of the city forced most wealthy families and the area's middle class to relocate to the north of the city, leaving the neighborhood to become the working-class area that it remains today. (Wikipedia)

* Split rump: anca partida. The term describes a horse with a marked cleft between its haunches.

* Percherón: The Percheron is a breed of draft horse that originated in the Huisne river valley in western France. Usually gray or black in color, Percherons are well-muscled, and known for their intelligence and willingness to work. (Wikipedia)

"Ocean Dancing" cabaret, Buenos Aires 1936 or '39

Miguel Caló was one of the regulars here. This was on Calle Leandro N. Alem in the El Bajo district, down by the docks. 

Pedro Laurenz debuts with the De Caro Sextet, 1925

(Source: El tango, el bandoneón y sus intérpretes, Tomo III, Oscar Zucchi; via malena-tango.com. Translation by Tango Decoder.)

Pedro Laurenz's debut with De Caro’s orchestra took place in a tense and anxiously expectant climate at the Vogue Club in Recoleta’s now legendary Palais de Glace...

“I assure you, friend,” Laurenz confessed in an interview with Horacio Ferrer, “the night before my debut with Pedro Maffia, I didn’t sleep a wink. Maffia was a phenomenon, the master, the undisputed idol, yes, the idol. That's why I couldn’t sleep, ‘because I was going to play with Pedro Maffia!’”

[Photo: Pedro Laurenz, right, with 'the undisputed idol' Pedro Maffia. Source: todotango.com.] 

But the debut that Laurenz remembered happily so many years later took place in an atmosphere of curt silence and extreme tension between Maffia and De Caro over a labor dispute. Dr. Luis A. Sierra in his lucid testimony describes it this way: “A troubling silence among the musicians accentuated his nervousness. The moment to go up to the bandstand arrived. Maffia took his seat with his habitual offhandedness, as if there were no other bandoneonist at his side. [Contrabassist Leopoldo] “el negro” Thompson was the only one who thought to clue him in: ‘Look, kid, if you get lost just wait calmly for a few beats.’ As if Pedro Laurenz was going to get lost! The orchestra began with De Caro’s composition ‘Todo Corazon.’ Laurenz knew [former bandmember Luis] Petrucelli’s part down to the little finger without losing a millimeter of the second voice....

And to Laurenz’s stupefaction, without looking at him, in an almost imperceptible voice directed at [pianist Francisco] De Caro, Maffia said, ‘This guy plays very well, we’ve got to keep him in the orchestra.’

Thus was born the most celebrated bandoneon duo in the history of tango and also an intimate friendship between the two colossi of the keyboard.

 

HUMILLACION (1941): I hate this love!

"I never knew the kind of love that bends its knee, stammering pleas, meek in the face of arrogance. It was in that way, with weaknesses that still humiliate me, that in my delirium I came to love you."

 

Tango Decoder's English-language version of the 1941 tango Humillación is a joint effort by La Sonia, a faithful reader and friend from Tango Lyrics & Translations on Facebook. This is La Sonia's second appearance on TD. We previously collaborated on Enrique Santos Discépolo's Tormenta. Mil gracias, Sonia, for all your literary and translatory efforts, and for encouragement, inspiration, and kindness, too!

[Illus.: The Humiliation of Emperor Valerian by Shapur, King of Persia, by Hans Holbein the Younger]

Humillación (Humiliation)
Tango, 1941
Music: Rodolfo Biagi
Lyrics: Carlos Bahr

I never knew the kind of love that bends its knee, 
stammering pleas, meek in the face of arrogance.* 
It was in that way, with weaknesses that still humiliate me, 
that in my delirium I came to love you.

Now that I'm waking up to your half-hearted* passion, 
in my conscience, which felt the full force of your severity, 
there springs up, despite this love that abases me, 
the rebellious cry of my humiliation:

"I hate this love!" 
that bent me to your whim— 
"I hate this love!" 
that taught me to beg. 
Hopeless longing that made me kneel 
under the yoke of your vanity.* 
"I hate this love!" 
that, vanquishing my pride, 
made me stoop to begging for your affection. 

[Castellano]

Yo no sabía del amor que se arrodilla 
Balbuceando ruegos, manso de altiveces, 
Fue de ese modo, con flaquezas que aún me humillan 
Como en mi delirio, te llegué a querer.

Hoy, que despierto frente a tu liviana pasión 
En mi conciencia se sintió de lleno el rigor, 
Brota a despecho de este amor que me envilece 
El grito rebelde, de mi humillación...

¡Odio este amor!... 
Que me humilló a tus antojos. 
¡Odio este amor!... 
Que me enseñó a suplicar. 
Ansia torpe que me arrodilló 
Bajo el yugo de tu pretensión... 
¡Odio este amor!... 
Que al doblegar mi entereza, 
Me rebajó a mendigar tu calor.

NOTES:

* Arrogance: Alitveces. Haughtiness, pride, arrogance,
* half-hearted: liviana could mean fickle, half-hearted, tepid.
* vanity: pretensión: (Latin America) vanity/arrogance 

SOY MUCHACHO DE LA GUARDIA: Not afraid of the cobblestones!

Thus you were born, outsider tango,
dealing cards, bleeding in a brawl, quarreling, boasting in some tavern. And now that you’re king of the hill, seeing as you’ve made a comeback—by God, may I drop dead on the spot—I'm dancing you night and day.

Lyricist Héctor Marcó (1906-1987) was a tango musician known principally as a composer. He was also an actor in theater and radio-theater. He was the preferred lyricist of Carlos Di Sarli and his tangos were also performed by Edmundo Rivero, Ángel Vargas, Charlo, Ricardo Tanturi, Enrique Rodriguez, Miguel Caló and Pedro Laurenz. Other titles include Bien Frappé, En un beso la vida, La capilla blanca, Porteño y bailarín and Nido gaucho.

Soy muchacho de la guardia*
(I belong to the old guard)
Music: Augustín Irusta
Lyrics: Héctor Marcó
First recorded: 1942

Youtube:
Aníbal Troilo y su orquesta típica with Francisco Fiorentino (with Tango Decoder's English-language subtitles)

Soy muchacho de la guardia!  No me asusta el empedrao...  Con mi estampa y mi cartel Y el chambergo requintao,  Me hago ovillo y carretel Cuando piso el encerao.  Soy muchacho de la guardia!  Disculpen si me he bandeao. Con su permiso señores Que va a pasar la milonga, Y el bandoneón ya rezonga Dentrándose al corazón. Así naciste, tallando,  Tango dulzón y orillero, Sangrando en un entrevero Peleando, guapeando en algún bodegón.  Y hoy que sos rey donde quieras Al verte otra vez despierto, Por Dios que me caiga muerto te bailo de sol a sol. Soy muchacho de la guardia!  Tango dame tu compás, Que hasta en el palacio 'e Dios Hoy te baila “El Cachafaz”. Cómo no he de alzarte yo Si la sangre me quemás, Soy muchacho de la guardia Soná, que no aguanto más.

I belong to the old guard!*  I'm not afraid to dance on cobblestones...*  With my style and my reputation, and my slouch hat cocked to one side,* I spin like a top* when I step on a polished floor. I belong to the old guard! Forgive me if I've stepped out of line.* With your permission, gentlemen, the milonga is about to begin, and already the bandoneón is growling,*  going straight to the heart.  Thus you were born, outsider tango,* dealing cards, bleeding in a brawl,* quarreling, boasting in some tavern.*  And now that you’re king of the hill,*  seeing as you’ve made a comeback,  —by God, may I drop dead on the spot—  I'm dancing you night and day. I belong to the old guard! Tango, give me your beat, [which even now "el Cachafaz”* is dancing in the palace of God . How could I not praise you, since you set my soul on fire? I belong to the old guard! Ring out! I can’t wait any longer.]

NOTES:

* old guard: The literal meaning of the title is "I am a boy who belongs to the guard." The narrator, speaking from the vantage point of the 1940s, declares his allegiance to the "old guard" of tango, and more specifically to the values of tango's "Guardia Vieja" period prior to 1920.

* Not afraid to dance on cobblestones: By the time the song appeared in 1942, tango was at the height of its popularity and had thoroughly penetrated to the Argentine middle and upper classes. What was once the funky, edgy dance of the streets was now danced indoors, on the polished wooden floors of salons, cabarets and ballrooms. The narrator identifies with the older "guardia vieja" manner of dancing on cobblestone-paved streets (see illustration above) or courtyards.

* slouch hat: chambergo, literally a homburg. De riguer headgear for the tanguero of the old guard. See illustration. (Revised 2015-18-01)

* With my good looks and my reputation: The original sheet music gives this line as con mi pinta a lo Gardel ("with my elegance like that of Gardel"). In the recorded versions of Troilo and Demare, both Fiorentino and Arrieta, respectively, sing con mi estampa and mi cartel ("with my good looks/elegance and my reputation"). 

* spin like a top: Me hago ovillo y carretel, literally, "I make myself a ball and reel." An ovillo is a ball of yarn or thread. Hacerse ovillo means literally "to roll up in a ball," or, idiomatically, "to cringe," which expresses a certain aversion to the polished floors (and the polite manners) of the salon-tango. A carretel is literally a bobbin or reel, but carretel is also a Lunfardism meaning "a stupid person." According to that interpetation, the narrator may be hinting that he acts "stupid," that is, he imitates the middle-class dancers of the salón. An alternate reading is that the polished floors of the salon are so smooth (as compared to rough cobblestones of old) that the narrator rolls like a ball and/or spins like a top; in other words, he dances exceptionally well.

     A related expression is dar mucho hilo que torcer, literally, "to give/make a lot of thread to wind up," meaning "to give or cause a lot of trouble." (The image is of one who tranforms an orderly situation into a disorderly one.) Thus the narrator's likening himself to a ball of thread and a bobbin could mean that he has a lot of thread to give, an indirect suggestion that he is expecting trouble—or plans to make some—at the high-class tango salon.

     Thanks to "El Taura Más Mentao" (Bariloche), to Dr. Marta Santos (Buenos Aires), and Mr. Horacio Chiesa (Quilmes) for helping me decode this multivalent poetic image.)

* out of line: me ha bandeao. The verb bandear/bandearse (from banda, the gunwales of a boat) can mean "to be out of line, to take or change sides, to know how to manage in life, to betray oneself, to open a wound with a blade, or simply to open." Here, the narrator apologizes (somewhat disingenuously, it seems) to a group of "gentlemen" for his old-guard, working-class allegiances and his ambivalence about present-day tango. He is aware that, from their perspective, his comments may be "out of line." (Thanks again, El Taura.)

* growling: The verb rezongar is often used to describe the sound of a bandoneón. It means to grumble, growl, or murmur. In this context, growl seems the best choice.

* dealing the cards: tallando. The verb tallar has several meanings, including "to deal (cards)"; to cut, sculpt, or engrave. In the Southern Cone (Argentina, Chile, Uruguay) it can mean "to gossip," "to whisper sweet nothings," or simply to converse. In this context, dealing cards is the most likely interpretation; it is thematically similar to the actions mentioned in the following lines (bleeding, fighting, boasting). (Second revision 2015-24-01)

* outsider tango: The tango orillero (from orilla, edge) was a style of tango dance developed in the orillas, or arrabal, the lower-class districts at the outskirts of the city. It was characterized by expansive figures, sharp cortes (freezes), and lurid quebradas (dips) as distinct from the later, more refined, polite tango of the middle and upper classes at the center of the city. 

* fighting...tavern: Peleando, guapeando en algún bodegón. The line is phrased somewhat differently in the recorded versions; the meaning is the same.

* you're king of the hill: sos rey donde quiera, literally, "king wherever you like."

* "El Cachafaz": Ovidio José Bianquet (1885-1938) was to become the greatest tango dancer of his time, and an icon of dancing skill and creativity for subsequent generations of tangueros. El Cachafaz and his partner Carmencita Calderón are seen briefly in the 1933 film Tango. He is mentioned in the lyrics of many tango songs, including Adiós Arrabal.

 

 

At the Crossroads of Tango's Golden Age: Gardel, D'Arienzo & Troilo (Parts 1 & 2)

Gardel, D'Arienzo & Troilo: At the Crossroads of Tango's Golden Age (Parts 1 & 2)

[From "Milongueando en los cuarenta" in <El tango>, Horacio Salas, Planeta, Buenos Aires 2009 (1st ed., 1986), pp. 149-52. Translation, Copyright © 2014 Tango Decoder]

Chronology tends to be just as false as statistics: neither of the two reflects reality in an absolute manner. In both cases one must know how to read, interpret, and draw conclusions. And with respect to generational movements, whatever may be their character, it is impossible to fix them to any date that is anything other than approximate. Thus tango's generation of "los cuarenta" (the 1940s) had its beginning five years earlier, in 1935, with the concurrence of two factors: the death of Carlos Gardel and the debut of Juan D’Arienzo’s new orchestra at the cabaret Chantecler.

 The singer's fatal accident served as a clarion call for a musical culture that found itself at a standstill in its development, living off innovations that had been made a decade earlier. If the inertia continued, there would have been the risk of burying along with Carlos Gardel that same tango that he himself had originated.

[Photo: Carlos Gardel in full gaucho regalia. Note spurs.] 

As usually occurs in these cases, the option of change offers two possibilities: go back to the foundations, and rebuild on the base of what had already proved itself valid in the past, or look to the future, in order to be able to take a leap forward. Both approaches imply risks: in one case, the return to the past can lose touch with the changes that have happened in reality with the passage of time; and in the other the advance can fail if the transformation extends beyond what the society can accept in that instant. In either case, the fundamental thing is the instinct of the one who puts the transformation into practice.

In tango, Juan D’Arienzo, a Buenos Aires violinist from the barrio of Balvanera, preferred to look back, to regain tango’s former conquests, rejuvenating them; Aníbal Troilo, on the other hand, chose to look forward. Both of them, each one from his own vantage point, was right.” 

D’Arienzo, who until mid-1935 would have been considered a not-very successful bandleader, decided to add to his group the pianist Rodolfo Biagi, who took the place that had previously been occupied by Angel D’Agostino and Luis Visca and who had played with the anachronistic group led by Juan Maglio “Pacho,” which clung stubbornly to the rhythmic and melodic models of the Guardia Vieja. From the keyboard, Biagi imposed a characteristic style: choppy (picado), faster than the rest of the orchestras, unvarying (monótono) and musically simple, though very danceable, so that those who barely knew the rudiments of dance might join in, driven by the contagious rhythm. The revival of the rhythm from the time of the great trios [i.e., 1899-1915, with trios led by Maglio, Vicente Greco, and Juan Carlos Bazán--MK] led the orchestra to adopt the by then almost completely abandoned “dos por cuatro” (2/4 time signature). The tango regained its original happy mood. It was a style poorly suited to listening, but which had tremendous resonance for dancers. The instruments played in unison and the only beat that stood out was the leading piano, nothing more. The first violin soloed with countermelodies characterized by strict variation on the orchestral theme, with little display of imagination. 

[Photo: "Not-very-successful bandleader" Juan D'Arienzo featured alongside tango idols Osvaldo Fresedo and Francisco Canaro in a radio broadcast for Carnaval 1940.]

Unlike Troilo, who respected the value of the words, D’Arienzo not only neglected the importance of the vocal parts, but very often allowed his singers Alberto Echagüe, Héctor Mauré, Armando Laborde, and Mario Bustos, though they were of great refinement, to be wasted singing mediocre, tasteless lyrics of questionable humor, like El Hipo, El tarta, Sepoñoporipitapa, Giuseppe el crooner, Che existentialista, among others. The orchestra’s admiring audience celebrated these as part of the show, along with the bombastic gestures of the director himself, his conspiratorial smiles, and his exclamations in the middle of the performance. 

 Other bandleaders of the 40s aimed for evolution—Aníbal Troilo, Osvaldo Pugliese, Horacio Salgán, Miguel Caló, Osmar Maderna, Raúl Kaplún, Alfredo Gobbi (Jr.), Ricado Tanturi, José Basso, Francisco Rotundo and, coming at the end of the period, the Francini-Pontier group, as well as, obviously, Astor Piazzola and others, to which we may add the veteran orchestras of Osvaldo Fresedo and Angel D’Agostino, who knew how to adapt their orchestras to the new times. The swinging (hamacado), invariable (monótono) rhythm left them free them to give their performances more velocity, although always less than that imposed by D’Arienzo, and a much steadier beat that lifted the dancers out of their seats and impelled them onto the dance floor. These orchestras gave a leading role to the arranger, and made a custom of featuring virtuoso soloists with strong conservatory training. The orchestra had to be a compact mass, a group of musicians playing as a unit, without preventing their individual skill and virtuosity from standing out. For example, the piano of Osmar Maderna, at first in Miguel Caló’s orchestra and then on his own group, or the violin of Enrique Maria Francini, when he directed his group in partnership with bandoneonista Armando Pontier, or the bandoneonista and conductor Astor Piazzola who formed his own group in 1946.

From then on, it often happened that the musicians of tango also joined symphonic orchestras, if their training permitted it. The tango had once been a thing for intuitive musicians whose training was limited in most cases to the rudimentary knowledge acquired in the humble school of the barrio. Now it moved into a landscape in which advances could only come with formal study and solid technique.

Another aspect of this decade worth mentioning is the proliferation of good poets who were attracted to tango or who fleshed out a body of work that had been begun earlier. The best songs of Homero Manzi, Cátulo Castillo, Homero Expósito and José María Contursi, along with several of Enrique Cadícamo, belong to the field of influence of the generation of the 40s.

(Coming in Part 3: Aníbal Troilo...)

 

SUERTE LOCA: Bombastic bluff backfires big-time

"In the card-game of life, I usually know what's in the dealer's hand. And at my side, I hear them say it’s ‘cos I’ve got some crazy luck!" 

On one level, the tango SUERTE LOCA (1924) is a kind of gambler's testament in which the narrator, a hard-bitten card-shark, explains the facts of life to a younger opponent, somewhat pompously taking the game and its many challenges as a metaphor for life in general. On another level, the gambler's long, rambling, but thoroughly entertaining monologue is a colossal bluff designed to distract and disarm the younger player, who almost certainly holds the better hand; such bombastic chicanery is an indispensable feature of Argentina's and Uruguay's most popular card game, truco. "Bravado, lies, and perhaps some truths are shouted around the table as the round gets underway." (argen-times) The speech also contains numerous covert, coded signals addressed to the narrator's partner. Fertile ground for any tango decoder!

As was the case with many Golden Age tangos, neither Francisco Fiorentino nor Armando Moreno sang all the stanzas; the denouement of the third and final stanza would have been lost to listeners of those recordings. I guess one had to buy the sheet music to get the whole story!

Suerte loca contains many puzzling words and phrases that required decoding; our explanatory notes follow the text. As always, your comments and corrections are welcome. We are not yet infallible!

Many thanks to Paul Bottomer for editorial inspiration, moral support, bright ideas, and all around tango wizardry. This is Paul's second appearance on Tango Decoder, and as before, he is a huge asset. Please check out Paul's new group on Facebook, Today's Tango Is..., and don't forget to "Follow" it! It's a great way to start your day.

[Illus: Cartas Españolas, used for playing truco.] 

Lyricist Francisco García Jiménez's biography at todotango.com. Composer Anselmo Aieta's  biography at todotango.com. 

Suerte loca On YouTube:
Charlo and his Orquesta Típica, (1928, dir. Canaro?)
Armando Moreno with Enrique Rodriguez (1941)
Francisco Fiorentino with Aníbal Troilo (1942) 

NEW! Tango Decoder's subtitled video of SUERTE LOCA (w/ Troilo/Fiorentino)

Suerte loca (Crazy Luck)
Tango, 1924
Music: Anselmo Aieta
Lyrics: Francisco García Jiménez

English language version and notes Copyright © 2014 by Tango Decoder/Michael Krugman. All Rights Reserved. 

En el naipe del vivir, suelo acertar la carta de la boca… y a mi lado oigo decir   que es porque estoy con una suerte loca. Al saber le llaman suerte lo aprendí viendo trampearme Y ahora solo han de coparme los que banquen con la muerte. ¡En el naipe del vivir, para ganar, primero perdi! Yo también entré a jugar confiado en la ceguera del azar, y luego vi que todo era mentir… y el capital en manos del más vil. No me creés… te pierde el corazón… que fe tenés… ¿No ves que no acertás? ¡Que si jugás a cartas de ilusion, son de dolor las cartas que se dan! No me envidies si me ves acertador, pues soy el Desengaño... Y si ciego así perdés, es que tenés los lindos veinte años... El tapete es la esperanza y, a pesar de lo aprendido, si me dan lo que he perdido vuelve a hundirme la confianza... ¡Suerte loca es conservar una ilusión en tanto penar! ..................................

In the card-game of life, I usually know what's in the dealer's hand...* And at my side, I hear them say it’s ‘cos I’ve got some crazy luck! "Knowledge is often mistaken for luck";* I learned that by seeing myself get fleeced. And now, the only ones who'd "see" my bets*  are those who'd pay with their lives.*  In the card-game of life, to win, I first had to lose! I too started to play,  trusting in the blindness of chance. And then I saw that it was all a lie...  that the vilest cheat held all the cash.* You don't believe me? Your heart leads you astray!* What faith you've got! Don't you see you've got it wrong?*  That if you play cards of illusion,*  you'll be dealt the cards of pain! Don’t be jealous if I call your bluff,*  Disappointment is my middle name! And if you blindly lose, it's just that you’re too young to know the score…*  For me, the table is the only hope  and, despite all I’ve learned, if they gave me back what I've lost, the confidence would ruin me all over again.  Crazy luck is maintaining an illusion  in so much agony! ......................

NOTES:

* I usually know the dealer's hand: suelo acertar la carta de la boca. There's been much speculation about the meaning of this phrase, and it is said to allude to the game of truco (Eng.: trick or tricky), a card game of Spanish origin extremely popular in Argentina and Uruguay. That's almost certainly true, but I've yet to see a coherent account of exactly what the carta de la boca is in truco, and how it comes into play. That uncertainty has made it very difficult to give a concise interpretation of this much-disputed line. Recently, I have come to believe that what the narrator of Suerte loca calls la carta de la boca is in fact la carta de la mano, which indisputably is a feature of truco. In the game of truco, la mano ("the hand") is the player sitting to the dealer's right, who is the first player to bet in each round. As it happens, the word boca ("mouth") is used interchangeably with the word mano ("hand") to describe the cards a player holds: the hand holding the cards has the shape of a mouth. (Mil gracias to playwright and actress Marisa Barboza of Montevideo for explaining this and many other aspects of rioplatense culture to me.) If boca and mano are interchangeable, then la carta de la boca and la carta de la mano are one and the same. (A very entertaining and informative account of truco from the blog argen-times will tell you all you need to know, and perhaps more, about the game. Excerpts appear in notes that follow.)

     If there were any remaining uncertainty as to the identity of the game being played in Suerte loca, it would compounded by the ambiguity of the verb acertar, which has many shades of meaning including: to get something right, to choose the correct thing, to guess in advance, to hit upon, to hit the target or mark, or to provide certainty in the matter of something doubtful or hidden. The word recurs several times in the lyric, with a different shade of meaning each time. If the game in question is truco, and if la carta de la boca is in fact la carta de la mano, then the meaning is quite clear: the narrator usually knows in advance, he "guesses," which cards the mano has in his hand, and he bets accordingly. Since there is no English equivalent of la mano as the word is used in truco, I have resorted to the nearest English cousin I can think of, and that is dealer. So bear in mind, though our English-language version of the song says "I usually know the dealer's cards," what we really mean is not the dealer, but la mano, the player sitting to the dealer's right. The dealer, by the way, is called el pie, "the foot."

     There is another meaning of la carta de la boca that depends on a completely literal reading of the line (again, thanks to la Uruguayita Marisa...). In truco, as in bridge, it is not unusual for partners to telegraph the cards in their hand using a standard, preestablished set of signs and gestures, or señas. But arranging a secret set of gestures with your partner alone is considered foul play, if not outright cheating. Many of these señas, whether fair or foul, involve movements of the lips or mouth. Thus, acertar la carta de la boca is to learn your partner's cards de la boca, that is, "from the mouth." 

     [By the way, there's another rioplatense card game, el pinche, in which a carta de la boca plays an important role. In el pinche, four cards are placed face up on the table, three cards are dealt to each player, and the players take turns trying to make a pair with one card from the table and another from their hand. When a player makes a pair, he gets to keep both cards; the player holding the most cards at the end of the game wins. The carta de la boca is a fifth card that is also dealt face up. It's called la carta de la boca because it is dealt at the opening (boca, mouth) of each trick. If a player can make a pair with the carta de la boca, he gets to keep the pair, plus all the other cards on the table. I just mention that in the interest of good scholarship; I don't see any reason to believe that el pinche is our narrator's game.]

    In summary, dear reader, it is our sincere hope that from now on, when you're listening or dancing to Suerte loca and you hear Fiorentino, Moreno, Charlo, or even Laborde crooning that line, suelo acertar la carta de la boca, you'll feel pretty secure in your understanding of the phrase. And at that moment, you just might crack an enigmatic little Tango Decoder smile. 

* "Knowledge is often mistaken for luck": Al saber le llaman suerte. The phrase is a Spanish-language aphorism meaning that what people think of as luck is actually a result of knowledge. In this case, "knowledge" is the narrator's know-how or skill in playing and/or cheating at cards. The mention of the word saber ("knowledge") may be a coded message about the content of the narrator's hand: un saber is a type of sword, and "swords" (espadas) are one of the suits in truco.

* "see" my bets: coparme. Copar has several possible meanings including: to place a bet equal to  the bank, to go banco (as in bacarrat), to go all in (to bet all one has). What seems to be implied here is that the narrator is so skilled at cheating and/or his bets are so large that anyone who would "see" them (i.e., bet an equal sum) would have to be very brave, or very reckless. The use of the word coparme may also be a coded message letting the narrator's partner know he has one or a pair of copas ("cups," one of the suits in truco).

* those who'd pay with their lives: los que banquen con la muerte. In Argentina and Uruguay, the verb bancar means "to pay for" or "to put up with/tolerate something." The only ones who can match bets with the narrator are those who would either "pay with death," (which could mean either killing their opponent, or being killed by him) or who would would put up with, tolerate, or "risk" death. The English phrase "pay with their lives" seems a suitable equivalent. 

* the vilest cheat held all the cash: (Yo) vi...el capital en manos del más vil. Literally, "I saw the capital in the hands of the most vile/low (person)."

* your heart leads you astray: te pierde el corazón. All the lyrics I found online, which are presumably derived from the sheet music for Suerte loca, say te pierde el corazón ("Your heart leads you astray"). Both Fiorentino and Moreno can be heard to sing te pierdes corazón: "You're losing heart." 

* Don't you see you've got it wrong: No ves que no acertás. There's that pesky verb again, acertar. Here, it seems to mean "get something right." No acertás, then, would be, "you've got it all wrong." It could also be, "Don't you see that you can't guess?" Furthermore, the phrase may be a coded message: no hacer taz(a) ("Don't play cups.")

* that if you play cards of illusion: Que si jugás a cartas de ilusión. Both Fiorentino and Moreno sings, si apuntás a cartas de ilusión: "if you bet..." The Spanish word ilusión is always a little tricky, since it can mean illusion, delusion, dream, or hope; only rarely does one have the luxury of being certain which it is. Here, it could be any of them.

* Don't be jealous: No me envidies. An envido is one of the two types of bets in truco. By saying the word truco a player initiates the betting for each round, and it is one of the posible responses once truco is declared. If, out of carelessness or by the trickery of his opponents, a player says the word when he doesn't mean it, it is taken as a real bet, with potentially disastrous results.  The narrator's use of the word envidies may be an error on his part; it may be may be a subterfuge designed to provoke an error by his younger, less experienced opponent; or it may be a coded message to his partner.

* if I call your bluff: si me ves acertador. There's acertar again, here in noun form, acertador. In the context of the song, I have taken it to mean "one who calls your bluff" (i.e., because he "guesses in advance" that his opponent doesn't have the cards he pretends to have). However, there's an identical word in Portuguese, acertador, which may well have stolen across the border from the gaming tables of neighboring Brazil. It means "winner." An alternate reading, then, could be, "if you see me the winner."

     Finally, there may be pun built into this line, since acertador could also be taken as a ser dador, "being the dealer," in which case the line might be a signal to the narrator's partner.

* and if blindly you lose: To be ciego ("blind") means that a player lacks the points necessary for an envido or the cards to make a good hand. 

* too young to know the score: tenés los lindos veinte años... "You're twenty beautiful years old." 

* if they gave me back what I've lost, the confidence would ruin me all over again: Here, the narrator at last confronts reality: his bombastic bluff and all his subterfuges have backfired, and he is ruined. Yet he's resigned to his fate; even if he had it to do all over again, the outcome would be the same. 

     These excerpts from the argen-times piece give a sense of the kind of exaggerated bluffing and subterfuge that is typical of truco:

"Truco (Trick) is just that. A game filled with trickery, lies, gamesmanship, tactics, skill and like with any other card game, a little bit of old lady luck.... La mano (the hand) is the person to the right of the dealer and he has first chance to bet. If he chooses to he will shout envido (as soon as that word is mentioned at any moment then the bet is made). During the betting, players will crack jokes and employ other means of distraction to try to put their opponent off; be it to dissuade his betting or to to lull him into a false sense of security....If envido was played for, then knowing the total of your opponent gives you some idea what cards he has; but throughout the betting more lies and gamesmanship go on as you communicate with your partner as to the order in which you want to throw your cards or you use one of the many sneaky little tricks available to win.... If it all makes absolutely no sense whatsoever here, then rest assured it makes even less sense the first time you see a game played." (Emphasis as published)

* crazy luck is maintaining an illusion despite such agony: Suerte loca es conservar una ilusión en tanto penar, that is, maintaining the illusion (that one holds a winning hand), despite the agony (of knowing that one doesn't). The word tanto is also used to refer to an envido without actually saying the word. Thus, the final words of the song may be read as, "In the envido, suffering!" As we English-speaking card sharks say, "Read 'em and weep."

 

 

 

Arrabalero: A woman's voice....

"I’m the pride of the whole barrio; my hope is my religion; because I’m creole, a milonguera, I love my man with all my heart.... But if one day he starts to cheat on me like others do, this broad who laughs and sings will cry blood at his betrayal." 

There's something really special about this song, composed in 1927. It was recorded twice by male singers (Carlos Gardel (!), Oscar Larocca) and both times it fell flat, in my opinion (although its composer, Osvaldo Fresedo, recorded a very fine instrumental version, and Juan "Pacho" Maglio gave it his special sauce). The problem is that those male singers had to sing the lyric in the third person: the lyric was a man telling about a woman, telling about her man: boring!

The song began to smolder in 1950, when songstress Nina Miranda and bandleader Graciano Gomez transposed it to the first person, finally letting the song's high-spirited narrator speak in her own voice. Next, it burst into open flame, or rather exploded, when Diana Durán got hold of it in '52, recording it with Enrique Mora's Quartet. The combination of first-person narration, Mora's punchy arrangement, and Durán's ebullient, tone-perfect delivery brings the song to life once and forever. And it only took twenty-five years!

Tango Decoder is indebted to DJ Xenia Mikhailov of Tel Aviv for bringing Arrabalero to our attention. Please be sure to follow her at "Tango DJ Xenia" on Facebook. She's always got something special on tap! Xenia's video below groups Arrabalero with three other Durán/Mora gems, Tango Argentino, Maula, and Gloria to make a really cool tanda. (Here's Tango Decoder's version of Maula, too!)

Thank you, DJ Xenia! This version's for you.

Arrabalero
Tango, 1927
Música: Osvaldo Fresedo
Letra: Eduardo Calvo
Lyrics as sung by Diana Durán with el Cuarteto Enrique Mora

On YouTube:
Diana Durán with Enrique Mora Quartet (1952, begins at 2:18)
Nina Miranda with Graciano Gomez (1950)

Soy la pebeta más rechiflada que en el suburbio pasó la vida; soy la percanta que fue querida de aquel malevo que la amuró. Soy el orgullo del barrio entero, tengo una efe que es mi ilusión, pues soy criolla, soy milonguera, quiero a mi hombre de corazón. En un bulín mistongo del arrabal porteño, lo conocí en un sueño, le di mi corazón. Supe que era malevo, lo quise con locura, sufrí por su ventura con santa devoción. Ahora, aunque me faje, purrete arrabalero, ya sabe que lo quiero con toda mi ilusión, y que soy toda suya, que suyo es mi cariño, que nuestro será el niño obra del metejón. Por ser derecha tengo un machito arrabalero de Puente Alsina; se juega entero por esta mina porque la sabe de corazón. Pero si un día llega a engañarme como hacen otros con sus mujeres, esta percanta que ríe y canta llorará sangre por su traición.

I’m the craziest chick*  that ever spent her life in this slum;  I’m the broad who was the lover  of that thief who stole her heart.* I’m the pride of all the barrio, my hope is my religion,* because I’m creole, I'm milonguera,*  I love my man with all my heart. In a wretched little room  in the poorest part of town, I met him in a dream, I gave him my heart. I knew he was a thief, I loved him madly, I suffered for his happiness with saintly devotion. Now, although he beats me, my arrabal boy, he knows that I still love him  with all my heart, and that I’m all his, that he's got my affection, that ours will be a child born of great passion. I'll tell you straight, I've got a sweet  macho arrabalero from Puente Alsina;*  he's betting everything on this gal because he knows her from his heart. But if one day he starts to cheat on me like others do to their women, this broad who laughs and sings will cry blood at his betrayal.*

* craziest chick: La pebeta mas rechiflada. Pebeta is Lunfardo slang for "girl, gal, chick, babe." In Lunfardo the adjective rechiflada has a wide range of meanings including "crazy," "mad," "disturbed," "perturbed," or "angry." But the verb rechiflar also means "to whistle loudly," in which case it could mean "whistled at." Which interpretation is correct? It's hard to say. There's something to be said for "whistled at," since by this assertion our proud arrabalera is bragging about her high standing in the arrabal; "crazy, mad" is implied, too. The sheet music for Anselmo Aieta's 1927 instrumental tango La chiflada depicts a beautiful though possibly somewhat deranged young lady; a male passerby is seen in the act of whistling at her. However, contemporary porteños of my acquaintance hear the word rechiflada as "crazy." So I went with that.

* stole her heart: la amuró. The verb amurar has many meanings. Here, "to cause someone to fall head over heels in love."

* hope: efe, slang for fé, "faith." This is an example of Vesre slang, in which the letters of a word are reversed, transposed, or otherwise reordered.

* creole, milonguera: Criolla (f.), a European-descended native of Latin America, originally one of pure Spanish descent. Milonguera, a female patron of milongas, a tango dancer.

* will cry blood: llorará sangre. Gardel and Oscar Larocca both sang the lukewarm llorará siempre ("will cry forever"). The far more passionate llorará sangre, "will cry tears of blood," or simply "will cry blood," seems to have been Nina Miranda's innovation, and Durán sings it that way, too.

 

 

The mystery of "August 24th"

Ricardo Malerba was born on 24 August 1905. The song 24 de agosto ("August 24th") was composed by Pedro Laurenz with lyrics by Homero Manzi. It was recorded by Laurenz with Alberto Podestá on 16 April 1943. Ricardo Malerba recorded it with Orlando Medina on 6 October 1943 (Malerba and Medina, right; listen to the song below).

Ricardo Malerba's brother Alfredo composed several songs with Homero Manzi, two of which (Mi taza de cafe, Ropa blanca) were recorded by Ricardo. Ricardo himself composed one song with Manzi, a vals entitled Una vez en mi vida, which was recorded by Mario Maurano's orchestra with Libertad Lamarque (wife of Alfredo, sister-in-law of Ricardo) and Osvaldo Fresedo with Ricardo Ruiz. 

Considering these direct connections between the two men, it seems virtually certain that Homero Manzi and Ricardo Malerba knew each other, probably quite well. Did Manzi write the lyrics to 24 de agosto in honor of Ricardo Malerba? Does the song describe events in Ricardo's life? Or was it just an idle coincidence? An inside joke? Tango Decoder cannot decode this! 

24-de-Agosto-Malerba

 

About Tango Decoder

Welcome to Tango Decoder! This blog is devoted to "decoding" the Spanish-language lyrics of Golden Age tangos by rendering them in plain English. We do not attempt to imitate the rhythms or the rhyme scheme of the original song—that can be appreciated simply by listening to the recordings. Our interest is in the meaning of the song as a whole and the sometimes puzzling words, poetic images, and idiomatic phrases that appear in it. It is our hope that knowing the meaning will enhance your enjoyment of the music as you listen and as you dance.

Each new translation is published here first,  then announced via the Facebook page Tango Lyrics & Translations. We also maintain a FB gateway at "Tango Decoder."

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Thanks for visiting Tango Decoder! We don't take requests per se, but if there is a song you're particulary interested in, let us know by leaving a comment below. Who knows? We might get interested, too! 

 

 

ARRABAL: A tarnished gem of tango poetry

"Port-city slums, on your open patios the stars come out, bathing you in silence. And the yellow moon sows mysteries, walking tiptoe over your rooftops."

I see no evidence that this sweetly nostalgic Homero Manzi lyric (with milonga melody by Felíx Lipesker) was ever recorded. More's the pity, because it is in my opinion a exceptionally beautiful example of tango poetry in general, and Manzi's work in particular. Even so, I find it wholly satisfying to read as poetry, free of direct musical associations. 

Update 25-09-2014: Friend and colleague Paul Bottomer has informed me that Arrabal was recorded by Julio De Caro with vocal by Héctor Farrell on 07-10-1939. You can listen below. (The file is 64 kbps, for educational purposes only.) Farrell did not sing the last two stanzas; they are marked with brackets.

Arrabal

 

Arrabales porteños De casitas rosadas, Donde acuna los sueños El rasguear de las guitarras. Donde asoma la higuera Sobre las tapias, Adornando los muros Con sus fantasmas. Sombra, Telón azul del suburbio Donde se juega el disturbio Cuando un amor se envenena. Y el dolor de la traición Se hace rencor Rencor y pena. Sombra, Donde los labios se juran, Mientras la noche murmura Con su voz de bandoneón. [Arrabales porteños En tus patios abiertos, Las estrellas se asoman Y te bañan de silencio. Y la luna amarilla Siembra misterios, Caminando en puntillas Sobre tus techos.]

Port-city slums  of low pink houses where the strumming of guitars rocks you to sleep. Where a fig tree   overhangs the garden walls,  adorning them   with its fantasms. Shadow, blue curtain of the neighborhood  where a riot might break out when a love affair goes sour,  and the pain of betrayal  produces resentment, resentment and sorrow. Shadow, where lips curse and vow  while the night murmurs in its bandoneón voice. Port-city slums, on your open patios the stars come out,  bathing you in silence. And the yellow moon sows mysteries,  walking tiptoe over your rooftops.

ZORZAL: Thrush love

"Dark hair, big black eyes and a homburg cocked to one side, flowered handkerchief at the neck and patent leather shoes. He used to sing heartfelt tangos in his sentimental voice and there, in his humble neighborhood, they called him Zorzal—the thrush."

ZORZAL (milonga, 1940)*
Letra: Dorita Zárate

Música: Dorita Zárate

About Dorita Zárate: "Her real name was Teodora María García. She was born in Bánfield (Buenos Aires) in 1917. In her part of the south she studied singing with maestro Pazzi and also guitar with a musician in her family. She was recognized as a folklorist and was highly regarded among those interested in native song. She debuted very young, winning the contest for new voices on the radio show La la voz del aire.

"She even had a chance to sing on the radio accompanied by Ciriaco Ortiz—who called her "the little gaucho girl"—as well as with Rodolfo Biagi. But she passed into history as the composer of the milonga Zorzal, that Carlos Di Sarli recorded on 12 March 1941 with the great voice of El Pibe del Abasto: Roberto Rufino, and that even now is played in milongas all over the world because it is a little gem for dancers.

"Another very good recording was made by José García y sus zorros grises on 27 October 1942. Dorita herself recorded it with the orchestra of Enrique Rodríguez in 1969, the only year she sang with that orchestra."--from Tangos al bardo [Translation by Tango Decoder]

YouTube: A thrush's song •  Enrique Rodriguez with Dorita Zárate • Carlos di Sarli with Roberto Rufino

Morocho de ojazos negros y chambergo requintao, pañuelo florido al cuello y zapatos charolaos. Cantaba sentidos tangos con su voz sentimental y allá, en su barriada humilde, le llamaban el zorzal. Cien noches le cantó a su arrabal; cien noches sollozó su corazón. Cariños tuvo mil y en su cantar iba sembrando sus amores de zorzal. El barrio ha quedado triste, ya no tiene su cantor; se fue siguiendo una estrella porque en ella va su amor. Aquella morocha linda que lo supo enamorar cerró sus ojos pa siempre y tras ella fue el zorzal.

Dark hair, big black eyes and a homburg cocked to one side, flowered handkerchief at the neck and patent leather shoes. He used to sing heartfelt tangos in his sentimental voice and there, in his humble neighborhood, they called him Zorzal—The Thrush. A hundred nights he sung to his arrabal; a hundred nights his heart sobbed. He had a thousand lovers, and in his song he went around sowing thrush love. The barrio's still sad, it no longer has its singer; he left to follow a star because his love belonged to her. That dark, pretty gal who knew how to win a heart closed her eyes forever and The Thrush followed right behind.

* Zorzal: "The rufous-bellied thrush (Turdus rufiventris) is a songbird of the thrush family (Turdidae). It occurs in most of east and southeast Brazil from Maranhão south to Rio Grande do Sul states, Bolivia, Paraguay, Uruguay and northern regions of Argentina. The songs of some thrush species, including members of the genera Turdus, are considered to be among the most beautiful in the avian world."--Wikipedia.

Carlos Gardel, widely considered the greatest tango singer ever, was often referred to by the nickname El Zorzal, obviously reference to his exceptional singing abilities. While the song is not explicitly about Gardel, it describes someone very much like him and would certainly recall his memory to listeners of the time. Unlike the Zorzal of the song, the real-life Gardel died in a plane crash in Colombia in 1935.