Tango Time Machine — Tango Decoder

Discépolo: Dump or be dumped!

Several weeks ago a certain porteña messaged me, saying she would like to be friends on Facebook. Her FB identity was obviously pseudonymous: Milonguera Misteriosa, or words to that effect. Looking at the pics in her profile, I initially thought we might have met at one of the milongas I habitually attend in Buenos Aires, but she insisted that we have never danced together and she denied attending any of my usual haunts. She had simply read some of my posts on Tango Time Machine, and she wanted to chat. ¿Como no? It's always nice to have a little mystery in one's life, isn't it?  We made friends on El Face.

The weeks go by, and our now-and-then FB conversations are getting quite interesting. It's obvious that she has danced a long time and is knowledgeable about tango dance, tango history, and tango lyrics. She gets no kick from champagne; she gets a kick out of obscure Lunfardisms.

A few days ago MM asked me if I'd like to read a story she wrote. Sure, I say, send it along. I open the attachment and read a little: it is about her quest to find the meaning of the lyrics of a 1930 song by Enrique Santos Discépolo, Justo el treinta y uno ("Right on the 31st"). Clearly this is a woman after my own heart....

However, it was plain from the start that to follow her story, I'd need to be familiar with the song, and I wasn't. So I grabbed the lyrics from Todotango.com and fired up the Tango Decoder. There were some difficult spots, and one curious expression (le regó el helecho), but what I didn't get on my own was amply revealed by Milonguera Misteriosa's story. She's the Decoder's decoder!

The song itself has a long history. It was recorded by Canaro with Charlo in the year it was composed (no surprise there, since "Canaro recorded everything"), and a month later by the Orquesta Típica Victor with Carlos Lafuente. Luis Díaz sang it with an orchestra led by Ricardo Luis Brignolo (composer of Siga el corso and Chiqué). Discépolo's lady, the songstress Tania, seems to have recorded it twice, once in '30 (after debuting it with Lucio Demare, according to some sources) and again in 1948 with Armando Lacava's orchestra. Julio Sosa sang it in a film and on record in 1953, and D'Arienzo reworked it in '58 with Mario Bustos.

As in certain other Discépolo songs, Justo el 31 contains an element of misogyny (see Tango Decoder's version of Esta noche me emborracho for another example), which I certainly deplore, but I don't think that supervenes the historical value of the song. It's got too much interesting language for it to be locked away in a drawer, and the narrative arc is quite clever once you know the hidden meaning. As Milonguera Misteriosa commented, "Realmente está escrito en clave!" (It really is written in code.) 

So, without further ado, and with a grateful nod to Milonguera Misteriosa.... Justo el treinta y uno!

Justo el treinta y uno (1930)
("Right on the 31st")
Music by Enrique Santos Discépolo
Lyrics by Discépolo and Ray Rada

Hace cinco días, loco de contento vivo en movimiento como un carrusel... Ella que pensaba amurarme el uno, justo el treinta y uno yo la madrugué... Me contó un vecino, que la inglesa loca, cuando vio la pieza sin un alfiler, se morfó la soga de colgar la ropa (que fue en el apuro, lo que me olvidé...). Si ahorca no me paga las que yo pasé. Era un mono loco que encontré en un árbol una noche de hambre que me vio pasar. Me tiró un coquito... ¡yo que soy chicato... me ensarté al oscuro y la llevé al bulín!... Sé que entré a la pieza y encendí la vela, sé que me di vuelta para verla bien... Era tan fulera, que la vi, di un grito, lo demás fue un sueño... ¡Yo, me desmayé! La aguanté de pena casi cuatro meses, entre la cachada de todo el café... Le tiraban nueces, mientras me gritaban: "¡Ahí va Sarrasani con el chimpancé"!... Gracias a que el "Zurdo", que es tipo derecho, le regó el helecho cuando se iba a alzar; y la redoblona de amurarme el uno ¡justo el treinta y uno se la fui a cortar!

It’s been five days, mad with happiness, I’m whirling about like a carousel... She was planning to leave me the first of the month,* but right on the 31st I beat her to the punch... A neighbor told me, that the English slut, when she saw the flat without so much as a pin, nearly hung herself on the clothesline (the one that I, in my rush had left behind.) If she hangs it doesn't pay me for what I went through. She was a crazy monkey I found in a tree on a night of hunger that she saw me passing. She threw me a coquito...* I, who am nearsighted... In the darkness, I screwed up, and took her back to my place!... I know that I went into the flat and lit the candle, I know that I turned to get a good look at her... She was so ugly that, seeing her, I let out a cry, the rest was a dream... I fainted dead away! I put up with her almost four months, despite the teasing of everyone at the café... They threw nuts at her, while yelling at me: “There goes Sarrasani* with the chimpanzee!” Thanks to Lefty, who is an honest guy, he "watered her fern"* when she was about to clean the place out;* and the double bet* of leaving me on the first... right on the thirty-first I broke up with her!

 * to leave me on the first: The verb amurar has a variety of meanings; here it clearly means "to abandon," possibly also "to rob." The inglesa had planned leave the narrator, and to take the contents of the flat with her. 

* she threw me a coquito: A fruit resembling a miniature coconut; native to Chile. However, coquito is also a slang word for testicles. The verb tirar means "to throw," but it can also mean "to pull." Hence the line has a second possible reading.

* Sarrasani: A facetious reference to Hans Stosch, a clown whose stage name was GIovanni Sarrasani. He was the founder and director of a very successful circus based in Dresden, Germany, that boasted a huge collection of animals (hence the chimpanzee reference). After Stosch's death, the circus was directed by his son, Hans Jr,. and later by Hans Jr.'s widow Trude Stosch-Sarrasani. It was destroyed during the bombing of Dresden during WWII. Trude emigrated to Buenos Aires in 1948 and was befriended by Juan and Eva Perón. Under the Perón's patronage the Sarrasani Circus was reestablished as the National Circus of Argentina. I'm not sure whether the reference to Sarrasani was included in Discépolo's original lyric, or added later, when the circus had became known in Argentina.

* watered her fern...was about to clean the place out: le regó el helecho....se iba a alzar. The salacious botanical reference suggests that Lefty has betrayed the narrator with the inglesa, then betrayed the inglesa to the narrator. Irse a alzar is a slang expression meaning "to leave, taking everything."

* double bet: la redobla. A redobla is a compound bet in which the proceeds of a win on one bet are automatically staked on a second. The Englishwoman's first bet was that she would be able to make off with the contents of the flat; one may suppose that she planned to stake the loot on a subsequent venture. Perhaps she was thinking of moving in with Lefty? The song doesn't say.

OTHER TANGO DECODER VERSIONS OF SONGS BY ENRIQUE SANTOS DISCÉPOLO

• ALMA DE BANDEÓN
• CARILLÓN DE LA MERCED
• CONDENA
• ESTA NOCHE ME EMBORRACHO
• HUMILLACIÓN
• INFAMIA 
• TORMENTA
• UNO

This day in 1943: D'Agostino does Carnaval

From the "El Mundo" Dance Guide for Saturday, 6 March 1943. (Click to enlarge.)

Angel D'Agostino's orchestra with singer Angel Vargas plays two Carnaval dances at Club Atlético Estudiantes at Avenida Francisco Beiro 5175 in the barrio of Villa Devoto. Tonight's dance is a velada (late-night dance) beginning at 10:30, probably ending at 2 or 3 a.m. Tomorrow's dance is a soirée (early-evening dance) beginning at 8:30 and ending at midnight. The accompanying act is the Leo Karr Jazz Band.

The fancy hand-drawn type and script was created by the Santa Cruz publicity agency. Entry fee $3 pesos for male guests, $1 peso for female guests, and free for club members. (One peso was worth about $3 USD in today's dollars.)

Alberto Castillo takes care of business...! (1 April 1951)

Beginning early in his his solo career, ads for tango superstar Albert Castillo's appearances often identified an aspiring actor named Rodolfo Díaz Soler (portrait, middle right) as a reciter of glosas, the spoken introductions that preceded some or all of the songs in the show. Some ads identify Soler simply as el galán ("the leading man"), probably a reference to his burgeoning film career; others credit him with programación, which could simply mean "planning." The ad shown here seems to imply a deeper involvement in Castillo's business affairs.

"Upon Mr. Rodolfo Díaz Soler's withdrawal from day-to-day operations in search of new horizons, Albert Castillo wishes his friend the greatest success in his new enterprise, and announces to Clubs and Artist Management Agencies that, beginning today, he names as his Secretary Mr. Adolfo De Lucca, who will be available (by phone at) T. E. 47 - 2424 from 3 to 6 in the afternoon."

At the time the ad appeared, Soler had appeared in four films (all but one of them featuring Castillo in a significant role*), and his most recent role in Buenos Aires mi tierra querida (also featuring Castillo) was about to hit the screen. So his prospects as an actor may have looked pretty promising. Unfortunately, his acting career stalled soon after he broke with Castillo. He made one more film, played some roles in theater and on the radio, and that was that. Maybe he shouldn't have quit the day job...?

In the ad shown above, Castillo identifies Soler as a friend and wishes him future success. There is no reason to believe this was anything other than sincere. The two men had worked closely together for years, and Soler, a fellow artist, was of course entitled to set out on his own. I would like to think that Castillo really did wish him well.

Soler was succeeded by Adolfo De Lucca, who shared Castillo's family name, De Lucca, suggesting that he may have been a near relative. Effective immediately, Adolfo's name and the title "Secretario" would take the place of el galán in Castillo's ads, as seen in this one, from 6 April 1951 (bottom). He did not recite any glosas as far as we know.

*At the time this ad appeared Díaz Soler had been seen in four films: Adiós Pampa mía (1946), El tango vuelve a París (1948), Un tropezón cualquiera da en la vida (1949), and Alma de bohemio (1949). A fifth, Buenos Aires, mi tierra querida (1951), would be released in June.

 

 

Eighty Dancing Girls... Permanent Heat...!

I've written before about Buenos Aires's so-called "taxi bars," which mimicked the famous dime-a-dance joints that had been popular in New York City since the 30s. (Of course, the taxi bars of BsAs served tango as the musical main dish, while New York's originals were all about that swing.) Buenos Aires' homegrown taxi bars started showing up in the pages of "El Mundo" in 1943 with "El Palacio de Danza," where Guardia Vieja stalwart Amselmo Aieta led the house orchestra.

Here is a June 1945 ad campaign from a competing establishment, "Montevideo 361," which debuted as "Gran Taxi Girl's" in October 1944 with Alberto Castillo at the mic. The first image in the trio is a "teaser" that appeared on Monday, 4 June 1945. It purports to be a telegram addressed to "Mr. Buenos Aires Dancer"; the message says "On Thursday the 7th I will be with you. Signed .............O, The Signature of Tango," followed by a big question mark that challenges the reader to guess who "The Signature of Tango" is. The big question mark and the guessing-game strategy evokes similar teaser ads that appeared in 1944 for "The Actor of Tango," who turned out to be Roberto Rufino.

So who/what was "The Signature of Tango"? It was the toothy fellow pictured in the second image (from Tuesday, 5 June 1945), whose given name was José Laurito. I had never heard of him before, and neither had Tango Decoder's friend and mentor Michael Lavocah, who did however point out that the singer named in the ad, M. Corrales, had recorded with the OTV (1939-40), had sung with Miguel Caló without recording, and would in 1951 join the orchestra of Carlos Di Sarli, changing his name at Maestro's suggestion to Mario Pomar. Thanks for that insight, Michael Lavocah ("El Caballero de la Historia del Tango")!

It seems that the Gran Taxi Girl's club, a.k.a. Dancing Girl's, a.k.a. Montevideo 361, was still going strong June 1945. So strong, in fact, that on Friday, 29 June, they could announce the installation of "Permanent Heating" (third image), offering their patrons the luxury of dancing at a consistent temperature of 28 degrees (82 F)! Now that's hot! 

The "Permanent Heating" announcement doesn't bother to identify Laurito by name, only by his sobriquet, "La Firma del Tango," and that's in the fine print. After almost a month on the bandstand, whatever light his orchestra may have generated is eclipsed by the new heating system. His tenure at Montevideo 361 was to end two days later, when he would be replaced by "La Típica del Compás" and would promptly disappear into the fog of oblivion.

"Always remember, you are making history!"

God only knows: Tú... el cielo y tú...

Tú... el cielo y tú... (You... Heaven and you)
Tango 1944
Music: Mario Canaro
Lyrics: Héctor Marcó

This ultra-romantic song—verging on the melodramatic, I'd say—was recorded by Di Sarli with Podestá, as well as Enrique Rodriguez (with Armando Moreno) during his 1943-44 experiment with arrangers Cupo and Garza. Lyrics are by singer, actor, and composer Héctor Marcó (1906-1987), who also penned "En un beso la vida,"  "Nido gaucho," "No mientas," "Soy muchacho de la guardia," "La capilla blanca," "A oscuras," and dozens of other songs. He was considered the emblematic lyricist of Carlos Di Sarli.

Tibio está el pañuelo, todavía— que tu adiós me repetía desde el muelle de las sombras. Tibio, como en la tarde muere el sol, mi sol de nieve, sin esperanza y sin alondras. Tibio guardo el beso que dejaste en mis labios al marcharte porque aún no te olvidé. Tú, yo sé que el cielo, el cielo y tú, vendrán a mí para salvar mis manos, presas a esta cruz. Si esta mentira audaz busca mi pena, no la descubras tú que me condena. Guárdala en ti, que es mi querer— desengañarme así será más cruel. No… no me repitas ese adiós… que esto lo sepa sólo Dios, el cielo y tú… Lejos... entre brumas del olvido Donde el viento en su gemido Dice cosas de agonía... Lejos... donde las almas a llorar Van con la muerte! Allí te llora el alma mía... Lejos de tu mano y de tu risa Mi cariño te acaricia... Y este ruego escucharás...!

Your handkerchief, still warm, kept repeating your farewell to me from the shadowy platform. Still warm, like the evening when the sun dies, My frozen sun, without hope and without skylarks. I’m keeping warm the kiss you left on my lips upon leaving because I still haven’t forgotten you. You, I know that heaven, heaven and you, will come to free my hands, captive to this cross. If this audacious lie seeks to hurt me, do not reveal that it condemns me. Keep it to yourself, for it’s my love— to disappoint me so would be most cruel. No.... don’t repeat that farewell... that's only known to God,  heaven, and you. Far away... in the mists of oblivion Where the wind in its moaning Speaks of anguish... Faraway...where weeping souls Go to their death! There my soul cries for you... Faraway from your hand and your laughter My affection caresses you.... and you must hear this prayer!

A Bit Of Borges

I happened to read Borges's story "Mutations" last night. This passage really struck me as being relevant to the historical investigations I'm conducting right now.

"Cross, rope and arrow, traditional tools of mankind, abased or exalted now to the status of symbols; I don't know why they surprise me so, when there is not a single thing in this world that forgetting doesn't erase or memory doesn't alter and when no one knows into what images the future will translate him."

"Cruz, lazo y flecha, viejos utensilios del hombre, hoy rebajados o elevados a símbolos; no sé por qué me maravillan, cuando no hay en la tierra una sola cosa que el olvido no borre o que la memoria no altere y cuando nadie sabe en qué imágenes lo traducirá el porvenir."

[Photo: One of Uruguay's former presidents as seen in the Office of the President, Plaza Independencia.]

Bailes Fonoeléctricos: WTF?

Round about mid-1945, a few of Buenos Aires's "bailes con grabaciones" (dances with recorded music) began to describe themselves in their advertising as veladas fonoeléctricas. A velada, I knew, was nothing more than a late-night version of a soirée, but the word fonoeléctrica threw me for a loop, especially since my porteño friends had never heard the word and were as puzzled by it as I was.

"Phonoelectric Concerts of Musical Culture. Direction and commentary by Dr. Leopoldo Hurtado." Until this time, classical concerts invariably featured live performers. The concept of these concerts was to gain acceptance for performances of recorded music, without the expense and inconvenience of live musicians.

"GROOVES OF THE DISC: The phonoelectric dance acclaimed for its quality" (January 1946). The "Surcos del Disco" was one of the longest running and best attended "bailes con grabaciones" of the mid-1940s. Their ads often employed irony and other forms of puckish humor. Here, the convergence of the rather pompous expressions "fonoeléctrica" and "impuesto" (acclaimed) amount to a send-up of overblown advertising language.

On my last visit to the National Library I found the rather imposing document you see at the right. It's an ad that appeared in El Mundo on April 8, 1945, announcing a series of free public auditions of classical music sponsored by several corporate entities, including the Argentine Electric Company, the South American branch of General Electric, the Philco radio company, and both record companies operating in the country, Victor and Odeon. As far as I can determines, their use of the term fonoeléctrica predates its usage by the bailes con grabaciones.

The context suggests that the term fonoeléctrica was a somewhat pompous neologism intended to give greater apparent dignity to a concert of classical music presented on recording, without live musicians. (Note that the layout of the ad is very similar to an academic diploma or something similar.) This wasn't going to be just a bunch of people in a room, listening to phonograph records on an old Victrola. It was to be a corporate-sponsored act of musical connoisseurship, aided by an electronically amplified phonograph, with commentary by an expert. Or whatever....

I'm guessing that the term fonoeléctrica was adopted soon after by the BCGs as a kind of in-joke, a tongue-in-cheek way of glorifying their homespun dances, which presented popular dance music—tango, jazz, and other genres—on recording, without live musicians. That was very much in keeping with the playful, puckish tone of their  ads.

Pintin Castellanos on the Candombes of Montevideo

"The masters used to give their worn out clothes to their slaves. Bearing in mind that these were families of wealth and high station, much of this clothing would have been the truly impressive formal wear...."
Uncredited photo from LaRed21.

Excerpts from "Entre Cortes y Quebradas" by Pintin Castellano (Montevideo 1948).

English-language version by Tango Decoder.

Chapter 1
CANDOMBES ON THE COSTA SUR

¡¡Montevideo of Yesteryear!!.. How many things are enshrined in those words; significant historical events; the lives of our elders; examples of patriotism raised to the raised to the purest ideal... In the end, a thousand and one things that predispose us to meditate deeply and with respect.

The candombe. In the foreground, flamboyantly dressed slaves dance to the rhythm of the drums. In the background the masters and their families watch from the seawall. Illustration by Eduardo Vernazza from "Entre Cortes y Quebradas."

Even now, we are bound to feel the evocative power of that distant epoch. The years 1808 to 1830. Candombe dances held by the black community. Whenever the masters gave their slaves "license" for the traditional entertainment, the brown-skinned folk met very early on Sunday morning on the southern shore of "La Tacita de Plata," [lit., Little Silver Cup, a term of endearment for the city of Montevideo--TD] at the battery of San Rafael near El Cubo Del Sur (later Santa Teresa). There they divided up into their "classes" or "tribes," such as Congos, Minas, Molembos, Mozambiques, Cabindas, and others.

Each "class" was responsible for arranging its own canchita ("little field"), tamping the earth with their heels or covering it with a layer of fine sand to smooth the way for the dancers. Then the famous candombe began.

Pintin Castellanos fronting a large Carnaval orchestra, 1930. Photo: Napoli.

The instruments were very simple, all percussion, pure rhythm. Tamboriles, marimbas, mate or porongo, and mazacalla. Devilishly complicated rhythms matched in intensity by the state of mind of the dancers and the "little drink" that kept refreshing the dry throats during the continuous singing of: ..."calunga, cangué... eee llumbá... eee llumbá," accompanied by hand-claps and amusing contortions of legs, hips, arms, and head... and chanting more strongly each time, "calunga cangué... eee llumbá...." 

All the blacks without exception and with unwonted enthusiasm partook of the candombe. Everyone, old and young, boys and girls, surrendered their whole heart and soul to the irresistible spell of the maddening, sensual dance. Perhaps in their souls, by dancing to the rhythm of those instruments and chanting, they were miraculously experiencing the feeling that they were back home in their distant African land, dreaming of happy freedom surrounded by their loved ones.
    
Terrible and cruel was destiny for the noble black race of that time. Unique and profound the enjoyment of those lofty memories for the mistreated bodies and their humiliating fate. Unique and profound this outward expression of extraordinary significance... The beloved "candombe!"
    
Vibration of the colored race in its dance of remembrance! Possibly the same feeling we ourselves would feel if, far away from our beloved homeland, we were to hear a tango or a milonga or other melody from our own songbook. We would feel, in that fleeting instant, the value of that music, bringing us in every note, every chord, a remembrance of all the feelings that throb in the depths of our hearts. While some masters didn't allow their slaves to participate in the great celebration of body and mind, others, with a more noble and humane understanding, not only gave this day the greatest possible license, but even came with their whole family to witness the noble candombe, showing in this gracious way their approval of the participation of the slaves who were in their service.

The great fiesta began with the entry of the Sun, and ended with the crowning of the Star King. The excitement of the well-heeled spectators was really quite extraordinary, indescribable enthusiasm rivaling at certain moments that of the candombe itself. The traditional candombe of the Costa Sur became such a hit, that it became the event of the season for the most distinguished families of colonial Montevideo.

Undoubtedly it was a very curious and colorful spectacle. On more than one occasion those same masters and their families who had come as spectators felt so charmed by the dance that from their places on the seawall they accompanied the fevered, overpowering rhythm of the drum-rolls and the singing of the blacks with smooth movement of their own bodies, with truly admirable ingenuity. This attitude of their masters was the greatest reward that could be hoped for by the slaves, who, in boundless gratitude, added to that dose of enthusiasm -- which was already more than sufficient -- by their extraordinary contortions and by mimicry of the white folks' dancing....

....How did the blacks dress for the candombes?  I must mention here a point of singular importance. The masters used to give their worn out clothes to their slaves. Bearing in mind that these were families of wealth and high station, much of this clothing would have been the truly impressive formal wear of parties and meetings, for example: frock coats, tails, plush top hats, gloves, spats, canes, etc. And for their part the ladies of the house used to give their female slaves gifts of rich articles of clothing--well worn, of course--evening wear, satin shoes, gloves, parasols, lace collars, etc. On more than one occasion there was a rivalry among some prideful masters over which of them could boast of having the best-dressed slaves in their service, and the candomberos, from then on, contributed by finding the most effective way to show off their rich clothes in the most original and elegant way, capturing the admiration and applause of all present.

El Cubo Del Sur would have felt doubly proud of being the theater of such impressive and beautiful dress-up parties and also of having been honored--by virtue of their laborious construction work in the year 8 [that is, 1808]--by the most distinguished citizens of that time, among the most prominent, none other than their own Governor Don Elío, who in shirt sleeves had personally dragged stone upon stone into place, emulating by his democratic labor the solemn workmen and the populace as a whole.

For many years, the candombes continued to be the favorite celebration among young and old of the little village of Montevideo. With the passage of time... time in which anything can happen, and everything changes... the glittering festival of the brown-skinned folk started slowly to decline. It was thus that, little by little, new attractions of a more modern character, but never as original or colorful as the candombes, were replacing them, and the public--with a different idea of fun--preferred to give more attention to another type of spectacle. Once the masters no longer attended the candombe, the black folks felt the pain of that abandonment, losing the characteristic enthusiasm that had animated all their traditional jubilees.   

It was for this justifiable reason that, in the years 1827-29, approximately, the dances of our southern coast disappeared almost completely, to reappear in some neighborhood of the old city, and later to be forgotten. Thus was extinguished one of the most unique and colorful entertainments that were the main attraction in our small and beautiful colonial city more than a century ago: Los "candombes de la costa Sur".

Uruguayan bandleader, pianist, author, and composer Pintín Castellanos was the composer of the milongas La puñalada and Meta fierro, the tango Nyanzas y malevos, and others.
   

Miguel Caló at the cabaret "Singapur" (1942)

Excerpt from Miguel Caló and the Orchestra of the Stars by Manuel Adet

From Portal del Tango
English version by Tango Decoder

"In those distant and memorable years of the 1940s, one of the places habitually frequented by the tango public was the cabaret "Singapur," located at the corner of Montevideo and Corrientes.* In this nighttime redoubt, one could enjoy a good drink, agreeable company, and the privilege of savoring the talents of El Cachafaz, the mythical "bailarín compadrito," then at the height of his powers...."

"...Then, in that exclusive and stringent tango environment, the stellar figure of the night was Miguel Caló and his orchestra comprised of the best musicians of the period, a hallmark of this pianist born 28 October 1907 in old Balvanera. At the Singapur two emblematic singers were launched by that orchestra: Raúl Berón and Alberto Podestá. The former was recommended by his countryman Armando Pontier, the latter sponsored by Miguel's brother Roberto Caló, who had just formed his own orchestra....

"Miguel Caló is one of the most representative figures of the 1940s. His sober, unhurried, elegant style always answered to both the demands of the vanguard and the requirements of the public as a whole. Like all the great orchestra directors of his time, he achieved this position after having undergone strict musical training...." [By Manuel Adet, from El Portal del Tango, translated by Tango Decoder. Original castellano is below.]

Further notes by Tango Decoder:

1) 369 Montevideo: In October, 1944, two years after the appearance of the ad seen at the right, the site of the original cabaret Singapur at Montevideo 361-369 would become "Gran Taxi Girl's," a pay-per-dance club modeled after the Orpheum dance hall in New York City. Gran Taxi Girl's opening night featured Alberto Castillo; later acts included Roberto Rufino, Francisco Fiorentino, Amadeo Mandarino, Guardia Vieja stalwart Anselmo Aieta, and others, including Caló himself. The club seems to have changed names often, possibly in response to police harassment. Among its later appellations were Dancing Girl's, Montevideo 369, and Montevideo Ticket Bar.]

2) Típica Argentina: The "Argentina" listed on the right side of the ad consisted of "Ex-members (of the) Osvaldo Fresedo Orchestra with Ricardo Ruiz." That would have been the Fresedo lineup of 1939-41 which, according to TodoTango.com, included L. Pertrucelli, P. Storti, and U. Panella on bandoneones, Víctor Felice, J. Lorito, P. Desrets and M. Perini on violins, Demetrio Riseti on viola (later Do Reis), De Luca (drums and vibes), Nélida Gianneo (harp), Lalo Scalise in piano, bassist Hugo Ricardo Baralis (later Tito Colom), and vocalists Ruíz, Carlos Mayel, and Carlos Roldán. The text seems to be a bit ambiguous; it's not clear whether Ruíz was to sing on this night, or his name was simply used to establish the band's credentials. 

****

Original text en castellano:

En aquellos lejanos y memorables años de los cuarenta, uno de los lugares habituales frecuentados por el público tanguero fue el cabaret “Singapur”, ubicado en la esquina de Montevideo y Corrientes. En ese reducto de la noche, se podía disfrutar de una buena copa, de excelente y agradable compañía, y del privilegio de apreciar las dotes del Cachafaz, el mítico “bailarín compadrito”, entonces en su momento de máximo esplendor.

Entonces, en ese selecto y exigente ambiente de tango, la figura estelar de la noche era la orquesta de Miguel Caló, integrada por los mejores músicos de la época, una marca en el orillo de este pianista nacido el 28 de octubre de 1907 en el viejo Balvanera. En “Singapur” se iniciaron dos cantores emblemáticos de esta orquesta: Raúl Berón y Alberto Podestá. Al primero, lo recomendó su paisano Armando Pontier; el segundo, fue apadrinado por Roberto Caló, hermano de Miguel y un notable músico y cantor que en algún momento llegó a dirigir su propia orquesta que, según los entendidos, compitió en buena ley con la de su hermano. No está de más saber que Roberto contó en sus diversas formaciones musicales con cantores de la talla de Enrique Campos, Tito Reyes, Oscar Larroca y Roberto Ray. Y fue el compositor de “Soñemos”, el tango escrito por Reynaldo Yiso.

Miguel Caló es una de las figuras más representativas de la década del cuarenta. Su estilo sobrio, depurado, elegante, siempre estuvo atento a las exigencias de la vanguardia y los requerimientos del gran público. Como todos los grandes directores de orquesta de su tiempo, llegó a ese lugar luego de haber recorrido una exigente carrera musical.

 

Victor Records: Enjoy Carnaval in your own home!

"The dances of Carnaval are back! And the happiness and excitement of those unforgettable days are back, too. You, who so enjoyed yourself at your club: repeat those beautiful dances in your home! On Victor Records you'll find all the hits of the Carnaval dances; the captivating music of your favorite songs in magnificent performances by the same orchestras that gave such brilliance to the dances at your club!" (6 March 1945)

Di Sarli: Los Muñequitos

From the Di Sarli playbook:

"The tango that is causing a sensation, LOS MUÑEQUITOS by F. Fracánico [sic]. Debuts today at 12:45 today on LR1. Carlos Di Sarli. Vocal Roberto Rufino."

(Ad appeared 3 November 1943; song recorded the following day. The composer is Francisco Pracánico, with a P.)

En la tortura de vivir sin canción,
Mi alma sin fe, rompió a llorar,
La dulce infancia, blanca flor de ilusión
Hoy con dolor, vuelvo a evocar...
Pobres... están aún en un rincón,
Ellos... muñequitos de cartón,
Pobres muñequitos que contemplo
Con ternura y emoción.

In the torture of living without a song,
My faithless soul burst into tears,
Sweet childhood, white flower of illusion
Now, in pain, I remember again.
Poor babies... they’re still in a corner,
Those... paper dolls,
Poor little dolls that I ponder
With tenderness and emotion.

Jueguen muñequitos,
Bailen, salten como ayer,
Que hoy mi tristeza
Necesita del recuerdo.
Jueguen muñequitos,
Bailen, salten otra vez,
Como en la infancia
Que revive mi emoción.

Play, little dolls,
Dance, leap as you did yesterday,
that today my sadness
May pine for the memory.
Play, little dolls,
Dance, as in childhood,
Leap once more,
So it revives my emotion.
 
Vuelvan a brindarme esa alegría,
Para ahogar la pena mía,
Que hoy me quema el corazón.
Jueguen muñequitos,
Bailen, salten como ayer,
Que hoy me quema el corazón.

Bring that happiness again,
To drown this sorrow of mine,
That now burns my heart.
Play, little dolls,
Dance, leap like yesterday,
For today my heart is burning.

A Double-Take Double Bill

19 February 1944.

TANGO MUSIC FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY...!?

4 November 1943.

I'm always puzzled by the high tolerance for Alfredo De Angelis's music here in Argentina. Here's a clue, maybe. An early Friday show prominently featuring De Angelis is advertised as "Tango Music for Families." Maybe I can appreciate De Angelis's output more if I just think of it as nice, polite, wholesome music for the whole family. I'm willing to give it a try.... By the way, Marzotto, the venue for this show, didn't have a dance floor, just music for listening, and food....

The Wind Howls Troilo

The two ads shown below announce radio performances of the song "Gime el viento" (The Wind Howls): first by Aníbal Troilo's orchestra, and eight days later by Miguel Calo's. It looks like the ads were placed by the composers (Music by Atilio Bruni; lyrics by Oscar Rubens), their publisher, or some other entity that had an interest in the success of the composition.

[Photo: Doors, Buenos Aires, 2016. Tango Decoder.]

 

 

 

16 October 1943. "An Extraordinary Tango!! "GIME EL VIENTO" by the authors of "4 Compases" will be debuted today at 13.05 by the orchestra of Aníbal Troilo (Pichuco)." Troilo recrded the song with vocal by  Fiorentino on 20 October.

24 October 1943. "Miguel Caló also has debuted the extraordinary tango "GIME EL VIENTO" by the authors of "4 Compases." Hear it on radio today at 12:15. Caló recroded the song on 29 November with vocal by Raúl Iriarte.

Both ads appear to have been prepared by Publicidad Santa Cruz.

 

Fiorentino's Farewell Unfolds (March-June 1944)

Some months ago Michael Lavocah and I were discussing Francisco Fiorentino's departure from the Troilo orchestra. When exactly did Fiorentino announce his intention to leave the band, and when were his final performances? One of Michael's sources had fixed the date in March, 1944, after Carnaval, but I was pretty sure I'd seen some ads for the Troilo/Fiorentino/Marino trinity much later—well into the month of May, I thought. I was going to collect all the Troilo ads from that period, and Michael and I were going to evaluate the results. I did collect the ads, but for some reason, the two of us never got around to the evaluation.

Sunday 5 March 1944. Troilo played the last night of Carnaval at the Círculo General Urquiza with vocals by Fiorentino and Marino . The next day, 6 March, is a likely date for Fiorentino to have given his final notice.

Saturday 26 March 1944. Troilo/Fiorentino/Marino at Club Atlético Barracas Central. Fiorentino continued to appear with the orchestra during this period. He made his final recordings with Troilo four days later.

Recently Michael brought the matter up again, mentioning that his source had placed the date of the split, and Fiore's farewell appearance with the orchestra, on March 6, with a farewell show at Boca Juniors. (The closing number is said to have been Fiore's own composition, Pa' que seguir, "Why Go On?", previously recorded with Troilo in 1942.) That account didn't sound quite right to either of us.

Saturday 29 April 1944. Troilo/Fiorentino/Marino at Club Social y Sportivo Buenos Aires.

7 May 1944. Troilo played Tibidabo beginning April 17 and continuing through the month of May with Fiorentino and Marino at the mic, as this ad and an earlier ad attest ("actua todas las noches"). That's Osvaldo Pugliese's older brother Alberto on the right. His orchestra played earlier in the evening, during the cocktail hour ("vermouth") and Saturdays at 23:00, presumably to allow the Troilo orchestra to play its Saturday-night gigs in the barrios.

First of all, March 6 was a Monday, an unusual night for a football club to hold any dance, let alone an event so momentous as the final cortina of one of tango's greatest binomios. (Most of the big sports-club dances were held on Saturdays or Sundays, though a few were on Thursdays or Fridays.) Furthermore, no such event was advertised in the pages of the El Mundo Dance Guide.

Sunday 14 May 1944. Upper panel, Goñi at Círculo Almagro. Below, Troilo/Fiorentino/Marino at Racing Club.

Second, the Tango Time Machine archives give proof of numerous Troilo/Fiorentino appearances during the months of April and May. One of them, at the Tibidabo nightclub on the Calle Corrientes, was a nightly gig that began on April 17. Tibidabo ads during the month of May promise performances by Troilo with Fiorentino and Marino every night of the week. Fiore may have given notice in March, but his farewell performance, whether at Boca or somewhere else, must have come sometime near the end of May.

Another invaluable source, as always, is discography. As Michael pointed out, Fiorentino's final recordings for Troilo were cut on 30 March (Tabaco, Temblando, and a duet with Marino, the milonga El desafío). In April, Troilo recorded only two numbers, an instrumental tango, Piropos, and Tres amigos with Marino at the mic. The orchestra didn't record at all in May. Then, in June, Troilo went back into the studio with Cristal, Siga el Corso, La vi llegar, and Naipe, all with Marino vocals, plus Rosendo Mendízabal's timeless tango El entrerriano.

 

Thursday, 25 May 1944. Troilo/Fiorentino/Marino at Boca Juniors.

By studying the ads shown here and correlating the data with known recording and radio dates, we can form an idea of the likely sequence of events surrounding Fiorentino's departure and his subsequent solo bid.

Saturday, 27 May 1944. Troilo/Fiorentino/Marino at Club Rivadavia. This may have been the last tango for Troilo and Fiore.

Fiorentino almost certainly gave notice sometime between March 5 (the day of the band's appearance for the final night of Carnaval at the Círculo General Urquiza) and 30 March, the day of his final recordings with the band. Sixth March is certainly a date worth considering, because it comes at the very end of the Carnaval period, a time when people typically start making plans for the coming year.

Giving notice on 6 March would have allowed Fiorentino and Troilo time to record any new songs they'd rehearsed together. After 30 March, there would be no recording dates, no radio appearances, and no new songs to rehearse, leaving the singer's days free for rehearsals with a new orchestra during all of April and May.

Fiorentino's final advertised performances with Troilo were on Thursday 25 May at Boca Juniors and Saturday 27 May at Club Rivadavia. His first advertised date with Goñi's orchestra seems to have been on Sunday 4 June at the Prince George Hall. I'll confirm that date during the coming weeks.

 

17 June 1944. Following Fiorentino's final farewell, Troilo returns to Radio El Mundo with six songs and Marino at the mic.

As for the singer's formal despedida, farewell performance, if there was one: It may indeed have been at Boca Juniors, as the source suggests, though it would almost certainly have been on 25 May, not 6 March, for he appeared that night at Boca Juniors.

It seems likely that there would have been some sort of farewell observance two nights later at Club Rivadavia gig, as well. But I am guessing that the real farewell party would have been on Fiore's final night at Tibidabo, the boozy, smoke-filled cabaret where he and Troilo had musicalized the night shift throughout much 1943 and '44, leaving behind the echoes of a thousand and one enchanting three-minute performances.

Fiorentino's first advertised appearance with the Goñi orchestra was on Sunday 4 June at the Prince George Hall. "Sensational!"

As I write, I'm wondering if I didn't miss an ad for the Tibidabo despedida. Tibidabo's display ads usually appeared on a page preceding or following the Dance Guide, so I may have overlooked it. I'll check on that and let you know.

[Many thanks to Michael Lavocah for his encouragement, guidance, and collaboration in conducting this research.]

Postscript (31 December 2015)

I've checked the ads for May and June, and I don't see any formal despedida for Fiorentino at Tibidabo or anywhere else. I did find another appearance with Troilo, though, on June 8, four days after his first advertised show with Goñi. I've added it at the right, below.

 

 

 

 

 

Fiorentino's last advertised appearance with the Troilo orchestra was at the Club Indiano on 8 June, four days after his first appearance with Goñi.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life of Laurenz, Radiolandia 1937

D'Arienzo upstaged by his singers...!

In an earlier post, I wrote about the increasing prestige of the orchestra singer during the period 1943-44, and its reflection in the pages of the El Mundo Dance Guide. First Vargas went solo (though it didn't last long), followed by Castillo, Rufino, and Fiorentino. By the end of the year 1944, Podestá, Berón, and a few others would do the same. All of them received extensive exposure via the medium of newspaper advertising.

As if in reply to all this hoopla surrounding the solo singers, several of the well established orchestras began to feature their singers more prominently in advertising.

An admired solo vocalist like Rufino fronting his own orchestra might have been a very exciting prospect, but that didn't mean that a top orchestra like Troilo's or Di Sarli's need suffer by comparison. On the contrary. Especially when those orchestras, which by their very nature enjoyed top-notch musical direction, also boasted very fine singers of their own.

It is sometimes said that Juan D'Arienzo valued the role of the singer and the lyrics somewhat less than his compeers. His choice of songs and lyrics did not highlight the singer's gifts nearly so much as those of Troilo, Di Sarli, or Demare, and he sometimes chose works that were, from a lyrical standpoint, inferior or in questionable taste (e.g., El Hipo, El tarta, Sepoñoporipitapa, Giuseppe el crooner, Che existentialista, etc). Thus, it was with great interest that I found the accompanying July 1944 ad for a show at the famous Chantecler cabaret (or "dancing" in the euphemistic parlance of this period). To my knowledge, this was the first time that the faces of either Echagüe or Mauré were seen in the pages of the Dance Guide. I'm fairly certain it was the last, as well.

You see—or so the ad subliminally admonishes the reader—not only Castillo, Rufino, and Fiorentino are singing stars in their own right! Look at Alberto Echagüe and Héctor Mauré! They are well established stars with a long history of public acclaim, a lot of great performances under their belts. And both singers have their own orchestra, too: the "supremely popular" one directed by the great Juan D'Arienzo, The King of the Beat. You can have the best singers and the best orchestra together in one act. No need to choose between one or the other.

And, oh yeah, I forgot to mention: Don't forget the Chanteceler's headlined "Modern Review" floor show, "The Invasion of the Beautiful Girls." Guys, your girlfriend might be eager to see one of those male crooners make love to the microphone, but we know what you really want.

You see? You can have it all!

Lucio Demare Splits from Irusta and Fugazot (1937)

Here's an interesting 1937 article on the breakup of the Trio Argentino. By 1940, Demare's orchestra was one of the most successful típicas in Buenos Aires, a constant presence in the dance halls and on Radio El Mundo. Irusta went on to a successful film career and Fugazot pretty much dropped off the radar....

"This news will come to the reader as a real surprise. For fifteen consecutive years they've worked together with season after season of popular success. For years and years their names appeared on marquees of top theatres in Europe and Central and South America. Precursors of the great success that our tango music was to achieve in every corner of the world—from whence they drew their biggest fans—Irusta, Fugazot and Demare were always a magnificent unit, touching cultured audiences and earning popular acclaim in many different countries. They were held at the same level of admiration, perhaps even higher, outside of Argentina than among us ourselves.

"That's why this separation comes as such a surprise, capping a body of a work that made their names a household word. Now officially announced, it is decided, furthermore, that Irusta and Fugazot will appear on Radio Belgrano, forming a duo accompanied by four guitars, with a repertoire totally different from what they've been developing until this moment, since they will dedicate themselves exclusively to criollo themes.

"As for Lucio Demare, there are contradictory reports about his future course of action. While some say with certainty that he will join Francisco Canaro's orchestra, other credible rumors say that he is currently preparing an orchestra of his own that he will direct according to his own artistic approach and that he'll debut it at the microphone of a major radio station.

"In any case, although these rumors haven't identified the causes of the breakup of the popular trio, it would come as no surprise if it had been influenced by the lyrical orientation of the trio, which, though they may previously have gained resounding success among discriminating audiences, has not managed to achieve the intense and widespread popularity to which Irusta and Fugazot aspire. Time, soon enough, will reveal the reason for the split."

[Radiolandia, April 1937. Translation, Tango Decoder.]

 

Then and Now: Racing Club with Ricardo Tanturi

30 May 1943 (right): The massively popular football organization Racing Club proudly invites dancers to its new annex (the single-story structure at the left in the illustration) at Nogoya 3045 and a "stellar" show featuring the típica of Ricardo Tanturi and the jazz of Osvaldo Novarro. Running a professional football club was an extremely capital-intensive endeavor. Dances were a valuable source of additional revenue that kept many clubs out of the red, allowing them to expand and diversify their activities.

This large, fancifully illustrated ad was prepared by the Argañaraz publicity agency.

June 2015 (below): Racing Club's annex and its three-story headquarters are visible in this view from Google Maps, but the annex seems to be on the verge of conversion into a block of shops. I'll visit later this month. I hope to have a look at the club's archives from the 40s.

 

Carlos Di Sarli Spins "The Wheel of Tango" (Pt. 2)

"Fans fight their way toward the entrance to attend the sensational debut of singer Roberto Rufino with his grand orchestra, an incident that clearly confirms the success that was expected from the very beginning." 6 May 1944.

"Round and round it goes and where it stops, nobody knows!"—The Amateur Hour radio show, 1934

[View Part 1 of this article.]

Carlos Di Sarli's music is inimitable, but "The Wheel of Tango" and its surrounding publicity were not. On 3 May, 1944, Roberto Rufino, "The Actor of Tango," appeared in a remarkably Di Sarlian ad (second photo, right) speaking directly to his audience, thanking them for their "show of sympathy" during his debut at the Palermo Palace, referring to it as La Cita del Tango, Tango's Big Event: "For that is what we may call this important event that remains like a memory that cannot be erased." Rufino, who had until recently been the voice of the Di Sarli orchestra, was attempting to usurp the voice of the maestro himself.

In his master's voice. Rufino's "Di Sarlian" ad describes his debut a "Tango's Big Event." 3 May 1944.

And that clever strategy of picturing the Di Sarli fans who had been turned away from the sold-out shows at the Marabú? The Palermo Palace took a similar, but much more upbeat approach. The ad depicts Rufino's excited followers mobbing the club's entrance, eager to buy tickets for opening night. Seen from a high angle, they look upward, into the camera, expressing their gleeful anticipation of the musical triumph they are about to experience. To our eye, it seems that Rufino and the Palace had bested Di Sarli at his own game. We leave it to the reader to form his or her own judgment.

(Note: As in the Marabú photo, we see few if any women in the Palermo Palace crowd. One may speculate that since women were admitted free at the Palace, they were also spared the inconvenience of waiting on the ticket-buyers' line.) 

"Osvaldo Pugliese and his orchestra thank the public who came the Bar Argentino last Wednesday and must present their excuses to all those who, on finding the gates shut for having exceeded the capacity of the hall, had to remain outside the bar. They also offer their profound apologies to their colleagues and friends Demare, Troilo, Rodríguez, Washington Bertolín, Tanturi, Salgán, Fiorentino, Marino, F. Sassone, F. Pinto, Clauso, etc., to whom they were not able to attend with the deference that they would have liked given the crush of the crowd."
[View closeup of the guests.]

On May 14, the management of the Bar Argentino ran a similar ad to publicize the debut of Osvaldo Pugliese and his orchestra. There, we see what purports to be an interior view of the venue. Seated in the foreground are a group of Don Osvaldo's invited guests, his colleagues and friends Demare, Tanturi, Troilo, Salgán, and several others; behind them is ranked the mass of the audience. The tone of the ad is apologetic, not only to those members of the public who couldn't gain entry, but to Don Osvaldo's famous friends, whom, the ad says, he couldn't entertain as he would have liked because of the huge crowds.

Di Sarli's competitors did not stop at copying his advertising strategies, however; they also copied "The Wheel of Tango" itself. In mid-June, two months after the first spin of The Wheel, a copycat contest entitled "My Best Tangos" began to appear on Radio El Mundo on Tuesday and Thursday evenings at 10:35 p.m. The orchestras of Angel D'Agostino, Juan D'Arienzo, and Ricardo Tanturi were the initial participants. Followup ads in the El Mundo Dance Guide featured a ranked tally of listeners' votes just like those in earlier ads for The Wheel. ("My Best Tangos" was sponsored by the Mejoral cigarette company, which had been Di Sarli's sponsor for The Wheel of Tango when it premiered in May....)

The Wheel of Tango on Radio El Mundo. "Today at 7 p.m. Carlos Di Sarli and his orchestra return to Radio El Mundo to play the most Argentine music in the land. And at 8:30 you'll hear news of the sensation that is sweeping Buenos Aires: The Wheel of Tango."
2 May 1944.

Undaunted by these obvious imitators, Di Sarli and his Wheel kept on rolling. On 2 May it was presented on Radio El Mundo, and on 17 June it appeared at the Inclán social club in the staunchly working-class southern barrio of Parque Patricios. Additional rounds of The Wheel were held at Marabú, too, with new songs and new winners.

Rufino continued to hold court at the Palermo Palace for eight successful weeks, to be replaced by his fellow singer-soloist Alberto Castillo on July 1. The pages of the El Mundo Dance Guide don't tell us how long Osvaldo Pugliese kept up his overcrowded appearances at the Bar Argentino, but he and his orchestra remained very active on the sports-and-social-club dance circuit for the rest of the winter and beyond.

Inclan Social Club, Parque Patricios. Di Sarli presents The Wheel of Tango "with the powerful and inimitable voice of Alberto Podestá." 17 June 1944.

The Wheel of Tango kept on turning, turning, not for Di Sarli alone, but for all the Actors of Tango... Viewed through the lens of the El Mundo Dance Guide, the autumn of 1944 truly was a Big Event in the history of tango.

TO BE CONTINUED...