Warum werden die Argentinier so traurig, wenn sie tanzen?

Que tengas mucha suerte, que Dios no te abandone,


yo sé que a mí me espera la eterna soledad,


no tiembles en mis brazos, te ruego me perdones,


el tango ya termina, salgamos a llorar...

(Aus: Caras y caretas, Buenos Aires, 1935)

Ausländer, die sich zum ersten Mal in unserem Land aufhalten und irgendeine Festlichkeit besuchen, auf der getanzt wird, fragen unverzüglich: „Warum tanzen die Argentinier so traurig?“ Es ist eine akkurate Beobachtung: die Argentinier tanzen mit einer merkwürdigen Traurigkeit, ausgelöst vielleicht durch den schwermütigen und bedrückten Rhythmus des Tangos: ein Rhythmus, der jedem criollo im Blut steckt und der an die Oberfläche kommt, wenn ein Takt Musik sein Gehör durchdringt.

Ein Paar, das Tango tanzt, spricht nicht, lächelt nicht, verzieht keinen Gesichtsmuskel, und die Augen scheinen zu verlöschen, während klagende Akkorde den Tänzern schmerzhafte Verrenkungen abverlangen...

Diese Traurigkeit erlegen sie sich genauso beim verrücktesten amerikanischen Foxtrott auf, und nicht einmal der Schotis, der seinerzeit in Mode war, erreichte es, dass unsere Landsleute ihre angestammte Traurigkeit—die Traurigkeit der schwermütigen Gauchos—beiseite ließen... Diese Traurigkeit schwingt in allen ländlichen Liedern mit: in den Tristen, Vidalitas und Estilos, in der ganzen nationalen Musik; eine Traurigkeit, die zweifelsohne eine sehr große Schönheit besitzt, die aber ansteckt und besticht. Wenn die Folklore so traurig ist, wie sollten die Argentinier nicht mit Traurigkeit tanzen?

Der Geist des criollo ist von Schwere durchdrungen. Das erweist sich daran, dass in ernsthaften oder fröhlichen Kreisen, die denen sich Argentinier versammeln, es keinen Mittelgrund der Unterhaltung gibt. Entweder scheinen sie einer Totenwache beizuwohnen oder sie übertreiben es ins andere Extrem mit unverhältnismäßigen Ausschweifungen, „spielen sich vor“, dass sie sich unterhalten, wenn sie im tiefsten Herzen gegen die eigene Langeweile ankämpfen und so ein Spektakel veranstalten.

Tango von Argentiniern getanzt ist so etwas wie Traurigkeitsritus. Der gleiche Tango, von Ausländern getanzt, wird nicht so harmonisch, aber bewegend und heiter sein. Ein criollo Paar, das „aneinandergeklebt“ einen Tango tanzt, scheint zu vergessen, dass die Welt sich um sie herum dreht: sie ziehen sich zurück, sie geben sich hin, sie kommunizieren miteinander diesen Schmerz des nationalen Tanzes, der so eigentümlich durch La cumparsita oder Rodríguez Peña, schwebt. Ausländer, die die gleichen Tangos tanzen, ändern den Takt und Rhythmus... Vielleicht ist das der Unterschied, der die Argentinier traurig scheinen lässt, wenn sie tanzen...

Der Mann, der in einem Cabaret in Buenos Aires lachte
(Caras y caretas, 1928)

Übersetzung © 2017 Wolfgang Freis

The Bandoneon in the Early Tango Orchestras

No musical instrument is associated with tango more closely than the bandoneon. However, in the early days of tango—before and at the time when the name orquesta típica for tango orchestras was introduced—a presence of a bandoneon in the performing group was not a given. If it was among the instruments, then most likely a single one; two bandoneons can be found only rarely.

The biography of Julio de Caro (1899-1980) sheds a light on the dissemination of the bandoneon in the first decade and a half of the twentieth century. Describing his childhood years in Buenos Aires, De Caro reports:

[Buenos Aires, Pasaje la] Defensa 1020: new residence. In front the music school and store; for a few, short years a magical place due to its stock of musical instruments which my father, the visionary, had enhanced with bandoneons—very rare then since they were brought only in small quantities by Max Epperlein from Germany.

Given such an event (which it was), our house—one of the few to exhibit them—became eye witness to a long parade of customers and interested persons, mainly by the “great fathers of tango” as this instrument was an indispensable element for them and, I repeat, very difficult to obtain.

As if in a dream, I recall names: [Enrique] Saborido, “Pacho” [Maglio], [José Bonano] “Pepino”, [Alfredo] Bevilacqua, [Angel] Villoldo, Rosendo [Mendizábal], [Ricardo] González (“Mochila”), [Domingo] Santa Cruz, Vicente Greco. Greco's tangos edited by Enrique Caviglia [Ediciones Mignon] (the first publisher to do so) sold dozens every day in my father's store, as [piano] scores for 0.10 cent. I took advantage of this lucky opportunity and “pried about” when a new piece was released. I remember once having appropriated two tangos (as contraband goods): “El Pibe”, which attracted me especially, and “El Morochito”. I learned them secretly—I do not remember how—with a sordine on the violin, memorized them, and then shelved them again without leaving the slightest trace of the theft: a deed that would have made proud Arsène Lupin.

It will be good to point out again that 50 years ago, tango—the “forbidden word” due to its low extraction—did not cross the threshold of respectable households and therefore, much less likely ours, the handiwork of classicism. The contact with it stopped with the commercial interchange.

(See the biography of Vicente Greco which contains an anecdote on that subject.)

From De Caro's biography of Vicente Greco:

He [Vicente Greco (1888-1924)] does not quit playing the other instruments [flute, piano, guitar] until he discovers by chance a box on the top of his parent's wardrobe. Opening it, he was astounded by an instrument unknown to him (words that Vicente reported to me).

He asks his mother what it is and to whom it belongs, to which she responds: “It is a concertina that was given to us by a befriended family”.

It is not surprising, knowing the predisposition of this young fellow, that enchantment immediately took hold of him. Taking possession of this instrument, he begins to cultivate it and within a month plays a waltz of Waldteufel, a polka, and a tango!

He studies day and night without letting go of the instrument that he considers his treasure, adding sounds from new songs.

The Discovery of the Bandoneon

People, astonished about such mastery, gather in the street to listen to him, and word spreads throughout the neighborhood. Attracted by the fame of this new performer, “El pardo” Sebastián Ramos Mejía arrives at the house of the Grecos and asks to hear him.

Foreseeing the “stuff” blossoming virtuoso he advises the parents to buy him a real bandoneon. It is obvious that he will excel on that instrument. Friends and family collect a common fund and after a long search, since the instrument was then very rare, the acquire the coveted instrument and bestow it on the child prodigy of 14 years.

It is still a matter of debate how the bandoneon, an instrument developed in the 1840s in Germany, came to and attracted the attention of musicians in Argentina. De Caro, son of an owner of a store for musical instruments, surely was a reliable witness to the fact that the instrument was not a common one in the first decade of the twentieth century. And from his account of the acquisition of Greco's first bandoneon, one can surmise that the purchase of such an instrument was a considerable expense—especially for families of humble means, like Greco's. In fact, bandoneons were expensive instruments, as the following newspaper advertisement of 1914 shows:

Of course, violins for $25 or guitars for $30 would not have been high quality instruments, but the initial investment, especially when one still learning to play the instrument, for a bandoneon is significantly higher. It is not surprising that the Greco family had to rely and friends and family to purchase an instrument for their talented youngster.

(© 2017 Wolfgang Freis)

“Con corte y quebrada”

Tango Triumphant in Buenos Aires, 1904-5

The Cake-Walk

At the beginning of the 20^th century, a dance that had gained popularity in the United States made it across the Atlantic and was enthusiastically picked up by dancers in Europe and South America: the cake-walk. It stirred up enthusiasm as well as controversy as it broke with traditional dance conventions. The dancers did not keep an upright posture but marched side by side, bent back- and forward, raised legs, etc. It was the first dance at the beginning of the 20^th century to start a lengthy discussion about the aesthetic qualities that a society dance should adhere to.

French postcard, about 1903

After the cake-walk caused sensation in Paris, it quickly spread across Europe and eventually reached Buenos Aires. It was first mentioned in the press as a novelty in March 1903, apparently having gained popularity among dancers during the carnival dances in the preceding month.

Interestingly, the cake-walk was associated with tango. In the fictitious conversation that accompanied the above illustration, two gentlemen talk about the new dance:

—Well now, let's see. Would you mind telling me how it is to be danced?

—It's simply a tango.

—Then it is an old thing.

—The pair starts out slowly. Then the man picks it up and approaches the woman, neighing gently. They make gestures, contortions and unusual genuflections, move back and forth. Then they lift the leg and without ever getting tired—provided they are people who suffer it—they proceed like this sometimes forward, sometimes backward.

From Caras y caretas, 1903

—Now, I for my part wouldn't like to see one of my daughters dancing so ungracefully.

—Look, in the end, the woman isn't that bad, the graces are usually five. But a man only cuts one poor figure.

Four month later appeared a full-page, illustrated article in the same magazine that also refers to the cake-walk being derived from tango:

News reaches us from Europe, pleasant to those who know about cortes and hamacadas [that is, tango], that the yankee tango—which is our tango translated into English—causes a sensation at the dance events of the Parisian aristocracy, where it was imported by the Americans under the name of cake-walk.

There is, of course, no relationship between tango and cake-walk, but there are similarities: both dances are based on the march, and both—the cake-walk with its “contortions and unusual genuflections”, the tango with its cortes and quebradas—break with the movement and posture of traditional dances.

The Carnival Dances in Buenos Aires, 1904-1905

Newspaper reports of the carnival dances until 1903 do not mention what kind of dances were actually performed at the balls. Rather, they report who attended and describe the most notable costumes. This changed after the appearance of the cake-walk. Starting in 1904, the carnival reports explicitly mention tango as one of the dances performed—at first again with comparison to the cake-walk—and make clear that it was danced and watched with enthusiasm.

One can say that in this carnival, the “tango criollo” has been glorified. It made the highest choreographic grades, arousing enthusiasm and being applauded in theater and society dances.

Undoubtedly, this time the Opera has been the theater most favored by the cultured devotees of Terpsichore. And even though its dances are no longer social events—because of the quality of the female element that used to attend them before—, they always maintain their traditional composure, framed by playful and enthusiastic happiness. Even politics were made this year at the dances of the Opera: there were costumes, which conceals behind anonymous guise, bringing to light the doings of political parties with scintillating and sharp expression, generating general cheerfulness.

The “cake walk”—that dance in which some claim to see the symbol for the struggle for life—has been the clou of the dances at the Opera. Amid cheerful laughter and loud applause, it was danced in every possible way from the most correct one to that of greatest exaggeration. The yankee dance imposed itself so much that even tangos were danced in cake-walk style.

Second place belongs, as always, to the dances at the Politeama, where an enormous audience, ready to enjoy itself within the reasonable boundaries, spent pleasant events among appropriate jokes, scintillating and inoffensive pranks and an abundance of tangos. Among the popular theaters most favored by the native [criollo] element was the Argentino. Tango with corte and quebrada was the prevailing dance there, showing some truly outstanding dance pairs that drew enthusiastic applause from the audience in the boxes. The hall decoration of the Argentino was done in good, exquisite taste, giving it supremacy over the other theaters.

Dancers at the Politeama, 1904

One also danced enthusiastically at the Marconi, Apolo, Victoria and the Nacional theaters. There were moments were it was impossible for the dancing couples to move from their spot, so large was the crowd. At some of these places there were punches thrown, even fights, but fortunately without major consequences.

In 1905, the cake-walk is no longer mentioned in press reports. Tango, however, has become the dominant dance at all theaters.

The continuous drizzle that spoiled the feast in the streets gave more splendor than imagined to the fancy dress dances at the theaters, which commenced last Saturday. Our photographers captured views of those that were held at the Argentino and Victoria theaters. There, liveliness and animation were the greatest, to such a point that it was almost impossible to get access. There were juries in both ballrooms to award prizes for the most elegant costumes, which proved to be an excellent lure for the fair sex.

The popular tangos with corte and quebrada were all the rage with the dancers. At the Victoria, an older woman stood out for her wonderfully executed choreographic abilities. It shows that Martín Fierro's saying, “the devil is wiser for age than for being a devil”, holds true even in tango.

At the Opera one danced without enthusiasm, the female element standing out.

Tangos, which are fashionable like the national theater, predominated in the programs of all the theaters. Even the 'sophisticated' women [las francesas] adapted their heel-bones to the capers.

The Fashionable Dance

Tango had become so popular in 1905 that the magazine Caras y caretas added a full-page illustrated report on Tango by Goyo Cuello, entitled “Baile de moda”, to its coverage of the carnival dances.

Carnival having arrived, the tango becomes the lord and master of all dance programs. The reason is: being the most libertine dance, it can only be tolerated in these days of folly. There is no theater that does not announce new tangos, which is a great enticement for the clientele of dancers that wants to impress with the boastfulness and flamboyance this bawdy dance engenders. It attracts them like honey does flies.

As a spectacle it is something original. One has to admire it most at the Victoria, above all. The hall is filled with cheerful people and from everywhere one hears phrases that would make the helmet of a police man blush. In the back the villainry of the suburbs in improvised costumes, in the boxes well-off young men and (even better off) women. Suddenly the orchestra starts up a tango and the pairs compose. The fellowships of chinas and compadres join in brotherly embrace and the dance gets underway. The dancers display such artfulness that it is impossible to describe the contortions, swaying, stumbling, and stomping that tango incites.

Compadritos and chinas dancing tango at the theater

And rhythmically, sensually swinging, the pairs glide to the meter of the dance as if here and now all their desires had been... Yonder in the background people gather in a group to watch a china orillera perform a quebrada, a difficult art of which she is master without rival. And the crowd applauds this marvel of quebrada and laughs boisterously as her companion says to her: “It gives me pleasure, china!”

This is the lower-class dance par excellence. It lets the compadre show off his cynical capabilities, demonstrate the agility of his body and the endurance of his feet. This is why it is in fashion during carnival. Even the titles [of the tangos] run over with compadre originality—like “Don't wrinkle my skirt”, “Knock and they will open”, “Grease the blinds”, “Get some nicotine”, and others alike—so that they may be remembered more easily by the dancers.

The author, objecting to the kind of language spoken and and describing the participants as lower class people, does not appear to be very much in favor of the event that he is describing. But perhaps he was just paying the participants a compliment. Since the dances described in the papers were events scheduled by the best theaters of Buenos Aires, one can assume that the attending audience came from social classes that could afford expensive tickets. Furthermore, the dances were costume balls, and the “compadrito con el chambergo en la frente” might have been a respectable gentleman working at a bank. At any rate, people who could afford to attend a carnival dance at the best theaters in town enjoyed dressing up as criollos and to dance tango, pretending to be compadritos and chinas. Tango had become a popular dance indeed.

Tango as a Tourist Attraction in Buenos Aires, 1907

In 1907, the Argentian journalist Arturo Giménez Pastor published an article in which he pointed out that Europe showed an increasing interest in Argentina. In view of this growing attention, he considered it possible that the German emperor Wilhelm II, known for his fondness of travel, might pay Argentina a visit.

… In any case, we must be satisfied with our fortune. The major newspapers, seeing that Europe is already beginning to take an interest in our country, declare this satisfaction to be justified. This is the case when the Financial News or another newspaper specializing in good business publishes from time to time a column about this beautiful country of America, calling it to the attention of its readers. It is said that the English have very good reasons and very good dividends to speak well of us, and they do not give us anything for free by saying that we continue to be good business. But it happens that in Paris, which has not taken us seriously up to now—which has not dampened our jealous eagerness to humbly copy its chic—, Paris also is beginning to talk about us. Columns about us have been published in the language of Racine, Lépine and Montepin, pointing us out to business men who wish to assure their capitals a fine yield.

Wilhelm II: To Buenos Aires, Country of Tango

This, according to the commentators of these events, is due to the fact that our country's prosperity and progress have come to impress Old Europe. Perhaps the day is near when Emperor Wilhelm II will consider a little trip to get to know the Avenida de Mayo, make the obligatory visit to a cattle ranch and appreciate the excellent qualities of tango.  (Caras y Caretas, Buenos Aires, 1907)

It seems unlikely that Wilhelm II would have appreciated tango. In 1912, his alleged cabinet ordre prohibiting military officers in uniform to dance tango made international headline news. Yet, perhaps he would have been more tolerant toward tango had he seen it in Buenos Aires (perhaps by some dashing officers) instead of coming to Berlin via Paris. The British military had demonstrated that the rank and file could dance a tango at least passably well.

Sailors dancing tangos criollos at a reception of the British 2nd Naval Division in Montevideo, 1908 

©2017 Wolfgang Freis

What would have happened to Tango without Berlin?

How a Company From Berlin Helped Tango to Get a Move On

A Digest

1. Lindström

Carl Lindström (1865-1932) establishes his first workshop in Berlin and produces phonographs and film projectors in 1897. In 1904, his workshop and the Salon Kinematograph Co. GmbH, also of Berlin, join forces and are incorporated as the Carl Lindström GmbH. The directors of the Salon Kinematograph Co., Max Straus and Heinrich Zunz, become the managing directors of the new company; Lindström is responsible for technical management and development.

Carl Lindström, from whose workshop emerged the Lindström AG

In 1910, the company is converted into a public company and traded at the Berlin stock exchange. The English company Fonotipia and its subsidiaries Fonotipia Milan and International Talking Machine Comp. are acquired. The latter firm, owner of the record label Odeon, is also foundet in Berlin.n.

Further acquisitions are made in 1913 and include the Dacapo Record/Lyrophonwerke (Berlin) and Favorite Record (Hannover). The Lindström concern has grown to one of the largest music record producers in the world.

2. Max Glücksmann, 1908-1913

Max (Mordechai David) Glücksmann (1875-1946) arrives, just 15 years old, in Buenos Aires and enters the Casa Lepage as an apprentice. The firm is importing equipment for film and photography. Later, it will furnish the first movie theaters of the city.

Max Glücksmann

Glücksmann acquires Casa Lepage in 1908. With the change in ownership, the firm now also offers phonographic products of the american company Victor. The main focus of the business remains the film, however. Glücksmann launches a production company for documentaries and weekly newsreels. Within the next 20 years the business grows into the market-dominating film distributor and theater owner in Argentina, Uruguay, and Paraguay.

A new business sector opens up for Glücksmann in 1913: he is made the exclusive representative (Argentina, Uruguay, and Paraguay) for the products of Lindström's trademarks Odeon and Fonotipia. At first, Odeon's catalog offers an international list of records but beginning in 1914, the “repertorio criollo” prevails. Among the tango musicians taken under contract by Glücksmann are Eduardo Arolas and Roberto Firpo, whose orchestra will dominate the Argentinian record market well into the 1920s.

3. Tango in Paris

At the beginning of the 20^th century, an interest in dance music from the New World—undoubtedly fostered by the developing phonographic industry—emerges in Europe. It reaches its peak with the tango, which from 1911 to 1914 balloons from fashion to virtual obsession at fist in Paris, then spreading all across Europe and North America.

In Germany tango attracts broad attention for the first time in 1913 after a dance championship in Baden Baden is widely publicized in the news media. The following dance season is dominated by tango. It is learned and danced everywhere. Berlin becomes the German center for tango and enters into competition with Paris. In both cities international championships are held, thus competing for the leading role.

Buenos Aires is infected by the tango fever as well. At first, it is noted as a curious fact that this simple dance causes such a stir abroad. But soon one follows the Paris example: dance schools offer courses, competitions are held, and an increasing number of tango records are offered for sale.

Pictures from the school of the tango teacher Carlos Herrera, Buenos Aires, 1913

4. World Music and the German Record Industry

Phonographs and talking machines (gramophones) are at first developed to record and play back the human voice. Quickly it becomes evident, however, that recordings of music offer a much wider field for commercial exploitation. The curiosity of hearing new things is taken up as a marketing strategy very early in the history of the record. Record producers send out engineers to make recordings in foreign countries. The recordings are sent back to the home factory were they are processed, made into disk records, and sold.

The records can also be sold in the country where the recording was made, but the transportation costs raise the sales price. In addition, many countries charge import taxes to protect domestic companies from foreign competition. In order to avoid transportation costs and import taxes, Lindström builds factories in foreign countries with large sales markets.

5. Atlanta

Atlanta is a subsidiary of a record producer from Berlin, Dacapo Record GmbH / Lyrophonwerke. At the time of the European tango fever, Atlanta establishes a recording studio in Buenos Aires and sells the records locally. Tango has a prominent place in Atlanta's catalog. Records with tango music were no novelty in Argentina. They were mostly songs with guitar accompaniment, however. Atlanta offers dance music. The company forms its own “Atlanta” orchestra, but records other groups (for example, the City Brass Band, the Rondalla Vazquez, etc. ) as well. For the first time, the name of a tango musician appears that is still remembered today: Roberto Firpo.

Announcement of Atlanta's entry in register of companies in Berlin

Atlanta's records are sold only in Argentina, but the music recorded there reaches Germany, too. The Lyrophonewerke of Berlin (associated with the parent company of Atlanta, now a subsidiary of Lindström) publishes in 1914 a list of “original south-american tangos” played by four music groups from Buenos Aires, among them the Atlanta orchestra and the City Brass Band of Buenos Aires. It is likely that the other groups were recorded by Atlanta as well. The “Argentinian Gaucho Quartet” performs the tangos “La Viruta” and “Vamos a ver” by Vicente Greco and Francisco Canaro, respectively. Both tangos are also found on an Atlanta record, however, without an indication of the performing musicians.

Tango advertisement by Lyrophonwerke, September 1913

Atlanta exists in Buenos Aires for hardly more than a year. Another subsidiary of Lindström will take its place: Odeon.

6. Odeon and Glücksmann, 1913-1019

Odeon records were sold in Buenos Aires at least since 1906. The exclusive distributor for Fonotipia, the parent company of the International Talking Machine Comp. (Odeon), was Casa Tagini.

In 1913, Fonotipia and its subsidiaries are incorporated into the Lindström concern. A new factory of Lindström starts production in Rio de Janeiro the same year. Max Glücksmann, who has sold until then only phonographic products by the American company Victor, becomes the exclusive representative for Odeon and Fonotipia in Argentina, Uruguay, and Paraguay.

Glücksmann now also sells records and gramophones by Odeon. The record repertory offered until 1914 remains international. With the closing of Atlanta, however, Odeon's offering includes an extensive list of “criollo” records. Roberto Firpo, formerly with Atlanta, is taken under contract by Glücksmann and becomes the most prominent tango composer and orchestra conductor for next 10 years. It is likely that Glücksmann purchased Atlanta's recording equipment since the recordings are done on the premisses of the Glücksmann company.

Odeon advertisements with tangos, Buenos Aires, March 1914

With the outbreak of WWI it becomes more and more difficult for German companies to participate in international trade. Odeon continues to release new records in Buenos Aires unitl 1917. Thereafter, Glücksmann's musicians are cataloged as “national records” or appear under the brand name of the artists (“discos Gardel-Razzano“, “discos Roberto Firpo“, etc.). It is apparently difficult to assert contractual responsibilities under war conditions.

7. Glücksmann and Odeon, 1920-1923

In 1920, Glücksmann announces “sensational news”: the first records with international artists that were produced in the “first and only factory” in Argentina. Lindström has taken up production in the most modern factory in South America. The contractual situation has been cleared up. Glücksmann's records appear now under the label “Disco Nacional”. The number of the musicians, whose music is recorded, is still small. The “stars” of the list are Roberto Firpo, the duo Carlos Gardel and José Razzano, and the singer Lola Membrives.

From 1922 on, the Odeon trademark appears again on the record label. Newspaper announcements point out that only “Disco Nacional” records with the Odeon trademark are authentic.

The repertory of the Nacional-Odeon list expands in the following year. New argentine musicians are taken under contract, for example, Francisco Canaro, Pacho Maglio, and Juan Carlos Cobián. Musik from Germany is also present with the “Gypsy-Orchestra Sandor Jozsi”. Sandor Jozsi is a pseudonym for the violinist Dajos Béla, who leads a dance orchestra in Berlin, under contract by Odeon. He will become a fixture in Odeon's list in Germany and Argentina.

Odeon remains an important connection between music and musicians in Argentina and Europe. Odeon sells records by Firpo, Canaro, Fresedo and others in Europe. When Glücksmann's musicians go Europe—as Carlos Gardel, for example—they record with Odeon. Dajos Béla, who as a jew has to leave Germany in 1933, moves to Argentina, founds an orchestra, and composes music for films that are produced by Francisco Canaro.

Tango in Paris, 1914

Tango karikiert

von José-María Salaverría

veröffentlicht in Caras y Caretas, Buenos Aires, 31. 1. 1914

Tango-Postkarte aus Paris, um 1913

Es ist keine Übertreibung festzustellen, dass sich Paris in einem vom Tangismus durchtränktem und gesättigtem Zustand befindet. Von weitem erschien es mir, dass es in dieser Sache des Tangos eine gewisse Mystifizierung und eine besondere journalistischen Vernebelung geben müsste. Aber ich bin durch diese Stadt, die so oft „die Stadt der Lichter“ genannt wird, gelaufen, und alle Zweifel oder jedweder Argwohn sind verflogen.

Tango-Postkarte aus Paris, um 1913

Der Tango ist tatsächlich eine Realität in Paris, eine wachsende Realität, die Schranken durchbricht und schon London, Berlin, Milan und Madrid überflutet. Nichts kann ihm Einhalt gebären, ähnlich jenen schrecklichen Epidemien, die die Kontinente heimsuchten, oder, wenn es euch besser scheint, wie die unwiderstehliche Ansteckung durch die Mode der Kleidung oder des Denkens. Sollte es z.B. einem beglücktem Modeschöpfer in den Sinn kommen, Frauen zu veranlassen, eine Feder an ihrer Hüfte prangen zu lassen,so wäre es nutzlos, etwas dagegen zu setzen. In New York genauso wie in St. Petersburg: das Angeordnete wird befolgt werden. Und sollte es ein spitzfindiger Schriftsteller verstehen, eine mutige Theorie zu manipulieren, so besteht kein Zweifel daran, dass die Schreiberlinge und Intelligenzler in Wien oder Rio de Janeiro der Mode Folge leisten werden. Es ist ein Gesetz der Zeiten oder vielleicht eine zutreffende Veranschaulichung, dass die Grenzen fallen. Wir Menschen sind ein wenig mehr Brüder als zuvor. Der Beweis liegt darin, dass wir uns so sanftmütig einander imitieren.

Tango in Zeitungsreportagen, Tango in wissenschaftlichen Mitteilungen, Tango im Theater, Tango in Schaufenstern, auf Plakaten, auf Postkarten. Es blieb daher nichts weiter übrig, als sich zu vergewissern. Und tatsächlich, eines schönen Nachmittags fand ich mich der Mode entsprechend zur Teestunde im Tanzlokal „Olympia“, inmitten des Boulevard, ein.

Ich durchschritt den Eingang nicht ohne eine gewisse Spannung. Was für ein glänzendes und nie gehörtes Schauspiel würde ich zu sehen bekommen? … Die lange Vorhalle ist durchlaufen, hier ist der Saal.

„Tango Tee“, Zeichnung von B. de Monvel

Es ist ein Saal wie viele andere: schön ausgeschmückt, voll von Licht und Leuten. Das Publikum setzt sich aufs Geratewohl, in der Mitte einen Raum freilassend, in dem sich die Tänzer bewegen. Zwei Orchester, die sich auf der einen und anderen Seite des Eingangs befinden, spielen abwechselnd. Und das Publikum trinkt dem Ritual gemäß Kräutertees, isst Gebäck, schlürft Liköre und Erfrischungsgetränke. Und im Publikum gibt es alles: neugierige Familien, ehrbare Männer, ein schwarzer Nordamerikaner, viele zierliche Frauen.

Währenddessen nimmt die Wechselfolge der zwei Orchester jede Sorte von Tanzmusik in Angriff. Es ist eine choreographische Enzyklopädie, eine musikalische Völkerkunde. Für jeden Geschmack und jede Nation gibt es etwas: englischen, spanischen, balkanischen und Yankee-Tanz. Und, vor allem, zeigt sich eine Begierde, dem Exotischen nachzujagen und die Eigenart des Exotischen zu übertreiben.

Dieses Paar, das gerade den Kreis betritt und über das gebohnerte Parkett gleitet, bemüht sich, den Walzer britisch zu tanzen. Ihre Bewegungen sind aber so jäh und übertrieben, dass das Publikum sofort weiß, dass man ihn im ganzen Bund des englischen Imperiums nicht mit solcher Hemmungslosigkeit tanzen muss. Das Fremdartigste wird gesucht: der „turkey trot“, ganz verschroben; der „grizzly bear“, ein richtiger Bärentanz; der „doppelte Boston“, der seine ursprüngliche Eleganz verliert, um sich in eine Nachbildung von Verrenkungen zu verwandeln. Danach tritt ein Yankee-Paar, ländlich gekleidet mit breitkrempigem Hut, Patronengurt und Reitstiefeln, hervor: das führt zu einer wilden Raserei. Nach erfüllter Aufgabe ziehen sich die Tänzer aus der Arena zurück und überlassen anderen Tänzern den Kampfplatz. Manchmal applaudiert das Publikum, manchmal endet das Getanze in verdrießlicher Stille.

Die Hiawatha Stars tanzen einen „Grizzly Bear“

Plötzlich und endlich spielt das Zigeunerorchester die wohl bekannten, unverwechselbaren Noten. Es wird notwendig sein anzumerken, welchen abrupten Eindruck ein Hauch dieser fernen Noten in Paris hervorruft. Der Tango erklingt und man glaubt, zu träumen oder bezaubert zuzuhören. Warum? Man war doch auf die Aufführung vorbereitet und wusste, dass der Tango eine Realität war. Gerade um ihn zu hören, war man in den Salon gekommen. Trotzdem bringt es das Gehör nicht fertig, sich damit abzufinden. Man hat es nicht für möglich gehalten, dass diese Musik—leidenschaftlich, überheblich, sinnlich, ausdrucksvoll, zutiefst volkstümlich, ein wenig affektiert, inniglich dramatisch—aus den Vororten von Buenos Aires oder den Schallplatten, die in warmen Nächten im Hintergrund der Familienhöfen erklingen, hervorgehen konnte.

Aber es gibt keinen Zweifel: Der Tango fließt von den Geigen des Orchesters, fließt meisterhaft, gemessen und makellos. Es ist ein Tango, den man schon oft gehört hat, und an dessen Namen man sich nicht erinnern kann. Wie heißt dieser Tango? Ich erinnere mich nicht. Vielleicht hat er einen makkaronischen oder scherzhaften Titel. „Bewirf den Gringo mit Schmalz“ (Echale manteca al gringo, Tango von Juan Carulo, siehe unten). Oder er trägt als Untertitel eine gefühlvolle Redewendung: „Seufzer aus meiner Heimat“. Es ist zweifelsfrei, dass der Tango, der erklingt, aus dem Urwüchsigen kommt. Er erfüllt alle begehrten Bedingungen. In manchen Takten ist er niedergeschlagen, später erlangt er Kraft und liebevollen Ausdruck, dann trippelt er und schwankt anmutig als wolle er zur Quebrada einladen. Und die Tänzer erscheinen.

In diesem Moment fühlt sich der Zuschauer zutiefst enttäuscht. Sind das Argentinier, die da tanzen? Oder sind sie eher aus Batignolle, Marseille oder Barcelona? Da ist das Yankee-Paar mit den Reitstiefeln und dem Patronengurt, das den hyperbolischen Tango mit Kniebeugen und einigen abscheulichen Einschnitten tanzt. Da ist der, der vorher einen Bärentanz aufführte und der nun mit einer Art Kunstreiterin ganz zufrieden den Tango tanzt. Da sind auch zwei Frauen, die tanzen ohne zu wissen, was sie tanzen; die ein paar oberflächliche Unterrichtsstunden erhalten haben und die das, was sie nicht kennen, erfinden. Von der ganzen Schar ergibt sich, wie man vermuten kann, ein Hybridresultat: ein Tango, der kein Tango ist; ein Tanz, der ausgesprochen hässlich und vor allem reizlos wirkt und überhaupt keine Grazie aufweist. Wie konnte all das Paris und halb Europa so leidenschaftlich erregen? Kann es sein, dass man ihn woanders besser tanzt, und dass sich im Olympia-Saal vor meinen Augen nur die Geringfügigsten der Gattung versammelt haben?

Die Sache ist so: Ich, der ich am wenigsten geeignet, der armseligste Tänzer, der geringste Anhänger des Tangos bin, fühlte Empörung, Schmerz und Lust, lauthals zu protestieren. Ich verspürte, angesichts dieser Karikatur des Tangos, ein Verlangen, mich zu einem ergebenen Tangisten zu bekehren. Ach, armer Tango, wie haben sie dich in Paris verfälscht und so vollständig deines temperamentvollen Aromas, deiner ganz eigenartigen und plebejischen Eleganz beraubt!

Anmerkungen

José-María Salaverría war ein spanischer Journalist und Schriftsteller. 1909-13 lebte er in Argentinien und arbeitete als Redakteur für das Magazin La Nación. Nach seiner Rückkehr nach Spanien betätigte er sich als Korrespondent für das argentinische Wochenmagazin Caras y Caretas.

Der Artikel über den Tango in Paris erschien während das Tangofieber, das 1911 in der französischen Hauptstadt begann und sich bis 1914 über ganz Europa und Nordamerika ausbreitete. In Buenos Aires nahm man es mit Verwunderung auf, dass der schlichte argentinische Tango in der Weltmetropole für Mode und Kultur für so viel Aufsehen erregte. Salaverrías Bericht sollte der Neugierde in Argentinien Genüge leisten.

Salaverría war kein Feuilletonist und, wie er selbst zugab, verstand er sich auch nicht auf das Tanzen. Seine Kritik bewegt sich daher nur im Bereich des Gebräuchlichen. Interessanter sind allerdings seine Bemerkungen zum kulturellen Austausch mit der neuen Welt. Seine Feststellung, dass „wir … ein wenig mehr Brüder“ geworden sind, da „wir uns so sanftmütig einander imitieren“ klingt auch heute noch sehr modern und zeigt, dass verbesserte Verkehrsmittel und Kommunikationsmedien die Weltkulturen schon vor 100 Jahren einander näher gebracht hatte. So wie der Tango nach Paris kam, kehrte das, was sich in Paris daraus entwickelte, zurück nach Buenos Aires. Die oben wiedergegebenen Pariser Postkarten wurden mit Salaverrías Artikel in Caras y Caretas abgedruckt. Mehr noch, der Erfolg des Tangos im Ausland sorgte auch für ein größeres Interesse im Inland.