Julio De Caro's Fateful Debut as a Tango Musician

Julio De Caro, son of José De Caro and Mariana Ricciardi Villardi, was born in San Telmo, Buenos Aires, in 1899. His parents were immigrants of illustrious Italian families. José De Caro had been a professor of music in Milan and opened a music school and store in Buenos Aires. He and his wife had 13 children, 10 of which survived infancy. Julio De Caro was the second child born after Francisco, who also became a highly respected tango composer, pianist, and long-time collaborator of his brother Julio.

The De Caro children were raised with strict discipline. From early childhood on, they had to work eight hours a day, which included their day at school and homework assignments, practicing their musical instruments and helping out in the store. The highest expectations were put on Julio. Although he showed great musical talent as a child, his father decided that he should become a doctor.

The music valued at the De Caro household was that of the European classical tradition. Tango was not appreciated, although it did good business in the store. Many famous tango musicians of the day were regular customers, but contact with the music was limited to commercial interchange and did not pass beyond the sales counter—or that was the intention of José De Caro. Julio took a liking to the popular music already as a child. He would “borrow” tango scores from the store, play them with a mute in his study, and return them inconspicuously after he had memorized them.

Julio turned out to be an exceptional violinist whose talent was recognized outside of the family early on. The occasion on which his gift came to the attention of prominent tango musicians was a whimsical scheme contrived by his friends. It involved getting the under-age Julio into a pair of long pants and into a popular ice-skating rink, where the most prominent tango musician at the time, Roberto Firpo, was performing with his orchestra.

[A number of aspiring adolescent tango musicians had to deal with the “trousers issue”. Traditionally, boys wore short pants until their eighteenth birthday. 18 was also the minimum age for admission into some of the entertainment venues were tango orchestras performed. Lucio Demare, for example, who received a job offer at a cabaret at age 17, had to plead insistently with his mother to let him wear long pants so that he would not give away his true age.]

Julio De Caro

From: Julio De Caro, El Tango en Mis Recuerdos (1956)

Some time later [1917]—17 years old, although it did not show, and during the disagreeable period in which the short ones [trousers] were asking for change—some friends, led by Ferrari and his cousin, both older than the others, invited me one Saturday evening to the Palais de Glace, thus taking advantage of the only day of the week when I was allowed to stay out until midnight. My total ignorance in matters of nightly amusement and shyness gave sufficient strength to refuse, imagining my dad furious, should he learn that I frequented places unsuitable to minors.

(I have to mention that my continuous studies—prevailing by far over my not submissive, but compliant nature and the boldness of the companions—did not leave time for mischievous fantasies. Moreover, the idea of the unknown did not attract me in any way.)

Since I did not want to diminish my masculinity and leave my friends with a bad impression, I pointed at my [short] pants as a good excuse, asserting: “With these they will not let me enter!” Little did I not know that the “smart guys” had it all planned out to perfection: pulling out a pair of “long ones”, and before I even realized it, the transformation turned out to be faster than Cinderella's.

In order to bolster their deed and to appease my plentiful doubts, they informed me that the purpose of taking me to the Palais de Glace was to let me listen to Roberto Firpo, at the time the “great of the greats”. (Today: national treasure of tango.) This temptation was the coup de grâce, making me instantaneously forget parents, fatherland, and home. I would not miss the show for anything in the world!

Palais de Glace, Buenos Aires

As we entered, I felt observed by thousands of eyes, in those long, borrowed wrappers, rolled up various times at the waist, encumbering the step and clamorously announcing the initiation of the juvenile. Dying of embarrassment, I managed to place myself with the others at a table reserved by Ferrari. He, smart from having sinned already and being an habitué, had very shrewdly chosen the table right next to the orchestra gallery. Everyone ordered drinks for adults when the waiter came. As it was my turn, I could only say: “Granita”, which was acknowledged with a condescending smile.

At the end of one musical number, I saw “Gallito”, a member of our group, get up and approach Firpo. After saying a few words into his ear, he returned very complacent to the table. A few minutes later the secret was a secret no longer, having turned into a racket of voices. Spreading like a wildfire, the audience shouted: “Let's hear the kid! Let's the kid!” Thinking that they were demanding the tango “The kid” [El pibe] by Vicente Greco, I joined in as well. But it lasted only briefly ... finding myself deposited in the orchestra gallery and Firpo asking me what I wanted to play on the violin.

Barely being able to speak, I responded: “La cumparsita”, one of the great successes of don Roberto. Since I knew it by heart I asked, now in a stronger voice, that the orchestra play the first part of the piece softly every time it was repeated, thus giving me opportunity to add two counter melodies that I executed with cadences, double stops and harmonics the first time, the second time on the fourth [lowest] string “al cello”.

Roberto Firpo

When I finished, the applause was deafening. Given the advanced state of my almost completed training and the fact that my performance had been just “a piece of cake”, this demonstration seemed excessive to me. Besides, I thought it was unjust to pass over the attendant important figures—which were the violinists Tito Roccatagliata and [Agesilao] Ferrazzano, who truly deserved the honor.

After a hug from Firpo (he still remembers it!) I returned to my friends. But the story did not end here. To top it all off, a “lady of the night” (demimondaine), encircling me like a python and devouring me with a mile-long kiss, got me so tangled up that she began to squeeze all breath out of me. I believe that if a gentleman had not arrived to separate us, I would not be here to tell the story.

When I thanked the gentleman for his help, he asked for my name. He added that he had listened very carefully to my performance and would like me to play in his orchestra. Declining the offer, I answered: “Impossible, Sir. Apart from my father never allowing it, I must finish my classic studies and get my high-school diploma this year at the 'Mariano Moreno' school. After that: medical school. For me, tango is only an entertainment. This stunt here tonight was just an escapade arranged by my friends.” “Well, since you have told me to call you Julio De Caro, I want you to know my name as well: Eduardo Arolas.”

Eduardo Arolas! From that moment on, my only wish was go home, as much as my shaky legs allowed it, and forget about my “triumph”, as everyone called it. I could not close an eye that night while I tried to find an exit from the labyrinth in which I had put myself.

The best thing was to confide in Mom, the perpetual custodian of our troubles. The following day I told her everything about my latest odyssey. Fearing the collapse of many illusions, the poor woman entreated me to forget all about the conversation and proposition of that Mr. Arolas. Quoting the byname he had been given—the “Tiger of the Bandoneon”—in order to glamorize him made it worse. Here Troy burst into flames. She went off like a lioness whose cub was being taken: “Are you out of your mind? Do you really think I would let you throw away everything we have planned for you with so much concern and affection for the first stranger that you come across? Don't even think of defying us, because you will find myself firmly on the side of your father!”

My parents did not know that I, pretending to have other obligations, sometimes left the house to listen to Canaro, who performed in a café (2400 San Juan) just a few blocks from our place. From the sidewalk I would watch him, partly, as much as I could. I remember him once playing La barra fuerte, the title of which was written with chalk on a blackboard, then to be erased for the next one. Another time the objective was Cobián or Bardi—I do not remember exactly who, but where: the corner of Independencia and Sarandí. Not being a “rebel” at the time, I never ventured to enter these places, as much as I felt attracted by the music. But the audaciousness of greenness … has its idiosyncrasies. Otherwise, David would not have confronted Goliath, much less likely I my father. Today, being older, I would think twice about it...

Clamorous applause, a hug from Roberto Firpo, and a job offer from Eduardo Arolas: indeed an overwhelming experience for a seventeen-year-old making his debut as tango musician. But the episode continued and took an unexpected turn: Eduardo Arolas appeared at his father's. Not mentioning the events at the Palais de Glace, Arolas told José De Caro that he needed a violinist to play with his group in a café. He had heard that Julio was an excellent violinist and asked De Caro to give his son leave a few afternoons a week to play with him. Arolas, then a well-known twenty-five-year-old tango musician, a smart dresser with the appearance of a high-life dandy (a description by Francisco Canaro) did not make the impression he had hoped for: José De Caro declined, of course. His son would not become a tango musician but a doctor, and a good one, too!

Eduardo Arolas

Julio, however, did not give in that easily. He later went to see Arolas and said that he wanted to play with him on his own responsibility. Arolas agreed and Julio secretly started performing with the orchestra. The frequent absences at home, however, did not pass unnoticed. One evening, José De Caro confronted his son at the door as he returned home and asked him where he had been with his violin and what he had been doing. Julio admitted he was working with Arolas and expressed his wish to become a musician, explaining that he had looked into the work at hospital and found that he had, literally, not the stomach for it. But José De Caro would have nothing of it and, as Julio kept insisting on his plans, he showed him the door without further ado.

Julio found refuge at his grandparents'. Pleading by family members could not sway José De Caro, neither would Julio return home “with the tail between his legs”. Father and son did not talk or see each other for 20 years. The grand parents soon moved away from Buenos Aires for professional reasons. At age 18, Julio De Caro lived on his own, working as tango musician, and performing every night at two establishments from 6 p.m. until 4 a.m. in the morning.




©2017 Wolfgang Freis