SLO Tango -- Tango article by Alba

[Norman Tiber]

Hello Tangueros and Tangeras,
Our own Alba wrote this article for ReVista, a magazine published by  
Harvard University which covers topics related to Latin America. I  
believe this was in conjunction with a conference on the Tango as a  
metaphor.
Norm

All Tangled Up In Tango
Alba Barberia

Entanglements are hard to explain. My life probably started with
a tango, playing along in the radio close to my mother and my
first screaming efforts to breathe.
Radio was so important in people’s lives then, and tango
meant a lot to my father. He sang it in the shower, whistled it on
his way to work and made the house stand still in the night when
he would sit at the piano and deliver a performance worthy of a
place on the stage of the Colón Theater. The notes would mini-
mize our childish and mischievous pranks because it was almost
impossible to concentrate on anything else; the music was so pow-
erful, so emotional, so full of meaning that we were perhaps too
small to grasp.
My Mom would hum the words softly to my brothers and me.
Later on, when we inquired about them, she would recite the lyrics
of the songs by heart, enhancing the hidden poetic images. she
never sang them.
When we complained that we did not understand this music,
Dad played us “ La Calesita,” a song that led our imaginations
to wander about the twirling buenos Aires merry-go-rounds, the
neighborhood cobblestoned streets and shady plazas and the
thrilling experience of winning a free ride by chance with “la
sortija.” He told us stories about his days in the big city, his color-
ful italian grandfather, radio el Mundo and one of his favorite
tango innovators, Julio De Caro, stories that proved to be more
interesting than Cinderella or bambi. He found among our favorite
toys a bandoneón keyboard and explained about his orchestra’s
days in my hometown of Esperanza, Santa Fe, in Argentina,
where he played since he was 17, and about the voice hidden
in the instrument’s deep bellows. We were mesmerized for days,
caressing the mother-of-pearl keys and dreaming about its voice. I
guess that we imagined it was some sort of Aladdin’s lamp, and
the voice of tango would rise from it at any given moment.
Adolescence brought different emotions and then the lyrics of
tangos gained more of a meaning. The complexity of the world
of adults and the subtleties of human relations were finally mak-
ing sense to me. Then came love, marriage, three beautiful chil-
dren, the efforts of adjusting to a new culture, a new place in the
planet.
Years went by and my husband was the one that brought
tango to me in a whole different level. He took me by the hand to
a different world: dance, a new love that opened the Pandora’s
box of my musical childhood memories. He has a truly Milonguero
heart and gave me the courage to try to dance tango. I never
imagined that after thirty years of living together, we would
discover a new language, a new way of communicating. We
did not start dancing at thirty or at forty, we started to live and
breathe tango at the age most people start liking elevator music or
using medications against arthritis.
I was self conscious and timid, always afraid to make mis-
takes or to be laughed at, but his enthusiasm pulled me, and he
dragged me to the very first lessons. It was an amazing discovery,
the thrill of understanding the meaning of a slight pressure in the
back, a tighter embrace, a swing of the hips, a hint of a step. I
learned dance movements that seemed to contain a true philoso-
phy of life: respect your partner, wait for his guide, adorn the
silences with beautiful gestures, and try not to get stepped on!
We found live tango music thousands of miles from Argentina
at a Las Vegas Casino. It felt like Ali baba discovering the cave
full of treasures: the gripping sound of the bandoneón made our
hearts miss a few beats with a shock. We started a feverish search
for opportunities to learn and improve our skills and places to
dance, even special shoes to wear. We found workshops, places
to practice, fantastic teachers and Milongas from California to
new york to Miami.
Tango started lingering behind every one of our projects and
every trip. The most important part of any vacation or trip was
searching for a nearby Milonga—a term we thought an exclusive
to Argentina’s lexicon, that had become universally popular—so
specific details about where and when to dance were floating
around cyberspace waiting for our searches.
Sharing the music that awakens so many memories in me
did not come easy. sometimes I would watch people dancing
and wondered if they were gripped by tango the way I was, if
an emotional load was putting a lump in their throats or a tear
in their eyes. I did not want the music distorted, stereotyped or
misinterpreted as a whole bunch of mechanical, showy steps,
the rose clasped between the teeth, the gash in the short skirt.
I wanted to dance tango in a way that will make everyone
understand the way it was born and raised on the streets of
buenos Aires; the true voice of the people: without distinctions
of social status, skin color, profession, job, age or income level:
authentic, genuine, tender, humane, arrogant, bittersweet and
passionate. After dancing tango for about six years, mostly
in the united states, after so many beautiful experiences, after
meeting so many wonderful people and making the dearest of
friends, I have come to the conclusion that tango does not need
explanations, translations, comments or historical quotes. I have
witnessed the music of my beloved country engulfing and enrap-
turing people of different ages, size, shapes and colors in this
country too. I know now that tango will continue its magical jour-
ney through the hearts and bodies of people, just because, in
this technologically savvy, individualistic, material world, every
one can still be bewitched by the warmth of a simple, natural,
powerful, warm, deeply felt embrace.
So, here we are, waiting for the next Milonga the way an
adolescent awaits prom night, and thanking my dear Argentina
for this perpetual, exhilarating, passionate entanglement with the
dance and the music of Tango.

(Alba’s father, Alejandro N. Balboni (1914-2006), was a piano player  
in several small orchestras in Esperanza, Argentina. His recordings  
have not survived.) 
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