Author: alecoyung

This is the sequel to the previous post, “Black dances that gave rise to tango,” also by Cirio.

From Cirio, Norberto Pablo. 2009. Tinta negra en el gris de ayer: Los afroporteños a trevés de sus periódicos entre 1873 and 1882. Investigaciones de La Biblioteca Nacional. Editorial Teseo, Buenos Aires.

Unauthorized translation into English of p. 67-71.

Blogger’s note: The information used in this book comes from four newspapers published by and for the Black community in Buenos Aires during this time period; the papers are La Igualdad [Equality] (1873-1874), La Broma [The Joke] (1876-1882), La Juventud [The Youth] (1876-1879), and El Aspirante [The Aspiring] (1882). The newspapers are cited using their initials. The title of this post has been added for purposes of the blog.

[Begin excerpt]

Tradition versus Modernity

We have seen that the ancestral musical practices [of Afro-Porteños] were just barely noted in the newspapers because of their diminishing prestige under pressure from the ideology of progress and the Afro-Porteños’ desire for social status. In a similar way, we have noted in more than a few news articles a tension over certain ways of thinking and behaving, regarding whether or not these were considered good and necessary for their welfare as individuals and as a social group. I will call this tension “tradition versus modernity,” and [in the database of news items] I have noted “tradition versus modernity” in the “Commentaries or Observations” column for the relevant articles [database not included here]. If we consider the state of the country at the time in which these items were written, it is understandable that the outpouring of ideology of the Generation of [18]80 [elites of the Conservative Republic, in power from 1880-1916], which was establishing the basis for our modern nation, would subsume [the Black community] in its movement towards modernity. The only alternative [for the community] would have been to become marginalized within a new reality larger than themselves.

Setting aside any value judgement, the Afro-Porteños found themselves at a crossroads of identity: on one hand, they enjoyed the same civil liberties as whites, such as the right of men to vote (while trying to heal the wounds of the Rosas dictatorship under a mantle of forgetting). On the other hand, they were in search of opportunities for education, respect, work, and equality between Blacks and whites; and between Black men and Black women. These goals were desired, but while trying to reach them, in fact, they were not able to begin at the same starting line as the whites. [White] hegemony had one golden weapon at its disposal that was used to demonstrate its superiority in all fields: the concept of race as developed through the advances of “scientific” racism and social Darwinism (Terán 2008). The white society used and abused these concepts in order to inculcate the idea of the “natural” inequality of Blacks on questions as diverse as hygiene, manners, and worker discipline. All in all, this was not even an original proposal of the Argentine establishment, since at the time, all of the American governments promoted themselves with these “irrefutable” ideas in order to maintain their power and hoard wealth. For Blacks this created a problem that pushed them towards either being increasingly confined to a category of being irremediably, essentially different, or pursuing integration at any cost (Andrews, 2007).

In the papers that were studied, the evidence of this dilemma is that the socialist ideas that [Afro-Porteños] had been embracing with fervor since 1858 invited them to subsume their cultural specificities under transnational, de-ethnicized lables such as “workers” “lower classes” or “artisans,” which further decreased their estimation of the value of their ancestral traditions (Andrews, 2007). In this framework, the question of tradition versus modernity does not even make sense, since the desired values are clearly located within modernity. La Broma indicates this specifically when it expresses the idea of adopting the flag of education as “our mission,” (#1582, 27-Jan-1881), or declaring that “This body since its founding has had the defining objective of urging our brothers to work for the moral and material advancement of our community (#2932, 3-Jun-1882). This dichotomy appears repeatedly, sometimes in a subtle or even unconscious manner. We will look at some examples.

In the article “On the same theme” it is commented that an editorial appearing in the previous issue had been well received; the piece argued that it was important for the youth of the carnaval societies to attain a high level of mastery in their music. One of the young women [from a carnaval society] was planning to begin teaching others in playing flute and violin, saying that in this way “we will demonstrate the difference between a candombe society which causes general hilarity, and a musical society which always receives general applause” (LB #2627, 9-Mar-1882). In this particular differentiation between the music of a traditional-ancestral heritage, which causes laughter; and the “modern” music with European instruments, which receives applause, the Black community appears to be closing rank in favor of the second type. However, there are also articles that express the opposite values. Also, the fact that the question gives rise to such fiery disputes shows that traditional music, at least during Carnaval, was still widely accepted.

We cannot know precisely the reasoning of Carmen Saenz Valiente when she published this thought: “Over there in Europe, the emperor of the West and the mother of all the other nations; there in the center of immense power, is where I will triumph” (LJ #1195 30-Apr-1878). However, we can infer that the statement was thought up in a context that positioned Europe and white culture as more advanced, and therefore useful for promotion.

Within one single article, “Our carnaval societies,” [from 1882], we find various competing conceptualizations of traditional or ancestral Black music, which can be reduced to four main views of it: (1) as a genuine ancestral practice which in no way contradicts the establishment; (2) as barbarous and shameful customs that we should forget in order to move towards “white progress;” (3) as a warmly remembered souvenir of the “time of the grandparents” which, although we are not interested in reviving, we keep in our memory; (4) as a celebration of African culture. (I add as context the discursive fragment which expresses these ideas.) [Numbers are inserted to mark the four main ideas].

“It looks like nothing good can influence the spirit of our brothers in the race, regarding the carnaval societies. The commissions that are being formed on an ad hoc basis in order to give prizes to the comparsas for their instruments, their performances, their costumes, or their songs, are not having an effect on them.

“They always tend towards the easiest, the tackiest, the poorest (2); and worse, towards making fun of the grandparents (3), or we should say, of a certain part of our community [ … ]

“The venerable “Estrella del Sud” society [Star of the South] and the new “Infelices” society [Unlucky Ones] —made up of members of the other societies— which like them, have struggled for our moral advancement, are not progressing.

“Why?

“It is embarrassing to say: because a good part of our youth, which easily could have dedicated itself to studying and learning to play musical instruments, which would have been more advantageous to them (2), are entertaining themselves banging the poor old leather [drum] (3), which is only useful today as the sole reminder of the old days (1), of the ancient, hidden customs of those times. Today, any child of four or five years can grab an empty olive tin, put a piece of leather over it, and can play it with style as well as the oldest candombero.

“So, what new things can all these young people bring to us, suffocating us for no reason with this instrument that we already know so well (2), which we appreciate and respect when it is in its own place (1 & 3), but which we must reject during the Carnaval days (2), because we consider it ridiculous that everyone should come out wearing a paper mask, when they would better represent themselves by appearing with uncovered faces? (1 & 4)

“There are many of these young people who, if one of our aunties were to ask them in a caring way to play the drum or the masacalla in one of the few places that our grandparents still keep as a reminder that they had a better idea of how to bring us up (1, 3, & 4), many of [the youth] would refuse to do it and would act like they were embarrassed by it, while they keep bragging and showing off. Even so, unfortunately, they paint their faces and expose themselves to the general hilarity in the middle of Calle Florida [Florida Street] and in front of the Confitería del Gas [confectionary named for its proximity to the natural gas company].

“We need to progress, not to go backwards! The powerful echo of those of us who desire moral and material advancement of our society, we demand this” (2). (LB #2605, 3-Mar-1882)

The article reflects the controversy at the time regarding what was happening to them and helps us appreciate how the Black community was not able to reach agreement on the question of music, because this constituted an important point of inflection in their way of life and in the way they (re)presented themselves to the larger society.

On the tensions surrounding the context of Carnaval, Geler distinguishes between the candombe comparsas (Black people performing African-style music) and the musical societies (Black people performing European-style music), and makes an incisive interpretation:

“Neither La Broma nor La Juventud nor La Perla thought that the candombe comparsas were beneficial to the community, which also meant that they didn’t enjoy them, and this was not the product of a change in opinion on their part. These [candombe] societies put on display an Africanity that the junior intellectuals (the Afro-Porteño intellectuals) rejected in public sphere, since it showed to the rest of society traditions that were not tied to modernity, and were not seen as acceptable even in the context of Carnaval, when permissiveness and everyone’s making jokes with everyone about everything were supposedly the rule […]. The [European-style] musical societies, by contrast, showcased the Afro-Porteños’ artistic ability at playing instruments as well as their composing ability, their capacity for organization, and their adoption of the cultural values that were being imposed as acceptable” (Geler 2008: 273).

A final example: Returning to the issue of the role of women, the tension of tradition versus modernity appears in the opposition between the traditional roles of mother and wife which women were expected to play, on the one hand; and their right to education and to enjoy the same freedoms as men, on the other. We see a clear example of this in an item entitled “Various Señoritas,” in which, after commenting that a group of young women was forming a women’s carnaval society—which would not be unusual in that era—which was to be named “Daughters of the Faith,” the anonymous reporter opines that “It would be much better if they were preparing, today or tomorrow, to be excellent wives and good mothers, and that they would leave off of the gossip which leads nowhere” (LJ #1569, 20-Nov-1878).

If we take into account the literary context of these four examples, representative of many others, which was time period of the birth of modernity in Argentina, it does not seem strange that the intentions of Black people towards their traditional music were so mixed and contradictory. This conflict was evident not just behind closed doors within the community, but also in the public face that was presented to the greater society, especially during the carefree period of Carnaval, when in principle, everything was permitted and everyone was equal.

Evidently, this topic merits a study of its own. In the small space allotted here, I can only begin to bring up the issue using a few relevant newspaper articles. Although the period of the study begins in 1873 and the root of the problem is attributable to the nationalistic ideology of the Generation of [18]80, the tension between tradition and modernity would not have suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Its antecedents can be seen in this article (apparently anonymous, although the quote is taken from a book rather than the primary source), published in El Nacional on January 5th 1863, exactly one decade before the beginning of the period of our study of the Black press (the italics are my own [NPC], except the word “tango”):

“The Banguelans [from Ivory Coast], the Mozambicans, the Casanches [from Central Africa], the Minas [from West Africa], and especially the Congos decorate their ballrooms during the days of the feast of Three Kings Day, with all the luxury that they possess. They dance and sing their candombes, to the sound of the marimba, the drum and the mate [an instrument like a kazoo, made from a gourd like the cups used for drinking yerba mate]. They go out into the street dressed up as the three kings. These poor uneducated and fanatic people conserve among us their African customs, which are as sarcasm against the civilization and progress that we are exhibiting. The Blacks live and die among us, little more than irrational, and we do not remember them, unless it is to tear away their children and carry them away to the carnage of the civil war. They try to forget the ingratitude of the whites with chicha [homemade wine] and tango.” (quoted in Gesualdo 1961, p. 368).

[End excerpt]

The photo is not from the book, it is from Wikimedia Commons. The caption is “Murga del carnival from Junín, 1916.” Murga is a type of performance which often happens during carnaval and tends to be less Europeanized and more political than comparsa performance. Junín is a city in the province of Buenos Aires. I do not know the names or ethnicities of the musicians. Many of the photos I found of comparsas from the early 1900’s were clearly of whites in blackface; there was even one group of white men named “Sociedad de los Negros” which of course performed in blackface. The musicians pictured here appear to have some paint on their faces, but it looks to me like colorful decoration.

Works Cited

Andrews, George Reid. 2007. Afro-Latinoamérica 1800-2000. Madrid: Iberoamericana.

Geler, Lea. 2008. “¿Otros’ argentinos? Afrodescendientes porteños y la construcción de la nación argentina entre 1873 y 1882.” Tesis doctoral, en http://tdcat.cesca.es.

Gesualdo, Vicente. 1961. Historia de la música en la Argentina. Buenos Aires: Beta.

Terán, Oscar. 2008. Vida intelectual en Buenos Aires fin-de-siglo (1880-1910): Derivas de la “cultura cientifica.” Buenos Aires: Fondo de Cultura Económica.

From Cirio, Norberto Pablo. 2009. Tinta negra en el gris de ayer: Los afroporteños a trevés de sus periódicos entre 1873 and 1882. Investigaciones de La Biblioteca Nacional. Editorial Teseo, Buenos Aires.

Unauthorized translation into English of p. 64-67.

Blogger’s note: The information used in this book comes from four newspapers published by and for the Black community in Buenos Aires during this time period; the papers are La Igualdad [Equality] (1873-1874), La Broma [The Joke] (1876-1882), La Juventud [The Youth] (1876-1879), and El Aspirante [The Aspiring] (1882). The newspapers are cited using their initials. The title of this post has been added for purposes of the blog.

[Begin excerpt]

Musical practices

Based on the newspapers in this study, it is clear that the Afro-Porteño community had a special affinity for music and dance, enjoying and cultivating these art forms in various social contexts such as concerts, private dances, masked balls, informal gatherings, dinners, and most importantly, Carnival [the Christian celebration occurring before Lent in February or March]. I will summarize what was happening in these various environments [during the period 1873-1882].

The phenomenon of Carnival in 1800s Buenos Aires brought into being an annual time and space that was especially dedicated to public merry-making. This is evidenced, as I have described, by the existence of numerous Afro-Porteño carnival societies or comparsas [marching bands with dancers, similar to Mardi Gras krewes in the US; the origin of “La cumparsita”]. These groups could be all male, all female, or mixed, each with its distinctive costumes and musical repertoire, from which there have been many lyrics published, but unfortunately, no music (see footnote 18). These comparsas put on their exhibitions in the public arena, and there was much dispute within the community over which musical practices were considered proper for exhibition (LJ #1569, 20-Nov-1878; LB #2605, 3-Mar-1882; LB #2627, 9-Mar-1882; LB #2633, 9-Mar-1882; LB #3431, 21-Nov-1882). Because of this, the evidence from newspapers in the sample shows a strong tendency [of the journalists and/or those they spoke with] to favor European genres of music over the traditional music with drums—we can call it African—, reserving the label of “musical comparsa” for the type of sound that that was being promoted as desirable.

Goldman (2008), in his exhaustive work on the African character of tango in Uruguay in 1870-1890, surprises us by showing how similar the socio-musical milieu in Montevideo was to that of Buenos Aires, providing a strong argument for me to seriously revisit my own studies on the origin of tango in Buenos Aires (Cirio, 2008a). As an example of how Afro-Montevideans promoted the study of European music at the expense of their own musical traditions, the music classes given by the carnival societies had differential pricing: learning to play instruments in the “European style” was literally worth twice as much as learning to play “African style” (Goldman, personal communication).

Dances were practiced at private balls and masked balls, informal gatherings and dinners. A variety of orchestras, usually made up of around a dozen musicians, would perform a repertoire comprised mostly of ballroom or court dances from Europe including the polka, mazurka, waltz, varsoviana, redowa, schottische, contra dance (or country dance), quadrille [square dance], habanera and lancero. Although it is impossible in this brief review to provide more details about the context of the practice and performance of these dances, suffice it to say that some of the dance forms enjoyed a higher regard than others, and not all of them reached the same zenith of popularity. For example, there are repeated mentions [in the newspapers] of the unacceptability of dancing the “comical” contra dance, lancero, varsoviana, and “other old-fashioned dances” (LB #3070, 28-Jul-1882; LB #3088, 3-Aug-1882). At the same time, the habanera is increasingly referred to in print as a popular dance, and its budding descendant, the tango, makes its first [reported] appearance in the carnival societies in 1879, with a piece called “Lenitivo para el voz” [Soothing medicine for the voice], by the Sociedad Negras Bromistas [Society of Black Jokesters] (LB #506, 23-Feb-1879).

Concerts were another space for recreation held in high esteem by Afro-Porteño society of the time, or at least by those with greater resources. As we will see in the next section, these social spaces of the elite constituted an effective way to seek legitimacy within the wider society, which was also constantly evolving. In other words, the Black elites were aiming to coincide with the white elites in the way that they appreciated and practiced certain European courtly traditions. The price they paid was having to forget or to disregard their ancestral culture.

In this context, holding concerts became a valuable way for them to exhibit their progress and eminence. There were many Black musicians and composers who had outstanding talent for European music of the court and the academy, including some who had already been playing for many decades, such as Remegio Navarro (Plesch, 2006). Among those who were active during the time of the newspapers in the study, some of the notable ones were Zenón Rolón (1856-1902), musician, composer, and orchestra director (he lived for many years in Florence, where he perfected his art); Andrés Espinosa, music teacher and owner of the music school in which he taught; Pedro Espinosa, teacher of violin and brass instruments; Juan Espinosa, pianist; Estanislao Grigera, organist of the Iglesia de la Concepción [Church of the Immaculate Conception] (nicknamed “the organ-grinder’s monkey”); Casildo Gervasio Thompson, pianist; and Manuel L. Posadas, violinist who studied for three years at the Royal Conservatory of Brussels with the Belgian violinist Eugène Ysaÿe.

Finally, we must discuss the other category of Afro-Argentine music which was virtually ignored by the newspapers in the study. This includes music which can be called ancestral, which was maintained through oral tradition, and which came from the elders who were brought from Africa as slaves, for example the makumba dance, which belonged to the ritual known as “the saint’s dance” among its other names: Invoking the sacred using the beat of drums and occasionally using singing, the performer attempts to communicate with the ancestors, entering an altered state as a medium of communication (Cirio, 2008b). This overlooked category also includes traditions which were created here [in Argentina] in a context of cultural mestizaje [mixing], for example the candombe (Cirio 2007, 2008a).

As we will see later, given that this musical category still remains alive and active up to the present day, we deduct that the silence surrounding it on the part of the newspapers in question is not a result of the music being nonexistent, but rather of the fact that discussing it was seen as inappropriate in the context. Its deliberate exclusion shows how biased any primary source can turn out to be, and shows the danger of taking such a source as an unerring, holistic reflection of a reality that, because it is in the past, cannot be directly accessed by the researcher.

The mentions of this category of music are scarce, and almost always carry a negative or pejorative tone. In the item “A Visit to the Mexico Club,” it is commented that some aristocrats from the neighborhood—who were white—were complaining that people were outside dancing “in the style of our ancestors” (LJ #51, 16-Jan-1876). It is possible to infer that what was being danced was either candombe, makumba, or semba (also written cemba or zemba), which was another Afro-Argentine dance even older than candombe (Cirio 2002, Cirio & Rey 2006). The majority of the mentions are indirect references, as in satirical poetry about personalities of the time. For example, in an item making fun of a staff member of La Broma [newspaper] who was nicknamed “El mister,” the man is described as having “that candombero walk” (LB #3503 14-Dic-1882); and in a poem that begins “And in a dream I saw Tomás,” by anonymous, which recounts incidents from dreams, the protagonist states “And I ended up dancing Congo” (LB #356, 26-Sept-1878).

Finally, there are mentions, small in number but very interesting, of seven different Afro-Argentine instruments. These give us some clues that can be used in future historical reconstructions of how the music of this group was played: the quisanche or quisanga, a certain type of reed instrument (LB #222, 31-Jan-1878; LB #1645, 6-Mar-1881); the chinesco, which consisted of chimes and bells hanging from the edge of an umbrella (LB #266, 2-Mar-1878; LB #430, 15-Nov-1878; LB #637, 10-Aug-1879; LB #1548, 6-Jan-1881) (see footnote 19); the tambor [drum], a percussion instrument made of a wooden barrel or hollowed-out log with leather stretched over one end, played with the hands (LB #222, 31-Jan-1878; LB #1587, 27-Jan-1881; LB #1607, 3-Feb-1881; LB #2605, 3-Mar-1882; LB #3431, 21-Nov-1882); the mazacalla or mazacaya, a rhythm stick which had on one end between one and three metal containers with small rocks or seeds inside (LB #2605, 3-Mar-1882); and the cajón, a box made of wood which was struck with the hands (LB #1173, 10-Jan-1880). Lastly, there are two more instruments which are mentioned in La Broma only once, the cañas and the tabletas (LB #222, 31-Jan-1878), which were percussion instruments, although I am not sure of their form. The cañas could have been similar to the Afro-Venezuelan quitiplás, of about 5 cm in diameter and 20 to 40 cm long, which were played by striking against the floor. The tabletas were probably a percussion instrument that made sound by striking two parts of the instrument together.

Footnote 18: Unfortunately, the music of these pieces was not preserved at all in these sources. The only known music that has survived is the beginnings of two songs: first, a march of the Estrella del Sud [Star of the South] Carnival Society, “We are coming with music and flowers,” and second, an instrumental “March” for the band of the Unión Marina [Marine Union] Carnival Society. These appear in an anonymous article in the Porteño magazine Caras y Caretas [Faces and Masks] from March 7, 1903. The date of the publication gives us an idea of the long lifetimes of this type of association.

Footnote 19: Probably, the name chinesco was not a unique name for this instrument, but rather a common description at the time for certain objects of a, shall we say, “exotic” character, whose origin can be traced indirectly to China through the Chinoiserie trend, which began in Europe in the 1600s and by the end of the 1800s had reached a stage of decadence. I am basing this conclusion on an item published in La Broma which describes the donations of objects for a raffle to benefit La Sociedad de Socorros Mutuos La Protectora [Mutual Aid Society of Mary, the Protector of the Church], including “un tintero chinesco” [a Chinese-style inkwell] and “una relojera chinesca” [a Chinese-style clock] (#1893, 16-Jun-1881).

[End excerpt]

The photo is not from the book, but from a web publication citing work by Pablo Cirio, previously translated in this blog: “Tango’s Origins in Black Culture,” December 10, 2018. Secretaría de Cultura de la Nación. The photo caption is as follows: A show by Alberto Castillo with Afro-Porteño candombe dancers. Rosario (Santa Fe), circa 1970. Photo by Carlos Gomez. The Afro-Argentinian dancers—almost all of whom as still alive—are from the Garay, Córdoba, and Lamadrid families. The house of the Lamadrid family, in Flores, functioned as the Centro Recreativo La Armonía from 1917 to 1952, where the tango of the Guardia Vieja was danced.

Works Cited

Cirio, Norberto Pablo. 2002. “Prácticas musicales de procedencia afro en el culto a San Baltazar. La ‘charanda’ de Empedrado (provincia de Corrientes, Argentina),” en Revista Musical Chilena, 197, p. 9-38. Santiago: Universidad de Chile.

Cirio, Norberto Pablo. 2007. ¿Cómo suena la música afroporteña hoy? Hacia una genealogía del patrimonio musical negro de Buenos Aires,” in Revista del Instituto de Investigación Musicológica “Carlos Vega” 21, p. 84-120. Buenos Aires: Facultad de Artes y Ciencias Musicales, Universidad Católica Argentina.

Cirio, Norberto Pablo. 2008a. “Ausente con aviso: ¿Qué es la música Afroargentina?” En Federico Samartino y Hector Rubio (eds.), Musicas Populares. Aproximaciones teóricas, metodológicas y analíticas en la Musicologia Argentina. p. 81-134. Córdoba: Universidad Nacional de Córdoba.

Cirio, Norberto Pablo. 2008b. “La danza makumba afroporteña: un abordaje de su performance a través de fuentes históricas y de memoria oral.” Buenos Aires. (unpublished).

Cirio, Norberto Pablo and Rey, Gustavo Horacio. 2006. “Vigencia de una práctica musical afroargentina en el culto a san Baltazar, Empedrado, provincia de Corrientes,” en Etno-Folk 6, p. 33-48. Baiona: Dos Acordes.

Goldman, Gustavo. 2008. Lucamba: Herencia africana en el tango: 1870-1880. Montevideo: El Perro Andaluz.

Plesch, Melanie (preliminary study). 2006. “Boletín Musical: 1837,” La Plata, Archivo Histórico de la Provincia de Buenos Aires Dr. Ricardo Levene.

An unauthorized translation of a passage that originally appeared in a magazine: La Patria Argentina, no. 636, Buenos Aires: 1800, p. 1.

The regulations, fines, and taxes that the Municipality uses to discourage public dances have resulted in a new, creative system of putting on these entertainments for the common people.

Generally, the establishment that is used as a front for these clandestine dances is a café.

On some dirty windows, painted white, are big black letters, illuminated from within, that announce to the public “café such-and-such.”

On the first floor, towards the street, there is a real café, with waitresses who are more or less ugly (a great attraction). The door at the back of the room is closed, and one doesn’t hear anything more than the voices of the customers and the natural noise of the serving.

After a while, a customer gets up and goes through the door, disappearing for a while, or the door opens, and someone comes out looking tired, and goes up to the counter to order a drink, usually a French wine mixed in equal parts with soda water—a strange drink, invented by Italians on the bocce courts. Each time the door opens, you can hear from the interior a strange brushing sound from the floor, as if many people were walking, dragging their feet.

This is because behind this door, there is a large ballroom where dances are held—quite unusual dances, in fact.

At the back of the ballroom there is one of those piano organs, covered with a mattress which is tied tightly to the instrument.

The mattress has the advantage of dampening the sound, which doesn’t make it to the street—or even out of the room—and the muffled striking of the instrument’s hammers mark the time of the piece being danced to, making a strange noise, something like a damp percussion instrument.

To this strange music, they dance in the ballroom.

And they dance with only two, three, or four women who are hired by the owner as dancers.

These poor women dance all night, every night, without resting, passing from the arms of a Criollo dancer who pushes them through a milonga, to those of an Englishman who shakes them dryly through a leaping waltz, to those of an Italian who twists them around in a peringundín.

The room fills up with dancers, and since women are scarce, the rest dance men-with-men, in order to take advantage of the sonata that someone has paid a peso for, which is its price.

When the piece ends, you hear a local voice yelling “lata!” This means that the next sonata is for him; he goes up to the organer [sic], asks for his favorite piece, and gives him a lata [tin/coin] for the piece that he is asking for next—if he pays, he is always understood.

And the dance continues, with a warm atmosphere because the room is closed. Smoke from the cigars fogs the air, and the brushing of feet on the floor is the dominant sound.
Everyone is quiet, no one speaks, because here, they dance to dance.

“Lata!” or “Girl, dance this one with me,” are the only words that are heard.

The female dancers cannot say no, because they would lose their jobs.

In these ballrooms are are no chairs, to discourage the public from ogling: whoever enters has to dance or leave.

Anonymous, 1880.

The magazine passage is taken from the book:

Benedetti, Héctor. 2017. Nueva historia del tango: De los orígenes al siglo XXI. Buenos Aires: Siglo Veintiuno Editores. p. 34-35.

The photo is not from Nueva historia del tango. It is from the Queer Tango Image Archive, at queertangobook.org (Pareja de hombres bailando en conventillo).

An unauthorized translation from this book:

Benedetti, Héctor. 2017. Nueva historia del tango: De los orígenes al siglo XXI. Buenos Aires: Siglo Veintiuno Editores. p. 31-33.

Blogger’s note: See Chart 1 from Nueva historia del tango for a list of dances danced in Buenos Aires during this time. These included Polka, Schottische, Contra Dance, Mazurka, Habanera, Milonga, Malagueña, and Peringundín. Tango was not one of them. It is unclear what “Milonga” meant during this time period.

[Begin excerpt]

Ugly women and dirty windows: The popular dances of the mid-1880s

In the 1810s and 1820s, Porteño society saw the emergence, in different parts of the city (which was not yet very large) of some “dancing schools,” teaching establishments known as “academies.” The “quote-unquote” here is important, because barely twenty or thirty years later, “academy” would become a synonym for a private dance salon—with access by the public allowed and even regulated by the municipality—where no lessons were taught. These places were far from having good reputations: there were many reports of police action there in those days—although surely some were exaggerated—which indicated that these were places frequented by troublemakers, drunks, corruptors, and scandalous people of all sorts. Worse, it was often the case that one single person could be all of these things and on top of all this, a conjurer. These types of accusations were more than sufficient to raise calls for arrests and closures (which hardly ever actually happened).

It is interesting to note that during these years the academies were mostly populated by Blacks and Italians, although by about 1860 the first group had been largely excluded from the business.

The businesses are variously registered as “academy” and “peringundín” (or perengundín or piringundín) [which also refers to a style of dance]; but also, and with a similar meaning, in what seems to be a mere abuse of synonyms, “café” or “bordello.” Because of this, the first hurried conclusion of early historians, which has been reproduced in subsequent writings for a century, was that tango originated in brothels. In reality, the available references about music, although scarce, always indicate that other genres of music were popular at this time. Some of these genres developed into particular styles and regional substyles. The most notable of these various mentions show that there were clear musical antecedents, in terms of both rhythm and choreography, for what would later develop into tango.

In contrast to the dance school, the academy began a rapid process of acceptance by certain social strata, while at the same time suffering a loss in reputation in other circles. The atmosphere of the academies was often dark, and without a doubt the press of the time detected a certain air of clandestine activity which, in practice, did not actually exist. It is probable that musicians as well as other attendees, years later, when they were consulted, tended to exaggerate what happened behind closed doors in the academies. And it is probable that the first historians of tango picked up on these tales and concluded that, since tango was born in the academy, then the academy must be a synonym for a brothel, and that therefore tango was born in the brothels. As we have seen, academies and brothels were very different places, each with their specific regulations. Certain types of municipal infractions were to be expected in the academies: drunken brawls, expired permits, and stiffed musicians who retaliated with violence. By contrast, in the brothels, an important type of infraction resulted from the music itself: there, dancing was explicitly prohibited. Of course in any case, dancing was inevitable, but the lack of integration of the underground dancing happening in brothels with the more public dancing taking place in the academies leads one to conclude that there were few possibilities for a “brothel dance” to develop into tango, especially since we still do not see any mentions of tango at this time.

[End excerpt]

Note: The image of the mazurka is not from Nueva historia del tango.

Note: The “ugly women and dirty windows” are mentioned in a magazine article quoted in this book immediately after this passage, which is translated in a separate blog post, “A funny fracas.”

An unauthorized translation of a passage from the magazine Sherlock Holmes (published in Argentina in Spanish), quoted in Nueva historia del tango.

Sherlock Holmes, no. 86, April 29th, 1913.

Benedetti, Héctor. 2017. Nueva historia del tango: De los orígenes al siglo XXI. Buenos Aires: Siglo Veintiuno Editores. p. 49.

Do you want some facts about the origin of the bandonión [sic]? Here you go: first of all, it is of German origin. That is where it came from in the beginning. It’s true, like you say, that it is somewhat analogous to the accordion.

Possibly, it might be a derivation. A variety. A variety of the form. Within the mechanism. Within the technique.

The folding box, after all . . . but the sound: this I assure you, is as different as the day is from the night.

If you have an ear to hear with. If you can feel. If you have soul. If you have ever been in love. If you have a sweetheart, you have to recognize that I’m right. […] That’s why, I tell you. It is really just the right sound for the tango . . . and for other things . . . […]

Like I was telling you. It was more than thirty years ago that the bandonión arrived for the first time in the Republic [Argentina]. It looked kind of funny, and this might have caused people to forget about it. Nobody wanted to learn how to play it. There were very few people who had the guts to go into a salon carrying it in a case. […] Before, they used to be embarrassed by how it looked. By its vulgarity.

Now, it’s starting to come into fashion.

There are a lot of people who are playing it. Those who make art with it. Now in some cafés you can hear the sound of the instrument, and more than one passerby will stop to listen. They come from far away. From the outskirts. Towards the center of the city.

In the Avenida de Mayo, it has already become part of the orchestras.

Could you tell me, Loduca, Who are the people from this area who know the bandoneon and its music well?

There are very few. In the first place, there is Santa Cruz, who has been playing continually for 15 years now, in a café on Santa Fe Street. He might be the one who knows it best. Augusto Berto also knows it. He has for a long time.

Reporting by Luis Sixto Clara.

Blogger’s note: Vicente Loduca was the first bandoneonist to bring tango to Paris in 1913 (he traveled there shortly after this interview). After returning to Argentina, he was very prolific as a composer and bandleader, especially during the 1920s. He is famous for the tangos “El Argentino,” “Sacudime la persiana,” “Juanita,” “Alma Atravesada,” and “Quique.”

The photo of Loduca is not from Nueva historia del tango.