Astor Piazzolla is a name forever linked with the sound of tango. And this is even though some Argentines have done as much as they could for this not to be.
Because, to make a long story short, we literally hated the man. Because we can be as lovely as we are idiots.
Piazzolla was a genius who trained in tango and classical music from a very, very early age, and ended up getting something akin to a Fulbright grant for musicians, and following a suggestion from Alberto Ginastera, took classes in Paris with none other than Nadia Boulanger. Yes, the same lady who trained Quincy Jones, Stravinsky, Philip Glass, and so many more. (Madame Boulanger has single-handedly shaped 20th century music like no other.)
It was Madame Boulanger who, bored with listening to his pitch-perfect renditions of Bach, asked the poor man, “yes, yes, I can hear that, but where is Astor?”. And then he, who was ashamed of making a living playing tango late at night in a cabaret de Montmartre, took out his bandoneón and started playing a song from his répertoire in front of her.
According to Piazzolla,
She suddenly opened her eyes, took my hand and told me: “You idiot, that’s Piazzolla!” And I took all the music I composed, ten years of my life, and sent it to hell in two seconds…
The rest is history.
Of course, those years of conservatoire weren’t in vain, and he started fusing tango with classical music. And then with jazz. And then with progressive rock. By 1970 he had come up with the “Nuevo Tango”, and Argentines (in particular, some of his peer tango celebrities) never quite pardoned him for such an offense, until after his death in 1992. (In my defense, your honor, I plead not-guilty: I was too young and ignorant for such grudges.)
I remember hearing the anecdote that some taxi driver once asked Piazzolla to get off his car, exasperated with the presence of the musician.
Not all “classical” tango players were so drastic with Piazzolla. One of his closest friends was Aníbal “Pichuco” Troilo, considered one of the greatest tango composers, directors, and bandoneón players of all time. Troilo passed away in 1975, and one year later Piazzolla released the “Suite Troileana” in his memory (usually bundled in an album called “Lumière” on various streaming platforms), including a song named after each of the four passions of Pichuco:
- Bandoneón
- Zita (the nickname of his lady)
- Whisky
- Escolazo (word in lunfardo generically designating any card game that involves bets, like Poker)
I now shut up, and I give you the “Suite Troileana”, and yes, I wish you to shed a tear, like I do right now. These four songs get into my system like no other. I hope that, at least, they won’t leave you indifferent.
(I’m curious, though, about the effect of these notes on those who never visited Buenos Aires: what do these sounds bring to your imagination when you hear them? What do you hear in these recordings? Close your eyes: what do you see?)
PS: Anyway. Inspired by Astor’s story, I wrote a chapter in my novel in Spanish, which I’ve translated to English and published in this blog. Sorry for the shameless plug.