13 September 2017

Breaking our musical habits

My partner recently came up with a new term: “Musicality Fatigue”; being tired of your own musical interpretations. Even when we're putting a lot of thought into interpreting the music, we might realise that in reality, we're often doing the same things to the music, or always choosing the same elements to interpret. These things might be seen as leader issues, but they apply to us active followers as well! Actually, when we're at it, I’d like to coin a term myself as well: “Compulsive Musicality”; when you sort of *have* to do certain things to certain musical elements.

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When suffering from Musicality Fatigue or Compulsive Musicality, it can be a comfort to think that our partners probably aren't tired of us! But we still might feel we want to move on with our musicality for our own sake, because we don't want to express ourselves in the same way all the time. It's not always super easy to get out of automated habits by oneself. Sometimes, it's helpful to just pick particular elements that we know we tend to overdo, and then practice not doing them. But just taking away elements won't really make our dance a lot more creative. We also need inspiration to do new stuff, and inspiration to do old stuff in new ways.

Personally, I’m finding that the simplest solution is still helpful: musicality classes. I'm still taking them. But maybe the goal for going to classes shouldn’t just be to learn new, fixed interpretations - those will soon become as hard to break out of as our old habits. And maybe we shouldn’t always pick musicality classes with teachers whose musicality we admire and want to copy. Maybe we need to try someone else as well, someone whose musicality we don’t really get. For me, a good musicality class is a lot about ideas and concepts that might fit the music in ways that we haven’t thought of yet. Maybe we even need to try ideas we don't like - it could be we discover that there's somehing in there we can use after all. That’s how we can change and grow musically!

And again, working with technique also makes us more musically nuanced dancers. Because in the end, it’s our body that dances. ❤❤❤

27 February 2017

Finding your tango self

“Sometimes it takes a long time to sound like yourself.”
(Miles Davis, jazz trumpetist)

Last week, I found myself. Yes I know. How cheesy isn’t that? But seriously, that’s what it felt like. After all the technique classes and all the practicing and the thinking and the frustratingly slow progress, this one sentence from a teacher brought everything together. I kept thinking of it, and suddenly, it felt like it was my body that was dancing, not my brain trying to understand how to dance. What also happened was that the mental pictures I had were not just of my teachers, or other dancers I'm inspired by, anymore. Now I was able to visualise how I myself wanted to dance.

It’s not like I am a fabulous dancer now. It could be that I look and feel about the same as before. And I'm sure there's lots of frustration ahead of me! I’ll always be somewhere intermediate-ish. The difference is that suddenly, I'm getting more enjoyment from the way I dance now instead of constantly thinking about how I want to dance in the future. At the same time, I'm looking forward to continue working on my dance and learn more. Improved joy of dancing, improved joy of learning. Win-win situation.

I know this may seem a bit navel-gazing. But I want to share this experience in case there's someone out there who needs a bit of encouragement. Don’t give up! If you want to improve, keep at it. Keep taking classes. Learn from different teachers even if it seems like they contradict each other. Sometimes they do, but often they’re just using different language and different pedagogics to teach the same thing. And keep practicing. Go to prácticas, do solo exercises at home. Listen to the music. Everything you invest will pay off somehow.

And, most importantly: if you want to improve, don’t let anybody tell you that you shouldn’t. If you want to get more out of your dance, and if you want your partners to get more out of dancing with you, keep learning.

Keep collecting the pieces that build your dance.

23 January 2017

Spotlight on the essence

Once upon a time, there was a super famous couple who visited a European city to teach at a workshop weekend. During the Saturday night ball, they gave a totally magnificent performance that more or less left everybody in awe. After the show, the milonga continued as per usual. At some point, the DJ put on Troilo with Marino and the super famous couple went back on the floor together - not to perform this time, just to dance together. And then time just stopped a bit as they embraced each other in the ronda, he in his black suit and she in her red 1950s inspired dress. With one spot of light shining down on their jet black heads, the rest of the dancers a sizzling mess in the darkness, they quietly tuned in on each other and on the music, becoming the eye of the hurricane. Finally, she took one impossibly long, smooth, soft step together with him.
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It might have been the most meaningful step I’ve ever seen. I remember thinking that that moment was just perfect. In my mind, that moment is still there, like a photography of the essence of tango, reminding me to not lose sight of this essence as we’re constantly trying to learn more, constantly practicing to improve our dancing. But it also reminds me that pushing our limits can help us understand the essence. By learning more, we’ll know how to do less. By practicing the complex, we can master the basics - a soft, non-intrusive embrace, a body that’s strong but without tension, smooth walking, awareness of our axis, knowing the music well enough to understand when to walk and when to pause and when to be fast and when to be slow - all these things that make us capable of tuning into our partner without disturbance. Knowing we can do more if we want to, knowing that we’re not on the edge of our capacity might be just what will give us the confidence to find the essence in our dance: our own essence, and our partner’s essence - ultimately, each couple’s essence.

— Music: I don’t know if this was the exact Troilo tango that was played that night, but here’s “Torrente”, Aníbal Troilo’s orquesta with singer Alberto Marino, recorded 1944. It’s the perfect dramatic music to dance quietly. Click here to listen.

8 November 2016

Balancing beauty

“I thought of wearing this one. But maybe I’m showing too much skin.”
“I don’t know what the others will be wearing. Hope I won’t be too overdressed.”
“So sad that the girls are undressing just to get dances.”
“That looks awful.”

Most of us women dress up before going to the milonga. Since we started dancing, we’ve spent lots of money on tango dresses and too many pairs of fabulous shoes. And every evening before going out, we agonise over what to wear, we pick matching jewelry and shave our legs and put on makeup and paint our nails and try desperately to find a nice way to wear our hair so it’ll actually look good throughout the milonga, even though we know that no matter what we do, the hair is going to look ridiculous after three tandas.

So why all the fuss? Seriously, all this time worrying about tube tops sliding down and skirts riding up and splits moving to the wrong place. And don’t get me started on the makeup issues we’re having. Why can’t we just wear something normal and comfortable so we can focus on the actual dance?

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Dressing up for social happenings is a big part of human culture, of course. And for me, it’s a big part of going to the milonga: to dress up even on a grey and boring Thursday, and to arrive in the milonga and meeting all the other dancers - men and women - who all have made an effort to look beautiful. I actually love that part. But if we're to be a tiny bit cynical about it, we also hope that looking good will help us getting more dances. Dressing up helps us finding courage and confidence to invite people, and it helps us getting noticed.

But it has to be done just right, doesn’t it? We ladies, we have to balance carefully. We need to make sure that we look good, but not too good. This involves carefully hiding our ugly bits and showing our good bits - although without showing too much of the good bits, of course! If you make a misjudgement of how many percent of the good bits you’re showing, or if you accidentally mistake a bad bit for a good bit, all kinds of things may be said about you.

You might be criticised because your body isn’t beautiful enough. The fashion industry already taught us what we should look like, and society in general have been monitoring us since we were kids, so by now, it’s our responsibility to know our place in the body ranking hierarchy. Believing you’re beautiful, and showing yourself as such, is only really accepted if you're meeting the standard.

On the other hand though, you might be disapproved of because your body is too beautiful. If you’re showing too much of your good bits, you might be accused of not playing fair towards the other girls since you’re actually feeling good about yourself and therefore able to shamelessly use your good bits in the competition to get the best leaders. You shouldn’t be too confident!

Of course, you also risk being pitied because maybe actually, you’re not being confident enough. If you’re showing too much of your good bits, someone will make assumptions about your lack of self esteem since you obviously believe you have to undress to get dances.

It could also be that you’ll be held responsible for not being feminist enough. If you’re showing too much of your good bits, you’re reinforcing the idea that looks are necessary to get dances. Actually, you’re spoiling the men so they’ll stop thinking with their heads and start thinking with their d*cks, and in the end no one will want to dance with the women with the bad bits, even if they’re great dancers.

I'm sure it's even more intricate than this. But to sum it up, we're stuck between fashion, morality, and politics, between liberation and censorship, even in the milonga. 

Yes, I’m being polemic! But I’m quite sure that all women have these thoughts - sometimes about others, and too often about ourselves. I do realise it’s a very complex matter. But I’m thinking that if we want to make it easier for ourselves, we have to make it easier for the others, and in order to do that, we need to let go of jealousy and criticism. For me, this goes beyond competing for dances in the milonga. I believe that dressing the way you want should be part of being a free individual, and it’s important because every day, millions of women are hiding their body due to the rules and the shame and the fear that comes with different types of objectification. And I don’t think that hiding our bodies helps to win over the fashion tyranny and the morality tyranny. Let’s not support what brings us down. Let's support each other and - ultimately - ourselves.

18 October 2016

Seizing the stars: exploring musicality in tango

It’s not musicality. They’re just doing rhythms.”

I’m thinking about musicality again, trying to understand what it is. It seems we sometimes reduce it to only a reproduction of rhythmical structures. And I’m thinking that since music is more than rhythmical structures, dancing to music should be something more than that, too - like being observant of which musical ideas and elements and qualities that exist in each piece, and noticing how they all have different flavours, and understanding which choices you have in any given moment, and seizing the ideas and elements and qualities that you believe are beautiful and interesting, and recognising how they make you feel, and expressing it all clearly and precisely.

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Maybe some have more musical talent than others, but I believe that people are musical as long as they are somehow touched by music. Having musical skills is something else, though. Musical skills have to be learnt, worked with, practiced consciously. It doesn’t have to be done in class, nor do you need to have played an instrument at all - some of my favourite musical dancers tell me that they have no clue about the technicalities. But it has to be worked with.

So how do we grow our musical skills? I haven’t got all the answers, but I have some ideas. Starting with listening: not just hearing the music, but really listening to it. Listen to everything in the music, try to understand what the sounds are doing, why everything is there. It’s useful to listen a lot to tango music because it’s good to know the music you’re actually gonna dance to, but you can do the listening to all kinds of music. The idea is to practice listening.

The second thing we have to do is to revise our repertoire: Are the moves we’re doing automatised, old habits? And if so, how can we change our habits so that our repertiore can be used to serve the music instead of existing parallel to the music? And how can we be more creative with our repertiore? And, finally: even if you think that good technique isn’t necessary to be a musical dancer, keep practicing technique, too, because you’re going to discover that you cannot really express a musically rich-spectered interpretation without it. Why? Because musicality in dance doesn’t just exist in your analytic head and in your foot hitting the floor. It must be expressed through your whole body.

And in all this, let’s not forget this weird thing that we often say is undefinable, the thing that happens when the music resonates inside ourselves. The artistic expression, or the feelings, or the presence, or the passion, or whatever we try to call it because we don’t know what it really is. Maybe it’s not so mysterious, though. Maybe it’s just about believing that the musical idea you just seized is the most important and beautiful thing in the world right now, because you’re letting it seize you.

6 September 2016

Mirror, mirror on the floor

But they’re opening the embrace.”

A friend recently asked me whether I’m moving away from minimalistic dancing. With my social dance partners, I normally dance in a sustained close embrace and with very few boleos and similar, and my friend had noticed that the videos I post on Facebook are quite different from that. Although I usually never post stage tango, the performances I like are indeed different from the way I dance, with quite a lot of the bigger repertoire and often a partially open embrace (see end of post for examples).

Of course, as I’m working on my technique, I can do more difficult stuff now compared to a few years back. But that’s not necessarily so important. I don’t believe that my level or dance style has to be identical to what I’m inspired by. We can find different kinds of inspiration in a performance, even if we don’t do a one-to-one copy of it in the milonga.

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When I watch a performance, I look for different things. One thing is of course to just enjoy the skills of the dancers. It’s like going to a concert with great classical musicians. Their high level can be inspiring in itself - not because I think I’ll ever be on the same level myself, but because it generally can inspire me to improve. And if a couple for instance has a great walk, I find this a direct inspiration source for continuing to work on my own walk.

Of course, if we indeed want to improve our dance, we need also to be inspired by the things we don’t yet do well. This goes for the whole learning process: if we only do what we do perfectly, there will be no tango dancers at all outside the classes and práctica rooms. Even walking takes many years to perfect. This doesn’t mean that we should do all kinds of stuff mindlessly! We do need to take care of our partners and the social context. But we should be allowed to push our own limits.

The most important thing I look for in a performance is not technique, though - it’s the dancers’ musicality focus. Which elements of the music do they use? Which instruments do they dance to, how do they do the phrasing, when do they walk, more importantly even: when do they stop? How do they use the dynamics and textural qualities of the music? Do they take the lyrics into account? Do they use the mood of the music? If I turn off the sound, will their 1930s D’Arienzo interpretation look the same as their 1950s Pugliese interpretaion?

This is where things become really interesting. To be inspired by a musical interpretation, you don’t need to copy the repertoire that’s being used. The idea is to recognise the musical concepts and then find your own solutions that fit your skills, your partners’ skills, and the social context of where you’re dancing. Example: a performing couple is doing some beautiful phrasing with sequences that go in a line across the floor. It looks great, but you can’t copy that exact sequence because in the milonga, there will be no space to finish the phrase. So you might need to do the phrase for instance with a giro instead. This can work just as well! You can even stand still through a phrase. What’s important is that you assign a repertoire idea to the musical idea.

Finally, there’s one more thing to be inspired by besides the technical and musical elements. It’s the “je ne sais quoi”, the X factor, the certain something that brings out the goosebumps and sometimes even the tears. It’s the thing that tells us about the humanity in the interpretation. It’s the thing that may or may not be acting when we see it in a performance but still reminds us that technique is not enough, that even musicality is not enough. In the end, we must connect to our own feelings and open up to the person we’re dancing with. And if a performance can inspire me to do that, it doesn't matter which repertoire the dancers are using.


Example of "festival performance" (click here to watch) Noelia Hurtado, this time with Gaston Torelli and probably improvised throughout. Music: No mientas - Juan D’Arienzo’s orchestra with singer Alberto Echagüe (recorded 1938)

Example of stage performance (click here to watch) Hugo Mastrolorenzo y Agustina Vignau, winners of the escenario (stage) category of the 2016 Mundial competition. Music: Balada para un loco - Astor Piazzolla with singer Roberto Goyeneche.

Credit for the photo I used in my illustration: Carlos Luque. Licence: Creative Commons 2.5.

29 August 2016

Vulture season

Yes, I know I shouldn’t teach in the milonga. But the beginners are really grateful when I do.

It’s that time of the year again. The summer holidays are over, and tango season is starting. Beginner’s courses are being held, and into the milongas comes a new crowd of tango students, all eager to learn more about tango and to be included in the community.

Cue the tango vulture.

He's a special kind of bird, the tango vulture. He's dependent on a constantly renewed supplement of fresh tango meat, oops sorry, fresh tango students, because he’s being avoided by any tanguera that has danced for a while. Unwilling to do any improvement work whatsoever on his own tango skills, he gets his daily fill of admiration from those who can’t yet distinguish between an advanced dancer and a long-term beginner.

So how does the tango vulture convince the beginners of his competence? Yes, you guessed correctly. He teaches in the milonga.

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This is the deal with teaching in the milonga: It Simply Isn’t Done. It’s impolite and patronising, especially if it’s done to make oneself look good at the expense of another person. Being taught in the milonga is like moving to another country and trying to learn the new language and then being invited to a party, but every time you try to say something, no one will be listening to what you want to tell them. Instead, people will be correcting your grammar and your pronunciation - and they’ll do it openly, so it becomes even more apparent to everybody how little you know. Maybe someone will even take you to another part of the room, away from the conversation, to practice verb conjugation with you.

“Yes, but she asked for it!”

It doesn’t matter what she asked for. She’s new on the scene, she’s eager to learn fast, and maybe her teachers didn’t think of mentioning the difference between a class, a práctica, and a milonga. Yes, she’s wobbly and bandy-legged, but she’s in the milonga to dance, like everybody else. The milonga is a place where everybody should be treated as grown-ups. Yes, I agree that the milonga also is a place with some difficult moral dilemmas. But let’s not make things even more complicated. There are lots of nice guys who dance with the beginners without any hidden agendas, proving that being a gentleman really is super easy.

Here’s how it’s done:

1) Dance with the girl. Keep your leading clean and, above all, free from the creepy ganchos.
2) If she asks about something, say “Everything is fine! Let’s dance and have fun!”, then
3) shut the hell up.

The Argentine tango is one of the most personal and intimate dances that exist. It needs to be based on two things: trust and respect. The beginner girl is putting a lot of confidence in all you leaders when she says yes to dance. What she should get in return is respect. If she does not get that, she’ll notice soon. And then she’ll be moving on.

Since I normally see this happen to followers, this post is voiced accordingly. Sadly, there are follower vultures as well. If you’re a follower vulture, all the above applies to you.

Credit goes to Iona “Terpsi” for the expression “long-term beginner”.