Por una cabeza

He is about a foot taller than me, and as we dance, his cheek rests nearly against the top of my head. He is embracing me in an unusual way tonight, with his free hand lightly cradling my neck. Suddenly he remarks, "I hope you won't think this is obscene..."

Uh-oh, I think.

"...but the scent of your hair is bringing back memories for me."

Oh, thank goodness! Um--maybe.

Aloud, I say, still warily, "Do you mind if I ask what kind of memories?"

At the time, I was using a shampoo with a distinctive herbal scent. Privately, I had wondered whether it smelled like I'd stuck my head into a vat of sage dressing--although I'd always hoped that between rinsing and the sweeter-smelling conditioner that I used, perhaps it wasn't actually as noticeable as I'd thought. I am fully prepared for him to say something like (possibly at best), My first Thanksgiving in America.

"The sea," he answers, to my surprise. "We used to holiday by the sea when I was a child."

As the song continues, I feel him occasionally lightly brushing his hand across my hair, like a harpist running his fingers over the strings, to stir up the scent. There are a number of liberties a man might take in the dance that I would object to, but tonight this is not one of them.

Pun-der appreciated?

My regular teachers usually hold class in the dance room of the local rec center, and they generally have leaders advance around around the circle of followers with each new song. When my latest tango crush arrived back at me, over by the ballet mirrors, after the first circuit of the room, I remarked, with a smile, "Haven't I seen you at this barre before?"

Sadly, my wit seemed lost on him at the time. (He seemed to be concentrating on the giro we were supposed to be working on. Whatever.) But at the previous milonga, I had cracked up a pair of fellow dancers with a rapid-fire string of puns on the other girl's area of studies, in the hopes of helping her relax about a major upcoming deadline, at least for the duration of the milonga. (It seemed to work.)

DJ Oblivious

"I'd add that a thoughtful and trustworthy DJ can also make good dancers less risk-averse, and that makes them more willing to dance with inexperienced partners. Because they know the music will be there for them if it's difficult, or for another dance with someone else!"

--Ms. Hedgehog, commenting on El Zorro Gris' entry on breaking the vicious cycle of bad music

So. True.

This is exactly what I find frustrating so often at the Tango Bar, especially last time, and the other nuevo-hosted milongas around town. (Okay, one of the things.) I never know, if I don't care for a particular tanda, when the next time I'll be able to dance might be.

Last week at the Tango Bar, a guest DJ filled in for the regular one, who was out of town. The regular DJ--and bless him, he's been very kind to me, and I always enjoy dancing with him very much--is quite bad enough about catering to people who want to dance to non-tango (or non-danceable tango) music, because he doesn't want to lose those dancers. But he'll usually come back to danceable tango afterward; classic tango is actually his own preference, he's told me.

In the abbreviated time that I was at the Tango Bar last week, the guest DJ played, as I recall, a sequence of tandas that went along these lines: classic tango, then some rather obscure and difficult milongas, then alternative "tango," then blues, then electrotango, then what sounded like eastern European folk music--then "La Cumparsita."

And so after my first dances, to the classic tango and the milongas, I got up to dance ... I would call it one and a half times--an aborted attempt for the set that turned out to be electrotango and very difficult for my partner and me. (It had sounded like it was going to be traditional tango at first--deceptive.) So my partner and I had to sit down, and I didn't get a chance to dance again until "Cumparsita," when that same partner grabbed me again.

It was so frustrating. With every cortina, I'd look up hopefully, waiting to see what the tanda would be--and the DJ would play some more nonsense that I couldn't dance to. This particular DJ dances a wide range of other styles, such as blues and swing, so she was clearly having a wonderful time--but a growing collection of more advanced tango dancers were sitting out in increasing annoyance.

There are a few people in town with whom I will sometimes try dancing to alternative music. Sometimes it works, but I still like classic tango best; other music just doesn't usually feel like tango, in a way that I can't explain yet (but other people have tried, sometimes in quite technical terms). I remain picky about who I will dance milonga, vals, or tricky music such as Pugliese with, if it is played at a particular milonga--because when they're done well, they are so lovely, but when they are done poorly, they feel awful. But what Ms. Hedgehog said is absolutely right. If my partner is less than ideal, classic tango is easier for both of us to deal with. And if I know that I am likely to have the opportunity to make up for a bad dance, I'm much more likely to take a chance with an unknown dancer or unusual music.

Most of all, I go to tango evenings to dance tango, not to dance to Gypsy ballads or swing. I can't object too much to alternative tandas played sparingly--they play occasional chacarera, rock, or tropical tandas in Buenos Aires, for a change of pace (and it is worth noting that the dancers then dance in those styles to that music; they do not try to dance tango to it, like so many do here)--but tango is our primary reason for going to a milonga, isn't it? So I can't help believing that danceable tango ought to be the basis of any milonga that dancers aren't forewarned will be non-traditional. Play alternative stuff occasionally, as El Zorro Gris discusses in an earlier post, if you feel you must; I'm happy to listen and content enough to watch, even though I don't often want to participate. But then, please, come back to tango. It's why we're at the milonga and not at a salsa bar, a swing dance, or a hip-hop club.

Happening across Ms. Hedgehog's remarks has helped me sort out why I had such trouble with the guest DJ's wild music selections last week--even more than usual at the Tango Bar. I'm so glad that the regular DJ is back.


ETA (4/2)
Further proof: At the next milonga I danced with, I think, three new people--because I knew that I could make up for those tandas if they did not go well. Happily, two of them were very nice (and the third was better than I thought it might be).

On a bad day

Here is the ugly truth, if you want it: Sometimes I am jealous of every single other person you dance with.

Turn of phrase

We do not realize that we have misjudged how much time is left in the song. We step onto the floor and embrace for a few seconds; maybe we had the chance to change weight. And then the song ends.

We step apart in the brief silence between songs, and he makes a slight bow and remarks, grave-voiced but with a twinkle in his eyes, "Thank you; that was very ... pure."

Don't try this at home

Managed a cabeceo with a partner several seats down the row from me, in the mirror of the room where the milonga was being held. We were awesome!

Note to self:

I have sought dances with men for stupider reasons than that I admired their chacarera, but it did not work out any better because of that.

The sacrament of tango

I recently found myself at rather a loss for words--which, as you may imagine, doesn't happen to me all that often. I was talking about tango with a friend, specifically about the differences between close-embrace and open-embrace tango. I was trying to talk about the lack of intimacy that I feel in open embrace, without using the word "connection." And I couldn't do it.

Maybe others' experience is different; I can't presume to speak for anyone else. But I find that it is true that when I am not dancing heart-to-heart with my partner, I do not feel the same about the dance. It may be fun, in its way--I've had a few quite nice dances in open embrace--but I do not feel the connection that I feel when I am being truly and fully embraced.

A partner once asked why I don't like it when we're dancing in close embrace and he breaks it to do steps in open embrace; a dynamic or elastic embrace, I've heard it called. I'd rather start out and stay in open embrace, if I have to, than break a close embrace.

"It feels like your support goes away," I answered.

"But you shouldn't really be leaning on each other in close embrace," he pointed out (justly).

"I know," I said. "That's not really what I mean, because I won't fall over if you step away..."

It was not his physical support that I meant; it was the intimacy of the connection, the emotional closeness. When he breaks the physical connection, the emotional connection is abruptly cut off. It leaves me feeling suddenly cold--again, in more than a physical way--and lonely. The connection is real to me, and it is both physical and nonphysical--and it is mostly the nonphysical that I find the most compelling thing about tango milonguero. Something is missing, for me, without it.

As Cherie puts it, one is being literally held at arm's length in an open embrace. So the connection is both physical and mental, or emotional, or spiritual; it links mind and body. The inner and the outer seem to both reflect and affect each other.

It makes a peculiar example, probably, but I sometimes think of an episode of The Dog Whisperer--almost the only episode of that series I've ever seen. In it, a family had moved from a quiet little town to a busy, noisy city, and their dog became too paralyzed with fear and anxiety on the street to go for walks. It put its ears back and tucked its tail between its legs and flinched at every noise. Cesar Milan rigged a sort of second leash that clipped to the first one and attached with a little cuff to the dog's tail, pulling it out of the fearful posture with its tail tucked. The effect was almost magical. The dog seemed to think that, because it was no longer in a posture of fear, it must not be afraid. And it became perfectly happy to go for walks again.

Like I said, a rather peculiar example--but how different are people, really? I've been given the advice, when preparing for job interviews, to be sure to sit up straight, with my shoulders back, not folding my arms or fidgeting with a pen, and smile--because in projecting an appearance of confidence and relaxation, we're more likely to find ourselves actually feeling more confident and relaxed. And how often is it true that if you go into a new social situation with a smile, and behave in a friendly way, people usually respond with friendliness, and you probably end up having a good time and maybe making real new friends? It's like a positive feedback loop, or karma, where we get back what we put into the world--and the outward affects the inward, and the other way 'round.

There may even be something spiritual going on here, if you believe in a spiritual world. I'm Catholic, myself--though not a very good one, these days. I'm not going to say that I have no issues with the actions and official doctrines of the Church--just as I may not agree with the actions of the government of my country. Nonetheless, I can no more think of myself as not being Catholic than I can think of myself as not being American. I was born into it, and even if I lived the rest of my life in another country and sought citizenship there, I think I would always be this, at heart.

Among other things, this means that all my life I've been immersed in the belief that the spiritual world is represented and affected by the physical.* That is what a sacrament is: a mingling of physical and spiritual realities. The symbol becomes the thing that it represents. The bread and wine become the Body and Blood, and we take the Divine into our selves; that is why we kneel and bow our heads in awe and humility. And everywhere in life, our actions and words--the physical--whether positive or negative, have effects in the spiritual reality, and vice versa.

So it makes perfect sense to me that there seems to be a more-than-physical connection in the close embrace that is lacking (for me) in the open embrace. Of course there is; in one I'm being hugged close, and in the other, I'm being held at a distance. There is additional closeness there, at least while the dance lasts. The outward expresses the inward; the inward is affected by the outward.

To extend the religious metaphor, does this mean that tango could be a sacrament--a dancing communion with another person, and maybe even with the Divine? Maybe, in the same way that all of life could be seen as sacramental. In the same way that one can look for the Divine in every other person that we meet--and the beauty of the eternal dance that creates even while it destroys; that exists neither in the past nor in the future but only in the present.

... You know; if you believe in that kind of thing.**



* I think that's a key component of Latin American magical realist literature, too, and part of why I like it--but that's another line of thought, which I'm sure better scholars than I have investigated.

** It is easy to say this now, because the last few milongas I've been to were very good for me. You ask me again, after a bad night of being ignored and jostled, and I will deny everything and reject the idea that there could be anything holy about tango. I just want to establish this now, to preserve my right to gripe when I want to.

The Duet

The beautiful caramel-skinned woman next to me brims with vibrancy and infectious good cheer. She and I have been chatting pleasantly all evening, whenever we are both sitting out. It is getting late, and the crowd at the milonga is thinning. This tanda, we both like the music for listening but not for dancing, so we wait it out.

She begins singing along with the music, although there are no words to the song. When I do a little accidental double-take, not certain what I'm hearing, she grins and leans closer to sing to me, with an exaggerated waggle of her eyebrows. I laugh and quietly join in. I don't think anyone hears us; we're not trying to be heard. We get adventurous and harmonize occasionally, both of us singing nonsense syllables, ba da da, dum dee da da da, until the final bum bum!

We giggle like children as the cortina begins.

The answer is always, Yes, dance!

With gratitude for the inspiration of SallyCat--again.

Summer 2009:

I have just finished dinner in the apartment in Buenos Aires. L, my friend, traveling companion, and all-around partner in crime, has left to return to the States, as scheduled, so I face the prospect of almost another week by myself before my own return.

I had not realized how much her cheerful company had made the trip more fun--nor how comforting it was, in this city we knew so little, to have someone around who was generally as lost and confused as I was.

I noticed it immediately, after seeing her safely into her taxi for the airport: the little apartment was so quiet with just me in it. I cried a little bit, out of loneliness, and turned on the TV for some noise. It is the first time I have turned on the TV since I had been there--up til then I had used the radio, on what seemed to be a 24-hour tango station, oh glorious!--and I left it on all afternoon, into the evening.

As I wash up after dinner, I consider whether I should go out to the milongas that night. Would I really have a good time dancing, as homesick as I was feeling? It would be the first night I'd stayed in since I'd arrived. I could call Sr. and Sra. and make my excuses. Surely no one could blame me if I just took a night off to adjust and get my mood in order...

Uh-uh, said a little voice in my head. You didn't come all the way to Argentina to sit in your room and watch American sitcom reruns on TV! Think how L would scold you for that! You came here to dance, and you're going to go out there and meet your friends who are expecting you, and you are going to dance!

So I got cleaned up, had a fortifying bite of chocolate, and headed out to the milonga. And it was the best thing I could have done.

New Year's Day, 2011:

I am embarrassed and upset over the bad night at the New Year's Eve milonga in Nearby City. I sleep late on my cousin's couch, and then I laze around, reading, as long as I can. I put on an Internet tango radio station for noise.

As the sun starts to set, I know that I need to make up my mind whether I am going out this evening or not. If I am, then I need to start getting ready to go to dinner with my cousin.

I could just stay in, I think. Maybe it would be better to give the milonga tonight a pass. Spend more time with my cousin. Finish my book. Yesterday had been a very rough night, and surely nobody could blame me if I wanted to skip it tonight. With the mood I was in, would I really have fun anyway?

Uh-uh, says that little voice in my head--which sounds a bit like a drill sergeant, sometimes. You didn't come all the way here just to sit around in your pajamas and read! You came here to dance, and you are going to clean yourself up for a nice dinner, and you're going to go to the milonga and see whether there are any friends there, and you are going to dance!

And so I did. And it was the best thing I could have done.