It is possible to master the fundamentals of tango and yet remain ignorant of the purpose of this dance. We gather to have fun and to heal. We are drawn to tango by something akin to our sex drive: a need to make contact with the opposite sex and to move in harmony with the music.
Skill is not a prerequisite for a successful tango engagement; necessity is.
The gauchos and fisherman of early twentieth century Argentina and Uruguay were busy with cattle and cod and you can bet that they had no time to practice a cat-like walk on the pampas or at sea. The women at the bordellos waiting for the herds to arrive or the ships to dock were equally busy living the life of a prostitute, where good negotiating skills easily trumped a need to move with precision. Tango was born as a result of men and women doing what they needed to do in order to survive.
No man is an island in a sea of men; he is simply another drop of water in the ocean, grounded to nothing.
Most men cannot live without the presence of the fairer sex in their world. Our need is much more than a desire to procreate, we crave to be a part of their world, to delight in the sound of a lady’s laughter, to engage in frivolous banter, to be treated with an affectionate warmth that only a woman can generate, if only for a short time.
I watched a movie last weekend called Fury. It is a gruesome war movie about men in a tank. They share an intense bond that is dissolved by only one thing: a man’s desire for feminine companionship.
This is demonstrated in a dinner scene where the tank commander, played by Brad Pitt, forces two German women to cook him dinner and serve it to his men. One of the men tries to disrupt the civility of the occasion and the tank commander indicates that he is ready to fight to preserve the sanctity of the meal.
I believe it is entirely possible for a tanguera to become so focused on improving her skills that she completely obscures what it is that she brings to the table. She is God’s gift to men but sometimes she forgets or maybe she has never realized this to be true.
All men desire to be king of something and that something is nothing unless there is a woman in it.
I am like the gaucho and the fisherman in Argentina of old. I am traveling around America in search of employment to provide for my family. It is a years-long endeavor as well as a solitary existence except for the times I get to dance tango.
The right partner for me, therefore, is not the tanguera who executes molinete with flawless perfection whilst performing a myriad of dazzling adornments; she is the woman who needs me for whatever reason. The right partner brings beauty into my world, moves with me to the music and soothes the savage beast that lives in the hearts of men.
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