Tango Archive

This photo shows Francisco Lomuto (to the right) and his two most emblematic singers, Fernando Díaz (centre of the picture, right) and Jorge Omar (centre of the picture, left), engaged in a seemingly quite amusing conversation with Adolfo Carabelli (left, light suit) in the early 40s.

I love being able to share pictures on which tango musicians aren’t posing for a portrait with a Hollywood-look on their face, but where instead they are shown in a more natural, normal way, sometimes so much that it gives us the impression that they were unaware that a photographer was sneaking around. The following picture shows us Ricardo Tanturi (center, dark tie) and his quite randomly-named band “Los Indios” (The Indians, as in: Native Americans, not India) as well as singer Alberto Castillo (young man with light tie to the left of the microphone).

Troilo is not only increasingly popular with tangueras nowadays, but according to this caption below he also had an enormous following of obsessed female fans who kept calling him all day. Apparently, he had even more fans than his singer Francisco Fiorentino (left), whereas one expects that singers were usually more popular than the less visible orchestra leaders. It’s just that Troilo is so exceptional…!

”The big success of Biag(g)i” (image below, with Rodolfo Biagi on the left). Oh, they never get his name entirely right, like most relatively difficult Italian names in tango. In fact, many less complicated, Spanish-like surnames of tango singers are in fact a a more convenient pseudonym, like Roberto Chanel (Alberto Mazzochi), Raúl Iriarte (Rafael Fiorentino) and Alberto Morán (Remo Andrea Domenico). Or how about the fantastic singer on the image below, Jorge Ortiz? His real name was Juan Edelmiro Alessio. Ah, yes. You see, perhaps it is more convenient to become a ”López” or a ”Rodríguez”, like one million others around the world.

Every time I see a different picture of a very young Roberto Rufino (mostly from 1940), I find it even more absurd how someone who doesn’t look much older than 12 could sing so emphatically about typical tango themes like remorseful memories of love long gone. Some of the musicians on these pictures don’t look too mature either, like the violinist on Rufino’s left side, whom I first mistook for Alberto Podestá. Di Sarli is the one with the sunglas… yes, you figured that out yourself.

Quite a few tango musicians and singers spent some years touring Latin America, the United States or several European countries. Some major names, like Rafael Canaro, brother of the more famous Francisco, decided to stay overseas and left us some recordings that have a much different, ”European” sound than the more conventional orchestras back in Argentina.

Another name that might sound familiar is Manuel Pizarro, who like Rafael travelled through Europe and decided to stay in France. There are a few recordings that remind me very much of Rafael’s playful, yet somewhat sterile, old-fashioned sound. Like other Argentine musicians (but not all, for all the wrong reasons), Pizarro fled France before the war would engulf him. The following image is a proof of his return, and apparently he teamed up with singer-boxer Hugo Gutiérrez to continue his work for Argentine audiences. Five years after the war ended, Pizarro (left, on the picture below) returned to France and stayed until his eventual death in the city of Nice, in 1982.

Hector Mauré is seen nowadays by (international) tango dancers as D’Arienzo’s second most prominent singer, only surpassed by Alberto Echagüe with his 1938 and 1939 recordings.

However, after the orchestra of D’Arienzo imploded in early 1940 and everyone left, including Echagüe, the King of the Beat first hired Alberto Reynal as his replacement. It’s not much of a coincidence that Echagüe and Reynal have a similar kind of tough, macho way of singing.

Mauré joined only later in 1940 (third, because Carlos Casares proceeded him), but that doesn’t mean that Reynal was now redundant. Both kept working with and recording for D’Arienzo, as you can see on the picture below, with a young Hector Mauré on the right.

Not recording anything is hard work. Sorry, I mean: only playing live, and never recording anything, is hard work. Back in the early 40s, a smoking break was inevitable, because everyone smoked like a chimney. I understand the smoking habit, but not that I cannot play a single recording by these guys in the milongas. I just can’t understand why.

By the way, as you may have guessed from the age difference, Alberto Echagüe can be seen on the left, working for D’Arienzo’s runaway pianist and fresh orchestra leader from 1940 onwards, Juan Polito. He only started recording when the Golden Age was already long past, and our milongas lack very important rhythmical music from the heart of the best era because of that. I am going to keep repeating that, yes.

Here’s a photo of one of my favourite singers (the one with the black suit and the smoking habit) of Laurenz  (left) who left some very interesting, danceable recordings in 1941-1942, like Al verla pasar and Quedáte tranquilo, examples of tracks I wish I heard more often in the milonga, because I prefer them over the later recordings after Alberto Podestá (confusing names!).

José García and his orchestra ”los Zorros Grises” (”Grey Foxes”) are usually associated with the voice of singer Alfredo Rojas, which is understandable, because if you ever hear Garcia in a milonga, it will most likely be a classic recording with Rojas. However, there are a few tracks with other singers available too, for example a woman called Nilda Wilson shown on the picture below.