Archive for the ‘Discepolo’ Category

El choclo   Leave a comment

EL CHOCLO
The ear of corn (1903)
LYRICS by: Juan Carlos Marambio Catan (1930) and Enrique Santos Discepolo (1946
MUSIC by: Angel Villoldo
TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz
Last updated on: 3/27/12
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Sing along with ELBA VERON with SEXTETO MAYOR

Sing along with ANGEL VARGAS with ANGEL D’AGOSTINO

On November 3, 1905, the upper class clientele of the exclusive Restaurante Americano gathered as ususal listen to pianist Jose Luis Roncallo and his classical orchestra play. A few days earlier, Angel Villoldo had shown to Roncallo the melody of a Tango he had just composed. It was by far the best Villoldo had written but Roncallo fretted at the idea of playing a Tango for the “creme-de-la creme” of Buenos Aires society dining at the Restaurante Americano.
Yet, the sound of the unnamed tune was so compelling that Roncallo decided to sneak it by disguised as a “danza criolla”, a Creole dance. And so, he did on that balmy evening of November 3, 1905. The name had been decided by Villoldo, who named it El choclo, the ear of corn, because “I loved it from the very first note, and for me the ear of corn is the tastiest ingredient of the ‘puchero’, a meat and vegetables stew …” The “puchero” reference reflected Villoldo’s hope that the success of the Tango would bring food to his table. To earn a living was commonly referred to as earning the “puchero.”
An appropriate name for an undercover Tango being premiere at a restaurant.Juan Carlos Marambio Catan wrote the 1930 lyrics at the request of Villoldo’s sister and heir Irene Villoldo de Corona.Enrique Santos Disceopolo wrote a new set of lyrics in 1946 at the request of Libertad Lamarque who wished to sing the tango in the movie Gran Casino directed by Luis Buñuel. In order to do so, Discepolo had to reach a laborious agreement with Marambio Catan.In his version, Discepolo makes excellent use of lunfardo lexicon.Bailongo: lunfardo for a place where people dance, i.e. a milonga
Bacan: lunfardo for a wealthy man or one who pretends to be wealthy. A man who keeps a woman. A pimp who owns a woman. A concubine of a prostitute.
Cana: lunfardo for the police, a policeman or the jail.
Canyengue: lunfardo word with several meanings. It refers to somebody or something from the slums, i.e. low class. It also describes a gathering where people from the slums dance. Finally, it is a rhytmic effect created by Leopoldo Thompson by hitting the string of the contrabass with the hand or the arch of the bow.
Carancanfunfa: in the lingo of the compadritos, the dance of tango with interruptions (cortes) and also those who dance it that way in a very skillful manner.
Gavion: lunfardo for a libertine man who seduces women. A Don Juan that charms the women. A seducer, a mocker.
Grelas: lunfardo for woman.
Mishiadura: lunfardo for poverty.
Mina: lunfardo for woman.
Paicas: a lunfardo word for girl.
Pebeta: lunfardo for young woman or girl.
Reo: lunfardo for hobo, unemployed, given to partying and reticent to work. Typical of people of lower class status. Also, it is used as humble, poor.
Shusheta: lunfardo for a person who takes excessive care of his posture and attire. Also it is used to describe a police informant, a person who accuses in secret, a snitch. A fop, a dandy.
CASTELLANO
ENGLISH
VERSION DE DISCEPOLO DE 1946
1946 DISCEPOLO’S VERSION
Con este tango que es burlon y compadrito
se ato dos alas la ambicion de mi suburbio;
con este tango nacio el tango y como un grito
salio del sordido barrial buscando el cielo;
conjuro extraño de un amor hecho cadencia
que abrio caminos sin mas luz que la esperanza,
mezcla de rabia de dolor, de fe, de ausencia
llorando en la inocencia de un ritmo jugueton.

Por tu milagro de notas agoreras,
nacieron sin pensarlo, las paicas y las grelas,
luna en los charcos, canyengue en las caderas,
y un ansia fiera en la manera de querer…
Al evocarte, tango querido,
siento que tiemblan las baldosas de un bailongo
y oigo el rezongo de mi pasado…
Hoy que no tengo mas a mi madre,
siento que llega en punta’e pie para besarme
cuando tu canto nace al son de un bandoneon…

Carancanfunfa se hizo al mar con tu bandera
y en un ‘perno” mezclo a Paris con Puente Alsina.
Fuiste compadre del gavion y de la mina
y hasta comadre del bacan y la pebeta.
Por vos shusheta, cana, reo y mishiadura
se hicieron voces al nacer con tu destino…
Misa de faldas, querosen, tajo y cuchillo,
que ardio en los conventillos y ardio en mi corazon!

With this tango, mocking and show off,
tied two wings the ambition of my slum;
with this tango tango was born and like a shout
left the sordid bog looking for heaven;
strange spell of a love turned cadence
that opened paths with no more light than hope,
mixture of rage, pain, faith, absence
crying in the inocence of playful rhythm.

From the miracle of your ominous notes,
were born without a thought, the paicas and the grelas,
moon on the puddles, canyengue on the hips,
and a fiery desire in the way to love…
Evoking you, tango beloved…..
I feel the shaking of the tiles of a bailongo
and I hear the grumbling of my past…
Now that I don’t have my mother anymore,
I feel her coming in tiptoes to kiss me
when your chant is born to the sound of a bandoneon.

Carancanfunfa crossed the sea with your flag
and in a Pernod mixed Paris and Puente Alsina.
You were buddy of the gavion and the mina
and even crony of the bacan and the pebeta.
Because of you, shusheta, cana, reo and mishiadura
became voices that were born with your destiny…
Mass of skirts, kerosen, slash and knife,
that burned in the tenements and it burned in my heart!

VERSION DE MARAMBIO CATAN DE 1930
1930 MARAMBIO CATAN’S VERSION
Vieja milonga que en mi horas de tristeza,
traes a mi mente tu recuerdo cariñoso
y, encadenandome a tus notas dulcemente,
siento que el alma se me encoje poco a poco;
recuerdo triste de un pasado que en mi vida
dejo una pagina de sangre escrita a mano
y que se he llevado como cruz de mi martirio
aunque mi carga infame me llene de dolor.

Hoy que los años han blanqueado ya mis sienes,
que en mi pecho solo anida la tristeza
como una luz que ilumina en el sendero
llegan tus notas de melodica belleza.
Tango querido, viejo tango que me embargas
con la cadencia de tu musica sentida
quiero morir bajo el arrullo de tus quejas,
cantando mi querellas, llorando mi dolor
recuerdo aquella epoca, tan linda que se fue.

Old milonga that on my hours of sadness
brings to my mind an affectionate reminiscence
and chaining me to your notes sweetly,
I feel my soul shrinking little by little.
sad memory of a past that in my life
I leave a page of handwritten blood
and that I have carried my cross of martyrdom as
but my burden infamous fill me with pain.

Now that the years have whitened and my temples,
that nest in my chest just sadness
as a light that illuminates the path
your notes arrive melodic beauty.
Tango dear, old tango that overwhelms me
with the rhythm of your music felt
I want to die under the cooing of your moaning,
singing my complaints, crying my pain
I remember that time, so nice that has gone.


Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2012 All Rights Reserved

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Esta noche me emborracho   4 comments

ESTA NOCHE ME EMBORRACHO
Tonight I’m getting drunk (1927)
LYRICS by: Enrique Santos Discepolo
MUSIC by: Enrique Santos Discepolo
TRANSLATION by: Ramon Peñalva
Last updated on: 7/25/13
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Sing along with ENRIQUE DUMAS with GUESS WHO

This is the story of a man who casually runs into an old sweetheart after ten years of their separation.
In the first stanza he describes her with mocking words but then he recognizes that can’t endure the sight of her decline and flees feeling close to tears.
In the second stanza he now remembers when she was so beautiful that turned him crazy and drove him to betrayal of friends and principles so much as to sink his mother in poverty and losing all, even his human dignity just to give her luxury and pleasure. He ask himself how this “old wreck” could led him to ruin his life so completely.
In the third stanza he ends up thinking in a philosophical way, that he never thought he would see her the way she is now and fearing that if he entered too deep in those thoughts he could commit suicide. He decides to get so drunk as to keep his mind dumb enough to produce any thought.
CASTELLANO
ENGLISH
Sola, fané, descangayada,
la vi esta madrugada
salir de un cabaret;
flaca, dos cuartas de cogote
y una percha en el escote
bajo la nuez;
chueca, vestida de pebeta,
teñida y coqueteando
su desnudez…
Parecía un gallo desplumao,
mostrando al compadrear
el cuero picoteao…
Yo que sé cuando no aguanto más
al verla, así, rajé,
pa’ no yorar.¡Y pensar que hace diez años,
fue mi locura!
¡Que llegué hasta la traición
por su hermosura!…
Que esto que hoy es un cascajo
fue la dulce metedura
donde yo perdí el honor;
que chiflao por su belleza
le quité el pan a la vieja,
me hice ruin y pechador…
Que quedé sin un amigo,
que viví de mala fe,
que me tuvo de rodillas,
sin moral, hecho un mendigo,
cuando se fue.Nunca soñé que la vería
en un “requiscat in pace”
tan cruel como el de hoy.
¡Mire, si no es pa’ suicidarse
que por ese cachivache
sea lo que soy!…
Fiera venganza la del tiempo,
que le hace ver deshecho
lo que uno amó…
Este encuentro me ha hecho tanto mal,
que si lo pienso más
termino envenenao.
Esta noche me emborracho bien,
me mamo, ¡bien mamao!,
pa’ no pensar.

Lonely, ugly and all broken
I saw her this dawn
coming out of a nightclub.
Skinny, a full yard long of neck
And a hanger by neckline
under the chin.
Bowlegged, dressed as a broad,
hair-dyed and flirting
her nudity
She looked like a featherless bantam
mockingly showing off
her pecked hide.
I, that know when I am fed up,
Just run away from there
trying not to cry.I recall ten years ago,
she was my craze.
I went far as to betrayal
for all her beauty.
This, that now is an old wreck,
was my sweet at heart
where I lost my dignity.
That crazy about her beauty,
I stole food from my mother,
I was mean and I was base.
I was left without a friend,
I lived a wrong and wicked life.
And she had me on my knees,
With no honor, just a beggar
When she left me.Never I thought I’d see her
in a state of R.I.P,
so cruel and bad as I saw her today
Tell me, shouldn’t I kill myself
thinking that for this old junk
I was left as what I’m now.
Ugly this revenge of time
that lets you see destroyed
the one you loved.
This meeting made me feel so bad
That if I think it through
I’ll get poisoned,
this night I’ll drink me out,
thoroughly drunk
So I wont think.


Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2012 All Rights Reserved

Malevaje   Leave a comment

MALEVAJE
Hoodlums
LYRICS by: Enrique Santos Discepolo
MUSIC by: Juan de Dios Filiberto
TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz
Last updated on: 1/11/12
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Sing along with TANIA with ORQUESTA ARMANDO LACAVA

Discepolo explores the changes that the love for a woman produce in a tough macho man. Somehow falling in love is equated with weakness and fear of what others will think about his manhood and courage, now he even thinks about going to church, kneeling down to pray.
CASTELLANO
ENGLISH
¡Decí, por Dios, qué me has dao!
Que estoy tan cambiao,
No sé más quién soy…
El malevaje extrañao
Me mira sin comprender,
Me ve perdiendo el cartel
De guapo que ayer
Brillaba en la acción…
No ves, que estoy embretao,
Vencido y maneao
En tu corazón.

Te vi pasar tangueando altanera,
Con un compás tan hondo y sensual,
Que no fue más que verte y perder
La fe, el coraje, el ansia ´e guapear…
No me has dejao ni el pucho en la oreja
De aquel pasao, malevo y feroz,
Ya no me falta pa´ completar
Más que ir a misa e hincarme a rezar.

Ayer, de miedo a matar
En vez de pelear
Me puse a correr.
Me vi a la sombra o finao,
Pensé en no verte y temblé.
Si yo, que nunca aflojé
De noche angustiao
Me encierro a llorar.
Decí, por Dios ¡Qué me has dao!
Que estoy tan cambiao
No sé más quién soy…

Tell me, for God, what you have given me!
that I’ve changed so much,
I don’t know who I am anymore…
The hoodlums, surprised
look at me blankly,
They see me losing the fame
of  tough guy who yesterday
stood up in the action…
Don’t you see, I’m suffocated,
defeated and hobbled,
in your heart.

I saw you pass tangoing haughty,
with a compass so deep and sensual,
That was just to see you and loose
faith, courage, the desire to swagger…
You didn’t even let the butt on the ear
From that past, outlaw and fierce,
I do not need to be complete
but going to church and kneel to pray.

Yesterday, for fear of killing
instead of fighting
I started running.
I saw me in jail or dead,
I thought of not seeing you and trembled.
If I, who never let up
At night anguished
I lock myself to cry.
Tell, for God, What you have given me!
that I’ve changed so much,
I don’t know who I am anymore…


Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2012 All Rights Reserved

Infamia   Leave a comment

INFAMIA
Infamy (1941)
LYRICS by: Enrique Santos Discepolo
MUSIC by: Enrique Santos Discepolo
TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz
Last updated on: 1/10/12
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Sing along with TANIA with ORQUESTA DONATO RACCIATTI

Discepolo’s childhood and adolescence seem to justify many of his verses, but who is responsible for his many verses about unhappy love? Discépolo looks for the figure of God to protest about life, which is a mess, and to recall the betrayal of a loved one. Was Tania, his wife, the inspiring muse of this verses?
CASTELLANO
ENGLISH
La gente, que es brutal cuando se ensaña,
la gente, que es feroz cuando hace un mal,
buscó para hacer títeres en su guiñol,
la imagen de tu amor y mi esperanza…
A mí, ¿qué me importaba tu pasado…?
si tu alma entraba pura a un porvenir.
Dichoso abrí los brazos a tu afán y con mi amor
salimos, de payasos, a vivir.

Fue inutil gritar que querias ser buena.
Fue estupido aullar la promesa de tu redención.
La gente es brutal y odia siempre al que sueña,
lo burla y con risas desdeña su intento mejor.
Tu historia y mi honor desnudaos en la feria,
bailaron su danza de horror sin compasión…

Tu angustia comprendio que era imposible,
luchar contra la gente es infernal.
Por eso me dejaste sin decirlo… amor!…
y fuiste a hundirte al fin en tu destino.
Tu vida desde entonces fue un suicidio,
voragine de horrores y de alcohol;
anoche te mataste ya del todo, y mi emoción
te llora en tu descanso.. corazón!

Quisiera que Dios amparara tu sueño,
muñeca de amor… que no pudo alcanzar su ilusión.
Yo quise hacer mas pero todo fue un ansia;
que tu alma perdone a mi vida su esfuerzo mejor.
De blanco al morir, llegara tu esperanza
vestida de novia ante Dios… como soño.

People, who are brutal when they’re cruel,
people, who are fierce when they do harm,
sought to make puppets in their puppet show
the image of your love and hope …
To me, what I cared about your past …?
if your soul entered pure into a future.
Blissful I opened my arms to your desire, and with my love
we went out, as clowns, to live.

It was useless to cry that you wanted to be good.
It was stupid to yell the promise of your redemption…
People are brutal and always hate a dreamer,
They mock and with laughter they cast off her best intentions
Your story and my honor stripped at the fair,
danced their dance of horror, without compassion …

Your anguish knew that was impossible,
fighting people is hellish.
That’s why you left me without saying it, love!
and finally you went to sink in your destiny.
Your life has since been a suicide,
maelstrom of horror and alcohol;
Last night you ended all, and my emotion
cries for you in your rest …Heart!

I wish that God protect your rest,
Love doll who could not achieve her dream.
I wanted to do more but it was only a longing;
May your soul forgive my life’s best effort.
Dressed in white, dying, your hope will arrive
dressed as a bride before God as it dreamed.


Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2012 All Rights Reserved

Posted January 10, 2012 by Alberto & Valorie in Discepolo

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Cafetin de Buenos Aires   Leave a comment

CAFETIN DE BUENOS AIRES
Small tavern of Buenos Aires (1948)
LYRICS by: Enrique Santos Discepolo
MUSIC by: Mariano Mores
TRANSLATION by: Ramon Peñalva
Last updated on: 12/25/11
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Sing along with ROBERTO GOYENECHE with ORQUESTA TIPICA PORTENA

A “cafetín” was a small tavern, in the first half of this century. It was the place where the younger and older generations met and developed a tight relationship. Youngsters could learn all those lessons not taught at home and a kind of dismal philosophy about life. All this changed during and after the ’60’s and those places slowly disappeared from the urban scene. First stanza: A “cafetín” was a males only place so it was off limits to women and children. The author remembers when as a child he thought it never would come the time when he could get in. It mentions a melancholic sentiment equating the cold of the windowpane with his actual feelings and recognize the “cafetín” as the teacher of several things, good and bad, that helped him to grow up. Second stanza: Now there is a claim of not forgetting this place that was so much alike his mother, a perpetual harbor from all pains and dangers of the world. Then a description of the strange mix of customers and what he learned from them. Third stanza: Finally he remembers the bunch of buddies he found between those walls and recalls several of them, falling again in a melancholic mood bringing to memory some sad moments in life and his final sense of failure.
CASTELLANO
ENGLISH
De chiquilín te miraba de afuera (1)
como a esas cosas que nunca se alcanzan,
la ñata contra el vidrio, (2)
en un azul de frío
que sólo fue después viviendo
igual que el mío.
Como una escuela de todas las cosas,
ya de muchacho me diste entre asombro
el cigarrillo…
la fe de mis sueños
y una esperanza de amor.

¿Cómo olvidarte en esta queja,
cafetín de Buenos Aires?
Si sos lo único en la vida
que se pareció a mi vieja. (3)
En tu mezcla milagrosa
de sabihondos y suicidas
yo aprendí filosofía… dados… timba (4)
y la poesía cruel
de no pensar más en mi…

Me diste en oro un puñado de amigos,
que son los mismos que alientan mis horas;
José el de la quimera,
Marcial que aún cree y espera
y el flaco Abel… que se nos fue,
pero aún me guía.
Sobre tus mesas que nunca preguntan
Lloré una tarde el primer desengaño.
Nací a las penas,
bebí mis años,
y me entregué sin luchar.

In my childhood I stared at you
as those things I would never possess
the nose against your window
in an iced blue feeling
that only later, living,
was the same in my soul.
As a school that teaches all things,
in my youth you gave me in wonder
a good smoke…
a faith in my dreams
and a hope for love.

How can I forget you in my lament
“cafetín de Buenos Aires”?
If you are the only one in life
who resembled my mother.
In your strange association
of smart guys and self-killers
I learned philosophy… dice… gamble
and the bitter poetry
of not to think of myself.

You gave me in gold a fistful of friends
the same who cheer my life and my hours
José the one with dreams
Marcial who still believes and hopes
and skinny Abel… who’s gone
but still he guides me.
On your tables that never ask questions
I wept some day my first disillusion
I knew of pains,
I drank my years
And I gave up with no fight.


GLOSSARY:
(1) Chiquilín (diminutive) from “Chico” = small boy, kid
(2) Ñata (f) (colloquial) from “Ñato”(m): pug-nosed or flat-nosed = the nose.
(3) Vieja (coll) literal: old woman = mother
(4) Timba (coll) = the action of gambling

Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2011 All Rights Reserved

Tormenta   Leave a comment



TORMENTA
Storm (1939)
LYRICS by: Enrique Santos Discepolo
Enrique Santos Discepolo by: Composer
TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz
Last updated on: 6/17/11
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Sing along with Mario Pomar and Carlos Di Sarli
God, faith and religious themes are present on 11 of 44 tangos written by Enrique Santos Discepolo.
CASTELLANO
ENGLISH
¡Aullando entre relámpagos,
perdido en la tormenta
de mi noche interminable,
¡Dios! busco tu nombre…
No quiero que tu rayo
me enceguezca entre el horror,
porque preciso luz para seguir…
¿Lo que aprendí de tu mano
no sirve para vivir?
Yo siento que mi fe se tambalea,
que la gente mala, vive
¡Dios! mejor que yo…
Si la vida es el infierno
y el honrao vive entre lágrimas,
¿cuál es el bien…
del que lucha en nombre tuyo,
limpio, puro?… ¿para qué?…
Si hoy la infamia da el sendero
y el amor mata en tu nombre,
¡Dios!, lo que has besao…
El seguirte es dar ventaja
y el amarte sucumbir al mal.
No quiero abandonarte, yo,
demuestra una vez sola
que el traidor no vive impune,
¡Dios! para besarte…
Enséñame una flor
que haya nacido
del esfuerzo de seguirte,
¡Dios! Para no odiar:
al mundo que me desprecia,
porque no aprendo a robar…
Y entonces de rodillas,
hecho sangre en los guijarros
moriré con vos, ¡feliz, Señor!
Howling between the lightning,
lost in the storm
of my endless night,
God! I seek your name …
I don’t want your lightning
blinding me in the horror,
because I need light to go on …
Is what I learned from you
not useful to live?
I feel that my faith falters,
that bad people live,
God! better than me..
If life is hell
and the honest lives in tears,
What good is it…
for someone who fights on your behalf,
clean, pure…? What for?…
If today infamy leads the way
and love kills in your name,
God, what you’ve kissed…
To follow you is to give advantage
and to love you to succumb to evil.
I do not want to leave you, I,
show only once
that the traitor does not live with impunity,
God! to kiss …
Show me a flower
that has born
from the effort to follow,
God! to not hate:
the world that hates me;
because I won’t  learn how to steal…
And then on my knees,
drawing blood on the cobbles
I will die with you, happy, Lord!

Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2011 All Rights Reserved

Cambalache   1 comment

CAMBALACHE
Bazaar (1935)
LYRICS by: Enrique Santos Discepolo
MUSIC by: Enrique Santos Discepolo
TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz
Last updated on: 12/25/11
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Sing along with JULIO SOSA

Several times in the twentieth century, self-appointed monitors of good taste and manners have used censorship to silence the people’s voice in Argentina. In one notorious instance of taking intolerance to their maximum degree, military rulers waged a “dirty war” against the people of Argentina silencing the dissenting voices of the people by making them “disappear” from the face of the earth. The infamous Secretaria de Prensa y Radiodifusion has been in the past the hideout of coward footmen of the military regimes that held Argentina hostage for many years at a time. Safely protected by the forces of repression, these individuals found no better things to do than attempting to “cleanse” the language of the popular music of Buenos Aires, a.k.a. the Tango. In other words they pretended to legislate culture by the use of power.
The Tango lore is full of anecdotes referring to the periods in which it felt the wrath of the censors, the castrators of the social expression of the people at large who in many instances where inhabitants of the south part of the city. One may only guess where the censors lived or aspired to move to.
During the presidency of Gen. Juan Peron (1940-50’s), the forces behind SADAIC, the Society of Authors and Composers, finally decided to bring the issue of censorship directly to Peron. Led by Homero Manzi, the group began to arrive to Casa Rosada, the presidential office. Alberto Vacarezza, a well known playwright had been mugged on the bus on his way to the meeting. Alerted to this fact, Peron using a very graphic lunfardo expression greeted Vacarezza saying, “me entere que lo afanaron en el bondi.” Everybody knew at that moment, with Peron using the street language to refer to Vacarezza’s being mugged on the bus, that the long period of Tango censorship had ended.
It is a common mistake to assume that the lyrics of the Tangos were written by uneducated pimps and compadritos. To the contrary, from Pascual Contursi to Homero Manzi, most celebrated authors were very well educated and consummated poets. The fact that they choose to use the language of the people to write poetry to Tango music earned them the respect of all of us who love the Tango with a passion, but most of them, were seldom given the proper recognition by the ruling intellectual elite.
Today, the Tango snobs of the world quote Borges or Marechal, who finally caved in to the pressure of their European fellow socialites who appreciating the Tango could not understand why they despised it so much. Even, today, the injustice continues, very few people acknowledge the gigantic work of Manzi, Contursi, and Discepolo and many others.
Let’s talk about Discepolin. In the fundamental poetic line of Discepolo we see the moralist observing the social context and complaining bitterly about the depravity that surrounds him. He desperately searches for God and painfully denounces the lack of values.
Discepolo contributed to a more instinctive and metaphysical vision of the Tango. In many ways he called for ethical parameters for a sociopolitical scene lacking moral attributes. His first fundamental work was “Que vachache” written in 1925 but the subject of this commentary is “Cambalache” which he wrote about ten years later.
An interpretation of his lyrics may help understand why the military rulers that came into power in 1976 “recommended” that it not be broadcast on radio and television.
Of particular interest are the verses,
“Mixed with Stavinsky (a notorious swindler), you have Don Bosco (catholic priest founder of the Salesian Order) and La Mignon (a well kept lover), don Chicho (the nickname of the infamous head of the Buenos Aires mafia) and Napoleon, Carnera (a popular Italian boxer) and San Martin (Argentina’s general who led the forces of liberation from Argentina to Chile and Peru).
CASTELLANO
ENGLISH
Que el mundo fue y sera una porqueria,
ya lo se…
En el quinientos seis
y en el dos mil también!
Que siempre ha habido chorros,
maquiavelos y estafaos,
contentos y amargaos,
valores y dublés…
Pero que el siglo veinte
es un despliegue
de maldad insolente
ya no hay quien lo niegue.
Vivimos revolcaos en un merengue
y en un mismo lodo
todos manoseaos…

Hoy resulta que es lo mismo
ser derecho que traidor..!
Ignorante, sabio, chorro,
generoso o estafador!
Todo es igual! Nada es mejor!
Lo mismo un burro
que un gran profesor!
No hay aplazaos ni escalafon,
los inmorales nos han igualao.
Si uno vive en la impostura
y otro roba en su ambicion,
da lo mismo que sea cura,
colchonero, rey de bastos,
caradura o polizon…

Que falta de respeto,
que atropello a la razon!
Cualquiera es un señor!
Cualquiera es un ladron!
Mezclao con Stavisky va Don Bosco
y “La Mignon,”
Don Chicho y Napoleon,
Carnera y San Martin…
Igual que en la vidriera irrespetuosa
de los cambalaches
se ha mezclao la vida
y herida por un sable sin remache
ves llorar la Biblia
contra un calefon.

Siglo veinte, cambalache
problematico y febril!
El que no llora, no mama,
y el que no afana es un gil.
Dale nomas! Dale que va!
Que alla en el horno
nos vamo a encontrar!
No pienses mas,
sentate a un lao.
Que a nadie importa
si naciste honrao.
Que es lo mismo el que labura
noche y dia, como un buey
que el que vive de los otros,
que el que mata o el que cura
o esta fuera de la ley.

That the world was and always be filth,
I already know…
In the year five hundred and six
and in the year two thousand too!
There always have been thieves,
traitors and victims of fraud,
happy and bitter people,
valuables and imitations
But, that the twentieth century
is a display
of insolent malice,
nobody can deny it anymore.
We lived sunk in a fuzz
and in the same mud
all well-worn…

Today it happens it is the same
to be decent or a traitor!
To be an ignorant, a genius, a pickpocket,
a generous person or a swindler!
All is the same! Nothing is better!
They are the same, an idiot ass
and a great professor!
There are no failing grades or merit valuations,
the immoral have caught up with us.
If one lives in a pose
and another, in his ambition, steals,
it’s the same if it’s a priest,
a mattress maker, a king of clubs,
a cad or a tramp.

What a lack of respect,
what a way to run over reason!
Anybody is a gentleman!
Anybody is a thief!
Mixed with Stavisky, you have Don Bosco
and La Mignon
don Chicho and Napoleon,
Carnera and San Martin.
Like in the disrespectful window
of the bazaars,
life is mixed up,
and wounded by a sword without rivets
you can see a Bible crying
next to a water heater.

Twentieth century, bazaar
problematic and feverish!
If you don’t cry, you don’t get fed
and if you don’t steal, you’re a stupid.
Go ahead! Keep it up!
That there, in hell
we’re gonna reunite.
Don’t think anymore,
move out of the way.
Nobody seems to care
if you were born honest.
That is the same the one who works,
day and night like an ox,
than the one who lives from the others,
than the one that kills or heals
or the one who lives outside the law.


Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2011 All Rights Reserved

Posted February 15, 2011 by Alberto & Valorie in Discepolo

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