On the lack of desire in United States tango

A friend of mine once told me about the time she first met a brilliant dancer when he just arrived in town. They danced close and by her account it was a really lovely dance. Not too long afterwards, this dancer began to strictly utilize an open embrace approach. Curious, my friend asked him why he never danced close anymore, and his reply was that with all the dancing that he would do, dancing close embrace all the time was too emotionally intense. By using open embrace he could protect himself from that intensity without sacrificing the amount of dancing he liked to get.

Now, I'm not sure I can relate to this sense of emotional overload, although to be fair I dance a lot less than this guy. But it makes me wonder if a common factor for people who dance strictly in an open "nuevo" style is something along the lines of this kind of self-protection. A way to excise emotion--or specifically, desire--from the equation. Incidentally, I've noticed that many people who really excel at this style strike me as highly intelligent, left-brain types--people in the medical field, or law, or engineering. I wonder if the pleasure they derive is from the logical construction of figures, as if it's the playing with structure that fascinates them. Like solving puzzles in order to build new puzzles of increasing complexity. The fact that there is someone attractive opposite them who is assisting in the figure creation is, while perhaps a nice bonus, ultimately beside the point.

Then there are those who do dance close, even exclusively so, in a style they consider more "traditional," yet who still somehow create an emotional distance between themselves and their partner. While their bodies are in proximity, their embrace (if you could call it that) is cold and unfeeling. Perhaps it just hovers there, forming the outside boundary to the functional cylinder of the couple. It is well-meaning, intended to be unobtrusive and efficient, to grant freedom of movement to the other and to the self. Perhaps also to best serve as the conduit of communication between the partners. I think there are more than a few teachers and dancers who encourage this, perhaps as a reaction against the amateur tendency to hold too tightly and to compromise movement and function. But to me, it is akin to the wire monkey with the baby bottle--yes, it provides a necessity, but does it comfort or nurture?

Certainly, freedom--of movement, of intention--is very important in this dance. It provides the means to the greatest degree of expression. But is this freedom all-important? What do we sacrifice, or are we willing to sacrifice, when we prize this freedom above all else?

Finding an ideal middle ground is something my partner and I seem to work on with some regularity. While it is important to me to try to communicate affection, I have a tendency for far too much tension in my embrace. It's a problem I have been trying to address for a long time and which occurs without conscious awareness--even though I'm not aware of it and when it happens I'm not engaging my muscles nearly to their maximum it still transmits to her and in the long run is fatiguing for both of us. While I know it's getting better it still has room for improvement in order to make my dance maximally efficient and comfortable. But sometimes when I am specifically focusing on this my embrace gets a little too soft, which makes it feel absent to my partner.

"Relax," she says, "but don't stop holding me."

To hold, and to be held--isn't that the point? And if not, why not? Can you really call it tango without it? Or like Geraldine said, is that mistakenly thinking of it as a dance and not a feeling that is danced?

Maybe that's exactly what we Americans as a culture--much of which is derived from staid British restraint (no offense)--tend to find uncomfortable, the insinuation of feeling. Perhaps we don't want to come across as creepy or lecherous, or needy. We don't want to give the wrong impression. We want to make sure the other knows it's nothing personal. That it is, after all, just a dance. Maybe there's the concern that the expression of affection in tango necessarily portends something more, something that exists outside of the dance, that isn't left on the floor when the tanda is done and the thank yous have been exchanged.

As ever, I really don't know the answer, or even if it's a valid question. Am I totally missing something?

On the lack of dynamic in United States tango

Some friends and I were having a conversation on tango the other day and the subject drifted toward the manner of dance here in the states, in particular, what seems to be a common tendency among highly skilled dancers and professionals. To specify, I'm fairly certain it was in reference to many who dance in the style generally referred to or understood as "neo" or "nuevo," which quite frankly seems to comprise many of the well known professionals. Anyway, my friend was saying how she finds that most people she has danced with in this style who are from this country have a curious lack of dynamic compared to people from Europe or Argentina. By "dynamic," we mean the manner in which energy is shared between partners; the give and take of force. For example, how the leader can mark a propulsion in the follower and then use the energy from her subsequent inertia to power his own movement. (This can also work the other way, where the follower uses the leader's energy.)

One thought that we had regarding this tendency has to do with what is perceived as "advanced" technique in this country. That is, when beginners dance there is a tendency to muscle the lead and follow in a manner that is rough and inelegant. So perhaps among more experienced dancers here, the reaction against that "amateurishness" is to move away from muscularity as much as possible, the result being on the other extreme, where the lead/follow become so much of a subtle suggestion that it is almost non-existent, and there is very little actually felt in the exchange. It is this lack of feeling that my friend finds unsatisfying. If I understood her correctly, she feels it's as if each dancer is expected to bear responsibility for their own energy without tapping into or feeding the others', and that makes her feel separated from her partner.

Perhaps it has something to do with an exaggerated sense of diplomacy. Inherent in the give and take of energy is a kind of aggressive / submissive implication that maybe some people aren't comfortable with. So instead they utilize a very p.c. approach where it is encouraged that neither partner encroach on the others' self-sufficiency, at least to the degree to which it is possible to be unobtrusive. I think this may stem from our cultural ideal of individuality and self-reliance. And also, perhaps a heightened sensitivity to the notion of equality of the sexes and a subsequent aversion to well-defined "masculine" and "feminine" roles. And that aversion also seems to imply an aversion to the emotional character of the dance, the desire between man and woman (or between same sexes for those with that inclination), which results in a dance that may certainly be expressive and beautiful, but emotionally inert. But perhaps this is a line of thought that is veering off on a tangent from the topic of this post.

Anyway, I'd be curious to hear from others on this.

Hit it and quit it -- The promiscuity factor

Does the approach to social dance reveal the manner in which someone approaches mating, and is the milonga itself a metaphor for the dating pool?

When people dread the position of not dancing, is it that they are not feeling validated for their worth? The same kind of dread that some people have of growing old alone and not having anything to show for their lives when they die? And in the metaphor, is the dance the DNA we want to share, the bit of ourselves we want to pass on to exist beyond us thereby immortalizing ourselves in some small way? Do the seconds on the clock ticking towards the end of the milonga represent the days of our lives, and does every dance represent the loves -- or at least, the couplings -- we will have? Consequently, does a milonga devoid of dancing represent a life devoid of companionship, and the dances we did not share signify the increased likelihood that all that is ourselves ends with us?

For those who are selective about their dances or who seemingly feel less compulsion to dance than others, does that indicate that they are at a contented place in the balance of companionship and non-companionship? Are they more secure in their solitude? Or secure in their perception that they can get the dances they want when they want them; that they are only interested in sharing their dance/DNA where it will have the most benefit? Or does their restraint say something about their lack of libido/virility? For those on the extreme end who rarely choose to dance at all, are they, or at least are they seen as, "tango frigid" or "tango impotent," and does that perception seemingly point to their manner outside of tango as well?

Then there is the other side of the equation. There are those leaders, we'll call them "tango satyrs," who seem determined to dance with every woman in the room. And of course, there are the followers, whom we'll call "tango nymphomaniacs," who want the same thing from every guy -- although, here it is important to make a distinction: the tango nymphomaniacs are those who genuinely have that hunger for dance partners as opposed to the followers who "do their duty," so to speak, from a sense of obligation to be social and to maintain their appearance as viable dance partners.

For the tango satyrs and nymphomaniacs, do they even care or notice what they are giving up of themselves, or is it all about taking for them? Is it a chip on the shoulder that they have something to prove? Or is it about being at a buffet and constantly filling their plate so they haven't missed anything? Is the dance such an inconsequential thing that they have no issues with hopping from one partner to another in rapid succession, either discarding the previous dances as over and done or cataloging them as notches in a belt or items in a to-do list that they can cross off? Or is it possible that every dance really is something special, and if so how is that possible, that the volume itself doesn't dilute the well of experience (can the person who has bedded over a hundred different people feel as strongly for each partner as the person who has bedded only ten)? Or is it something they simply can't help of themselves, something obsessive-compulsive that drives them to constantly seek the euphoria of the fresh dance?

On another level, for those looking for casual hookups, is it a good indicator that the tango satyrs and nymphomaniacs will be both easier to hookup with and more reliably un-clingy in the aftermath? For those looking for a more committed relationship, do the more selective dancers seem to indicate better qualities of fidelity?

I'm not arguing for one thing or another, that one approach is better or worse or that tango satyriasis/nymphomania is necessarily a bad thing. Because honestly, when it comes down to it, what is tango for most people but promiscuity, in a sense? I am hard pressed to think of anyone anywhere who dances only with one person. As with everything, it's a matter of degree, no? Let's face it: monogamy is not human nature. It is in the best interest of our biological imperative to fool around with a lot of partners, hopefully partners with qualities that will benefit us in the long run. I'm just wondering if these are some of the possible multitude of ways in which the manner that one approaches tango reveals more about their character than they necessarily intend or perhaps would even want.

An unteachable lesson

A lot of people seem to approach a milonga as if it is imperative to get as much dancing as possible, or that they should brave a dance on a perilously crowded or dangerous floor because even a compromised dance is better than none at all.

My outlook, on the other hand, is that I would rather drive an hour to a milonga and wait through the end until the energy on the floor was right for me, and leave without ever having danced if that time never comes, than to force myself onto the floor just because I made the trip and paid the cover, or need to get my tango "fix". Will I feel it was a waste? In some ways, certainly. But there is always the foreknowledge that it could have been much worse if I had gone against my better judgment.

Certainly, the call to dance can be strong, and it can be difficult to resist. The dj plays an orchestra that I love, and a favorite dance partner is available. But if the dance conditions aren't within a certain workable parameter, ultimately it becomes a questionable endeavor. When I dance with someone, I always want to give them my best dance. Of course, that doesn't happen very often -- quite rarely in fact. Though that's the ideal, I would be satisfied at least with a good representation of my expression and feel. Where I come away with the sense that my partner has an accurate idea of how I heard and interpreted the music and the moment. So even if the music is great and the partner is willing, if the floor conditions aren't right then I can't really express myself anyway, so to what end would I be dancing? In fact, in that situation the frustration can be even more profound because the schism between what is felt and what can be actualized can be so much greater.

Anyway, my point being, there is one lesson that I think is of importance but cannot be taught, and that is how to know when not to dance. Of course, this is a very subjective thing; everybody has their own perception on what conditions are acceptable to them and what in the dance brings them satisfaction. Naturally, when dancing socially there is always some degree of compromise (at least there should be -- if this sounds alien to you I'd say it is more likely that you are a hazard to others on the floor). The prime dancing time, then, is a matter of gauging the zone of probable compromise on the floor at a given moment.

So how do I assess the conditions for myself? Well, barring partner compatibility considerations:

• If I watch the floor and can't discern a clear flow, that's a bad sign. I'm sure we've all experienced the milonga that more resembles a pot of boiling water than something with a current. Perhaps acceptable for salsa or club dancing, but pointless for tango.

• I will not dance when doing so places my partner beyond a certain degree of risk. If it seems that the majority of the dance will be spent on the defensive, trying to keep my partner out of harms way, that is too much of a compromise on my expression for me or my partner to enjoy. Similarly, if the floor is overly crowded and the traffic causes undue congestion I prefer to wait it out. Just as in driving a car, I can't stand the stop and go thing.

• If I'm not feeling the music or don't care for the orchestra, I will wait for the next tanda. Or, if the djing is particularly not to my liking, I may not dance at all. (side note: I don't relate to those who invite dances during cortinas, before they even know what will be played next. I'm guessing the music doesn't matter so much to them and they love dancing for dancing's sake. In a way, I suppose that makes me more limited of a dancer than they as I can only dance honestly when I am compelled, and not everything compels me.)

• If for unknown reasons I have been dancing in a way I feel is unsatisfactory, I will take some time away from the floor to relax and recalibrate, rather than dive right back in with the intention of fixing whatever isn't working. If the problem persists, I call it a night, knowing that it happens and therefore not getting down about it.
  

• I generally dislike dancing milonga, and to a lesser degree vals, as my first dance, as it sets me up with an energy that can be hard to come down from.
  

I have become quite good at heeding my intuition and refraining from dances when I don't feel the conditions are suitable. Naturally, I have encountered people who were dubious about my reservations, wondering if I was making up some excuse not to dance with them. But what I have found is that as more people get to know me and my outlook, the more I develop a kind of reputation for being fastidious and they come to realize it's okay for them not to take it personally. And as a kind of bonus, some people have told me they consider it something of a treat to dance with me because they know I'm so damn picky. So, while I may not dance nearly as much as many in the community, I have found that being true to myself in being discerning has served me well. Quality for quantity -- I consider it a fair trade off.

Quejas de Blogdoneon, or, Writing/Tango = Dancing/Architecture?

Since this blog is not nor has ever been about chronicling the days and nights of tango life in detail, it is prone to these periods of inactivity. I always feel obligated to have a particular topic or thread of thought before I begin to write, yet I don't want to force something into existence just for the sake of updates.

That being said, sometimes I wonder just what it is that brings me to write in this public forum. For my own personal use I keep a private journal with thoughts and observances, notes on things to work on and such. These are things that specifically address my own issues with the dance, primarily technical issues, and as such are of little use to anyone but myself. The utility of this blog, as what has seemed to happen without conscious intention on my part, has been to raise questions without clear cut answers and gather responses from others. Although oftentimes I don't really see what I am presenting to the world that adds to it in any genuinely practical way. Or perhaps, to put it another way, there is a preponderance of tango blogs out there and the issues that pop up always seem to be the same ones--authenticity, floorcraft, new vs. old, finding ones place in the community, etc. So what am I asking--indeed, what can I ask of practical and common relevance--that hasn't been asked before or will be asked again? And has anything really been resolved? Or is it just about finding comfort bitching to the world from our lofty idealistic viewpoints of what should be, and that is all we bloggers can hope to take from our scribbles?

Also, in writing about tango--at least, in writing about the dancing of tango--I'm wondering if it's a misguided attempt at correlation and a practice that directly contradicts what I referenced in my last post regarding the overanalysis of tango. What am I doing here but analyzing the dance and the culture, often with considerations that may be far removed from anything truly relevant about tango or with no basis in anything that actually exists outside of my imagination? And do I share these considerations which may be deliberately peculiar as an effort to inject something different in the tango blogosphere? As a means to distinguish this blog from all the others? And to what end?

As has been the case especially of late, this entry is a meandering one. My apologies.

Consequences of globalization?

I watched this video last night and, aside from marveling at the beautiful performance, I was particularly struck by the audience reaction at the end. Back in those days, it seems that Javier and Geraldine were the torchbearers for the new generation of dancers who were carrying the traditional ideals of the dance, in particular the dance of Villa Urquiza. You can see it in the way the crowd praises them. That's not merely appreciation for a great performance, that's pride. Pride for a couple who are representing their culture with excellence.

But with their subsequent success, the flavor of Villa Urquiza has now spread throughout the world (thanks, in a large part, to the universal posting of videos such as the one above), and given that it has become more commonly seen I wonder if perhaps the flavor has become less of a treat in a sense. Not that it's become bland or banal, but that it has lost some of its freshness. And it just makes me wonder if it's possible nowadays to sincerely elicit the kind of reaction the Sunderland crowd gave their native son and daughter in this video.

I am just using the Villa Urquiza style as an example, since the video captures it so well in its own neighborhood. I could just as well be speaking of all tango, in its various incarnations. As the globalization of tango marches on, does the idea of tango as representative of the cultures of the various barrios of Buenos Aires, or of Buenos Aires and Argentina itself, become increasingly moot or dated?

To this day, one of the highest compliments I receive is when I am told I dance like a porteño. While that still gives me pride, I wonder about the implications of what is said. As if what is of highest value is to be true to the manner of dance in BsAs. From a personal level, I don't question that. I would not second guess the hundred years of development that the culture underwent in its homeland, and quite frankly it's the approach that makes sense to me and which I like the best. But then, does that somehow limit the possibility for the dance to take on the flavors of some of its adopted places? That there's somehow less value in a tango with a San Francisco flavor, or Berlin, Toronto, Paris, Taipei, or that being tainted by these cultural influences makes it less truly "tango"? Is it traitorous to expand the definition of tango from being an "Argentine" dance to being a "World" dance?

Or is it a matter of degree? For example, no offense to the ballroom dancers but I don't consider what they call "tango" to be anywhere near what I call tango. Though I surmise that their tango is somehow based on it.

Also, I think about the effect that a singularly exceptional dancer or couple has on tango. How, as they develop fame, their style ripples outward and attracts adherents, and soon you see more and more people dancing with their particular signature. Does that somehow make the originators less special? And though understandable, is it ultimately a good thing that people want to emulate an example of excellence rather than trying to come up with their own example?

I feel that when I ponder these things my line of questioning becomes tautological, only feeding on itself as I go on. And on. Perhaps it's best to keep in mind what Geraldine and Javier say in this video at 0:33, which is an observation that I like to fall back on whenever I get too thinky about anything in tango:

Open frame experiment

The past few days I've been experimenting with dancing strictly open embrace (or "open frame" as I think is more accurate). And I mean about as open as you can get, hand under the armpit type thing. There are two reasons for this: first off, the past weekend was particularly warm in the Bay Area and it was a bit more comfortable to refrain from sharing body heat and stickiness. And second, I'm just not very used to it -- haven't much danced this way socially since I was a beginner -- so I thought it would be good practice for me.

I really wasn't sure how well I would be able to pull it off but functionally it was fine. None of my partners had difficulty reading the lead, which was a relief. Anyway, my impressions to date are as follows:

--It was particularly difficult to micromanage the musicality when I wanted to make syncopated movements or play with a shifty melodic passage. Though it worked from time to time my overall percentage was much lower than when dancing close. And in general the dance took on a kind of strictly flowy quality, kind of hazy and soft, legato. It was tricky to give it edges or accents.

--It was, surprisingly to me, far less physically taxing overall than dancing close, although my legs were aching when I got home.

--There was a feeling as if I had less responsibility for my partner, especially regarding her axis, and this provided a sensation of great freedom and autonomy.

--Though enjoyable, there was something distinctly unsatisfying when it was done. Did it feel like dancing? Yes. Did it feel like tango? No. It's the difference between two people dancing with one another vs. two people embodying a dance.

--It seemed as if I had to think through the dance more than I do in close, although that could just be because I'm not as accustomed to this kind of connection.

--I found myself constantly looking down, although again that could be just because I'm not used to it.

These are what I can come up with at the moment. I plan to continue this experiment to where it does begin to feel comfortable and natural for me, and I'll see if I have any added insight then.