[Tango-L] Tango in Toulouse, A Travelogue--Part 2

[randy cook]

Tango in Toulouse--Part 2
St. Pierre des Cuisines
July 1, 2009
8:30 PM

There is an ancient church on the Place St. Pierre by the river Garonne, surrounded by  bars and cafes up and down the quai, the riverfront, which is crowded with students.  This is a city with three universities.   Summer is here.  The night is hot.  Drums and guitars, drinks and drama.

But tonight, for Robert and I, it is the church, the eglise we want-- though it isn't a church anymore in fact, but a performance space, one of those conversions the French do so well.  Parishioners of art rather than of religion, we pass through the portal and enter.  The hardwood floor is new.  So is the track lighting.  But the cool stone walls remind us of the centuries of Christianity that were here before us, and whose presence we can still feel, subtly sombering our mood.  St. Pierre des Cuisines isn't only Christian, however.  It was a Roman temple first, when this part of  Gaul was called Occitania.  We see the foundations of that Roman temple displayed under a covering of protective glass on a portion of the floor.  So the present walks within the walls of the past, with an even more ancient past underfoot.

Tango.  A quintet called Hora Cero.  Three Frenchmen, a Swiss, and an Argentine.  The French pianist is a slender, nimble man with white hair and a white suit.  His take on tango is inspired by Piazzola, with plenty of jazz, and touches of  French musette.  The Swiss violinist is lyric, his inspiration classical.  The contra-bass is strong when he needs to be, a foundation to the quintet, like that Roman temple below the floor.  The guitarists displays touches of the Spanish masters.  Ah, but the bandoneonist!  He is Argentine, of course, a handsome man with an Italian name.  Until he draws the breath of his instrument and squeezes intelligible phrases from its bellows, the group could be another jazz-classical fusion.  The bandoneonist tells us that tango was born where the pampa meets the Plata, not in some French nightclub.

Hora Cero has drawn a good crowd.  We sit on banks of bleachers like a basketball game, or better said, like some "Little Theater" way off Broadway, except that we have that soaring ecclesiastical ceiling above us.  The quintet strikes the right notes with its audience, and consents to come back for several encores, including a real tango from the traditional repertoire--just to show us they can do it if they want to.  

They can do it, and I want them to! For the first time in the evening, they make me want to dance.  But it is late, and now the concert is over.

Back outside on the Place St. Pierre, we breathe the hot night air.  Drums and guitars, drinks and drama.  The bars and brassieres are as crowded as ever.  Robert and I stroll the quai, watching the people, enjoying the lights reflected on the river Garonne--and the breeze.

We find the Place de la Daurade, where the excursion boats dock, and see the platform where the opening milonga of Tangopostale was danced in the afternoon.  It is empty now, except for moon shadows.  Young men with bottles are coming down the steps from the street.  They don't look quite so friendly as the others we've seen along the quai.  Time to head back to our hotel and see if Janet has come back from her own tango excursions. 

More to come...