Limerick Tango

When I was in my teens, I loved Henry James. I read him with uncorrupted pleasure. Then, when I was eighteen or so, and had just started The Golden Bowl, someone - older, cleverer, whose opinions were offered gravely - asked me whether I didn’t find James very difficult, as she always did. Until then, I had no idea that I might, and I didn’t. From that moment, I couldn’t read him but self-consciously; from then on I did find him difficult. I do not wish to insult by the comparison , but I had a similar, Jamesian mayonnaise experience. My mother used to make mayonnaise weekly, twice weekly; we children would help. I had no idea it was meant to be difficult, or that it was thought to be a nerve-racking ordeal. Then someone asked how I managed to be so breezy about it, how I stopped it from curdling. From then on, I scarcely made a mayonnaise that didn’t split. It’s not surprising: when confidence is undermined or ruptured, it can be difficult to do the simplest things or take any enjoyment even in trying.

Nigella Lawson, How to eat

Telling someone that tango is difficult doesn’t make it any easier. Worst of all is peoples insistence on telling new leaders that “it’s more diffucult for the man”. I’m not saying that starting tango and taking on the role of leader at the same time is easy, but don’t burden the poor guy with extra baggage when his hands are already full.

Sometimes we over-emphasise dancing the tango instead of dancing together.

Added to the list of posts to read before you d.. Tango Demons by Carrie Whipple via Alex.Tango.Fuego.

In it there is one key line:

The teamwork required to dance tango well is so much more important than any one person’s individual technique.

Too much focus is placed on technique as though perfect technique is the goal of tango. Teamwork is the goal of tango. Technique is what you use to remove the physical obstacles to that teamwork.

Believe in your partner, trust in yourself.

Or is it the other way round…?

I have no particular care for what other people do on the dance floor, so long as it doesn’t involve bumping into me. But, of late, I have noticed that I really like watching people who smile while they dance. Now I don’t mean the forced rigor mortis grimmace of the ballroom but the genuine smile of the people who take the time to enjoy what they are dancing.

The following was recounted by Redmond O’Toole at the launch of Limerick’s 2009 Unfringed performance festival.

The gypsy girl goes to the grave of her former lover who was killed by her rich now husband, at whose hand her former lover died, and using her gypsy incantations rasies him from the dead. They dance a dance for what brought them together was that they danced well. The gypsy girl tries to convince her lover to stay above ground. They dance again. Again the gypsy girl tries to convince her lover to stay above ground. They dance a third dance. Finally the former lover decides that the place for him is below the ground, not being particularly happy that the gyspy girl is married to the man who killed him, and so returns there.

A tanda, three dances and a return to the underworld.

Adornments are a popular topic to write about. Recently Johanna wrote the following:

Adornos were “earned”, through an organic process of self-discovery over the course of time. A LOT of time. They emerged by learning how our bodies move, and how our listening translated into motion through our nervous and musculo-skeletal systems. And how different partners affected our ability to incorporate them into our dance. As a result, there was an infinite variety of individual embellishments, and the way we expressed ourselves with different partners.

To me that reads a lot like how one develops ones signature. That quasi-legible scrawl that you use as your mark, your insignia on documents. Did you recieve any instruction in the development of your signature? No one suggested to me that the i in my signature should devolve to a vestigial dot after the v that precedes it, but it has.

Your adornments are your signature, the emphasis being on your.

The “Tango walk” is similar to walking on frozen ground in boots with steel tipped heels. You have to keep your centre of baclance from shifting back onto those slippy heels and you have to find grip with your metatarsals.

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The gingerbread man was walking down the street one day when he saw the gingerbread woman. It had been so long since he had last seen her that he went over and gave her a great big hug. When the hug ended, however, they realised that they had a problem. In the warmth of their embrace their jelly-tot hearts had melted and had stuck to each other. They were truly locked in their embrace.

So rather than just stand there in the street they decided to walk. After a bit the Gingerbread man found that, while not the easiest thing in the world, it was enjoyable. He also found that if he twisted his torso that the Gingerbread woman had to twist her torso in sympathy. He found that in doing so he could play with the direction of her hips. That the steps she took needn’t all be backwards.

And he found that the steps he led tugged at their jelly-tot hearts… and that she liked it.

Kudos to Simba Tango for part of the inspiration.

Tango is a confidence trick. To be danced well it must be danced with confidence. To be even danced half properly it must be danced with confidance. When you are having problems with a step and your confidence in your ability begins to waver then you must do the step with confidance. That is the trick, to do the motion with confidence even when you have no confidence. Your confidence will flow into the step and it will improve.

This is exactly what the Munster team did last night against the New Zealand All Blacks. A team missing nine players on international duty came out with such confidance and belief that they they put it to a team that was expected to beat them by thirty points. Bodies and immortal souls were put into tackles in a match played with such a hectic ferocity that it had an international touring side on the back foot and doubting themselves. Pride, passion and spirit had them winning at 70 minutes but unfortunately rugby matches are played for 80. But in the end it was not lack of belief or energy that stopped victory, but time. Up until the last and beyond the Munster team were willing to give their all. Confidence, confidence, confidence. They tackled doubt with the same intensity that they tackled the New Zealand players.

Full time score; a bruised battered proud Munster 16 -  18 a rightly astonished New Zealand All Blacks.

To the brave and faithful nothing is impossible.