Several people have asked me by email to write about Montréal from my
perspective as a new person in town.
It's been 3 months now, and I've been thinking about what to say all this
time as I settle in. Even so, I had pretty much dismissed the idea of simply
writing a post to TANGO-L just for the sake of it.
But after this weekend's experiences, I'm inclined to think there might be
some benefit in trying to describe a couple of the reasons I think Tango is
working so well here: for those trying to promote growth, perhaps some food
for thought as to how to see your own community in a new way; for those with
a desire to have a fun few days in a distant city, some images you might
appreciate.
First, here are the parts I'm skipping over because you can imagine lots of
people saying them (perhaps about many places):
Hot dancing community (more than just Tango); deep and growing in knowledge
and commitment; close ties to Buenos Aires; warm ambience in mostly
Tango-only venues; great creativity in presentation; excellent Tango
musicians (*see bottom); night-life; passion for life and Tango; values
worth emulating; inexpensive. Beaucoup des danceurs merveilleux. Joie de
vivre. Life is in the air.
Secondly, also briefly, Montréal is blessed because of its physical layout.
When I speak of Montréal, I mean only the heart: Old Montréal, downtown, and
most especially, le Plateau (the area lying east of the mountain). The
latter is where the Tango is and where we live. You can walk to all the
places. Longest walk between them would be 35 minutes, from
farthest-to-farthest, to give you an idea. The main ones are 12 minutes
apart on foot.
You can walk everywhere here. Many streets and buildings remind you of
Buenos Aires. It was imprinted from the beginning with a template of
church/barrio, so the scale is very human even today. There are high-rises,
but they are not a distinguishing feature. Small streets with 3-storey
buildings are. Parks. Roller-blade/bicycle lanes. Little shops and romantic
restaurants (many displaying signs inviting you to bring your own wine).
Spanish, South American, Portugese, Greek, Italians, Lebanese, Caribbean.
Others. (Most in my French class are from South America and Asia).
Sensuality. Laissez-faire. You don't need a car or a big budget for taxis.
You don't need a big budget at all. Everything is affordable.
After you go dancing, it is possible the next day you will meet a person or
people you know from - or saw at - the Milonga. This is when it hits home
that you are in a village. And this village is the home of a tribe.
The +mindset+ that has existed as the city grew from it's 17th century
origins are Latin, Catholic and Québecois ... with a little (later) Anglais
thrown-in. (Outside of the area I have described, it's a city akin to any in
North America. But we do have the Laurentian Mountains to the north and
unique Québec all around).
To me, the biggest difference between Buenos Aires and Montréal is how the
climate dictated design. It is not so hot here, so we don't have the
avoidance-of-sun issue. The sensibilities otherwise seem very close. (Well,
Montréal is only 1/12 the size in terms of population). Both are
historically important ports-of-entry on a big river opening to a vast
continent. We have the grand old churches; little balconies, steeples and
embellishments; the wild colors and bold statements of personality. Here,
too, you feel you are in a crazy, artistic Europe. Montréal oozes warmth and
personality.
And this leads me to what I want to try to say: if you accept that in Tango
you have to KNOW WHO YOU ARE to really access it and become fluent, it
should follow that a community should know WHO IT IS if it is to be strong
and vibrant.
All things being relative, every place has it's own sense of self. In North
America, we all look at New York City as being the clearest example of this
realized on a big, complex scale.
Something tells me that, if I paint the following picture, it's going to
help somebody somewhere understand how to draw more possibilities from their
community. Well, I hope so.
The Tango scene, il est français ici. Fortunately. Tango is big here because
it has been embraced by members of a Tribe (underlined, bold, italics).
We Tango lovers are part of a tribe, too; but this one is specific to a
locale and a culture with roots; also with a pleasant lack of plastic
self-conciousness.
I came from a multi-cultural city (Toronto) with energy, lots of money and a
future - but it is a community of communities (read: abashed big ego$ on the
make, growth for its own sake, schizoid and rambling awkwardly like a
teen-ager, rather impressed with itself for some good - but not enough -
reasons). The opposite of a tribe. Honestly, I thought I rather liked it for
30 years. It is naturally against that back-drop that I look at this
community in which I now made my home.
Québecois know who they are. Underline that, too. A communal pause to
reflect, so-to-speak, does not have to be paid for by the government to
generate an "enthusiasm." They do it here on occasion because it signifies a
very clear identity and a will and a celebration. It is not "out there" ...
it's in the heart (sound familiar?). All other celebrations must be
understood in this context. These people get it. They live it. When you're
around them, you get it too.
This past weekend was the fête nationale - St. Jean Baptiste day (also
celebrated in Spain).
The parade through old Montréal was at night. They had marvellous ways of
bringing light along and it was "real" people in the parade - dancing,
singing, in dialogue with the people of all ages along the streets. A
happiness was abroad that was honest and infectious. Multi-media displays of
images of personages important to the culture. Music. There was a theme that
drifted in and out, "Québec, Québec!" Arms and voices raised, faces a-glow.
Motivating. This is where it struck me that it was very different from
orchestration. This was common inspiration. Tradition, yes. Officially
sanctioned, yes. But if it was not so, it would have occured anyway, I saw.
This was further demonstrated to me the next night.
But - it's THE DRUMS I have to tell you about. This whole piece is about the
drums. Here is where I found I could put my finger on "it" ... that magical
something that underlies the life that supports life - and Tango - in
Montréal, embodied in an energetic expression of the people. Allowed by the
powers-that-be even if they don't like it. There, growing and not going
away. A generalized metaphor if I can catch it.
The parade was really fun. Memorable moments for over an hour. Then, you
could hear drums coming. Jungle drums. Loud and demanding. Very Sexy.
When they pounded by, it was not what you would expect to see. Not people in
uniforms, not people staring straight ahead, not a military beat. No, this
was, it looked like, just people banging drums, together. Disciplined, but
wild and evocative, like from Africa. We fell in behind them. Most in the
parade route did. We followed them down rue Notre Dame, knowing they were
taking us to the fireworks.
People above looking down and saluting us from windows and balconies. The
stars. The constant interaction of people and drums and those all around.
Little songs breaking out. Laughter. Echoes of De Gaulle and "Vive Le Québec
Libre!" sounded more like a sane plea to party-on than anything else. But I
heard - felt - underneath, a heart beating. A heart that only wants to live
like I want to live. Like the heart that beats when I dance Tango. Piazzolla
is also loved here. Rebellion as vitality. Boldness a pure necessity.
Express or die. There is no choosing about it. That's why there are so many
artists in Québec. They don't paint or dance because they want to - they HAVE to.
The fireworks were spectacular in the circumstances. Thunder (those
drummers!), then lightening.
Next night (Saturday). In Parc Maisonneuve there were 250 thousand people
watching free entertainment, but we were in our quartier at a street affaire
on Saint Viateur. The jazz ended. We were slowly meandering towards an unknown
destination on this lovely night. Neat smells, neat people, no airs. Just a
glow.
Drums start up. THE DRUMS! I knew right away it was THEM. My heart jumped.
It's midnight, and in a residential neighborhood, 40 people with drums and
percussion instruments start rockin'. It's loud. It draws the people into
the beginnings of a trance. Here we go.
They were making their way up the street. This time, we were ahead of them,
slowly backing-up. It is a wicked African poly-rhythm. As as after the
fireworks, my friend and I can't resist - we dance our Tango inclinations.
I lead mostly a dynamic walk with change of direction. Energy. (She heard a
woman off to the side say, "Look - Tango!" I only heard the drums). We are
moving with the Yerubas playing for Shango, the god of thunder, 150 years
ago on the docks of Buenos Aires.
Oops - the drummers took a turn down l'Esplanade. Now we are behind them.
The progress is slow and easy. They stop walking every few minutes.
Fire-breathers excite the crowd. But the drummers never stop beating. Here
is what they do:
Sexy, moderate rhythm. (There are drums of every description - it's just
people showing up. But there is a form to it all. It began in 1986 or so in
the park below the mountain. Every Sunday afternoon people come and drum
under the Cartier monument. Others dance. It has taken on a life of it's
own. It goes on for hours and hours - through sun and rain. Now this is the
second year they have become part of St. Jean Baptiste Day proper).
After the right amount of time, they hear a whistle signalling a change
coming. A stop in time. Beat. The incredible sound of sexy timbales breaks
out for a demonstrative phrase. The drums all answer. Again, back and forth.
A little solo. Then BAM! They are all playing a new pattern at higher energy
and the crowd goes crazy. Waves of primal, even mystical sensations wash
over all. (No wonder Americans like football - the half-time shows are a
tribal happening. Get your local drum corps leader or soloist into Tango?).
This cycle is repeated and the tempo increased; the fever rises with it. We
slowly progress along the street, clapping or banging something or singing
or laughing or dancing, or ...
Every time the intensity moves up a notch, you get drawn further into the
undeniable magic that is around you.
It's been more than 90 minutes and I want to see the drummers now. There are
perhaps 800 of us moving with them. There being no way you could sleep
through this or ignore it, all along the street people come out and watch,
move, drink, smile, join in. The heavy beat reverberates between the houses
on either side - we are in a huge natural moving chamber with a roof of
stars beyond the trees. We are inside the drum, inside the microphone,
perfectly mixed. We are the heart beating. We are everywhere, n'est-ce pas?
Nous sommes Québecois! (et aussi le tanguero avec le large sourire).
We never feel crowded, even for the stopping and starting. (The most
dead-air from the drummers is about 20 seconds).
All of a sudden we are right with them. I'm looking curiously to see who it
is that is causing the world to seem very real and life very present NOW.
Rows of six. Elastic rows, because we are moving in and out with them. It is
organic. No jostling, no elbows. The front row is 6 Amazons. Short, taller,
youngish, beaming. Everyone is beaming. These people bang for HOURS on end.
5 "rows" of 6 behind these women. Bass drums, 6 snares, toms, tenors,
percussion. Male and female. Strong. Giving. They feed off us. We feed off
them.
A never-ending (don't want it to) mantra. The wild, primitive call of the
drum. You never forget it, you never lose it. There is
nothing more basic, more powerful, through all our evolution.
This is a tribe. This is un-selfconcious living to the full en ce moment.
It's not organized, it's just there. Try and stop it. It's snaking its way
through a modern city and the night belongs to it. We are alive. (Immortal
right now?)
(A city in which this can happen can be a place where Tango grows ...)
And of course you and I can't help but think about the origins of Tango and
those Yerubas working on the docks by day and banging the drum by night.
And I can't help seeing the fireworks and moving with the woman in my arms.
You can't talk about passion - you must let it out. Or you kill it. Pas
question!
It's no wonder that along with the 6 regular places to Tango, in addition
here there are 2 outdoor venues during summer.
So what I'm saying, dear friends, is that Montréal, bless it's heart, is
alive in a very big way. It is not far from the jungle where we have come
from - because it was alive enough to embrace whatever vestiges reached its
heart from people coming along: afro, latino, argentino, tout ce que vous
voudrez. It doesn't want to distance itself from it's primitive roots to be
"modern". It values the tribal existence and the identity of the tribe above
all else. For in that it finds it's life. Leur raison d'être.
Tango found a natural home here because of that special circumstance, it's
clear to me.
To sum up: what is the sound of the heart of a city? This is important to
know when trying to move people to come to Tango.
No problem in Buenos Aires: it's the bandoneon.
In the city where I lived for the last 30 years, it's the alarm clock and
the "tut-tut" sound of our grand-parents' constipated minister in our
nightmares. Sadly, even Toronto's immigrants hear those sounds. (They shook
this off in Québec: all their swear words refer to religion! In English, our
swear words are about bodily functions or sex.)
My old city was also too spread out to make going-out easy.
In Montréal (though I dare not name that which is not mine, I believe I can
say) it is a tribal conciousness we plug into. One that is open, not narrow.
Alive, not hoping one day to be. (And everything is near).
If you come to Montréal, this sound is present always during summer.
I believe it is this current connecting the hearts of the people in the city
that allows love of life - and then love of tango - to live and flourish.
In the winter, it will be under the warm attitude you find in the Tango
places. It might have remained hidden from you - but now I hope you will
sense it.
As for what I'm discovering in Montréal, "If they asked me, I could write a
book ..."
Here's a P.S. dated September 1, 2001:
This is just a wonderful city. I do feel priviledged to live here. Even when at a Tango Congress in another city, I found myself wishing I was back home at a Milonga. I'm still now meeting new dance partners - after all this time.
Here's a P.S. dated September 1, 2002:
It just keeps getting better and better. I am so spoiled by fabulous tango and life in this wonderful place that I can't describe it in words that do justice (without being in danger of being locked-up!)
We had a few tango nights/weekends in the Laurentian Mountains just north of Montréal this summer. At 3 different cottages, hosts put down a nice (levelled, too!) floor by the lake. Magical evenings ensued. Canoes or small boats with silent electric motors from which you could look back on the illuminated figures entwined in poetic movement at the shore. The evocative sounds of loons and bandoneons echoing together across the placid water and into the tree-sloped rises surrounding (acoustic felicity from the gods of nature and tango). Hummingbirds softly excited to be around us - and us them. Barbecues and just-picked corncobs so sweet there was no need for butter. And after swimming all day in the clear water and saucy sunshine, contented souls wrapped each other in friendly arms through the summer night under the canopy of stars; fresh, invigorating Québec mountain scenery in all its majesty cradleing our Argentine partner dancing fun.
Meanwhile, there were also 3 outdoor milongas in different parks in Montréal each week (promoted by Tango Libre, Tangueria and Al Sur Tango).
It is good marketing, it is good-times generating and it is fuel for the
collective soul to make such nice evenings.
Les tams tams at the foot of Mont-Royal on Sunday afternoon.
