There is no equivalent person who played as central a role in jazz as Astor Piazzolla has in tango.
Imagine that instead of numerous jazz giants such as Duke Ellington, Charlie Parker, Bill Evans,
John Coltrane, Stan Getz and Miles Davis, there was just one modern jazz hero who was both
virtuoso performer and prolific composer. In the world of tango, Piazzolla was just such a unique
figure. Straddling the worlds of classical music and of his own popular culture he made nearly one
hundred recordings of original music released between 1945 and 1995. He was also the greatest
bandoneon virtuoso to ever play the instrument. When I discovered Astor’s music in 1965 I was
just twenty two years old, and he was already the foremost tango musician in history.
Standing at the side of the stage in that Buenos Aires club thirty-five years ago, I was swept away
by the passion of his soaring melodies and rich harmonies and the breathtaking virtuosity of his
musicians. But even more surprising, I couldn’t believe this music existed and it was so little
known in the United States. Tango had been around since the turn of the century, experiencing
the same growth patterns that jazz had in the USA: first came small combos, then the big tango
orchestras (like big bands), and then by the 60s, both musics had moved into the concert halls.
The more I learned, the more I realized that Piazzolla was as much a hero in his world as
Ellington and Miles were in mine.
Tango is rare among music with folk origins. Usually, a country’s national music remains simple
in structure: the average person can sing it, play it, or dance to it. But tango, like jazz, brought
together the considerably developed traditions of Western European music and local folk
influences and evolved into a sophisticated art form requiring the highest levels of musicianship. I
was immediately drawn to what I heard. For four nights I watched and listened as the Piazzolla
Quintet held their audiences spellbound. At first I was overwhelmed and could only take in the
incredible playing skills of the musicians and their tight-knit ensemble playing. But as I heard
more I began to understand the compositions on a deeper level. I bought an armload of
Piazzolla’s records to take home so I could continue my tango education.
For the next twenty years I was an enthusiastic fan, listening for my own enjoyment and
introducing Piazzolla’s music to friends whenever I had the opportunity. I never expected to play
tango myself; I mean, who could have imagined a jazz vibraphonist in a tango group? But in 1984,
after I finished a concert with Chick Corea in Paris, Astor came up from the audience and asked
me if I remembered him. We started reminiscing about the time we met before in Argentina. To
my delight, he wanted to try writing for the vibraphone and suggested we try a project together.
We were both scheduled to be back in Argentina soon and I cautioned him not to begin writing
until I had the chance to explain some vibraphone logistics to him. A lot of composers assume it’s
like writing for the piano, but there are many differences between playing with ten fingers and
managing four mallets. Astor showed up at the Buenos Aires club I was playing and we sat down
to talk. Excitedly, he said he’d already been able to hear all the music in his head and he had gone
ahead and written everything! I was thrown into a panic. What if I couldn’t play it? What if it had
to be rewritten? What if I ended up not fitting in with his ensemble at all? After all, no one had
put the vibes in tango before. Because we had already committed to an extensive concert tour and
signed a record deal, it was too late to back out, and I had yet to see a note of the music. A few
months later, Astor and his band made a brief stop in New York en route to Europe, and we
arranged to meet and have a quick run through. It didn’t go that well. Everyone was grappling
with the complexities of the music. Astor was trying to explain to me how to phrase the melodies
and how he wanted me to add improvisations. Because it was so different from jazz, I was really
struggling. In jazz, the soloist typically develops a solo over several minutes and is used to having
an extended time to create something meaningful. But Astor wanted intermittent improvisations
of short duration, sometimes just a few seconds in length, somewhat like the ornamentation in
Baroque music. I had to learn to shift smoothly back and forth between written parts and
improvising, making sure to maintain continuity.
We gathered at a local school in Ravenna, Italy, to rehearse for a few days before our first concert.
Astor didn’t have a lot of patience for rehearsing. After only a couple of hours each day he would
announce it was time to eat, and that would be it. He was supremely confident while I was
worried that we would fall flat on our faces. In spite of my concerns, our first concert was a big
success and things only got better as we continued to tour.
After every gig, Astor would take me aside and make suggestions, and gradually the other
musicians began to offer their advice, too. I could feel everyone accepting me into the group and
there was a general sense of relief that it was working out. Our fourth concert, at the Montreux
Jazz Festival, was scheduled to be recorded and at first things didn’t look too promising. We were
last on a long program and didn’t go on stage until after midnight. Not only were we tired, but we
expected the audience to be totally saturated with music by that time. Honestly, I expected we
would have to record everything again under better circumstances. Instead it turned out to be an
inspiring night for us and the audience was right with us all the way. And when I heard the tapes
a month later, I knew we had captured one of our best performances. After Montreux, we went on
to tour more in Europe followed by concerts in Japan and a few dates in North America. But we
never got around to performing in Argentina. My greatest hope had been to play someday with
Astor in front of Argentina’s very discerning tango fans. At first, Astor was opposed to this, saying
that if he brought a jazz musician to play tango in Buenos Aires he would be lynched! But, after
we’d finished touring and the record came out he changed his mind and was anxious to get some
dates arranged. Unfortunately, before anything could be set up, he became seriously ill and failed
to recover in spite of a year long convalescence. His passing was a great loss to all of his fans and
all the musicians who worked with him during his career. I thought it meant the end of my tango
experience too, but this turned out not to be the case.
Marcelo Morano, a leading concert impresario with whom I’ve done many tours in Argentina,
suggested that I reunite Piazzolla’s musicians and record more of Astor’s music, which, in 1997,
led to the making of our Concord CD Astor Piazzolla Reunion-A Tango Excursion (CCD-4793-2).
After its release, we toured in Europe and South America and continued to add more Piazzolla
works to our repertoire. Inevitably, I wanted to record the new pieces, adding this latest CD to my
tango experience and continuing my tribute to Piazzolla’s legacy.
I can’t praise the brilliant musicians on this CD enough. They represent the best in tango, and as
interpreters of Piazzolla’s music, can’t be matched. Guitarist Horacio Malvicino played with Astor
oft and on for thirty years and is an established writer and arranger in his own right. His
assistance in organizing the music and interpreting the original scores was invaluable. He always
knows just which parts in Astor’s compositions to assign to the vibraphone. Violinist Fernando
Suarez-Paz and pianist Pablo Ziegler, also members of Astor’s ensemble for many years, are two of
the most dazzling soloists in contemporary tango. Bandoneonist Marcelo Nisinman was Astor’s
protege, and although he is not yet out of his twenties, is recognized as the leading master of
Piazzolla’s styles and technique.
Nisinman and pianist Nicolas Ledesma (who plays on four tracks) appear regularly in the official
performing group of the Astor Piazzolla Foundation based in Buenos Aires. The behind-thescenes hero of the group is Hector Console, the number one tango bassist for several decades. His
inspired role at the bottom of the instrumentation guides the ensemble through the many
changes of mood and tempo typical in tango.
For this project, we chose some of the pieces Astor created specially to showcase his star
musicians: Escualo, written for Suarez-Paz, and Contrabajissimo, composed for Console. We also
included three of Piazzolla’s most well-known pieces- Libertango, Invierno Porteno, and Adios
Nonino - featuring solos by pianists Pablo Ziegler and Nicolas Ledesma. And, of course, there are
featured spots throughout for bandoneon and guitar as well as vibes. It is hard to express what my
experience playing with Piazzolla and his musicians has meant to me. Decades ago when I was
first captivated by their music, I never dreamed I would someday play with them. Now this music
has become an essential part of my career. Playing tango has transformed my jazz playing. There
is tremendous drama in Piazzolla’s music which spills over into everything I do; his memorable
melodies influence my improvisations and I’ve learned how to be more creative with tempos and
use of space. I learned so much from him directly. I have continued to learn more from his
enduring compositions and playing with the musicians who were there when the music was first
created. Looking back to 1965, that chance meeting in Buenos Aires was a real lucky break.
Gary Burton
Boston, Massachusetts
January 25, 2000