Fernandez Fierro @ CAFF

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Me and JJ tumble into the back of the taxi our bags thudding softly behind our perfumed presence. I catch the driver's eye in the mirror.
"Sanchez Bustamante 764"

CAFF in the worst kept secret in Buenos Aires and houses a resident tango orchestra called "Fernandez Fierro". Linda and Steve are waiting out the front and there is a portly older gentlman standing waiting. Linda and Steve hide behind the telegraph pole as we alight the taxi.
"Ola Ola! Who's that!? A couple of strange characters standing on the street....just ignore them, they might go away." JJ's laughter is off the leash and so are lots of kisses and hugs.
"We were here a little early and were wondering if this was the right place. It's so deserted." Linda's soft blonde features seemed to twinkle at you when she spoke.
"Yeah, you'd never know something was happening here tonight by the look of it." the Americans spoke as they cuddled close together though the night was not cold. For a couple of baby boomers they seemed like a couple of teenagers, but I guess that's how baby boomers are supposed to act, especially the self funded retiree types.

The garage door clanked open and we enter a kind of driveway that leads to a high ceilinged factory space. Above us the biggest disco ball ever created in the history of disco. We're early, which means we can do the class beforehand. The class is quite basic so I take the lead and push JJ around the dance floor. The only problem with this is that we had selfishly left a man without a partner. The portly man we had seen outside is standing pathetically on the periphery as two women chose to dance with each other rather than him. I selflessly relinquish JJ to his embrace and when the next sequence is introduced I end up in his. He has as strong and uncompromising lead, "men of a certain age" tend to have.

The class ends and we all return to the table and share a bottle of wine as we wait for the performance.
"I wonder if Eveready will come tonight?" JJ said
"Ever - what?" Linda seemed puzzled
"Everard" I said "He's another Australian we met here"
"ever heart?"
"what ever" JJ said helpfully
the lights dimmed and the performers populate the stage with 4 violins, 4 bandoneons, one cello, one double bass, a grand piano and a singer. The sound is really full and they all look like they were in their 20s and 30s, bristling with 5 day growths, sun glasses, dreadlocks, and urban spunk. The music writhed and screamed, the bandoneons creating a wall of sound modulating higher and higher and higher until no more.

Out of the wings the singer bursts on to stage, sexy curls about his face and grasping the neck of an oversized champagne bottle. Accross his chest the face of Gene Simmons. Buenos Aires Hora Cero by Piazzola....the tango has no words but he uses the words of Las Luces de Estadio and half speaks and half sings them over the famous tango. Fernandez Fierro gave the piece an edgy anxiety, that special flavour that young men of a certain age possess. A sharpness, a discomfort, raw, restless and unmellowed. They beat the rhythm out of the melody and left her hoarse....a late night on the verge of turning nasty.


Todos hemos pasado alguna alborada
Por la puerta del bar donde para la vida
Donde a la medianoche reviven fantasmas
Y el poeta a su musa da la bienvenida.

Donde las horas pasan más tristes que ella
Igual que una mueca de vieja comparsa
Donde vuelve a piantarse la niña más bella
Dejando perfumes que ahuecan el alma

Cuando llega la hora en que no hay más reenganche
Y el gallego bosteza mientras cuenta la guita
Quedan tres trasnochados empinando el estribo
Tintineante el cáliz del agua bendita.

Todo está terminando, sin embargo los tipos
Se prenden al mármol, eterno testigo
Discuten, se abrazan, recuerdan, sonríen
Es simple junarlos, son viejos amigos

Uno tiene en los ojos el humo del billar
Otro a las ilusiones se las llevó al remate
El tercero es el único que se dice normal
Justo él que ha vivido cuidando un empate.

Agoniza la noche, se anuncia el maldito
El mozo le baldea las patas al escabio
Y uno de los tres bate al ver que está aclarando
"¡Aguanten, che!, son sólo las luces del Estadio"

If you are not familiar with Piazzolla's Hora Cero check it out at