I was met at the airport by the female vocalist in the group, Delfina Moretti, a comely dark haired young lady bearing the surname of the many Italian immigrants to Argentina. She told me that I could call her 'La Alondra' the lark, as every member of the band has a nickname. She helped me get good accomodations in the better side of town, as she said that Buenos Aires is very safe as long as you don't stray too far, especially at night. I asked her about the club that her group El Gato! plays at, and she laughed and said it was right in the middle of a part of town that I need to be careful in! I asked what the name of the club was, and again she laughed and said that she couldn't remember its official name, just that since El Gato! has been playing there for so long it has become known as Casa del Gato - The Cat House!
I had a few hours to freshen up after a nap before the group began to play. When it was time to go, I had two burly Argentinian/Italians of dubious looking character knock on my door to give me safe escort to Casa del Gato! I was beginning to wonder just what I got myself into! Ended up they were two 'El Gorila', bouncers from the club. So off we went, and it was obvious by the size of the men and the way they carried themselves that no one would be bothering me.
The Lark underestimated how rough the area would be, but wasn't because of excessive crime; it was a poor part of the city. I tried to ask my 'gorilas' some questions, but they hardly acknowledged me except by a grunted 'Si' or 'No'. After a lengthy drive, we stopped in front of a place that looked like it was ready to cave in. Peeling paint, busted up concrete sidewalk, hardly a light to be seen. But when I walked in, I was greeted by a club that was packed with people drinking, talking, and laughing. There was a stage at one of the place with weathered boards and torn curtains. A combination of barstools and chairs were on the stage with musical instruments sitting on them waiting to be picked up and played. I scanned around for the best seat, and saw that there were some right in front of the stage that were empty. I walked over to a chair, looked around, but no one seemed bothered that I was going to get a front row seat.
I sat and a barmaid brought me a drink on the house. I asked what it was, and she said Fernet con Coca. I nodded, and took a sip. It was a combination of mint, licorice, sweetness, the bite of alcohol, and a medicine-like bitterness that was terrible! It was explained to me that Fernet da Coca is the unofficial drink of Argentina. Luckily I had not made my dislike of the drink obvious, and nursed it very slowly, hoping no one would bring another.
Soon the music started, and the band opened with a Tango instrumental. Many couples got up and were dancing as the band played, and my first impression was favorable. Spot-on, rhythmically riveting tango textures. I enjoyed this first offering very much.
After this, Delfina joined the band and sang a very sentimental, emotional song in a voice that was made to emote all that tango entails. A few more songs were sung, each member of the band taking their turn as soloist. It was true what I had heard; each band member had a voice made for singing tango as much as their instrumental expertise was made for playing it. Then the leader and name sake of the band took the stage - El Gato himself!
He surprised me before he even opened his mouth. With a man of his reputation, he was dressed like a bum! Holy coat and pants, dirty hat, unshaven patchy whiskers. He was on the short side, average build, and looked awkward as he stumbled up to the microphone. In fact, his nickname years ago used to be El torpe, The Clumsy One. He started off the band and they vamped for a few moments as he looked like he was mustering up the courage to start singing. When he finally grabbed hold of the microphone stand and started singing, I couldn't believe it! His voice was hoarse and subdued somewhat to begin with, but the longer he went the louder and wilder it got. He was singing one of his own songs, Yo Canto el Tango, I Sing The Tango, which was his signature song as it addressed his clumsiness. It's why he sang the tango and didn't dance it. He snarled, spit, hissed (hence his nickname) rolled his tongue roughly and endlessly, croaked, yelled, and every once in a while a hint of what his voice must've been like before years of drug, alcohol, and tobacco use, shown through. But it was obvious that whatever he lost in his voice quality, he retained or increased in his passion for the tango. What at first came across as a parody of honest singing turned around to be an impassioned voice of the tango. He was the tango equivalent of an American bluesman; lived the life, suffered and transformed his suffering to an artform. He was absolutely fascinating the longer he went on.
I learned why all the front row seats were empty when I got there. His inunciations, accents, and vocal techniques led to a firehose-like spray of nasty spittle all over me and my small table. So the ensuing days of my stay, I made sure and got there early so I could sit further away.
The band played quite a bit, and El Gato played guitar here and there as well as an odd percussion instrument, but he didn't sing very much. I was imagining that while singing was his passion, he might not be able to do much of it any more. It was one of the questions I was going to ask him after the club closed. I was sure he was like many club musicians that he was up most the night.
As it was, any conversation I would have with him would wait until the next day, which was the band's day off. The band played into the wee hours of the morning, way past my bedtime, but I was too interested to be sleepy. Other patrons had told me that on the last night before days off the band would always play late and El Gati would sing the last song. Seems El Gato has been off drugs and cigarettes for a while, but he still indulges in alcohol, the same bitter disgusting drink I'd nursed until a barmaid took it away and brought me a regular soda. El Gato had been nursing his own drinks most of the night when he wasn't on stage with the band, which was obvious when he started to sing another song of his, Camaleón Fernet-Fernet Chameleon. He staggered to the microphone and hung on to the stand for dear life as he sputtered out the song. It's become a tradition for the audience to shower the stage with catnip mice to try and calm El Gato during this song. All the mice are gathered up afterwards and donated to a local animal shelter.
I went to bed in the comfortable bed of my hotel room, and finally wandered off to sleep. The next morning I was awakened by my phone ringing. A gentle male voice answered in fairly good English, and apologized for El Gato not speaking to me after the concert, and offered an interview with him later in the day. I quickly agreed, and when I asked to whom I was speaking, the voice said. "This is El Gato. I look forward to meeting with you señor."
After I got off the phone, I was still shocked at what I just heard. The man with the snarling, spitting, tongue rolling voice when he sang had a gentle, almost soothing voice when he spoke! This was going to be a most interesting interview! As soon as possible the interview will be following.
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