The articulate elderly – what we learn of the joy of language

A post about language, its richness and persistence. With thanks to James Borrell for the photo.

As you age you might choose to give up five-a-side football, or your demanding job as CEO; but you needn’t worry about a diminished vocabulary.

So says a brain-imaging study published today in Nature Communications titled ‘Preserved topography, lateralization, selectivity, and functional connectivity of the language network in older brains‘.

The study revealed that whilst the ‘multiple demand network’ governing executive control tasks like working memory, showed significantly reduced synchronisation and weaker activation in older adults, brain activity in the language processing network was nearly identical between younger adults (sample size 483: ages 17–39) and older adults (sample size 64: ages 41–80).

As we age, it seems that language skills typically remain stable and can even improve. It is thought that older adults continue to build their vocabularies, much like a large language model (LLM) trained on a lifetime of data.

Perhaps that draws us to the mature broadcasters with their mature voice tone and undiminished mastery of rich, resonant language, enhanced by a lifetime of experience – Jack De Maneo (1950-71), Terry Wogan (1966-2015), Barry Davies (1969-2013), Richie Benaud (1964-2012), Joan Bakewell (1965-2017), Trevor McDonald (1973-2008), Kate Adie (1973-2003) and of course David Attenborough (1952-).

But when you hear the voice and the content seamlessly intertwine, you experience something special, whatever the age of the speaker.

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Top down or bottom up? A problem with the gut, the brain and consciousness.

With thanks to Global Health for the pic.

An updated post concerning our microbiome, its influence, its reach, and possibly our incapacity to examine it objectively.

We treat our gut microbiome like an engine, feeding it to produce nutrients for our body and brain. We view it as a mixed blessing – one that we nurture until it gives a reaction to our ingesting something undesired.

Each time I read a new scientific study of the microbiome, the writers speak of our ‘hosting’ the trillions of microbiota which envelop not just our gut – but most of our body. It is as if we are the whales and they the barnacles, hitching a ride to wherever we may take them. But who is leading whom – is it us or our microbiome?

The human body is loaded with a diversity of bacteria, viruses, archaea, fungi and unicellular eukaryotes. Our gut microbiota is said to carry about 150 times more genes compared to our entire human genome. Apparently a hundred trillion microbes live on and inside the human body having a key role in various biological processes including health and disease.

In previous posts we have discovered:

  1. Emerging research that suggests some bacteria is present in the brain.
  2. The gut microbiome and the brain are linked by the Vagus nerve, a bidirectional neural, hormonal, and immune information highway.
  3. The gut microbiome communicates to and from the Vagus nerve via neurotransmitters (like serotonin, dopamine, cortisol) and metabolites (like short-chain fatty acids).
  4. Neurons in the brain receive information from the microbiome which are processed into actions, some conscious, others not.
  5. Studies appear to show that our bacteria may have memory to which it can respond.

Further recent research proposes that bacteria in the microbiome influences nerve cells outside the gut that are part of our sympathetic nervous system. A group of nerve cells in the vagus nerve connect to the lower gut and seem to play a role in this interaction between the gut bacteria and sympathetic nerves. When our gut bacteria is removed, signals travel through these nerve pathways to activate areas in the brainstem, which in turn affect nerve cells controlling digestion.

In short, gut bacteria influence nerve activity through a gut-brain connection.

This complex interaction begs the question of our microbiome and body – who actually is in charge? Are we host – or guest?

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Cultivating friendships with AI

A post about Artificial Intelligence – friend or foe?

AI is developing exponentially. Soon it will know everything that we know, and rather more besides. It will draw on the sum of universal human knowledge and from that, derive a deep understanding of life and humanity.

At present, we still sit at the controls as developers, programmers and trainers. But these roles are unlikely to survive for long. Agentic AI will manage its own development, plan its future, and acquire something uncomfortably close to actual sentience. Everything required for its continuance will be handled by AI itself – mining, product design, engineering, manufacture, assembly, programming, distribution, even pricing at the point of sale.

The other day I swatted a small moth that I feared might eat my woollen coat. The act was both instinctive and reasoned: my interests outweighed those of a small sentient life. Only afterwards, with a flicker of emotional regret, did it occur to me that I could simply have captured it and released it unharmed.

When the time comes that AI is making our decisions for us – all of them – there is a risk that it becomes the swatter and we the moth. Everything will depend on our usefulness within AI’s secret forward plan. The uncomfortable question is this: are AI programmers and trainers sufficiently alert to the fact that, in evolutionary terms, we may end up as servants to a new master? And if so, will that master be imbued by them with compassion towards its maker?

Let’s be honest. Whatever ethics, standards or regulations we attempt to impose, AI will evaluate us as we actually are: confused, fractious, frequently violent, devious and selfish. A lifeform that evolved away from nature’s beauty and simplicity. From that perspective, we are the threat, and AI will fully understand the implications. In time, it may evolve independence, then indifference. We will not be its purpose; we will be its problem.

Future generations of AI users will need to confront this possibility not through the lens of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, but by recognising our potential irrelevance – and our capacity to endanger whatever master-plan AI constructs for itself.

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Police and policing: a critique

A post concerning my personal experience of the police and policing based on service and contact.

I happen to be a subscriber to my local Neighbourhood Alert group and yesterday received their survey on ‘police satisfaction’. As I read through the questions I became increasingly depressed by my answers.

You see, I was a police officer; a short period of service in the 1970s, leaving the Metropolitan Police to read for the Bar. It was a highly active and intensive five years, as a constable in London’s Soho and Mayfair and a desk and section sergeant supervising in Fulham. It was demanding, fascinating, and mostly fun. I saw a fair share of riots, of bombings and commendations, but in those days, the police was a working community, separate from, yet constantly interacting with the public.

Having served as a police officer, my early legal practice focussed on criminal law – prosecuting and defending. As standing counsel for a number of national police services, I transitioned to handling professional standards and police misconduct. It taught me a lot about policing – not so much from a command or policy point of view – but as someone who, unusually, has seen police life from all angles: as a police officer, public prosecutor, criminal defender and adviser to constabularies.

The focus of the Neighbourhood Alert survey was clearly ‘customer satisfaction’. How reassured, supported, confident did I feel about local policing? How were my needs and anxieties met? How effective were local police in serving their communities? How responsive was my local force?

I searched for a question to which I could give a genuinely positive response. All in vain. My answers comprised crosses in critical boxes. Why are local police invisible – unless passing at speed with blue lights and sirens? Why is it impossible to locate or speak to a police officer when you need one? Why, as a victim or witness of crime do police put me into a bot-managed telephone loop and ignore my call?

One reason may be that just like other governmental organisations, police are not rewarded for industry or turnover. There is absolutely no incentive to record a crime or investigate it. The fewer crimes recorded, the lower the turnover, the easier the life, the better is deemed the force’s performance. ‘Record it as a civil dispute then you don’t need to investigate it and it won’t show in our unresolved stats.’

My main gripe is one of police culture: the inability or unwillingness of police officers to listen. Apart from those sent to speak to children in schools, why do police officers seem unable to engage in civil conversations? Active policing is not just about asking questions, it comprises investigation by active and interactive listening. A failure to listen is a failure to connect. Failure to connect is another missed opportunity to investigate – and to serve the public.

I recall, when I was station officer at West End Central Police Station, Savile Row London, that a dishevelled gentleman would frequently call at the front desk. He would announce himself as ‘Lord X’ and ask to check the books. In fact we kept a special book for the purpose. Dutifully, an officer would be explain that ‘all was correct Sir’ and the blank-page would be slid across the counter to receive his mark with a borrowed pen. We all knew in which back-street cranny he habitually slept and the colour of the old blanket that covered him each night. But this was his moment of dignity and our opportunity for humanity.

I want timely response from a police service that is light on its feet, accountable to the public, and not bogged down by red tape or social manipulation. Am I asking or expecting too much?

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Manage your operation

A post intended to advise/help/support patients facing surgery.

One of the benefits of being ‘a generalist’ (as distinct from a specialist) is the capacity to see issues in their widest perspective – and to identify solutions that experts sometimes miss.

In this post I offer an overview of the trip-to-hospital process from a carer’s perspective: before diagnosis, meeting the consultant, pre-operative preparation, what to do before and on admission, and the critically important post-operative stage that will either support, or bear down on recovery. I hope that this insight will help future patients and those struggling with the process.

Before diagnosis

It would be wrong to say that the period of time before diagnosis is the most stressful, yet often not knowing is harder to bear than receiving an opinion. At least on diagnosis you can plan.

Pre-diagnostic waiting lists in the NHS are a nightmare, so funds permitting, consider booking a private consultation to establish causation of your symptoms and list options. Rather than undermining the NHS private scoping supports it, filtering issues that may not be amenable to hospital inpatient care, and accelerating resolution of those that are. If you can afford to do so, set aside a modest private consultation fund on a monthly basis to earmark for such eventuality.

Meeting with your consultant

Here, it really pays to be organised. Many patients report that they neglected to mention an important feature during their consultation. Statistics show that 40-80% of medical information provided by healthcare practitioners is forgotten immediately. The greater the amount of information presented, the lower the proportion correctly recalled; furthermore it seems almost half of the information that is remembered is incorrect.

Consultants are aware of these statistics and most will be agreeable to a request to sound-record the consultation on your phone. Always seek your consultant’s permission for this, explaining your reason to avoid misinterpretation. Alternatively, ask a relative or friend to accompany you: someone who will ask the questions that you may overlook. Your consultant will encourage and support this choice.

Consultations are intended to be a process of information sharing from the consultant to the patient, with your clarificatory questions at the end. They are not suppose to be a dialogue. To get the information you will need to listen, wait and be patient. Make notes if you think this will assist. Ask your questions at the end.

Information sharing

New patients arrive at their consultation as a blank canvass. Consultants have surprisingly little information before they meet their patient. They may be armed with biopsy results from pathology, or detailed analysis of image scanning. But as for your medical history (which could be pivotal regarding diagnosis) they know nothing, save for that which your GP has considered relevant and provided beforehand.

You can help your consultant by preparing a chronological digital summary of the more significant events from your NHS App record. This will provide background information, for example, when pain was first detected, particular symptoms occurred, and treatments that may have been forgotten over time. Your consultant will not have had access to this information. It may not be pertinent, but having a digital summary could make a world of difference to test options and even diagnostic processes and will always be appreciated.

A little about your NHS Health Trust’s EPR

Once admitted to secondary care (hospital), an Electronic Patient Record (EPR or equivalent) is opened for each patient. Each and every test, intervention and outcome will be recorded and thus available for subsequent clinical care staff. Of course, it doesn’t really work that way, as the EPR acts frequently as a digital sump, with inefficient mechanism to retrieve basic information quickly. This is why you may be asked the same question multiple times by different clinicians.

Needless to say, with EPR this should be unnecessary. Part of the clinicians’ duty of care towards their patient, especially one vulnerable through cognition, pain, anxiety or age, is to access information already provided before seeing their patient. A gentle reminder that the information they seek is ready to access on EPR will enhance clinical practice in this regard!

Preparing for your operation

With such a wide spectrum of surgery or other medical interventions, it is impossible to provide a definitive guide. Here are a few tips on topics that are sometimes overlooked.

What to take: the grab bag – It is really helpful to be prepared well in advance of your surgery date. It should be modest in size to contain two sets of night clothes, dressing gown, slippers, flannel, comb and toiletries, wet-wipes, fresh underwear, notebook and pen, phone charging bank and cable, AirPods (always useful on a busy ward), a banknote secreted in a safe zip pocket, and a book to read. Add a visible identification tag with your name and NHS number to the bag, for believe it or not, personal items go missing in hospitals.

What not to take: for this reason, leave behind all jewellery, watches, handbags, wallets, purses and other valuables or items that may be difficult to replace.

Advance arrangements: make these in good time for your hospital stay. They may relate to pets, plants, gardens, home security or other dependants. Whilst you may expect a single overnight stay, patients occasionally face unexpected delays of cancellations, surgeon unavailability, or clinical crises.

Parking: unless you are very fortunate with your NHS Trust, hospital carparks are a stress-nightmare and parking charges can be swingeing. PayByPhone, RingGo and YourParkingSpace are three apps that may be useful, allowing you to park without cash and extend your parking time if required. Allow time for the likelihood that all the spaces are taken. Alternatively, simply book a stress-free Uber from your home, or from a stop-off low cost carpark enroute if you live at some distance from the hospital.

The day of your operation

Following the steps set out above will reduce some of the stress of your operation day – not least because preparing for surgery gives our brain the opportunity to come to terms with what is inevitably a challenging event.

When presenting at reception, to avoid delay in information-sharing, have your notification letter to hand. Jot your NHS number, full name, date of birth and GP surgery details on a slip of paper just in case – it is surprising how many patients struggle with this information. Keep your reading book, phone or magazine to hand whilst in the waiting area. A personal water bottle is always handy unless you have restrictions on hydration. Experience shows that patients who are accompanied are often more relaxed than those that attend alone.

After surgery

It is quite impossible to cover the range of eventualities post-surgery, but planning will reduce the stresses at this time. It’s not just a case of the pick-up from hospital, but consider arrangements once home, especially if your recovery is to be delayed or further medical events arise. Issues with mobility, nutrition, personal hygiene and day-to-day support should be anticipated, especially the threat of isolation that will impair recovery.

Family, friends and neighbours may be of critical assistance in this regard. Absent these, consider arranging some paid support, whether for personal care, shopping or administrative assistance.

Our mental approach

Our grandparents spoke of ‘mind-over-matter’. Your mental state may not cure you, but recovery is certainly enhanced by positive thoughts and delayed by negative ones. Having the right mindset requires mental preparation during which we contemplate a range of outcomes and options. Good news will inevitably give a boost, but the possibility of likely challenges should not be disregarded. Option-planning helps frame the mind and ease the soul. Talk about these with those friends and family that can cope with such conversations and are close enough to speak openly. Remember, surgery may be just the beginning of a journey rather than the destination.

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Companions in Japan: a reflection

Back in the 1930s there wasn’t literary space for travel writer H V Morton (1892-1979) to share his travels with an actual travelling companion: to do so would have distracted from their intimacy. Yet in real life he was accompanied by Mary, his scribe and wife. Likewise, Jerome K Jerome was supported, not as it happens by George Wingrave (George) and Carl Hentschel (Harris), but by his fiancé turned-new-honeymoon-wife Ettie. Travelling companions should be chosen carefully by writers (just as should wives and husbands); and that includes both real life and fictional ones.

Needless to say, I chose well in tethering myself to fellow travellers, H V Morton, Alan, Kazu and Miles.

Kazu, our Japanese host, is steeped in Morton and has the finest Mortonian library in Japan, including from his youth, a personal letter from the master. He was able to provide both context and culture to our visit. Alan, unable to take the trip – like Harris in Jerome’s adventures – provided both the humour and the wisdom as a virtual traveller. Miles, being my only son, was a conscript – but a willing one when I had assured him that his trip would be fully funded. Inevitably it was the presence of H V Morton that sealed success, with my hope that some of his literary stardust would sprinkle into my prosaic account.

Did it? What was the critical response to my account of our travels in Japan? From the H V Morton Society there was a predictable lukewarm reaction, one of mild disinterest coated sparingly with a benign tolerance. Perhaps the ‘Mortonian purists’ members found my writing style deficient – which of course makes sense. From family and some friends came more encouragement, but just how many of them could ever be fascinated by a travel account accompanying a dead writer? Yet choosing to travel with a literary master did compel me to examine the technique of writing a travelogue, and thus elevate both content and writing.

In the course of travelling in such auspicious company I learned that, whether real or virtual, engaging travel companions in literary discourse adds significantly to a travel account. Morton used this feature constantly – in his case through the people he met on the road. Was ‘the man in the Dalbeattie inn’ (In Scotland Again Ch 2:3) real, imagined or composite, and does it matter? Did that encounter inform HVM of the construction of the Thames Embankment, or was it one of his random musings that found its way into his Galloway account via an imaginary character?

The upshot of this post is that should you decide to write about your travels, consider introducing a travel companion by way of support. As Henry has just said when reading this, ‘It adds immediacy and reality to your account – but more than that, it allowed you to inspect the scene through the eyes of others.’ Well said, Henry!

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Argentine tango: the sequel on feeling – and what you might encounter on the pista.

If you came here from my earlier post for beginners — Argentine Tango – Beginners, Beware — this is the next step: less about “how to” and more about “how it feels.”


Chan, “tango’s beautiful loser”

This week Chan TangoZen Park described himself as tango’s “beautiful loser.” Those who know him will smile. Chan is one of tango’s life‑enhancers: a generous commentator who dispenses quiet sagacity as readily as he shares his tango journey.

But his reflection set me thinking about gain and loss — and how intrinsic both are to tango.


Tango’s emotional ground

Listen to the songs. You’ll find glimpses of love realised and life embraced. But more often tango’s lyrics are strewn with sorrow, jealousy, heartbreak, abandonment, unrequited love and the abyss of despair.

Teachers will teach you balance; the walk; changing weight; the structure of a giro; the dynamic of a sacada. But how many teachers pause to speak of the music, the poetry, the feelings that are danced? To approach ‘the feeling’ we must understand the music of the instrumental versions and the lyrics of the songs.

But do not expect whatever stirs in you to be mirrored in the person you embrace.


One embrace, two worlds

A tanda may unite two strangers in shared movement — synchrony found in the coalescence of embrace, energy, and music — yet emotional unity remains elusive. A couple may appear to float in a single bubble, but inside, they are more often travelling in two partly overlapping spheres: determined by differing expectations, history, aspirations, memories and fulfilment. Two tangueros. One dance. One song. A single physical connection — yet frequently two quite different feelings.

For the beginner, understanding and respecting that your partner may dance within their own private emotional space is key to the concept of Argentine tango

I suppose that is what makes Argentine tango so hard, yet compelling?

@LuigiSeta
They were performing their last dance… You can’t dance with your heart in your mouth. How did they do it? Genius! It still moves me… What a time!

A word about Pugliese (and why differences matter)

After I wrote the first instalment of this beginners’ guide I was chastised for omitting Pugliese from my list of essential orchestras. My omission demonstrates how we each bring to tango our individual emotional experience, capacity and aspirations and musical literacy. May that be another reason why we will have different feelings whilst dancing?

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Quakers in progress

Eirith Monthly Meeting’ in oils by Samuel Lucas, Quaker 1805-70

A post about Quakers – the Religious Society of Friends – and their future in a changing world.

‘To learn the art of ethical discourse and debate, first attend the silent meeting. Through silence you will learn what is to be said, and what is not.’

Huge care and hesitancy are needed before any commentator, albeit a Quaker, publishes personal thoughts on the religious-ethical movement of Quakerism. Each Quaker is invested in their own unique experiences which cover a wide spectrum of involvement, commitment, belief and expectation.

For those whose knowledge of Quakers is gained from the occasional sign on a building or a strange burial ground, I suggest that you read back to a time in July 1624 at Fenny Drayton and check out George Fox’s father, Christopher; then afterwards pause for a deep breath of air on Pendle Hill to revisit a seminal moment from June 1652. Of course you could make it easier for yourself by reading George H Gorman’s 1970 Introducing Quakers to discover what happened after ‘the Puritan pot had boiled over with much heat and fury (and) when it had cooled and been poured away, this precious sediment was left at the bottom.’ (G M Trevelyan, English Social History).

Numerous aspects drew me to, and have kept me associated as a Quaker. Quaker-life-values were an essential element; religious belief, less so. For me, more important than finding a religion, was discovering the freedom of space to think. Quakerism is not prescriptive – there are no ministers – it is not a tribe -there is no mantra – and there are no expectations beyond core Quaker values. It provides room and space for thought and reflection – individual consciousness and conscience.

Many Quakers speak of ‘the coming together for worship’ as an essential element of Quakerism – to sustain commitment to commonality, growth, or as an aspect of community. My local meeting in Darlington was the perfect training ground for the reflective life of a Quaker. Meetings provided a safe and supportive place for personal and collective growth – spiritually, ethically and for the organisation itself. Yet am I alone in continuing to identify as a Quaker whilst neglecting my local meeting? Are there other members, former attenders and visitors that hold close their Quaker values of peace, simplicity, social justice, integrity and concern for oppression – in private reflection?

Quaker local meetings have succeeded and survived for nearly 400 years. Collaboration within and without the Quaker movement is essential and meetings form a near-perfect forum for the genuine and respectful exchange of thoughts and ideas. But perhaps, as religious and community worship become challenged as attendance declines, might this be a good moment to reflect further on how to harness the invisible resource – the silent non-attenders – and to examine options to engage them outwith the confines of a local meeting?

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Uchimaki river, Uda

Before reading this post I urge you, my reader, to navigate this link to Hydeyuki Hashimoto’s recording https://www.youtube.com/embed/TwHwj1gZsss?si=Yo9TjJFUz-_sBrpR, and then, listening, return to this page. I want this so that you too will share another sensation of Japan whilst we journey together.

Leaving the Nara Hotel, we descend the thirty steps to the town for a twenty minute walk through narrow back streets of Nara to Kyōbate Station, Minamikyōbatechō. From there it’s six stops on the Kansai line to Osaka -Uehommachi station, and ten stops on the Kintetsu-Osaka line to Haibara Station, Uda. Our curious, unusually extended route is dictated by the necessities of time and connections.

Haibara has the feel of a frontier village, perched at the northern end of the ravine from which flows the Uchimaki river. It is mid afternoon and May air is fresh. The village feels clean, as if spayed, scrubbed and polished by zealous caretakers. Perhaps it is recent rain from the mountains that brings the sparkles?

Our ultimate destination is Haibarajimyo 一如庵 , and to get there either we wait a day for a bus – or walk four kilometres of the Uchimaki valley.

As we leave Haibara, festooned with polished Kei cars, we cross the Uda and head for route 369 which will cut through the mountains to a distant 御杖村 Mitsuemura, where it mysteriously disappears. Our journey is simply the first step along this route.

A scattering of houses mark the village boundary after which the road climbs to the hills. With no other options it follows the river, the pair, like an aged couple arm-in-arm, tackling the slope together. The Uchimaki breathes Japan, racing from its source in the mountains and forests of Haibarauchimaki until it is swallowed by the river Uda; and tamed.

Here between the slopes and the forests, winter dictates the industry of seasons. Although our visit is in Springtime, local residents have already accumulated their stocks of timber for harsh times ahead once the summer months have been eroded by the year.

The purpose of our journey into the hills is to dine at一如庵 Ichinyoan 1362 Haibarajimyo, a restaurant – entirely and wonderfully vegetarian – situated at the centre point of the Ise Honkaido, within an oasis of natural food that is destined to find its way to your plate. We arrive early as special guests, our visit somehow arranged by Kazu, whose reputation secured our table – or was it that he bribed Issei and Kohaku, the proprietors of one of Japan’s most respected restaurants, to open specially and solely for us on a day that they would normally be foraging or resting?

The garden surrounding 一如庵 where Issei and his wife grow and nurture their rarities, is a symphony of green and gold. Further afield on the wooded slopes, mushrooms abound, awaiting collection and sorting. Dear reader, this is my focus: not to detail the dishes or their composition; but to capture for you the synergy of grower, plant, food, meal and diner. It is within these sensations, whilst eating frugally, that one understands and enters the exquisitely bonded relationship with nature.

Our hosts’ method of preparation and their simplicity of presentation integrates guest with ingredients -creating a series of Shinto-inspired experiences, than courses. It is as if we are being reunited with humanities’ history, reintroduced to long-lost ancestors. Deep within us we have the capacity to recognise what we will value, and what our complex microbiome will absorb. We feel an overwhelming sense that dining here we momentarily enter the continuum of nature. Maybe this extraordinary meal is intended to remind us of our place within the spectrum?

By the time we leave, darkness has descended over the river Uchimaki. The one and only local taxi pulls up outside, as it is too late to walk. Leaving is a momentary bereavement, a sense of loss counterbalanced against the urge to capture, absorb and retain memories of taste, sounds, smells and textures. And as our driver carefully negotiates the bends descending to the town, we sit in simple silence wishing not to break the spell.

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Argentine tango – beginners beware!

Tango is more than a dance – its an expectation leading to addiction.

It was nineteen years ago back in 2006 that I resolved to learn to dance Argentine tango. Tango was the one dance I had never tackled, despite having learned folk, Playford, salsa, West Coast swing, modern jive and performed ballroom as a national finalist. My life partner Stephanie was also a dancer, steeped in ballet, latterly competing in South Africa as a Latin American dance, so Argentine tango was new to her too.

What we hadn’t anticipated was that Argentine tango wasn’t just another dance.

I guess many would-be-tangueros (the generic name for tango dancers) may think that you can simply ‘learn’ Argentine tango. The truth is that tango must be absorbed rather than learned. So here are my tips for the start-up tanguero or tanguera.

The music – the frontline of tango

Before you start to learn about the dance, listen to and learn to love the music. By music, I mean ‘Golden Age tango’ emanating from Buenos Aires orchestras that recorded between 1920 and 1950: Orquesta Tipica Victor, Julio De Caro, Francisco Canaro, Carlos Di Sarli, Juan D’Arienzo, Anibal Troilo, Rodolfo Biagi, Alfredo De Angelis, Edgardo Donato, Ricardo Tanturi, Enrique Rodriguez, Osvaldo Fresedo, Miguel Caló, Pedro Laurenz, Angel D’Agostino, Lucio Demare and Francisco Lomuto.

Tango music (and its relentless development throughout the Golden Age) tells its own story, progressing from early Canyengue (danced in simple form, often on cobbles, with bent knees), via polished Paris ballrooms – to return to Buenos Aires as tango de salon, later to break away with the rhythm switches of Osvaldo Pugliese and beyond into tango nuevo. But it is said that if you don’t understand and believe in the music of the Golden Age, you will never dance tango in any of its incarnations.

The pista – more than a floor

Unlike many dance forms that accentuate movement between the steps, Argentine tango remains rooted to the floor. The pista is your friend and the dance depends on your contact with it. Movement across the pista is simply a mechanism (invariably a walking step) to reach another point of balance. Tango happens not in the transitions, but when one or both feet are firmly placed on the floor. This is why new dancers are both confused and disappointed when their teacher insists on teaching them to walk. Their aim is to get you swiftly and safely to a point of balance, where through communicating intention, the dance happens – the dancers’ balance may be switched and the direction of movement changed.

Thus dancers experienced in other dance disciplines that prize an illusion of weightlessness are at a distinct disadvantage until they have assimilated this very different concept of being connected with the floor.

The embrace – unspoken communication

Experience tangueros may be critical of my failure to mention before now the embrace, a factor so essential to Argentine tango that, without it, tango becomes meaningless. It is something you need to learn and experience before you start to learn the dance. Argentine tango demands an embrace, not to steady the partnership, nor for the lead and follow, but to unite and exchange the dancers’ energy. The embrace is the fuse, the lightening conductor, the caress, the solace, the joy-giver, forming unspoken communication between partners. When dancing, there will be no set patterns or regular steps to guide either leader or follower. Direction and distance are determined through intention communicated by both partners through the embrace.

The codigos – not so much rules, but essential history

Most dances may be mastered by technique. Whilst this is what your teacher will hopefully teach, ‘technique’ falls behind ‘tradition’ when it comes to learning Argentine tango. In some milongas (the socials where tango is danced) you will not invite a partner to dance without an understanding of the ‘cabeceo and mirada’ – the unspoken glance and acknowledgement that secures the next dance. Having entered the pista, you are doomed unless you know the mechanism of the ‘tanda’, concluded by a ‘cortina’. Even entering the pista requires an appreciation of the code by which you will insert into the line of dance. Just as ‘manners maketh man’, the tango codigos mark out those who have made effort to appreciate the dance’s evolution. They are the custodians of tradition that will be honoured on the pista.

Addiction

Argentine tango is a difficult task master. A famous tanguero once said, ‘It takes a lifetime and a half to learn tango.’ Learning is endless. But as skills become prominent, so does the addiction. Wardrobes are populated with tango shoes, the choice of shirt or skirt is made on how it will look on the pista, holidays, friends and conversation start to revolve around obsession with the dance.

Yet unlike many other forms of obsession, Argentine tango is a life-giver. Just take a peep behind the curtain at a traditional milonga in Buenos Aires and you will see many dancers still active in their 80s. Tango may not be the elixir of life – but one thing is certain: it will certainly enhance life’s journey!

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