“What is your name?” – Marina.
“How old are you?” – I am 5.
“Where do you live?” – I left my home.
“Why?” – My mother says she loves me but I don’t believe her.
I was born in 1972, in Buenos Aires, Santa Maria de los Buenos Aires.
I played my first tangos at 8, at the Café Tortoni.
My feet could barely touch the ground.
I played ‘El dia que me quieras‘ and ‘Malena‘.
That night at the Café Tortoni, my first concert with an audience, marked the beginning of a series of disobedience acts in my school, Santa Maria, a religious school. Years of complicity, runaways, rebellion, lies and happiness.
1972, Buenos Aires. Isabel Perón, the militia, the ‘Montoneros’, 1976, the coup d’état of the army. The resistance, the activism, the persectution, the censorship, the injustice, the death. The exile.
I carry away the tango. Tango owns me, bewitches me.
My exile, a premeditated journey.
My passions, an established censorship.
My family, an artificial shelter.
My education, a contradictory act.
My body, a manifesto.
The tango, a deadly weapon.
I never thought that my country could be so big, that my feelings related to nostalgia, solitude, revolution, had already carved my way of thinking, of experiencing the world.
I am a daughter of the dictatorship. Maybe I shouldn’t have left. Staying would have been the start of a new revolt. I left.
Tango 1972 is a retourn to Buenos Aires : a one way journey.