Episode 6

In the next four episodes, I’d like to explore the role of individual instruments in the tango orquesta. And we’ll begin with the soul of tango itself — the bandoneon.

This instrument has always been close to my heart. I studied the bayan for five years in music school — a cousin of the bandoneon — so I can feel the complexity hidden behind those rows of buttons. Each sound seems to breathe, sigh, and whisper emotions that words can’t capture.

In this episode, let’s follow the bandoneon’s voice through one legendary tango: Amurado, composed by Pedro Láurenz and Pedro Maffia:

🎵 Pedro Maffia and Pedro Laurenz 1927

The first recording by Maffia and Laurenz in 1927 is modest and restrained — you can feel the tango just starting to find its modern pulse. But that same year, Julio De Caro’s Sexteto transformed the piece into something far more sophisticated — elegant, layered, and full of phrasing that hinted at the golden age to come:

🎵 Sexteto Julio De Caro 1927

Then, thirteen years later, Pedro Laurenz returned to Amurado (1940) and gave it new life. His bandoneon roars, sighs, and dances — showing its full expressive power. It’s a transformation that defines what the bandoneon became in tango: not just an instrument, but the emotional center of the orquesta:

🎵 Pedro Laurentz 1940

Laurenz kept revisiting Amurado in later years — 1946, 1947, 1952, 1966 — each time finding a new color, a new voice. Together with Maffia, he inspired generations of musicians to bring the bandoneon to the front of every tango.

And when you listen to Osvaldo Pugliese’s 1944 version, you can hear that perfect balance — the bandoneon breathing beside the piano and violins, all woven into a sound that feels like an embrace:

🎵 Osvaldo Pugliese 1944

Next time you dance, let your heart follow the bandoneon’s lead — its sighs, its pauses, its little bursts of passion. It’s the instrument that speaks the language of tango’s soul.

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