The Roboleo

I am not obsessed with adornos. I swear. I'll try and curb my adorno compulsion in future posts.

But first: the Roboleo.

You know what I'm talking about. That unconscious, knee-jerk spasm done anytime a front ocho is led. Or the neurotic tick known as the Automague, executed as though part of the actual step. You can tell it is an add-on because it lacks dynamics, impetus, feeling, musicality, grace, rhythm, partner awareness, logic.... And is done Every. Single. Time.

Many years ago, when I was a struggling and over-excited Tango newbie in full Tango regalia (complete with naughty garter peeking through my slutty slits), there were no Adorno Classes. Heck! There wasn't even YouTube! Then, as now, we watched each other dancing, admiring this dancer for that element, and covertly practicing it at home - with a sense of mischievous achievement. Call it stealing, or the sincerest form of flattery, but deconstructing the moves on our own had definite advantages.

Adornos were "earned", through an organic process of self-discovery over the course of time. A LOT of time. They emerged by learning how our bodies move, and how our listening translated into motion through our nervous and musculo-skeletal systems. And how different partners affected our ability to incorporate them into our dance. As a result, there was an infinite variety of individual embellishments, and the way we expressed ourselves with different partners. We very quickly learned where adornos belonged and where they didn't. Introducing them succinctly while we danced resulted in one of only two possibilities: they were undetectable by our partner but appreciated by anyone watching, or we tripped each other up. We learned by feeling them.

These days, we can take a bizillion classes and we can watch YouTube tutorials ad nauseum. And while that may make it very convenient to learn a dizzying array of foot embellishments - in many cases before we can even walk properly - this availability takes its toll on individuality, and introduces the danger of automation. By taking lessons on exactly how and when to do them, we are more quickly able to put them anywhere we want. Which we tend to do with copious abandon. But this ease of acquisition also tends to sacrifice their execution through feeling: both of the music and our partner. And more sadly, it makes no use whatsoever of our own imagination.

Adornos are the cherry on the ice-cream sundae, the icing on the cake, the star on top of the Christmas tree. They are used as punctuation, as an element to draw attention to a specific place or moment. But there is a definite visual distinction between a technically correct adorno and an emotionally-evoked one: we either embellish because we just learned it in a class and apply it any- and everywhere, or because the music and our partner moves us to do it in that specific moment in time.