Notes on Musicality

Tango challenges our ability to multitask. Among all its demands, listening to the music must take precedence. We dance to the music—not to steps. Avoid focusing solely on movements and neglecting the music. Instead, strive to express the music through your steps and let the music guide your dance.

Be calm and unhurried. If you miss a beat, wait for the next. Take your time to complete each movement—don’t rush to catch up. Embrace pauses, stillness, and slow motion when the music calls for it.

Tango music is written in quadruple time, with four beats per measure: 1, 2, 3, 4. The first and third beats are downbeats; the second and fourth are upbeats. While dancers often step on the downbeats, there are many rhythmic variations. You can step on both downbeats and upbeats, skip beats entirely, or even take two steps within a single beat.

Common rhythmic patterns include: slow–slow, steping on 1 (–), 3 (–); slow–quick–quick, stepping on 1 (–), 3, 4; and quick–quick–slow, stepping on 1, 2, 3 (–). Less common patterns include: quick–slow–quick, stepping on 1, 2 (–), 4; slow–quick, stepping on 1 (–) (–), 4; and quick–slow, stepping on 1, 2 (–) (–).

Tango is often counted in subdivisions—1-and, 2-and, 3-and, 4-and—rather than just 1, 2, 3, 4. This allows for stepping on the “and” beat, creating room for more intricate timing and phrasing.

Smaller steps require less time; larger or more complex steps take more. Adjust your step size and type to match the pacing and phrasing of the music.

Musicians add syncopation by shifting accents (e.g., 1, 2, 3, 4), extending a note across beats (e.g., 1 – – –), beginning on an unaccented beat and carrying through (e.g., 2 – –), subdividing beats (1-and, 2-and...), accenting subdivisions (e.g., 1-and, 2-and, 3-and, 4-and), or inserting silences. These variations enrich the music but also increase the challenge for dancers (see Tango Music and Its Danceability).

Tango steps can be grouped into featured steps—like the forward step in front ocho or the rock step in ocho cortado—and ancillary actions—such as pivots, hip rotations, weight changes, collections, unwinding, and embellishments. Beginners often focus on featured steps and overlook the supporting details. While they may step on the beat, their pivots, crosses, and adornments can feel rushed or lagging. Experienced dancers, on the other hand, handle the music with finesse, ensuring that every nuance—each transition, pause, and flourish—aligns with the rhythm, melody, tempo, and mood, elevating tango into a true art form.

Musicality involves more than just placing your foot on the beat. It includes the timing and motion of the entire body. The body continues its motion between steps—a quality known as cadencia. Enhancing cadencia by deepening this motion is like riding a swing, adding fluidity and sensual pleasure to the dance. The ability to create cadencia is a mark of a skilled dancer.

Tango embodies duality: its rhythm is masculine—strong, grounded, and steady—while its melody is feminine—fluid, expressive, and emotive. Like the two partners in the dance, rhythm and melody must collaborate. Picture yourself playing the music with your body: the leader and follower are two distinct instruments, each with a unique voice. Neither is replaceable. Together, they must harmonize to create the richness of tango (see The Characteristics of Classic Tango).

Stepping to the beat is fundamental—but not the pinnacle—of musicality. The beat provides structure, but it carries little emotion. True expression lies in the melody, with its smooth, linear, and lyrical quality. Dancing to the melody is like gliding on ice—continuous, flowing, and graceful (see Dancing to Melody - Poema). You may choose to follow the rhythm, the melody, or shift seamlessly between them, depending on your interpretation.

Music is made of phrases and movements, each with its own emotional character—nostalgia, sorrow, romance, or joy. Dancing to the music means responding to these changing moods. A competent dancer steps on the beat; an exceptional dancer dances to the soul of the music.

Too many students prioritize steps over musicality. But what is invisible is often more important than what is visible. Steps are tools to express the music—it is your musicality that defines the quality of your dance. Musicality is an art that few truly master. Without it, excellence remains out of reach.

Mirta

At the Milonga de los Consagrados, she stood out—not merely for her beauty, but for the elegance with which she moved. Her body possessed a rare flexibility; her hips could rotate gracefully beyond ninety degrees, effortlessly. In this contorted yet controlled posture, she could step in any direction while maintaining a seamless connection with her partner—a connection not only physical, but expressive.

This suppleness made her ochos mesmerizing. Unlike most dancers, she turned her hips with deliberate slowness, as though painting each movement in the air. The result was hypnotic: each rotation a brushstroke of expression and poise. What captivated me most was the way she returns to the home position at the end of an ocho sequence. With practiced artistry, she would overtwist her hips, folding her free leg elegantly in front of the standing one, then unwind herself slowly, releasing the bent leg as she settled into a perfectly aligned embrace. It was not just movement—it was poetry.

No matter the tempo, she never seemed rushed. She danced as if she had all the time in the world, yet never fell out of sync with the music. Her musicality was impeccable—every phrase of the song found its echo in her motion.

I couldn’t look away. Her dancing drew me in like a magnet. When I finally gathered the courage to invite her, I let my eyes speak first. She met my gaze. I cabeceoed her; she responded with the slightest, most elegant nod. I rose and walked toward her, never breaking eye contact, as if the dance had already begun. She smiled, stood, and stepped into the circle of my arms. And just like that, we were moving—together.

She was weightless, as if floating. Every cue I offered, she received and transformed into something exquisite. It felt less like leading and more like a shared intuition—she seemed to anticipate every breath of intention. I gave her time, space, the freedom to extend each ocho, and she filled that space with grace and imagination. We danced as one.

When the tanda ended, she turned to me with a warm smile and said she would like me to have her card. I walked her back to her table, where she reached into her purse and handed me a small, elegant card. Printed in delicate script: Mirta Mark, Profesora Nacional de Danzas. “Let me know where you will be,” she said. “So we can dance again.”

We did dance again, a few nights later at Club Gricel. She wasn’t feeling her best, but came anyway—she didn’t want to miss our last night together before I left Buenos Aires. The floor was too crowded that evening; we couldn’t move as freely as we had hoped. But we danced, held by the music and the knowledge that this might be our last tanda—for now.

The next morning, I wrote to thank her and to say goodbye. She replied, “These things do not happen every day… If you think the same way, let’s continue to write… and who knows, we may again have the opportunity, in Argentina or the USA, to enjoy our dance—and maybe an exquisite dinner…”

I carry the memory of that beautiful tanda with me. I hope one day we will dance again.

Close Embrace and Open Embrace (III)

The experience of dancing close embrace tango is profoundly different from that of dancing open embrace. The enchanting music, the comforting embrace, and the rhythmic movement of two intimately connected bodies create a hypnotic effect—so blissful and immersive that dancers often don’t want to wake up when the tanda ends. (see The Cradle Effect).

In this embrace, the man feels the soft, supple, sensitive responsiveness of the woman’s body. She nestles into him, surrendering herself fully, becoming part of him. As they move together, her body twists in his arms, her muscles relax and engage, her torso gently rolls along his, her breasts rub his chest, and her form adapts fluidly and femininely to his changing posture and movement. All of this generates an exquisite, deeply satisfying sensation. He feels a real, living, breathing woman. The beauty of her body and her femininity excite him. He enjoys dancing with her because only she, as a woman, can awaken within him the feelings that affirm his own masculinity—strong, needed, in control, dependable, and protective—just as only he can stir within her the sensations that she cherishes as a woman. His masculinity, strength, support, care, and protection make her feel safe, loved, and beautiful. In his embrace, she reconnects with her womanhood. Only in that moment can she fully surrender to the joy of being a woman, something real life so often demands she suppress in the name of independence. (see Tango and Gender Interdependence).

Tango is often called a refuge—and that refuge is most deeply felt when danced between opposite sexes. When danced by same-sex partners, something essential feels absent. The mystery, the magic, the polarity of masculine and feminine energies that make tango what it is—disappear. To me, that’s not tango. I know some will disagree. But, that’s me. I like women and enjoy a dance that contains the beauty of both masculinity and femininity.

And that's not all. If close embrace tango is sensual and physical, it is also romantic, poetic, and soulful. No one has expressed this more beautifully than Eugene Grigoryev in his short essay What Is Tango? I share his words here in full, because I could not say it better myself—and no portrayal of close embrace tango is complete without his poetic rendering of its deeper, dreamlike essence:

“Tango is more than just a dance or a sequence of steps. It is an expression of our emotions, an inner reflection of who we are and what we experience, a way to channel what we feel through movement. Tango is a language of expressing what we feel through motion, stirred in us by music, in unison with our partner. It comes into your life in many different ways—as a simple interest, a hobby, or a fascination… and ever so slowly it becomes an addiction.

A simple look, a gesture, a smile, an eye contact, his invitation to lead, her acceptance to follow, all done without any need of verbal communication. As the music compels them, she comes close to him, they embrace… they feel each other breathe, they feel the passionate song unfold, it flows through their bodies, invigorating them, stirring emotions, which they both share… They can be strangers in real life, but as long as they are in this tango moment, they can be anyone they want… You don't have to know the person or even want to know them. Time ceases to exist during this moment. Both dancers are moving to the music, listening for it to tell them what to do… They slow down, pause, accelerate, suspend, all in the moment… almost as being possessed by the music. Outside of this moment is the real world, with its everyday problems, solutions, responsibilities, deadlines… but not here, not now… Now it is only tango, a refuge, a moment of surreal experience of desire, longing… words are not meant to describe it.

The social aspect of milonga is fascinating. It holds anticipation, surprise, heavenly music, moments of contact and separation. The challenge and satisfaction of rhythmically moving in unison with another person is what lures us to Tango. The experience is both physical and surreal. In three minutes of a song, you can experience a rollercoaster of emotions, but you will not experience them alone. For in those three minutes there will be a person embracing you, sharing what they are feeling with you… all without a single word being spoken… pure, raw emotions expressed through motion.”

Close Embrace and Open Embrace (II)

Close embrace tango and open embrace tango are, in essence, two different dances. Their philosophies, structures, techniques, and feelings are so distinct that people who have learned one dance are not able to dance the other without further training. I know this from personal experience. After three years of studying open embrace tango, my first attempt at close embrace left me completely lost. Everything—posture, connection, axis, balance, spatial awareness, movement, and the way of leading and following—must change. (See The Styles of Tango.)

In fact, open embrace tango shares more similarities with ballroom dancing than with Argentine tango. As in ballroom dancing, in open embrace tango the two dancers maintain a polite distance, with no physical contact except that of their arms and hands. Each dancer remains on their own axis independent of their partner, so they do not rely on one another for balance and support. In case they need such support they resort to using their arms and hands, causing heaviness and discomfort.

In theory, the man is supposed to lead with his torso, but since there is no torso contact, his lead is sent through his arms and hands, and the woman receives the lead through her extremities instead of through her chest. The feeling of dancing open embrace tango is exactly like dancing a ballroom dance. No intimacy between partners. No exchange of feelings through direct torso comminication. No comforting sensation of the two connected bodies moving together in sync to music. No physical surrender and emotional involvement. The fun of dancing open embrace tango mainly comes from a broader range of movement possibilities due to increased space between the partners. Each dancer focuses on their own performance. They do not enjoy the physical presence of the other person.

I enjoy dancing open embrace tango no more than I do ballroom dances. Yes, it is spectacular, intricate, dazzling, and showy, but that’s not what draws me to tango. The reason I love tango lies in its closeness, intimacy, physicality, comfort, soulfulness, sentimentality, and romanticism. In close embrace tango, the two partners lean into each other, chest to chest, cheek touching cheek. His arm encircles her body. Her breasts press against his chest and arm hooks around his shoulder. In this embrace, they feel each other’s bodies, inhale each other’s scent, hear each other’s breath, and sense each other’s impulses. They rely on one another for balance and support, moving as a single, unified body.

With no distance between them, their movements are much more compact, with intense physical interaction and emotional exchange. The man leads the woman with his torso pressed against hers so there’s no need to use arms or hands. The woman receives the lead through her chest. She closes her eyes, surrenders herself to him, relishes the caress of his body and enjoys his attentive ride. It is a very comfortable position in which to be and to dance. (See Close Embrace and Open Embrace (III).)

Close Embrace and Open Embrace (I)

I love everything about Argentine tango—its music, sentimentality, passion, beauty, and its artistic, sportive, social, and recreational dimensions. I'm captivated by its rich culture: the milonguero legends, the codes of the milonga, the cabeceo, and even its subtle touch of machismo. Yet none of these elements would hold the same meaning if tango were not danced between a man and a woman. As Susana Miller famously said, “If you like tango, then you like women.” The truth is, it’s the allure of women that draws men to tango—and vice versa. While this dynamic exists in all partner dances to some degree, tango is unique. It is far more intimate, physical, and personal (see Artistic Sublimation and Vulgarism in Tango).

A BBC commentator once observed, “Tango contains a secret about the yearning between men and women.” This yearning, however, is not necessarily sexual. I believe tango fulfills a fundamental human need: a desire for connection with the opposite sex in a nonsexual way (see Tango and Gender Interdependence). Our society is so preoccupied with sex that this innocent longing is often overlooked or repressed. Any physical closeness between men and women is assumed to be sexual, and as a result, it becomes either voluntarily restrained or culturally discouraged. Intimacy between men and women is generally acceptable only when it implies a sexual relationship. In other words, our culture struggles to accept innocent, nonsexual intimacy between the sexes.

Argentine tango, however, reflects a different cultural perspective—one that embraces and celebrates innocent intimacy. Tango is a product of that worldview (see Tango: Historical and Cultural Impacts). In this light, tango is more than just a dance; it becomes a refined way by which this innocent human desire can be met with stylized sophistication and beauty, shaped by protocols that preserve the dignity and elegance of the experience. This is why the milonga codes play such a vital role. The influence of tango, I believe, is far more cultural than artistic. Tango is becoming a worldwide phenomenon for a reason: it responds to an essential human need—offering a stylized way to satisfy the innate longing for connection between the sexes.

Yet, this aspect of tango remains unfamiliar to many Americans, as reflected in the way we approach the dance. In the U.S., tango is often treated as just another ballroom dance. We don't intimately engage with each other in the dance. Many still shy away from close embrace, opting instead for an open dance hold—a style rarely seen in Buenos Aires but prevalent in American tango. The cabeceo and milonga codes are rarely taught and practiced in most tango communities. The general culture in our tango is still more individualistic, independent, competitive, and even hostile than intimate, friendly, cooperative, and accommodating. Those who have danced in Buenos Aires understand the contrast. (See Close Embrace and Open Embrace (II).)

Why People Quit Tango

People rarely quit tango because of the dance itself. Instead, their departure often stems from issues with other dancers. Dancing tango involves interacting with people, but people are far more complex than tango steps. People come with diverse personalities, preferences, skill levels, values, habits, and biases that can sometimes be difficult to reconcile. People can be friendly, kind, considerate, and supportive, yet they can also be selfish, rude, mean, and demotivating. People can be as open-minded, tolerant, and accepting as they can be discriminatory, arrogant, and snobbish. And people have egos, they are easily hurt and difficult to forgive. It doesn’t take many negative experiences to diminish someone’s interest and drive them to quit.

Being social dancers means that we must learn about people as much as we do about tango. While improving dance skills is important, improving ourselves as members of society and developing interpersonal skills are even more essential, because an intimate dance like tango can bring as much satisfaction as it can bring hurt. The enjoyment of tango heavily depends on the relationships between dancers and the dance environment shaped by the conduct of all participants. Therefore, a friendly, welcoming, cooperative, and accommodating culture within the tango community is vital. Unfortunately, in a society that embraces individualism, that is often what's missing in our tango. (See Tango Is a Fellowship.)