Osvaldo Pugliese, Gardel and Tango Argentino

The gritty, melancholy sound of the bandoneon, or button accordion, sells out in places as distinct as Japan, Holland, Finland and Colombia. In Buenos Aires, where the music became popular early this century, the shows in the dark cafes of the San Telmo district are for tourists. 

"The tango has never been as big in other countries as it is today," said bandleader Atilio Stampone, who regularly tours North and South America. "Locally, it's just the opposite." The "tangueros," as the performers are called in Spanish, say the music hit its peak in popularity here in the 1940s and began to fade the following decade with the rise of rock 'n' roll and television. "For a generation of people who grew up before TV was everywhere, the tango was part of our youth," said Santo Biasatti, 50, a prominent radio personality. "It was a part of us." 

Today, the only tango played in music stores is Mexican pop superstar Luis Miguel's hit version of "The Day You Love Me" ("El Dia Que Me Quieras"), a classic made popular more than a half-century ago by Carlos Gardel. Sales of tango compact discs are sluggish. "We have to adjust to lower the age of who listens to tango," said Silvio Soldan, a TV and radio tango show host. "Right now, the minimum age 
is 50. We need to lower that to 30." 

At the Galeria de Tango, one of a handful of tango dance halls in Buenos Aires, most of the couples are in their 60s or older. When some turn their backs toward a photographer, the dance hall organizer explains that it's because many of the "couples" have sneaked out of their homes to dance with someone other than a spouse. 

Another group of elderly tango lovers can be found at the Olympia Bar across Lavalle Street from the music composers association building. At the Olympia, where the chairs are green vinyl and the preferred drink is carbonated soda water, a few dozen men meet twice weekly to swap old records, photos and newspaper clippings. 

They passionately debate such matters as how to categorize the late Astor Piazzolla, who shook tango by the shoulders in the 1960s and '70s with jazzy, catchy tunes such as "Libertango" and "Adios Nonino." 

"Everybody here has their favorite orchestra and singer," said Bruno Cespi, 69. "We argue for them like other people do for football teams." Tango's growing generation gap is especially evident at Argentine 
wedding receptions. 

The guests, juking to rock and disco, invariably clear the dance floor the one time the disc jockey or band plays a tango. One or two couples, usually in their 60s, are the only dancers. No one else knows how. 

The younger revelers watch enviously, and applaud the dancers when the song is over. 

To lure the rock 'n' roll set, tango groups should ditch the traditional arrangement -- four bandoneons, four violins, a piano and a stand-up bass -- and mix in some electric guitars, synthesizers, drums and 
wind instruments, Soldan said. 

"If the rock stars give concerts with excellent sound and light, we can't go out and do a show with one light bulb hanging overhead," he said. 

But the tango still courses through daily life in Buenos Aires. It crackles from the radios of the drowsy nightwatchman guarding an apartment building, the taxi driver crawling the streets in search of a 
passenger, the watch repairman in his cramped workshop. 

It is the music that identifies Argentina, much the way Brazil is known for its happy samba. In what other country could the presidential plane be called Tango 1? 

"Above all, the tango is Buenos Aires," says Carlos Garcia, the 80-year-old co-conductor of the Buenos Aires Tango Orchestra. 

Ironically, the genre's most enduring legend and famous song aren't even Argentine. "La Cumparsita," an anthem heard on countless TV programs and movies, was written in 1917 by Uruguayan Gerardo Matos Rodriguez. Gardel, who was raised in Argentina and sang "My Beloved Buenos Aires," was born in Tacuarembo, Uruguay, in 1887, or in Toulouse, France, three years later -- depending on which disputed version you believe. He died in a plane crash in Medellin, Colombia, in 1935, but his trademark half-moon smile still graces T-shirts, postcards and advertising billboards. 

Even today, the ultimate compliment one can receive from an Argentine is: "You're Gardel." Today's living legend, Pugliese, is in his dressing room before the show, relaxing with a few friends in a card game called "truco." They use kidney beans for chips. "In spite of what many people say, tango forms part of our culture," tango's elder statesman says a little defensively. "It's still king." 

• Tango History