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Paraphrasing the Mexican writer Rolo Diez: "Take a heap of manure and add three drops of son of a bitch. Mix, cook on a slow fire and you'll get an Uruguayan. Please, only three drops, because if you add more, you'll end up with an Argentine."
A characteristic trait of the arrogance for which Argentines are famous throughout the Latin continent: "Italians who believe they are English", they are called in Brazil, alluding to the origins of most Argentines, and the snobbish attitude they display towards other South Americans. A disdainful arrogance that has historical reasons, of course. The frustrating marginalization experienced by the first immigrants in a foreign, wild, and inhospitable land, but also the pride of having transformed this land into one of the most opulent - at least until the time of Perón - in the grain store of the world.
The same disdainful arrogance can be found in the music that made Argentina popular in the eyes of the world, tango, which had its prophet in Astor Piazzolla, another remarkable, albeit genius and indispensable, example of native arrogance.
Argentina also gave birth to this strange character, a friend-rival of Piazzolla: Leandro "Gato" Barbieri, an "escapist" inexorably placed under his eternal wide-brimmed hat, in love as much with the shamanic and spiritual phase of the late Coltrane as with the melodies and suggestions of his land. Another example of cultural mestizaje elaborated by that boundless and distant country, yet in many ways so akin to ours. It's a pity that Barbieri's fame in Italy is linked to all in all episodic moments of his career, like the collaboration with Antonello Venditti and the composition of the soundtrack for the film "Last Tango in Paris".
So in the first half of the seventies, the saxophonist, accompanied by a band that perfectly follows him, crafts his quadrilogy for Impulse!, the work that most represents him: The two albums of "Latino America" and "Hasta Siempre", the subsequent "Chapter Three: Viva Emiliano Zapata", perhaps his expressive peak in the studio, and to put the cherry on top, here's the "Chapter Four", live in 1975 at the Bottom Line in New York.
The live dimension, the uninhibited and excessive atmosphere of those years, the verve of the musicians involved: everything contributes to making the evening incandescent. The rhythm section, formed by Ron Carter on bass, the Brazilian Portinho on drums, and Ray Armando on percussion, pumps at full throttle throughout the concert, reaching moments of pure paroxysm. On the incessant magmatic bubbling provided by the guitar of Paul Metzke and the electric piano of Eddie Martinez, Gato places his tenor sax bursts: very melodic phrases, yet sharp as razors, in which we can discern all the arrogance we spoke of earlier.
The essentially melodic structure of the presented pieces (his famous compositions "Milonga Triste" and "Lluvia Azul" stand out) always ensures the pleasure of listening, while the ferociously rhythmic treatment Barbieri subjects them to, and the improvisations reminiscent of Coltrane and free jazz, will not fail to satisfy the most demanding audiophiles. In this sense, the version of "Bahia", a sweet Brazilian standard that is skinned and reduced to a pure rhythmic skeleton, a vehicle for the frenzied evolutions of the soloists, is exemplary. The contribution of Howard Johnson on tuba, flugelhorn, and bass clarinet, which constantly punctuates and supports the leader’s phrasing, is fundamental.
Forget about Venditti, shelve the pleasant and alluring soundtrack of "Last Tango in Paris". The real Gato Barbieri is this one.
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