Reader TTS

For a couple of hours or so they and their fellow dancers whisk us away from the frost, fog and drizzly streets outside to their intimate world of glamour, erotic passion and the sheer joy

of moving to music.  The show’s formula is still the same but, as they say, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?  Tradition has it that the birth of Tango came about in docklands when pent up

sailors danced together as they queued for their girls.  There is a brief nod to history as the men fool around in a group but they are dressed as public school chums in pristine shirt

sleeves and immaculately pressed trousers, with nothing resembling tatty and smelly uniforms.  Thankfully the girls soon redress the balance of the sexes and the stage magically melds into

the exotic, dimly lit nightclub atmosphere we all love and where we can all relax.  Except the dancers, of course. Four musicians are a permanent fixture on their low dais, but with only one

bandoneon concertina, the instrument that for me expresses the Tango soul.  The first act is packed with the traditional repertoire of steps. We see the girl’s feet whipping in and out

between the men’s legs as she and her partner grip each other with an almost desperate air and rarely smile at each other.  That intensity is perhaps the secret ingredient of Tango that most

of us are there to see. What is sexier than the man’s utter concentration on the woman and her expert acceptance of the power of his energy? It works for most of us.  Following the interval

we see the influence of modern dance smoothing out some of the angular punch but the male/female intensity never wavers. The feeling I personally find most compelling when watching the

dancers of Tango Fire is that underneath the slick and expert professionalism this is not just a job, it is a way of life.   The show is at the Peacock until Feburary 18, then touring the

south of England for a week. Treat yourself but be warned, you might never be the same again.