Call it Libertango. The title of Astor Piazzolla's classic piece of nouveau tango fits nicely as a descriptor of the Tango Saloon's music-- they even cover the song on this, their debut album. Tango Saloon mastermind Julian Curwin has clearly spent time soaking in Piazzolla's intoxicating creations, and he uses them as his starting point, drawing in electronic elements as well as snatches of free and cool jazz and soundtracks. His press claims that the "Saloon" portion of the name comes from the music's affinity for Ennio Morricone, but I hear just as much Lalo Schifrin and Jerry Goldsmith in there, and the Western aspect of the music is frankly pretty played down.
Curwin plays guitar among other things, and he's ably backed by a cast of musicians who seem to understand the tango foundation of the music, but aren't so tied to a sense of tradition that they're afraid to take it in new directions. Violinist Shenton Gregory and double bassist Kory Horwood both play a big role in shaping the album's sound and Gregory especially gives it a shot of romanticism, but it's accordionist Svetlana Bunic who does the most outside of Curwin to give the album its shape. She even wrote "Upon a Time", one of the record's best compositions, a dramatic, high-speed tango that alternates between prickly oompah passages Danny Elfman would kill for and more contemplative front parlor passages filled with soaring violin and musette accordion.
Curwin's own "March of the Big Shoe" injects some Pink Panther sax to the mix, ripping along over a chugging lower-register piano rhythm, while Sam Golding plays trumpet, flugelhorn, and tuba on the gibbering, surreal horn arrangement that tops "The Little Plane That Could". His horns are cast adrift in a fog of vibes, setting a fever drift carnival atmosphere. By far the most outré and challenging piece of music on the album, though, is "Man with the Bongos", eight minutes of bongo fury underscored by a squelching bass synth that sound like amplified stomach grumblings. The horns, initially so together, wind up soloing all over the place, squabbling with the accordion and violin in a free jazz-inspired melee, and the piece detours into a mariachi surf thing before heading off into abstract funk.
In crafting a tribute to Piazzolla, Curwin nicely captures the searching, fearless spirit of his hero and comes up with a lot of cool, unique music in the process. It's not going to replace Tango: Zero Hour on my stereo, but it'll serve as a nice companion anyway. The album's chief failings are small, usually amounting to a poorly chosen organ sound (as on "Formaggio") or owing to a sense of structure that can get overly lackadaisical. Overall, though, it's satisfyingly weird, and you're not likely to hear anything else like it any time soon.
