Who says Latin is a dead language?

The capacity crowd at Thinker Street Cafe last Friday night was a dancin’, boppin’, grateful audience. Jorge Heilpern is Tangoman, with his acoustic guitar, warm baritone voice and infectious rhythmic style. Jorge, formerly of Mambo Daddy, is now putting his energy into Tangoman, and energy is what was released to Woodstock’s faithful as well as to many new faces in the crows.

Among the newer members of the Cafe audience, it was good to see a group of men with the unmistakable heritage of South and Central America’s indigenous people carved into their faces. They were there to enjoy Spanish lyrics and rhythms, the silky, simple romantic harmonies that give this Latin music so much of its profile. And they were there to identify with the rich musical culture, both Spanish and Indian, from which it springs.

Tangoman has more than once face, though each has the same persona. The band’s been heard in the cool quiet of an elegant supper club, providing intense, sexy, Latin dance music, and they’ve been heard, as they were this night, as a hot, driving, exciting, Latin intoxicator.

Paul Branin is one of the big reasons for Tangoman’s sizzle. His technical virtuosity on tenor sax gives him free rein to explore an incredibly wide range, both in instrumental terms and in his musical ideas, The latte are fresh, beautiful and very intelligent. They go somewhere, before, piling up on you, leaving you breathless, agape, and feeling like you’ve had a special experience.

Then he switches to bari and honks the dirtiest, most delicious bass to someone else’s melodic riff, syncopating and growling sometimes as accompaniment, sometimes, as melody. Wait, now he’s got a soprano sax and he’s in the stratosphere with the sweetest obliggato on changes that melt your heart.

And we haven’t even heard his lead guitar playing. That’s right, he’s a monster. I suppose when you have the ear, the musical ideas in your head, it doesn’t matter what instrument you pick up. The ideas just come tumbling out, and do they ever. He’s the big reason for the heat coming from the bandstand.

The crowd was ecstatic. Jan B. didn’t stop dancing, alone or with partners. Eric stood in the middle of the dance floor, hemmed in by dancers on all sides, just grooving. Susan G. said, “I haven’t stayed for a second show in years.” Plus, there were very few cigarettes burning in the whole room—you could actually breathe.

Rounding out the band, David Oliver was indeed a wizard of the keyboard. Mike Esposito’s bass was sometimes fire and sometimes glue—both worked in their time. The percussion section of Ernie Colon and David Colarco on congas, hi-hats and what-all inflamed this crowd as it did their fellow musicians. It was a party, it was a night to remember, it was Tangoman. ++

April 18, 1991 Howard Vogel