Plesch, Melanie. "The Topos of The Guitar in Late Nineteenth-And Early Twentieth-Century Argentina." PDF

The Topos of the Guitar in Late
Nineteenth- and Early Twentieth-

Century Argentina
Melanie Plesch
Regarded as the “national instrument,” the guitar pervades Argentine

culture both as musical artifact and cultural emblem. Its image, whether
literary, visual, or musical, has been consistently used by Argentine
artists and intellectuals to evoke images of argentinidad, or
Argentineness.
The play of metonymies in which the guitar stands for Argentina,
the Pampa, or a woman (who in turn signifies the motherland) is a
recurrent feature in Argentine literature. No example can be more
pertinent than Jorge Luis Borges’s celebrated poem La guitarra, in which
the instrument is represented as the shelter wherein the Pampa is
hidden, and its music the key that enables the author to grasp its
immensity.
He mirado la Pampa I have looked at the Pampa
Desde el traspatio de una casa de From the backyard of a house in
Buenos Aires. Buenos Aires.
Cuando entré no la vi. When I arrived I did not see it.
Estaba acurrucada It was hidden
5 En lo profundo de una brusca guitarra. In the depths of a rustic guitar.
Solo se reveló It only revealed itself
Al entreverar la diestra las cuerdas 1 When the right hand sounded
the strings.
The image of the guitar is also one of the most significant topoi of
the rhetoric of Argentine musical nationalism, ranging from the rela-
tively direct, iconic evocations of strummed and plucked accompani-
ments employed by early nationalist composers, such as Alberto
Williams and Julián Aguirre, to the more abstract “symbolic chord”
formed by the sounds of the open strings of the guitar (E– A –d–
g–b–e0 ) that became one of Alberto Ginastera’s trademarks.2
doi:10.1093/musqtl/gdp016 92:242 – 278

Advance Access publication October 6, 2009.
# The Author 2009. Published by Oxford University Press. All rights reserved. For permissions,
please e-mail: journals.permissions@oxfordjournals.org
The Topos of the Guitar in Argentina 243
The use of the words “rhetoric” and “topos” requires an expla-

nation. I have proposed elsewhere that Argentine musical nationalism
can be analyzed as a rhetorical system in which the references to folk
music constitute a topical network.3 The idea of a rhetorical system
(a “musical rhetoric of argentinidad”) immediately brings to mind the
image of a persuasive discourse that convinces through an artificially
constructed eloquence. This perspective enables us to denaturalize
the alleged “Argentine nature” of this music and expose the construct-
edness of its nationalist appeal. Thus, the main concern is no longer
what Argentine music “is” but rather how its Argentineness was
fabricated.
Topic theory, a relatively recent development within musicology,
which so far has been applied mostly to European music, can prove an
invaluable tool for studying the construction of meaning in nationalist
idioms and is particularly apt for the Argentine case.4 Argentine musical
nationalism persuades us of its own argentinidad through the deliberate
use of a series of musical commonplaces or loci topici that, immersed in
an unequivocally European idiom, refer the listener to certain worlds of
meaning historically sanctioned as representative of the national iden-
tity. These topoi were devised (whether intentionally or not) by the first
group of nationalist composers and further expanded by subsequent
generations. The topical universe comprises the evocation of folk
songs and dances (such as milonga, vidalita, huella, and triste), musical
systems ( pentatonicism and the harmonic system of the so-called
cancionero ternario colonial), and folk instruments like the guitar, among
others.5
Musical topoi, however, do not exist in a vacuum. The convention-
al associations with which they have been endowed make sense within a
specific historical and social context. Some topoi are also more complex
than others. Certain dance rhythms, for instance, can be quite straight-
forward and unproblematic, whereas other topoi are entangled in dense
webs of signification within the culture. Their meaning cannot be
apprehended only by the specifics of their musical configuration, they
require “a full cultural study.”6 This is the case of the topos of the
guitar, which does not refer to an actual guitar but to the idea of the
guitar, a larger cultural trope within Argentine culture, intrinsically
related to the mythologies of national identity and, as such, connected
to wider worlds of meaning. This article traces the beginnings of this
topos and explores its manifold manifestations in Argentine literature,
visual arts, and music during the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries.
244 The Musical Quarterly
Although since its introduction by the Spaniards in the sixteenth

century the guitar has played a significant role in the several musical tra-
ditions that subsequently developed in the country, including art music,
folk music, and tango, it is the rural guitar (the “gaucho guitar”) that is
regarded as the national musical emblem. Moreover, this emblematic
quality of the guitar is a relatively new phenomenon whose historicity does
not extend beyond the late nineteenth century. Previous references to the
gaucho guitar, as found in eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century
sources, tend to be highly derogatory.7 For instance, Concolorcorvo
[Alonso Carrió de la Vandera], in his Lazarillo de ciegos caminantes (1773),
remarked on the gauchos of the northern province of Tucumán:
. . . al son de la mal encordada y destemplada guitarrilla cantan y echan unos á

otros sus coplas, que más parecen pullas. . . . Los principios de sus cantos son
regularmente concertados, respecto de su modo bárbaro y grosero, porque
llevan sus coplas estudiadas y fabricadas en la cabeza de algún tunante
chusco. 8
[. . . to the accompaniment of the badly strung and out-of-tune little
guitar, they sing and provoke each other with their verses, which are
more like gibes. . . . The beginnings of their songs are usually well
arranged, considering their barbaric and coarse manner, since they have
memorized their verses, and (those were) made up in the head of some
droll truant.]
These images of guitars of poor quality and barbaric songs recur

throughout the literature on the gaucho during the first half of the nine-
teenth century. For instance, in 1826 the British traveler John Miers
remarked about a gaucho in Mercedes, in the province of Buenos Aires,
“he was seated on a log near the door of the hut and played nearly all
the day, and all the evening, some wild notes on an old guitar,
occasionally singing through his nose a melancholy barbarous
Saracenic air.”9
This situation would only change with the approach of the 1880s.
Then, the “badly strung and out-of-tune” guitar metamorphosed into
the national instrument and became the embodiment of Argentine
singing. Two poems by Rafael Obligado illustrate this remarkable
change. The first is “Las quintas de mi tiempo” of 1884, where the
guitar is called the “national lyre.”10
Torna ahora los ojos, Fabio, mira Turn your eyes now, Fabio, and look at
Aquél grupo de un árbol a la sombra That group under the shade of a tree
Que tiene el césped por mullida alfombra The grass is their soft carpet
Y la guitarra nacional por lira. 11 And the national guitar their lyre.
The second example is the arresting passage that heralds the

death of Santos Vega in Obligado’s “La muerte del payador” (1885),
where the guitar is described as the “melodious” instrument of the
Argentine songs.12 In fact, in this passage the guitar can be read as a
metonymy for the voice of the payador, or gaucho minstrel, (who is
asleep), and the silence of his instrument as a symbol of his impending
death.
En los ramajes vecinos From the near branches
Ha colgado, silenciosa, Hangs, silent,
La guitarra melodiosa The melodious guitar
De los cantos argentinos. 13 Of the Argentine songs.
This dramatic transformation in the representation of the instru-

ment is embedded in a broader transformation, i.e., the redefinition of
the role of the gaucho in Argentina’s construction of cultural identity
that took place during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centu-
ries. As an unavoidable attribute of the gaucho, the guitar has shared
his fate in Argentine imagination, reflecting the changing ways in
which he has been perceived, constructed, and depicted. Stigmatized
by its relationship with the gaucho during the first half of the century,
it was precisely because of this association that, toward the end of the
century, the guitar was promoted to the status of “national
instrument.”
In early nineteenth-century Argentina, the gaucho was the Other
par excellence, his alterity only surpassed by that of the Indian.14
Regarded as the site of barbarism, he symbolized the very entity against
which the dominant culture defined its sense of self and even its idea of
what Argentina was or should be.15 However, toward the 1880s when,
due to profound changes operating in Argentine society at the time, he
had nearly vanished, the gaucho became the mythical incarnation of
the national character, and his customs, idiosyncratic speech, and
musical traditions (including his ubiquitous guitar) were proclaimed the
quintessence of all things Argentine.
This apparent contradiction is closely related to the active process
of nation building that took place during the second half of the nine-
teenth century and the concomitant rise of Argentine cultural nation-
alism. In order to understand this process and its relevance to the
history of the topos of the guitar we need to review briefly a few con-
cepts from current theories of nationalism and the symbolic construc-
tion of a nation, as well as recent views on the emergence of the
Argentine state.
Argentine historians currently agree that, despite the fact that

independence from Spain was gained during the period 1810 –16,16 the
definite establishment of an institutionalized nation-state was only
achieved toward the end of the century, as a result of a deliberate
process of construction initiated after the final reunification of the
country in 1861.17
Constructing a nation involves a considerable amount of political
and ideological manipulation, which often includes what Eric Hobsbawm
calls “elements of artefact, invention and social engineering.”18 Essential
to this process is the creation of symbolic values to support and represent
the nation and its identity. Symbols reinforce feelings of belonging (and
even create them where they do not exist), help internalize a collective
identity, and contribute to integrate the sometimes contradictory forces
that coexist within a modern nation-state.
The symbolic construction of a nation is usually closely related to
the emergence of a cultural nationalist movement. In his now classic
analysis of nations and nationalism, Ernest Gellner identifies certain
recurring features in the attitude of nationalisms toward popular culture,
which, taken together, offer a meaningful theoretical framework for the
Argentine case.19 Nationalism, says Gellner, extracts its symbolism from
an idealized and essentialized people, the Volk, which it usually claims
to be defending, protecting, reviving, or rescuing. Drawing “shreds and
patches” from pre-existing low cultures, usually orally reproduced,
nationalism invents a high culture, homogeneous, literate, and trans-
mitted by specialists. The elements of the old folk culture undergo a
process of selection and stylization and are subsequently heavily modi-
fied, if not radically transformed.20
The rise of Argentine nationalism was marked by two factors: the
unforeseen consequences of the mass-immigration policy, an outstanding
experiment in social engineering that completely changed the ethnic
and cultural makeup of the country,21 and the negative effects of the
rapid modernization that converted Buenos Aires from the gran aldea, or
big town, into the so-called Paris of South America. Immigration and
modernization brought with them a new prosperity but also the ills of
modernity: the anonymity and alienation characteristic of modern urban
life and the increase in crime rate and prostitution.22 The massive pres-
ence of foreigners disrupted the previous social order and elicited per-
ceptions of cultural incoherence and internal dissolution. These ills were
then deposited on a new Other, the immigrant, who was then con-
structed as the new site of barbarism, just as the gaucho had once been.
He was made responsible for the perceived fragmentation of the culture,
debasement of the language, and loss of traditional values.23
An apocalyptic feeling pervades the writings of this period: the

country dissolves in a sea of foreigners who corrupt the language, are
ignorant of the names of the Independence heroes, and are unmoved by
the sight of the flag or the strains of the national anthem.24 The follow-
ing passage from a speech given at the National Parliament by congress-
man Estanislao Zeballos in 1887 is particularly illustrative: “We are
losing the sense of nationality with the assimilation of the foreign
element . . . one day we will find that we have become a nation without
language, traditions, character, or flag.”25
This context gave rise to an important debate about the question
of national identity, which was deemed endangered. Intellectuals and
artists engaged in a deliberate effort to construct symbolic represen-
tations of argentinidad.26 Thus, in a nearly textbook example of Gellner’s
theory, they resorted to an essentialized and romanticized Volk, the
gaucho, from whose cultural world they borrowed select elements, which
they stylized, homogenized, and reorganized into new networks of
meaning such as the literatura gauchesca, or gaucho genre, in literature.
In consonance with these concerns about the definition of a national
cultural identity, towards the end of the nineteenth century Argentine
composers embarked upon the construction of a distinctive Argentine
musical idiom. Predictably, they drew isolated elements from the musical
culture of the gaucho (dance and song rhythms, characteristic harmonic
progressions, melodic turns of phrase, idiosyncratic accompanimental
patterns) and rearticulated them in the context of their typically
European, post-Romantic styles. Their efforts resulted in what is usually
referred to as nacionalismo musical, the first musical canon of modern
Argentina.
The creation of the mythical gaucho involved a significant degree
of idealization and fantasy, as is usual in the construction of national
types. However, the gaucho presents the particularity of having been
drawn as an inverted image of the demonized immigrant, most of his
idealized features standing in opposition to the alleged flaws of the
“foreign element.”27 Therefore, the immigrants’ “indifference” to the
country was contrasted with the gaucho’s patriotism as active participant
(now “hero”) of the independence wars and the campaigns against the
Indians; the foreigners’ social aspirations and labor activism were
compared to the gaucho’s contentment with his lot and his unfailing
loyalty to his patron, or master. Finally, the immigrant’s “rapacity” was
measured against the gaucho’s bohemianism and disinterest in money,
i.e., what in the past had been regarded as his proverbial laziness and
lack of industry. Playing the guitar, for example, which had previously
been seen as an indicator of his idleness, was now interpreted as an

expression of his soul:
Todos los gauchos tocan la guitarra y cantan con una incalculable fuerza de
pasión porque su alma está habituada a ‘retratar lo que siente’ . . . 28
[All the gauchos play the guitar and sing with an immeasurable and pas-
sionate force, for their soul is used to ‘portray its sentiments’ . . .]
Three concepts are crucial to understanding the place of gaucho

culture within Argentine cultural nationalism: uso (use), nostalgia, and
distancing. Uso, as coined by Josefina Ludmer in her pathbreaking El
género gauchesco,29 establishes a meaningful connection between the use
of the physical body of the gaucho by hegemonic powers and the use of
his voice (his “oral register”) by the learned culture, extending the ser-
viceable quality of the gaucho to the symbolic domain.30 Not only was
he conscripted for the independence wars and the campaigns against
the Indians but his poetry and his music were also “drafted” for the con-
struction of the national literature and—we may add—music. Uso, then,
defines the act of cultural appropriation that is at the core of the nation-
alist movement, as well as the ethics (or lack thereof ) behind the
program.
Nostalgia refers to a set of dispositives that articulate in the aes-
thetic sphere the longing for a vanished past. While some are direct and
explicit in voicing the yearning for a lost world and forgotten values,
most of them operate at a more abstract level, through representations
of landscape, situations, characters, and emotions that convey an
intense melancholy pathos. This nostalgia not only relates to the alien-
ation typical of modern urban life and the sudden realization of the
unexpected dark side of modernity but also voices issues of class and
xenophobia that were triggered by the mass-immigration process. There
is a clear longing for an old order (associated with the image of the
gaucho) in which the lower classes knew their place and did not ques-
tion their betters, and where ideals and spiritual achievements were
more important than material gain.
The following excerpt, from Martiniano Leguizamón’s Alma nativa,
is a clear illustration of such sentiments. It includes modernist nostalgia
(note the use of expressions such as “razes everything” and “feverish
modern life”), longing for a mythical past, idealization of the gaucho
(“the ancient lord of the plains” of “proverbial integrity”), regret for his
disappearance (“he is no longer”), and romanticization of the gaucho’s
music making, including, of course, the guitar:
La civilización avanza rápidamente arrasándolo todo . . . . . Es ley de esta febril

vida moderna no mirar atrás. Lo pasado pisado, parece decir la desdeñosa
divisa, y que el hacha disperse los horcones del rancho primitivo; . . . sus ocu-
pantes son gentes llegadas de otras regiones, de tipo hosco y hablar extraño, sin
más pasión que el ávido afán de arrancar toda su savia á la tierra fecunda. El
antiguo señor de la tierra, su primer obrero, el que desalojó al indio aborigen
por el hierro y el fuego, mezclando su sangre ardorosa para modelar ese tipo
incomparable de nuestros campos, ya no existe . . . . Todo se ha transformado ó
pervertido: las antiguas costumbres, la llaneza, la obsequiosa hospitalidad, la fé
en la palabra empeñada que hacı́a innecesaria la escritura pública . . . aquella
nobleza proverbial del paisano . . . nada de eso se encuentra allá . . . . Ya no se
ven . . . aquellos alegres bailecitos á la luz de las estrellas sobre el patio de la
estancia, donde las lindas paisanitas de pollera de zaraza y pesadas trenzas de
azabache escuchaban con el alma asomada á los ojos, los trinos de la guitarra
del payador que derramaba flores en su homenaje con trovas ingenuas pero
henchidas de pasión nativa. 31
[Civilization razes everything in its rapid advance. It is a law of this
feverish modern life not to look backwards. The disdainful motto seems
to say “the past has passed” and let the axe disperse the foundations of
the primitive rancho . . . they are now occupied by people from other
regions, of dull countenance and strange talking, whose only passion is
to extract all the lifeblood from the fertile earth. The ancient lord of
the plains, its first worker, he who expelled the aboriginal Indian by fire
and iron, mixing his ardent blood to produce that unique type of our
countryside, he is no longer . . . . Everything has been transformed and
perverted: the old customs, the candidness, the cordial hospitality, the
truth of the committed word, which made documents unnecessary, that
proverbial integrity of the countryman . . . none of all those things can be
found there . . . . No longer can you see those cheerful dances under the
stars at the patio of the estancia, where pretty countrywomen with flow-
ered skirts and long ebony braids listened with their souls showing in
their eyes to the trills of the guitar of that payador who paid tribute to
them, pouring flowers in the form of verses, simple but full of native
passion.]
Lastly, distancing alludes to the detached and sanitized relationship

Argentine nationalism established with the gaucho culture. It is impor-
tant to keep in mind that the voice that speaks or sings in the work of
the nationalists is not that of the rural, illiterate gaucho, but that of the
enlightened, urban upper classes. Elements taken from the gaucho
culture have been expurgated of all unseemly crudeness and have gone
through a process of stylization and “refinement,” resulting in what
Adolfo Prieto—talking about gauchesca literature—calls an “artificially
devised reality.”32 Art historian Diana Wechsler, on the other hand,
describes nationalist paintings as “set in an homogeneous and empty

time, where nostalgia appears to be the only common trait, a perverse
nostalgia of a past rendered mythical and a present that is no longer.”33
An idealized and romanticized gaucho became the main character
of novels, poems, plays, paintings, and operas produced during this
period. Martı́n Fierro, Santos Vega, Juan Moreira, Calandria, Hormiga
Negra, and Juan Cuello are some of the most conspicuous examples to
be found in Argentine literature, visual arts, and music.34 The associ-
ation between the gaucho and the guitar is prominent in the portrayal
of these characters. Undoubtedly the best-known instance is found in
the opening lines of José Hernández’s Martı́n Fierro:
Aquı́ me pongo a cantar Here I come to sing
Al compás de la vihuela, To the beat of my guitar:
Que el hombre que lo desvela Because the man who is kept from sleep
Una pena estrordinaria, By an uncommon sorrow
Como la ave solitaria Comforts himself with singing
Con el cantar se consuela. 35 Like a solitary bird.
Thus the image of Martı́n Fierro, who is supposed to sing his more
than two thousand lines “to the beat of his guitar,” is inextricably linked
to this instrument. Since the first edition in 1872, book covers have
conventionally portrayed Martı́n Fierro with a guitar. Figure 1 shows the
cover of the fourteenth edition (1894), where we can see him sitting on
the counter at a pulperı́a (general store-cum-pub) playing the guitar
while another gaucho listens intently.
The legendary figure of Santos Vega, which has been the subject
of several poems, novels, and plays, is another archetypal example. The
character is a payador who is believed invincible until he is defeated in a
singing contest by the devil and subsequently dies. According to the
legend, his ghost haunts the Pampa and can be seen on cloudy nights,
wrapped in his poncho with his guitar on his back. As in the case of
Martı́n Fierro, visual representations of Santos Vega seldom fail to
include a guitar.36
Argentine composer Alberto Williams evokes these characters in
two pieces for piano, “Martı́n Fierro en la pulperı́a” (Martı́n Fierro at
the pulperı́a), op. 63, no. 10 (1912) and “Santos Vega junto al sauce
llorón” (Santos Vega under the weeping willow), op. 64, no. 7 (1913).
In both works he clearly alludes to the guitar by using one of the facets
of the topos, i.e., the imitation of plucked accompaniment patterns.
The romanticization and idealization of the figure of the gaucho
finds its counterpart in the idealization of his guitar and musical abilities.
The gaucho guitar is no longer dirty, cracked, or out of tune, nor is the
Figure 1. Book cover of the fourteenth edition of José Hernández’s Martı́n Fierro
(1894). Courtesy of the Library of the Academia Argentina de Letras.
music it produces discordant, tedious, or barbaric. The following excerpt

from Eduardo Gutiérrez’s Una amistad hasta la muerte 37 is a clear illus-
tration. Santos Vega is singing at a pulperı́a, and his music moves the
hearts of the peasants. His performance is described in hyperbolic terms:
he does not simply sing well, he has a “majestic voice,” which he emits
in a “purest weaving,” his playing on the guitar is not just skillful but
“magnificent,” and he makes the instrument sound with “superhuman
expression.”
Por más alegre que fuera el estilo que Santos Vega tocara, habı́a una cadencia
tan melancólica en su pulsación magnı́fica y un acento tan sentido y tierno en
las frases de su canto, que el corazón de los paisanos se conmovı́a siguiendo las
ondulaciones purı́simas de aquella voz majestuosa . . . . Era un corazón que se
rompı́a, exhalando sus quejidos por medio de melodı́as arrobadoras, que hacı́an
vibrar las cuerdas de la guitarra con una expresión sobrehumana. 38
[No matter how cheerful an estilo Santos Vega played, there was such a
melancholic cadence in his magnificent playing and such tender and
touching accents in the phrases of his singing that his countrymen’s hearts
were moved, following the purest weaving of that majestic voice . . . . It was
a breaking heart that sighed and moaned through captivating melodies
that made the strings of the guitar vibrate with a superhuman expression.]
This change in the perceptions of the gaucho and his music-making

finds another example in Fray Mocho’s Un viaje al paı́s de los matreros.
The author describes a scene at a rancho,39 where a young gaucho is
playing the guitar. However, the boy is not idly tinkling the instrument,
he is “studying,” and his music does not consist of discordant strumming
but of “harmonious airs,” which he might use for courting:
. . . estudiaba en la guitarra los aires armoniosos y sentimentales con que habı́a

de deleitar, llegado el caso, el oı́do de alguna moza vecina. 40
[. . . studied on the guitar the harmonious and sentimental airs with
which he would charm, eventually, the ear of some girl of the vicinity.]
The association between the guitar and gaucho courtship insinu-

ated in this passage is significant in the history of the topic. José
Hernández states in Martı́n Fierro:
Y todo gaucho es dotor And any gaucho’s a scholar
Si pa cantarle al amor When he’s singing to his love
Tiene que templar las cuerdas. 41 If it’s done by tuning the strings.
Further along in the poem, Hernández introduces an additional

association between music making, love, and war: the gaucho “makes
Figure 2. Alonso, Idilio campero. Caras y Caretas 299, 25 June 1904.

love with songs, as he does war” (el amor como la guerra/lo hace el criollo
con canciones).42 Romanticized images of payadores singing verses to
their womenfolk are also frequently found in iconographic sources.
Figure 2, a drawing published in the magazine Caras y Caretas in 1904
entitled Idilio campero (Rural idyll), is a case in point. The image por-
trays a bucolic scene of gaucho courtship: sitting on a tree stump, a
woman dressed in a rather fancy version of criollo attire is turned toward
a standing gaucho who sings to the accompaniment of his ribboned
guitar. The scene is set against a stereotyped landscape including the
emblematic ombú,43 a rancho, and the flat horizon characteristic of
the Pampa.44
The titles of some of Williams’s milongas from his series Aires de la
Pampa, op. 63, suggest elements of courting, as in “¡Qué trenzas para
pialar payadores!” (no. 9), which is a flirtatious comment (What braids
to lasso payadores!), and in “Arrastrando el ala” (no. 5), which means
“Dragging the wing,” an Argentine colloquialism for wooing that makes
reference to chicken courting ritual (the rooster drags his wing on the
ground while circling the hen). The musical image of the guitar is a
strong presence in both. In “Arrastrando el ala” Williams uses a similar
figure to that found in “Martı́n Fierro en la pulperı́a,” while in “¡Qué
trenzas para pialar payadores!” he resorts to an arpeggio pattern analo-
gous to the one in “Santos Vega junto al sauce llorón.”
The association of the guitar with the melancholy pathos of the
gaucho is, perhaps, the most pervasive characteristic of the topos.
Sadness and melancholy are recurrent attributes in the representation of
the gaucho, who is often depicted as a lonely and sorrowful individual
whose life has been wrecked by some unfortunate episode in a nebulous
past. As Hernández memorably put it, he is afflicted by “una pena
estrordinaria,” an extraordinary sorrow. The image of the guitar is intrin-
sically related to this trope since, as already mentioned, the gaucho sings
out his troubles to comfort himself: “con el cantar se consuela.” Thus, the
most obvious examples are those in which a gaucho sings melancholy
songs to the accompaniment of his guitar. In the passage from Una
amistad hasta la muerte quoted above, however, we were told that Santos
Vega’s singing was melancholic even when he was singing a cheerful
estilo. This was reinforced by the image of the “breaking heart” and
references to sighing and moaning.
In some examples, the guitar is endowed with the power to make
people cry. Rafael Obligado provides one such instance in the second
part of his Santos Vega, “La prenda del payador,” where the mythical
gaucho sings to his beloved:
Yo soy la música vaga I am the vague music

Que en los confines se escucha, That can be heard in the confines,
Esa armonı́a que lucha The harmony that fights
Con el silencio, y se apaga; With silence and then dies,
El aire tibio que halaga The warm air that flatters
Con su incesante volar, With its unending flight
Que del ombú vacilar And makes the brave crown
Hace la copa bizarra; Of the ombú hesitate,
¡Y la doliente guitarra And [I am] the grieving guitar
Que suele hacerte llorar! 45 That often makes you cry!
The guitar itself is sometimes portrayed as the carrier of melan-

choly and sadness. A typical illustration can be found in Ricardo
Gutiérrez’s La fibra salvaje:
Y libre ası́ del infernal hastı́o que su abatido corazón desgarra, pulsa una mel-
ancólica guitarra que sola allı́ desamparada halló: triste preludio, fúnebre prelu-
dio arranca de la cuerda estremecida, y con voz sollozante y conmovida entona
esta tristı́sima canción: . . . . 46
[And thus free of the infernal boredom that tears apart his despondent
heart, he plays a melancholy guitar that he there found forlorn and neg-
lected: a sad prelude, a funereal prelude, he draws out from the shivering
string, and with a voice full of weeping and emotion (he) sings this
saddest song: . . .]
This aspect of the topic appears most evidently (one could say
iconically) in the repertoire of art song. The imaginary subject of these
songs is often a gaucho singing a “saddest song” to the accompaniment of
his “melancholy guitar,” which, of course, is not present but imitated by
the piano. A paradigmatic example is Alberto Williams’s “Vidalita,”
op. 45, no. 3 (1909), which alludes to the folk song of the same name. In
the poem, also written by Williams, a gaucho laments the departure of his
(female) companion who, we assume, has abandoned him.47 The guitar is
evoked in the introduction of the song by a characteristic arpeggio
pattern in the left hand, which continues throughout section A, support-
ing the lyrical theme (a literal quotation of the melody of the folk song).
En el alma mı́a In this soul of mine
No brilla el sol The sun does not shine anymore
Desde que te fuiste Since you left
Desde que te fuiste Since you left
No brilla el sol The sun does not shine anymore
En el alma mı́a 48 In this soul of mine
The symbolic association of the guitar with sadness, melancholy,

and nostalgia is most notably present in instrumental music. Two land-
marks in the history of the topos should be mentioned here: Alberto
Williams’s “El rancho abandonado” (1890)49 and Julián Aguirre’s “Triste”
no. 3 (1898),50 which present two types of guitar evocation, strumming
and plucking, respectively. Traditionally regarded as “cornerstones” in the
history of Argentine musical nationalism, both works were extremely
popular in their time and have achieved canonical status within the
repertoire of Argentine art music. We shall return to them later.
Images of guitars crying, weeping, sobbing, and moaning are a per-
sistent presence in literature. For instance, the words gime (moans) and
llora (cries) are used consistently to describe the music produced by the
instrument. One of the most popular passages of Hernández’s Martı́n
Fierro provides a clear example:
Con la guitarra en la mano With the guitar in my hand
Ni las moscas se me arriman; Even flies don’t come near me;
Naides me pone el pie encima, No one sets his foot on me,
Y, cuando el pecho se entona, And when I sing full from my heart;
Hago gemir a la prima I make the high string moan
Y llorar a la bordona. 51 And the low string cry.
A moving instance can be found in the first part of Obligado’s

Santos Vega, “El alma del payador,” which recalls a legend in which the
shadow (ghost) of Santos Vega embraces a guitar that has been left
alone at night, making the strings vibrate “as if played by drops of tears”:
Dicen que, en noche nublada They say that, on cloudy nights,
Si su guitarra algún mozo If a young man intentionally leaves
En el crucero del pozo His guitar hanging
Deja de intento colgada, From a wellhead,
Llega la sombra callada The shadow silently arrives
Y, al envolverla en su manto And, as he enfolds it in his cloak,
Suena el preludio de un canto The prelude of a song can be heard
Entre las cuerdas dormidas, From the sleeping strings,
Cuerdas que vibran heridas Strings that vibrate as if played
Como por gotas de llanto. 52 By drop of tears.
Similarly, in Gutiérrez’s Una amistad hasta la muerte, the guitar is

depicted as “moaning under Santos Vega’s fingers.”53 There is an
important sentimental dimension in these images, which can be
related to the prosopopoeia in which the instrument is invariably per-
sonified as a woman. The guitar is depicted as the gaucho’s faithful
(female) friend and sole companion, and often as his lover.
Accordingly, gauchos display a strong emotional attachment to, and

possessiveness toward, their guitars. There are, no doubt, certain
grounds for this gendering of the instrument, such as the fact that the
word guitarra is feminine, Spanish nouns being gender specific, not to
mention the obvious iconic resemblance of the figure-eight shape of
the guitar to the female form.
Santos Vega’s relationship with his guitar, as portrayed by
Gutiérrez, provides a clear example. At the beginning of Una amistad
hasta la muerte he declares that his only earthly possessions and family
are his horse, his guitar, and the few clothes he carries (Toda mi fortuna
y mi familia en este mundo eran mi alazán, mi guitarra y las cuatro pilchas
locas de que se componı́a mi apero).54 In another passage he calls his
guitar his only friend:
Desde entonces me eché a rodar por el mundo sin más amigos que mi guitarra
en que desahogo mis penas 55
[From then on I began to wander with my guitar as my only friend, onto
which I pour my sorrows.]
Further along he makes an analogy between the guitar and a

woman by declaring that he never abandons his guitar, which he calls
“prenda querida,” or dear possession, an expression also used to refer to
one’s beloved.56 However, the most conspicuous scene in this respect is
the episode in which the character of Diablo (the devil, referred to as
“the black”) tries to draw him into a fight with snide remarks and other
provocations. Santos Vega is determined to avoid the confrontation
until Diablo threatens to slash the strings of his guitar. This is the only
strategy that arouses his anger, and a long and fateful fight ensues:
El negro saltó entonces sobre él [Santos Vega] levantando el cuchillo con la
marcada intención de cortarle las cuerdas. —Eso sı́ que no—gritó Santos Vega
entregando la guitarra a Carmona ¡Conmigo todo lo que se quiera, pero Dios libre
al que toque mi guitarra! —Pues la he de tocar yo—contestó el negro lanzándose
sobre Carmona. Pero Santos Vega le cerró el paso, trémulo y amenazador. 57
[The black sprang toward him (Santos Vega) wielding the knife with the
evident intention of cutting his (guitar’s) strings. —I shall not allow that—
yelled Santos Vega, giving the guitar to Carmona. Do with me what you
will, but God save him who touches my guitar. —Well, I shall touch it—
retorted the black jumping over Carmona. But Santos Vega blocked his
way, trembling and threatening.]
Judging by Santos Vega’s reaction, slashing the strings of someone’s

guitar could be read as a metaphor for molesting his woman or
challenging his manhood. A similar instance, which reinforces this

interpretation, can be found in Martı́n Fierro, where the gaucho Cruz
cuts the strings of the guitar of another gaucho who had been provoking
him by singing satirical remarks about the unfaithfulness of his wife (in a
previous section we learned that she had an affair with a commander)
and his abilities with ladies:
A bailar un pericón I took a girl out
Con una moza salı́, To dance a pericón,
Y cuanto me vido allı́ And as soon as he saw me there
Sin duda me conoció He recognized me, no doubt,
Y estas coplitas cantó And he sang his little rhyme
Como pa ráirse de mi Trying to make a fool of me.
“Las mujeres son todas “Women are, all of them,
Como las mulas; Just like mules,
Yo no digo que todas, Not quite all, I’d say—
Pero hay algunas But some of them
Que a las aves que vuelan Pull the feathers from
Les sacan plumas” Birds who fly away”
“Hay gauchos que presumen “Some gauchos think they know
De tener damas: How to keep a lady,
No digo que presumen, I won’t say they think they can
Pero se alaban, But that’s what they boast about—
Y a lo mejor los dejan And then most likely
Tocando tablas” They’ll find they’re left down and out”
Se secretiaron las hembras The women started whispering
Y yo ya me encocoré; And I’d got my temper up.
Volié la anca y le grité: I swung round and shouted at him
“Dejá de cantar . . . chicharra” “Stop your chirping, grasshopper”—
Y de un tajo a la guitarra And with one slash I cut through
Tuitas las cuerdas corté. 58 All the strings of his guitar.
As in the case of Santos Vega, a knife fight developed out of

this exchange. The idea of the gaucho interrupting his playing to
engage in a fight can also be found in iconographic sources and is
exemplified by Figure 3, an illustration by Juan Peláez published in
the cover of the magazine El Hogar in 1920.59 Titled Arreglando
cuentas (Settling scores), it portrays two gauchos about to start a
knife fight; on the ground next to them, as if just abandoned, lies a
guitar.
The association of the guitar with the gaucho’s voice is one of
the most suggestive images found in the literature and illustrates the
symbolic force of this instrument in the imagining of the gaucho. We
Figure 3. Juan Peláez, Arreglando cuentas. El Hogar, 27 February 1920.
have mentioned already how in some instances a silent guitar can

signify the silencing of the gaucho’s voice, and even his death.
Breaking the guitar is another frequently used allegory, and one of
powerful effect. For example, in Una amistad hasta la muerte, Diablo
(the devil), after having been defeated in a payada, “raised his guitar
with his Herculean arm and smashed it down to the floor breaking it
in a thousand pieces.”60 Similarly, at the memorable end of the first
Figure 4. Advertisement for Hormiguicida Argentino. Caras y Caretas 379, 6 January

1906.
part of Martı́n Fierro the protagonist breaks his guitar before announ-
cing that he will not sing again:
En este punto el cantor At this point, the singer
Buscó un porrón pa consuelo. Reached for a bottle to comfort him.
Echó un trago como un cielo, He took a drink deep as the sky
Dando fin a su argumento, And brought his story to an end—
Y de un golpe al istrumento And with one blow, he smashed his
Lo hizo astillas contra el suelo. Guitar into splinters on the floor.
“Ruempo,-dijo-,la guitarra, “I’ve broken it,” he said,
Pa no volverme a tentar “So it never tempts me again.
Ninguno la ha de tocar, No one else will play on it
Por seguro ténganló; You can be sure of that—
Pues naides ha de cantar Because no one else is going to sing
Cuando este gaucho canto.” 61 Once this gaucho here has sung.”
On a comparatively lighter note, commercial publicity provided

an unexpected channel through which the topos permeated the
domestic sphere. Images of gauchos with their inevitable guitars can
be found in a number of advertisements of the time. Figure 4 is a
promotion for an ant killer called Hormiguicida Argentino, announced
as “the only one that never fails,” published in the popular magazine
Caras y Caretas in 1906. It includes a photograph of a gaucho playing
the guitar, with a dog lying peacefully next to him. The image evi-
dently draws upon the new ideas of fidelity and loyalty associated
with the stereotype of the “noble gaucho,” reinforced by the presence

of the dog, a time-honored symbol of faithfulness. The connection
between national identity and the gaucho with his emblematic instru-
ment is made explicit through the brand name of this product:
“Argentino.”62
We have mentioned in passing that the symbolic association between

guitars, gauchos, and Argentine identity was not only exploited in litera-
ture and visual arts but also extended to art music. In this section, we
shall explore the musical manifestation of the topos as it was established
toward the end of the nineteenth century in the output of the first
generation of Argentine nationalist composers.
This moment is crucial in the history of the topos (and of
Argentine nationalist music in general); it is the equivalent in music
to the stage that Josefina Ludmer has labelled the “emergence” of the
literary system of the gauchesco genre, i.e., the invention of the
“written” gaucho. This is the stage at which musical conventions were
established and the stylistic competence of the audience was
constructed.63
Urban perceptions of folk music were shaped by a number of
elements, among them the activities of the so-called centros criollos (a
type of folk club), which disseminated and promoted stylized versions
of folk music and customs for the consumption of the urban public.64
Of similar importance were the re-creations of folk dances and songs
incorporated into popular forms of entertainment such as the circo
criollo, or creole circus, an idiosyncratic mixture of acrobatics and pan-
tomime where adaptations of plays like Juan Moreira were performed,
and the sainete criollo, a short theater play that could include some
musical numbers. Another influential element was the sheet-music
boom of the late nineteenth century, which made available to the
public inexpensive arrangements of folk dances and songs for piano
and guitar.
Instrumental in the establishment and dissemination of urban
stereotypes of folk music within the upper middle class and the intellec-
tual elite (to which most composers belonged), was Ventura R. Lynch’s
La provincia de Buenos Aires hasta la definición de la cuestión capital de la
República (1883), which includes the earliest known transcriptions of
folk dances and songs from the province of Buenos Aires, most of them
with their guitar accompaniment.65
Undoubtedly a significant moment in the development of the
topos is its appearance in Alberto Williams’s “El rancho abandonado”
(The abandoned hut) (1890), and as such it deserves to be treated in
extenso. This work has traditionally been regarded as the starting

point of Argentine musical nationalism ever since the author pro-
nounced it himself in a remarkable essay entitled “Origins of
Argentine Musical Art.” Both his words and the composition are
striking examples of the ideological agenda of Argentine musical
nationalism:
Al volver a Buenos Aires, después de esas excursiones por las estancias del sur
de nuestra Pampa, concebı́ el propósito de dar a mis composiciones musicales,
un sello que las diferenciara de la cultura clásica y romántica, en cuya rica
fuente habı́a bebido las enseñanzas sabias de mis gloriosos y venerados maes-
tros. Mis cotidianas improvisaciones de ese tiempo parecı́an envueltas en los
repliegues de lejanas brumas de amaneceres y de ocasos en las sábanas [sic]
pampeanas y remedaban ecos de misteriosas voces de las soledades. Y de esas
improvisaciones surgió, en aquél mismo año de 1890 mi obra “El rancho aban-
donado” que puede considerarse como la piedra fundamental del arte musical
argentino. Ası́ nació, pues, la composición más popular que he escrito, bajo el
ala de los payadores de Juárez, y bañada por la atmósfera de las pampeanas
lejanı́as . . . . Esos son los orı́genes del arte musical argentino: la técnica nos la
dio Francia, y la inspiración, los payadores de Juárez. 66
[On my return to Buenos Aires, after my travels through the estates
south of our Pampa, I conceived the idea of giving my compositions a
mark that would differentiate them from Classic and Romantic culture,
that rich fountain from which I had drunk the teachings of my glorious
and venerated maestros. My improvisations of those days seemed to be
immersed in the distant mist of the dawns and sunsets in the plains of
the Pampa and imitated echoes of mysterious voices from solitary places.
And from those improvisations emerged, in that very year of 1890, my
work “El rancho abandonado,” which can be considered the foundation
stone of Argentine musical art. Thus was born the most popular compo-
sition I have ever written, under the wing of the payadores from Juárez
and bathed in the atmosphere of the Pampean faraway ( places). Those
are the origins of Argentine musical art: the technique was given to us
by France, the inspiration by the payadores from Juárez.]
In this mythical account of the creation of “El rancho abando-

nado,” Williams acknowledges his deliberate intention to find a distinc-
tive element that would help differentiate his work from that of
European composers (to whom he nevertheless dutifully pays tribute);
this he finds in the music of the gauchos. His recollection of the Pampa
is permeated by nostalgia, evidenced in his use of suggestive words and
expressions such as brumas (mist), soledades (solitary places), and the
poetic pampeanas lejanı́as (faraway places in the Pampa). However, in his
prescriptive final line, the music of the payadores is only given the status
of initial stimulus (la inspiración) for the composer, whose technique—

he reminds us—was inherited from France. The influence of Williams
and his dictum was enormous: he expressed the formula for Argentine
music, put it into practice through his prolific output, and eventually
became the musical patriarch of Argentina.
Consistent with the above ideas, in “El rancho abandonado”
Williams does not attempt to recreate any folk song or dance. On the
contrary, he seems to have deliberately avoided it. He restricted the
“mark” that would make this work the “foundation stone of Argentine
musical art” to two elements: the world of associations implied in the
title and a nine-bar unit interpolated at the end of the second section
imitating the strummed accompaniment of the folk dance and song
known as hueya.67
Combining nineteenth-century Romantic idiom with some
elements of impressionism, “El rancho abandonado” can only be
described as eclectic.68 The work is structured in ternary form, ABA0 .
Section A, of a strong nostalgic character, summons the images of soli-
tude, distance, and desolation suggested by the title through the use of
a natural-minor scale, ostensibly avoiding the leading tone, the conceal-
ment of tonal functions behind a modal-like harmony, and the fragmen-
tation of the discourse in short units. The section is organized around
the interaction of two two-bar modules (mm. 1– 2 and 5– 6), which are
alternately juxtaposed and transposed (Ex. 1).
Example 1. Alberto Williams, “El rancho abandonado,” mm. 1–6.

Example 2. Williams, “El rancho abandonado,” mm. 21 –28.
Section B presents an unsettled, agitated mood with a strong

forward impulse, conveyed by the interaction of several parameters: a
rhythmic ostinato in the left hand, the use of hemiolas, a decidedly
functional harmony, and a long melody with an extended range (a com-
pound fourth), which is twice transposed to the higher octave and
amplified by doubling until its climax in m. 47 (Ex. 2).
Up to this point, the piece complies unproblematically with the
stylistic expectations of the time and could easily be taken as the work
of a European composer. It is only here, nearly two-thirds into the
piece, that Williams interpolates the reference to the guitar, imitating
characteristic folk strumming through an insistent repercussion of full,
dense chords in closed position, playing the characteristic chord pro-
gression of the hueya (I, flat VI, flat III, V, I) (Ex. 3). This decentering
of the topos is a strategy that Williams will often exploit in other
works, for instance in his Primera Sonata Argentina for piano, which
includes an allusion to the strummed guitar in the coda of the last
movement.
Example 3. Williams, “El rancho abandonado,” mm. 51–59.
It is worth mentioning that the rhythm of this passage is identical

to that of the ostinato in section B, whose topical significance (hueya
strumming) is therefore retrospectively made clear.69 This highly idiosyn-
cratic chord progression, one of the most distinctive harmonic features
within the Pampean repertory, was widespread at this time as the hueya
was resurrected simultaneously in different milieux (the criollo circus,
the popular theater and the centros criollos, where it would be
sung by urban payadores). Inseparably linked to the idea of guitar
strumming, it soon became a favorite marker among art-music
composers and would be easily recognized by audiences as a signifier
of Argentineness.
The type of strumming evoked by Williams in “El rancho abando-
nado” is that which ethnomusicologist Isabel Aretz called “rasguido con
mano tiesa,” or rigid-hand strumming. It consists of an energetic
up-and-down movement of the hand, thumb, and fingers held together
in a fixed position (Ex. 4a).70 This image of the strummed guitar, with
its associated vigorous, pulsating rhythms, would be systematically
employed by composers thereafter and appears prominently in other
Example 4a. Rigid-hand strumming.
Example 4b. Julián Aguirre, Huella, op. 49, mm. 9–16.
Example 4c. Soft-hand strumming.
Example 4d. Aguirre, Triste no. 5, mm. 1–4.
paradigmatic works of Argentine nationalism, such as Williams’s Primera

Sonata Argentina and the first section of Aguirre’s celebrated Huella,
op. 49 (Ex. 4b). Later on, in the twentieth century, it became one of
Alberto Ginastera’s trademarks, indelibly linked to the idea of masculine
vigor ever since his “Danza del gaucho matrero.”
Nationalist composers also used the evocation of a more gentle

type of folk strumming that may be related to the performing technique
that Aretz calls “rasguido con mano blanda,” or soft-hand strumming,
where the thumb plays the lower strings and the fingers play the higher
strings (Ex. 4c).71 In the piano music of nationalist composers, this
effect is achieved through a particular disposition of the chord tones,
alternating the lower and upper regions of the keyboard. A typical illus-
tration of this strategy can be found Aguirre’s Triste no. 5 (Ex. 4d).
Other significant occurrences are his Zamba, op. 40, Williams’s Hueya,
op. 33, no. 3, and A la hueya, hueya, op. 70, no. 10.
While the image of strumming might have been the first “official”
manifestation of the topos of the guitar, the allusion to plucked accom-
paniments has possibly been the most persistent and the one with the
most evocative power. Closely intertwined with the image of melancholy
songs such as triste, vidalita, estilo, and milonga, it expresses nostalgia at a
double level, combining the nostalgia associated with the guitar and the
pathos of the songs.
Traditional arpeggio patterns, compound intervals (connected to
the typical open disposition of some chords on the guitar), and second
inversions are some of the strategies used by composers to evoke the
plucked guitar and conjure up its concomitant worlds of meaning.
A frequent occurrence is the broken-chord pattern traditionally associ-
ated with the accompaniment of the milonga (5–1 –3 –5) (Ex. 5a). In
Example 5a. Typical milonga pattern.
Example 5b. Aguirre, Aires criollos no. 1, mm. 1–5.

Example 5c. Williams, “Arrastrando el ala,” mm. 1– 7.
Example 5d. Variant of milonga pattern.
works written for piano this device is usually—and predictably—

entrusted to the left hand. It is used extensively by Williams in his
series of milongas, such as “Martı́n Fierro en la pulperı́a,” op. 63, no. 10;
“Junto al fogón,” op. 64, no. 2; “La alegrı́a de jinetear,” op. 72, no. 5;
“Bailarina sandunguera,” op. 63, no. 1; and “Milonga popular,” op. 113,
no. 8. Another paradigmatic example is found in Aguirre’s Aires criollos
no. 1 (Ex. 5b). In “Arrastrando el ala” Williams uses a slight variation of
this pattern, doubling the lowest note of the pattern in the upper octave
(see Ex. 5c).
A characteristic variant of this configuration reverses the direction
of the upper notes, thus producing a highly idiomatic sawtooth profile
(5–1 –5– 3– 5) (Ex. 5d). It is found in Williams’s “Santos Vega bajo
un sauce llorón,” “A la sombra de un ombú,” and “Requiebros
campechanos” (Ex. 5e).
Another variant of this arpeggio formula, doubling the lowest note
of the arpeggio in the upper octave, can be found in Williams’s “¡Que
trenzas para pialar payadores!,” “Luciérnagas en las redecillas de mi
china,” op. 72, no. 7, and “La milonga del volatinero,” op. 72,
no. 6. Aguirre, in his Triste no. 3, digresses further from this pattern,
introducing an appoggiatura on the upper note of the arpeggio (Ex. 6).
Example 5e. Williams, “Requiebros campechanos,” mm. 1 –5.
Example 6. Aguirre, Triste no. 3, mm 1– 11.
This is possibly the most memorable appearance of this facet of the topos
and one of the better-known ones, a fact probably related to the canoni-
cal status of the work within Argentine music.72 While this arpeggio
pattern can be related to that of milonga accompaniments, the absence
of the characteristic rhythm of this song and dance distances the allusion
from any idea of milonga, giving prominence to the guitar reference.
The dramatic opening section of this work is part of another
complex topos, which I have provisionally called triste/estilo, since it com-
bines elements from both folk songs.73 This passage alludes to a charac-
teristic feature of the slow section of both triste and estilo. Of grave
mood and improvisatory character, such sections are usually sung in a
rhapsodic manner, with guitar chords punctuating the phrase endings in
an almost recitative style. Of special interest is the melodic gesture at
Example 7. Characteristic cadential figure of the triste/estilo.
the end, with its stepwise descent and double auxiliary note followed by
a sustained dominant chord that eventually resolves to the tonic (Ex. 6).
This distinctive turn of phrase—which recurs throughout the Triste no.
3—was extensively used by Aguirre not only in the five Tristes but also in
the second series of Aires nacionales argentinos (individually titled
“Canción,” or song, but still strongly connected to the semantic world of
the triste/estilo) and became a marker of “Pampean melody” in the work
of subsequent nationalist composers.74 It participates in the topos of the
guitar by its reference to this instrument in the guitarlike chords that
support the final cadence. A reduction can be seen in Example 7.
As we have seen, the topos of the guitar is complex and comprises
a number of musical figures. Nationalist composers incorporated the
image of the guitar into their musical idiom through an ingenious
manipulation of different musical elements that evoke the various
plucking and strumming patterns typical of the instrument in the rural
milieu. While this is not a comprehensive list of all the appearances that
can be detected in the early nationalist repertoire (which would only
result in a tedious and forever incomplete catalogue), we have surveyed
here the main occurrences, chosen for their musical and historical
significance.
Even though most of its musical attributes were set out at this
inaugural moment, the topos did not remain static throughout its
history. During the twentieth century, it incorporated other elements,
among them the suggestive evocations of estilo accompaniments that are
a trademark of Carlos Guastavino, and the already mentioned “symbolic
chord” of Ginastera.
Finally, a word of caution should be included here: not all
chords in closed position are allusions to strumming nor are all arpeg-
gios references to plucked accompaniments. Identifying nationalist
topoi in music is a complex process of decoding that requires a
nuanced knowledge of the folk traditions involved. As Monelle warns
us, “the perception of the musical topos depends on critical judge-
ment, not on mechanical connections.”75 Sometimes an arpeggio is
just an arpeggio.
The musical topos of the guitar is not an isolated occurrence

within Argentine music; it is embedded in the larger world of the idea
of the guitar in Argentine culture, especially literature and visual arts,
and resonates with numerous metaphorical connections. While a mech-
anical correlation between specific musical traits and poetic devices
cannot be drawn, we can attempt to relate some aspects of the musical
dimension of the topos to its literary and visual counterparts. Its two
main facets, strumming and plucking, evidently possess different expres-
sive values. The strumming subtopos, particularly the “rigid hand”
variant, conveys ideas of energy and strength and can be associated with
the images of the gaucho as a fighter and warrior. This is the gaucho
who makes war with songs, puts his guitar aside to engage in a knife
fight, or, in a fit of rage, slashes the strings of the guitar of his adversary
or shatters his own in pieces. The attributes of this guitar are masculi-
nity, strength, aggressiveness, and even violence.76
The plucked subtopos, on the other hand, communicates an
intense melancholy and sadness and can be connected with the recur-
ring images of sadness and nostalgia that permeate the representation of
the music making of the gaucho. The plucked guitar is the one that
cries and moans, the sorrowful instrument whose sound can move
people to tears, the sweet, gentle, and faithful companion of the gaucho.
Its attributes are femininity, nostalgia, and melancholy.
Just as is found in other repertoires, multiple topical references
coexist within a work. Nationalist topoi interact with one another and
can occur simultaneously. Since most of its appearances are related to
the accompanying role, the topos of the guitar is sometimes inextricably
related to other topoi, most notably (in the period analyzed here) those
of hueya, milonga, vidalita, and triste/estilo.77 It is not until Ginastera’s
“symbolic chord” that we find a reference to the guitar completely disso-
ciated from a reference to a dance or song.
The placement and role of the topos of the guitar within the dis-
course of Argentine nationalist music, its dispositio, as it were, is in itself
revealing. There is no evident relationship between the topos and a
specific formal function or a fixed syntactical role. Occurrences can be
found at the beginning of works (as in Aguirre’s Hueya), at the end
(Williams’s Primera Sonata Argentina), in middle sections (Williams’s
“Luciérnagas en la redecillas de mi china”), and even as a decentered
interpolation before a da capo (Williams’s “El rancho abandonado”).
What is particularly striking is that, despite the ubiquitous presence of
the topos in Argentine musical nationalism, its function is always subor-
dinate. We shall look in vain for a celebration of the guitar as a musical
instrument comparable to that in Isaac Albeniz’s “Prélude” to his Chants
d’Espagne.78 Even though a tradition of virtuoso solo playing exists

within the world of the gaucho guitar, it did not find its way into
Argentine musical nationalism.79 Even when not accompanying any-
thing (as in “El rancho abandonado”), the guitar is always recalled in a
peripheral position, never the main protagonist of a composition. This
situation is revealing of the ideological agenda of Argentine nationalism
and a clear example of the concept of uso: the gaucho might be the soul
of the nation, but his role is still subaltern.
Notes
Melanie Plesch is an Argentine musicologist currently based at the University of
Melbourne (Australia), where she obtained her PhD in 1998. She has received
numerous research grants and scholarships both in Argentina and Australia, among
them doctoral and postdoctoral fellowships from CONICET, Fundación Antorchas,
FONCYT, and the prestigious Endeavour Fellowship, from the Commonwealth of
Australia. She taught for fifteen years at the Universidad de Buenos Aires. Her
work focuses on the intersections of music, politics, and society, with particular
emphasis on the relationship between music and the construction of national
identity in Argentina during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Email: mplesch@unimelb.edu.au
1. Jorge Luis Borges, “La guitarra,” in Poemas (Buenos Aires, 1934). I am indebted to
the late Gerardo Huseby for this translation.
2. The denomination “symbolic chord” was coined by Gilbert Chase in his “Alberto
Ginastera: Argentine Composer,” Musical Quarterly 4 (1957): 450.
3. Melanie Plesch, “La música en la construcción de la identidad cultural argentina,”
Revista Argentina de Musicologı́a 1 (1996): 57 –68; “La lógica sonora de la generación del
ochenta: Una aproximación a la retórica del nacionalismo musical argentino,” in Los
caminos de la música—Europa y Argentina (Jujuy, Argentina: Universidad Nacional de
Jujuy, 2008), 55 –10.
4. The starting point of musicological topic theory is Leonard Ratner’s Classic Music:
Expression, Form, and Style (New York: Schirmer Books, 1980). The field was further
expanded by the work of Kofi Agawu, Wye J. Allanbrook, Robert Hatten, and
Raymond Monelle, among others. For a recent evaluation of the past and future of
topic theory as well as a comprehensive bibliographical list, see Kofi Agawu, “Topic
Theory: Achievement, Critique, Prospects,” in Passagen/IMS Congress Zürich 2007: Fünf
Hauptvorträge, ed. Laurenz Lütteken and Hans-Joachim Hinrichsen (Zurich:
Bärenreiter, 2008), 38 –70.
5. This is not an exhaustive list. Defining a topical universe is a thorny issue even
for well-studied repertoires such as classical music, and scholars admit that the
topical universe expands with research. In an under-studied field like Argentine
music, the situation is even more challenging. A preliminary and tentative universe
is bound to be subject to constant revisions and additions. See Melanie Plesch, “La
lógica sonora” and “Topic Theory and Musical Nationalism: Applications,
Challenges and Some Dilemmas” ( paper presented at the Thirty-first National
Conference of the Musicological Society of Australia, Melbourne, 4 – 7 December

2008).
6. Raymond Monelle, The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 2000), 33. An eloquent—and inspiring—example of this type of
endeavor is Monelle’s The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral, Musical Meaning
and Interpretation (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006).
7. For an analysis on the early representation of the guitar in the discourse on the
gaucho prior to the late nineteenth century, see Melanie Plesch, “La silenciosa guitarra
de la barbarie: Aspectos de la representación del Otro en la cultura argentina del siglo
XIX,” Música e Investigación 4 (1999): 57– 80, and “The Guitar in Nineteenth-Century
Buenos Aires: Towards a Cultural History of an Argentine Musical Emblem” (PhD
diss., University of Melbourne, 1998), 50 –71.
8. Concolorcorvo [Alonso Carrió de la Vandera], El Lazarillo de Ciegos Caminantes
desde Buenos Aires hasta Lima (1773; repr. Buenos Aires: Ediciones Argentinas Solar,
1942), 170– 71. Unless otherwise indicated, translations are my own.
9. John Miers, Travels in Chile and La Plata: Including accounts respecting the geography,
geology, statistics, government, finances, agriculture, manners, and customs, . . . collected
during a residence of several years in these countries, 2 vols. (London: Baldwin, Cradock,
and Joy, 1826), 45.
10. Obligado often used the word lira in his works to refer to the guitar, a poetic
device that brings forth the prestigious image of the classical world.
11. Rafael Obligado, “Las quintas de mi tiempo,” in Poesı́as completas (Buenos Aires:
Sopeña, 1963), 70.
12. The theme of Santos Vega has been treated by several authors, among them
Bartolomé Mitre, Hilario Ascasubi, Rafael Obligado, and Eduardo Gutiérrez. An
exhaustive study can be found in Roberto Lehmann-Nitsche, “Folklore Argentino:
Santos Vega,” Boletı́n de la Academia Nacional de Ciencias en Córdoba [República
Argentina] 22 (1917): 1 –434.
13. Obligado, Poesı́as completas, 115.
14. See Ricardo Rodrı́guez Molas’s classic study Historia Social del Gaucho (Buenos
Aires: Marú, 1968). An introduction to the problem (in English) can be found in
Richard W. Slatta, Gauchos and the Vanishing Frontier (Lincoln: University of Nebraska
Press, 1983). In recent years there has been a significant increase in the literature on
the gaucho question that is leading toward a reevaluation of his agency in Argentine
society during the late colonial and early independent periods. See, for instance, Juan
Carlos Garavaglia, Les hommes de la Pampa: Une histoire agraire de la Campagne de
Buenos Aires, 1700–1830 (Paris: Éditions de l’Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences
Sociales, 2000) and Ricardo Salvatore, Wandering Paysanos: State Order and Subaltern
Experience in Buenos Aires During the Rosas Era (Durham, NC: Duke University Press,
2003).
15. The trope of the gaucho as synonymous of barbarism was established in Domingo
F. Sarmiento’s Facundo, first published as Civilización i barbarie, Vida de Juan Facundo
Quiroga (Santiago de Chile, 1845). For an authoritative English translation, see
Facundo: Civilization and Barbarism: The First Complete English Translation, trans.
Kathleen Ross (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003).
16. The process began with the Revolution of 25 May 1810, but formal independence
from Spain was only declared six years later, on 9 July 1816.
17. Especially in José C. Chiaramonte, “Formas de identidad en el Rı́o de la Plata
luego de 1810,” Boletı́n del Instituto de Historia Argentina y Americana (1989): 71 –92; El
mito de los orı́genes en la historiografı́a latinoamericana (Buenos Aires: Instituto de Historia
Argentina y Americana, Dr. Emilio Ravignani, Facultad de Filosofı́a y Letras,
Universidad de Buenos Aires, 1993); Ciudades, provincias, estados: Origenes de la nacion
Argentina (Buenos Aires: Emecé, 2007), and Oscar Oszlak, La formación del estado
argentino: Orden, progreso y organización nacional (Buenos Aires: Ariel, 2004).
18. Eric Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism Since 1780: Programme, Myth, Reality
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 10.
19. Ernest Gellner, “What is a Nation?” chap. 5 in Nations and Nationalism (London:
Basil Blackwell, 1983), 53–62.
20. Gellner, “What is a Nation?” passim.
21. The population increased from 1,736,923 in 1869 (first national census) to
3,954,911 in 1895 (second national census) and 7,885,237 in 1914 (third national
census). Quoted in Roberto Cortés Conde, “The Growth of the Argentine Economy,
c. 1870–1914,” in The Cambridge History of Latin America, ed. Leslie Bethell,
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 5 : 335.
22. Carl Solberg, Immigration and Nationalism: Argentina and Chile, 1890–1914
(Austin: Institute of Latin American Studies, University of Texas Press, 1970),
93, 96.
23. By 1914, with the foreign-born percent of the population at 29.9 percent,
Argentina had become the country with the highest proportion of immigrants in the
world. Gino Germani, Polı́tica y sociedad en una época de transición (Buenos Aires:
Paidós, 1962), 197.
24. The image of Babel must have been reinforced by the extreme visibility of the
immigrants, who constituted the majority of the active population. For instance, in
1914, four out of five males aged twenty and over in Buenos Aires were foreign born.
Intellectuals were especially vocal regarding their concern over the alleged corruption
of the language at the hands of the foreigners. See Ernesto Quesada, El problema del
idioma nacional (Buenos Aires: Revista Nacional, 1900) and El criollismo en la literatura
argentina (Buenos Aires: Coni, 1902).
25. “nosotros vamos perdiendo el sentimiento de la nacionalidad con la asimilación del ele-
mento extranjero . . . nos hallaremos un dı́a transformados en una nación que no tendrá ni
lengua, ni tradiciones, ni carácter, ni bandera.” Estanislao Zeballos, in Congreso de la
Nación, Cámara de Diputados, Diario de Sesiones, 21 October 1887, quoted in Lilia
A. Bertoni, “Construir la nacionalidad: héroes, estatuas y fiestas patrias,” Boletı́n del
Instituto de Historia Argentina y Americana “Dr. Emilio Ravignani,” 3rd Ser. 5 (1992):
92–93.
26. Lilia Ana Bertoni has eloquently demonstrated the importance of the concept of
identidad nacional for the generation of 1880 in her Patriotas, cosmopolitas y nacionalistas:
La construccion de la nacionalidad argentina a fines del siglo XIX (Buenos Aires: Fondo de
Cultura Económica, 2001).
27. This reversal of the figures of the gaucho and the immigrant has been analyzed
from different perspectives, among them economics, literary criticism, and social
history. See, for instance, Jeane Delaney, “Making Sense of Modernity: Changing
Attitudes toward the Immigrant and the Gaucho in Turn-of-the-Century Argentina,”
Comparative Studies in Society and History 38, no. 3 (1996): 434– 59; Evelyn Fishburn,
The Portrayal of Immigration in Nineteenth-Century Argentine Fiction (1845–1902)
(Berlin: Colloquium Verlag, 1981), 92 –15; Solberg, Immigration; and Slatta, Gauchos.
28. Eduardo Gutiérrez, Una amistad hasta la muerte (n.d. [1886?]; repr., Buenos Aires:
Lumen Editorial, 1952), 64. Quotation marks in the original.
29. Josefina Ludmer, El género gauchesco: un tratado sobre la patria (Buenos Aires:
Sudamericana, 1988). An English version is available as The Gaucho Genre: A Treatise
on the Motherland (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002). I am citing from the
latter.
30. Ludmer, The Gaucho Genre, 8.
31. Martiniano Leguizamón, “De mi tierra,” in Alma nativa (Buenos Aires: A. Moen,
1906), 163– 64, emphasis added.
32. Adolfo Prieto, El discurso criollista en la formacion de la Argentina moderna (Buenos
Aires: Sudamericana, 1988), 172.
33. Diana Wechsler, “Salón Nacional de Bellas Artes, promotor de vocaciones nacio-
nalistas,” in Articulación del discurso escrito con la producción artı́stica en Argentina y
Latinoamérica, siglos XIX-XX (Buenos Aires: CAIA-Contrapunto, 1990), 96.
34. References to mythical gauchos in art music include Arturo Berutti’s opera Pampa
(1897), based on Gutiérrez’s play Juan Moreira, Honorio Siccardi’s Tres Poemas sobre
Martin Fierro (1925), Juan José Castro’s cantata Martı́n Fierro (1944), Carlos López
Buchardo’s unfinished “lyric legend” Santos Vega, and Alberto Williams’s milongas
mentioned further in the text, among others.
35. José Hernández, Martı́n Fierro, bilingual edition. English version by C. E. Ward,
annotated and rev. Frank G. Carrino and Alberto J. Carlos (Albany: State University
of New York Press, 1967), 2.
36. See, for instance, Lehman Nitsche’s thorough survey in his “Folklore Argentino:
Santos Vega,” which includes a number of illustrations found in the different literary
works inspired on the theme of Santos Vega.
37. Sequel [1886?] to his Santos Vega of 1880.
38. Gutiérrez, Una amistad, 63 –64.
39. In Argentinean Spanish, rancho refers to a humble hut or dwelling, usually with a
thatched roof. It ought not to be confused with a small farm, for which the word granja
is used, nor a large estate, for which the word estancia is reserved. See Diccionario de la
Lengua Española (Madrid: Real Academia Española, 2001), s.v. “rancho,” par. 4.
40. Fray Mocho (José S. Alvarez), Un viaje al paı́s de los matreros (1897; repr. Buenos
Aires: La cultura argentina, 1920), 76.
41. Hernández, Martı́n Fierro, 134.
42. Hernández, Martı́n Fierro, lines 2263 –64, 174.
43. Ombúes, plural of ombú (Phytolacca dioica L), emblematic tree (or plant, its actual
status is contested) of the Pampean region, belonging to the Phytolaccaceae family. It
has a wide canopy (from twelve to fifteen meters) and can reach a height of twelve
meters. Samuel J. Record and Robert W. Hess, Timbers of the New World (New Haven,
CT: Yale University Press, 1943), 425.
44. Pampa is, in fact, a Quechua word meaning “flat land.” See Diccionario de la
Lengua, s.v. “pampa.”
45. Obligado, Poesı́as completas, 109.
46. Ricardo Gutiérrez, La fibra salvaje (1860; repr. Buenos Aires: La cultura argentina,
1915), 68.
47. This theme recurs in the repertoire, and is the subject of at least another song of
canonical status within Argentine art music: Carlos López Buchardo’s “Canción del car-
retero,” from Seis canciones al estilo popular (1924).
48. Even though Williams has kept the hexasyllabic verse lines typical of the vidalita,
he departs from the folk tradition by not including the characteristic refrain “vidalitá,”
which gives the folk song its unique character. See Carlos Vega, “Las canciones folk-
lóricas argentinas. La Vidalita,” Folklore 13 (15 February 1962): n.p.
49. Fourth number of his piano series En la sierra, op. 32 (1890).
50. Third number of his Aires nacionales argentinos, op. 17 (1898).
52. Obligado, Poesı́as completas, 105–106.
53. “la guitarra que gemı́a entre los dedos de Santos.” Gutiérrez, Una amistad, 56.
54. Gutiérrez, Una amistad, 11.
56. Gutiérrez, Una amistad, 66. The definition of prenda as “what is intensely loved,
such as sons, wife and friends” appears as sixth meaning in the 1869 edition of the
Diccionario de la lengua castellana. However, according to Agenor Pacheco, in gaucho
parlance the term denotes primarily “the wife, the woman beloved; also a loved object.”
Cf. his Diccionario gaucho: Refranes, modismos y vocablos criollos rioplatenses, sureños y
pampas (Montevideo: n.p., 1972), s.v. “prenda.”
59. El Hogar. Ilustración semanal argentina 17, no. 542 (27 February 1920). I am
indebted to Silvina Mansilla for this reference.
60. “levantó la guitarra con su brazo de Hércules y la estrelló contra el suelo haciéndola mil
pedazos.” Gutiérrez, Una amistad, 73.
62. Caras y Caretas 379, 6 January 1906.
63. At this stage, when the initial topical network was being constructed, there must
have existed a tension between what composers wanted to express and what their
audience was able to interpret (the success and failure of some nationalist works might
be related to this fact).
64. Prieto, El discurso criollista, 172.
65. Later published as Cancionero bonaerense (Buenos Aires: Imprenta de la
Universidad, 1925) and also as Folklore bonaerense (Buenos Aires: Lajouane, 1953). The
songs and dances discussed in the book are gato, décima, estilo, triunfo, marote, huella (or
hueya), pericón, prado, firmeza, milonga, cifra, cielo, and aires.
66. Alberto Williams, “Orı́genes del arte musical argentino,” in Obras completas
(Buenos Aires: La Quena, 1951), 4 : 19.
67. The hueya may have been known in urban circles through Lynch’s transcription of
1883. Vega mentions that Juan Alais’s version for guitar ( published sometime before
1896) might have circulated among aficionados as early as 1888. See Carlos Vega, Las
danzas populares argentinas (1952, repr. Buenos Aires: Instituto Nacional de
Musicologı́a, 1986), 279. A critical examination of the history of the huella in
Argentine music can be found in Melanie Plesch and R. Legaspi, “La huella: manifesta-
ciones de una especie tradicional en la música argentina” (paper presented at the third
Conferencia Anual de la Asociación Argentina de Musicologı́a, Buenos Aires, 6–8
September 1989) and Melanie Plesch, “Folklore para armar: la huella y la construcción
de un topos musical argentino” ( paper presented at the II Congreso Internacional
“Literatura y Crı́tica Cultural,” Buenos Aires, 14 –18 November 1994. On the problem
of dating Alais’s works see Plesch, “The Guitar in Nineteenth-Century Buenos Aires,”
275.
68. A more detailed analysis of this work and its relationship with Williams’s dictum
can be found in Melanie Plesch, “El rancho abandonado: Algunas reflexiones en torno a
los comienzos del nacionalismo musical en la Argentina,” in Actas de las IV Jornadas de
Teorı́a e Historia de las Artes (Buenos Aires: Universidad de Buenos Aires-CAIA, 1992),
196 –202.
69. This constructive device is often used by Williams in his presentation of national-
ist topoi.
70. Isabel Aretz, El folklore musical argentino (Buenos Aires: Ricordi Americana,
1952), 57.
71. Aretz, El folklore musical argentine, 57.
72. Aguirre’s first series of Aires nacionales argentinos, a set of five tristes, has effectively
created a musical image of this folk song (whose name literally means “sad”) in the
Argentine imagination. While retaining elements of the triste proper, they combine sty-
listic traits of various other folk songs and dances, among them estilo, milonga, zamba,
and vidalita.
73. Plesch, “La lógica sonora,” 97–101.
74. A clear example is that of the main theme of Carlos López Buchardo’s Campera, a
pastoral-like melody none of whose features could be distinguished as particularly
“Argentine” were it not for the presence of this gesture. The topos gives retrospectively
new meaning to the entire passage: we realize now that this is not any pastoral world,
but the Pampa.
75. Monelle, The Sense of Music, 65.
76. This aspect of the topos will develop further in the future, notably in Ginastera’s
works.
77. Plesch, “La lógica sonora,” 109.
78. Walter Aaron Clark, Isaac Albéniz: Portrait of a Romantic (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1999), 97. The work also appears in the first Suite española as
“Leyenda: Asturias,” and it is often referred to by that title.
79. Another interesting fact is that during the first thirty years of the nationalist
movement, none of the nationalist composers wrote for the guitar, in spite of the fact
that Buenos Aires had at the time a considerable number of guitar virtuosi. Plesch,
“The Guitar in Nineteenth-Century Buenos Aires,” 245–314.

Plesch, Melanie. "The Topos of The Guitar in Late Nineteenth-And Early Twentieth-Century Argentina." PDF

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Description:

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Plesch, Melanie. "The Topos of The Guitar in Late Nineteenth-And Early Twentieth-Century Argentina." PDF

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

The Topos of the Guitar in Late

Nineteenth- and Early Twentieth-

Regarded as the “national instrument,” the guitar pervades Argentine

doi:10.1093/musqtl/gdp016 92:242 – 278

The use of the words “rhetoric” and “topos” requires an expla-

Although since its introduction by the Spaniards in the sixteenth

. . . al son de la mal encordada y destemplada guitarrilla cantan y echan unos á

These images of guitars of poor quality and barbaric songs recur

The second example is the arresting passage that heralds the

This dramatic transformation in the representation of the instru-

Argentine historians currently agree that, despite the fact that

An apocalyptic feeling pervades the writings of this period: the

been seen as an indicator of his idleness, was now interpreted as an

Three concepts are crucial to understanding the place of gaucho

La civilización avanza rápidamente arrasándolo todo . . . . . Es ley de esta febril

Lastly, distancing alludes to the detached and sanitized relationship

describes nationalist paintings as “set in an homogeneous and empty

music it produces discordant, tedious, or barbaric. The following excerpt

This change in the perceptions of the gaucho and his music-making

. . . estudiaba en la guitarra los aires armoniosos y sentimentales con que habı́a

The association between the guitar and gaucho courtship insinu-

Further along in the poem, Hernández introduces an additional

Figure 2. Alonso, Idilio campero. Caras y Caretas 299, 25 June 1904.

Yo soy la música vaga I am the vague music

The guitar itself is sometimes portrayed as the carrier of melan-

The symbolic association of the guitar with sadness, melancholy,

A moving instance can be found in the first part of Obligado’s

Similarly, in Gutiérrez’s Una amistad hasta la muerte, the guitar is

Accordingly, gauchos display a strong emotional attachment to, and

Further along he makes an analogy between the guitar and a

Judging by Santos Vega’s reaction, slashing the strings of someone’s

challenging his manhood. A similar instance, which reinforces this

As in the case of Santos Vega, a knife fight developed out of

Figure 3. Juan Peláez, Arreglando cuentas. El Hogar, 27 February 1920.

have mentioned already how in some instances a silent guitar can

Figure 4. Advertisement for Hormiguicida Argentino. Caras y Caretas 379, 6 January

On a comparatively lighter note, commercial publicity provided

with the stereotype of the “noble gaucho,” reinforced by the presence

We have mentioned in passing that the symbolic association between

extenso. This work has traditionally been regarded as the starting

In this mythical account of the creation of “El rancho abando-

of initial stimulus (la inspiración) for the composer, whose technique—

Example 1. Alberto Williams, “El rancho abandonado,” mm. 1–6.

Example 2. Williams, “El rancho abandonado,” mm. 21 –28.

Section B presents an unsettled, agitated mood with a strong

Example 3. Williams, “El rancho abandonado,” mm. 51–59.

It is worth mentioning that the rhythm of this passage is identical

Example 4a. Rigid-hand strumming.

Example 4b. Julián Aguirre, Huella, op. 49, mm. 9–16.

Example 4c. Soft-hand strumming.

Example 4d. Aguirre, Triste no. 5, mm. 1–4.

paradigmatic works of Argentine nationalism, such as Williams’s Primera

Nationalist composers also used the evocation of a more gentle

Example 5a. Typical milonga pattern.

Example 5b. Aguirre, Aires criollos no. 1, mm. 1–5.

Example 5c. Williams, “Arrastrando el ala,” mm. 1– 7.

Example 5d. Variant of milonga pattern.

works written for piano this device is usually—and predictably—

Example 5e. Williams, “Requiebros campechanos,” mm. 1 –5.

Example 6. Aguirre, Triste no. 3, mm 1– 11.

Example 7. Characteristic cadential figure of the triste/estilo.

The musical topos of the guitar is not an isolated occurrence