Original subtitles

ARGENTINA

"Warm wind that tears across the northeast region of Argentina."

The muleteers who, with their mules and horses, worked the Andean region-

were the main ones who spread the rhythms of the northern region of Argentina.

The Zamba acquired the form it has today in Salta.

The Vidala arose from the flatlands of the northeast.

The Chacarera comes from Santiago del Estero.

The Malambo comes from the south of the Pampas and has African influences.

The Copla has its origins in the minstrels and troubadours of Spain.

The Chamam� was born from the fusion of Polish,

German and Ukrainian immigrant in the coastal region.

My mother raised the children.

My father was a good farmer.

My mother raised the children.

My father was a good farmer.

Born in glory, I am a singer

and lover of the Carnival.

Born in glory, I am a singer

and lover of the Carnival.

I am from San Carlos, gentlemen.

The son of a valley woman.

From San Carlos. Free and my own master.

Free and my own master.

Whoever wants to know her...

she is called Do�a Reinita.

From San Carlos. Free and my own master.

Free and my own master.

Little flower and laurel.

My eyes cry because they see you coming.

Damn, I am getting old and falling to the side.

But when I hear the music of the cajas I can pull myself up again.

I am that little singer.

I am who I have always been.

I neither make nor unmake myself.

And I no longer live in this world.

And I no longer live in this world.

Man wounds the earth-

with his tilling plough.

The earth bears for him the fruit-

of all of the pain that he has given her.

The earth bears for him the fruit-

of all of the pain that he has given her.

Flower of the valley, perhaps you will find me.

Perhaps you will find me.

When I sing it takes fifteen days-

me to pull myself back together,

like the rosebud-

that has just begun to bloom.

Felipe Varela comes

through the hills of Tacuil.

The valley awaits him

bearing his rifle and his heart.

The valley awaits him

bearing his rifle and his heart.

The montoneros are coming

to take Salta by force.

Unaware that on the paths

only brave men they will find.

Unaware that on the paths

only brave men they will find.

He gallops upon the horizon

leaving death and dusty plains.

For Felipe Varela comes to kill

and then goes on his way.

For...

Felipe Varela comes to kill and then goes on his way.

The morning of October 10,

bloodied by his hands.

Lamenting cries rise to the heavens

with all the brave men he will kill.

Lamenting cries rise to the heavens

with all the brave men he will kill.

Now the montonera has gone,

heading towards Jujuy.

Ordered to the frontier posts

from which they will never return.

Ordered to the frontier posts

from which they will never return.

He gallops upon the horizon

leaving death and dusty plains.

For Felipe Varela comes to kill

and then goes on his way.

For...

Felipe Varela comes to kill and then...

goes on his way.

- Well, we're ready. - How is your dress? Everything Ok?

- Wonderful. - That's great.

Mine too. I love this color.

Your dress is beautiful too. It's time to dance.

- We should be going. - The music is really good.

Yes, and Sole is already set up. Everything is ok.

- Let's go then. Are you ready? - Ready.

When I left Santiago I cried the whole way.

I cried without knowing why, but of this much I'm sure:

though my heart is hard that day it went soft.

I left my beloved land and the home where I was born,

where I lived so happily, sang so joyfully.

But now, like the striped cuckoo, I spend my days crying.

Time and distance could never help me

escape my memory, make me toss you to oblivion.

Oh, my beloved Santiago how I long for your countryside of quebracho trees.

Tomorrow, when I die, if someone remembers me,

carry me to where I was born if you wish to give me glory

and in my honor play this doble that I now sing.

In my hours of sadness, I always wonder:

How could some of my fellow countrymen so easily forget

their farms, their father and mothers, their brothers and sisters?

He who does such things is not really a Santiague�o.

Scorning the chacarera for some foreign dance.

He sullies the race of our good country people.

The other night, I found my pillows damp.

It doesn't matter if I was dreaming, or if I awoke crying,

or if in the distance I saw the home that I left behind.

Perhaps in the sacred burial grounds there is no room for me.

Paisanos, I will ask of you, when the day comes,

toss my body in an open field, the field where I was born.

Where is this verse of love

that leaves me so far from you'?

This verse that lets me breathe

when I am at the depths of evil.

Two serpents care got me.

They join me when I enter this sea-

of memories, of poison and salt.

All depths are the depths of evil.

Every wind brings a voice

from this traitorous tongue.

Like a man I can be the sun.

Like a woman I can be alone.

Every beach is a giant clock.

Each grain of sand, a voice.

Of what could not be said, And remained in silence.

Rotting in the sun.

The seagulls fly backwards

when they pick at the name of he who

does not dare stand up

when the hour of good arrives.

Every wind brings a voice

from this traitorous tongue.

Like a man I can be the sun.

Like a woman...

I can be alone.

When Javi grabs you, work your facial expression

- Grab him harder, get closer. - Ok.

Guys, let's do it again so we can get better at positions and movements.

To your positions.

Music!

The superficial changes. The profound as well.

Ways of thinking change.

Everything in this world changes.

The climate changes with the years.

The pastor changes his flock.

And so as everything changes,

that I may change is not strange.

The finest diamond changes

as its brilliance passes from hand to hand.

The nest and the little bird,

the feelings of a lover.

The traveler changes his path

though it may cause him harm.

And so as everything changes,

that I may change is not strange.

Changes, everything changes.

Changes, everything changes.

The sun changes in the sky

as the night falls upon the day.

The plant changes in springtime

adorning itself in green.

The beast changes its coat.

The old man, his hair.

And so as everything changes,

that I may change is not strange. And so as everything changes,

But my love does not change

no matter how far I go.

Nor the memory nor the pain

of my people and my home

What changed yesterday tomorrow will change again.

The same way that I change in this far and distant land.

Changes, everything changes.

Changes, everything changes.

But my love does not change no matter how far I roam

Nor the memory nor the pain of my people and my home.

What yesterday once changed will change again tomorrow.

Just as I too change in this far and distant land.

Changes, everything changes.

Changes, everything changes.

Sometimes I follow my shadow.

Sometimes it comes from behind.

When I die, my poor little one,

who shall walk by your side?

When I die, my poor little one,

who shall walk by your side?

I do not spill my wine.

I shed it with intention.

My shadow drinks and life

belongs to both.

My shadow drinks and life

belongs to both.

Gently blunted and hushed

you will never find-

a companion shadow-

whose suffering is greater.

A companion shadow-

whose suffering is greater.

Dear shadow, take great care-

of what I must leave behind-

when I am soaked to my very core-

by the darkness.

When I am soaked to my very core-

by the darkness.

I do not sing to the moon-

merely because she sheds her light.

I sing to her because she knows-

of the long road I must walk.

I sing to her because she knows-

of the long road I must walk.

Ay! Tucuman moon.

Little drum of Calchaqui.

Companion to the gauchos-

on the paths of Tafi.

Companion to the gauchos-

on the paths of Tafi.

Lost in the darkness.

Who knows, my dearest, where he goes.

When the moon comes out-

I shall sing, I shall sing.

To my dear Tucuman.

I shall sing, I shall sing.

With hope or with sorrow.

In the fields of Acheral-

I have seen the good moon.

She kisses the canee field.

There is one way we are the same-

moon of solitude.

It is that I walk and sing-

so that I too may shed light.

It is that I walk and sing-

so that I too may shed light.

Lost in the darkness.

Who knows, my dearest, where you go.

When the moon comes out-

I shall sing, I shall sing.

To my dear Tucuman-

I shall sing, I shall sing.

This little cat of the desert steppes awoke with the dawn.

Like a gesture of hope it arrived alone.

As sweet as my homeland, heartbeats of love.

Beating the bombs, the cajas and the galeras.

Today it fled from the siesta, beloved from Salamanca.

This little cat of the desert steppes today awoke with the dawn.

So that you may dance- near Loreto.

Daggered spirits. Friends of song.

This little cat of the desert steppes arrived alone.

Sixto plays the violins from the heavens.

And Froilan beats with strength upon the skin of the sun.

Let Carlos Saavedra tell his tales.

All changes contain universes.

Felipe Corvo is behind the verses of the pueblo.

This little cat of the desert steppes today awoke with the dawn.

It brought back memories of old masters.

Daggered spirits. Friends of song.

This little cat of the desert steppes arrived alone.

On the afternoons of sun and groves of trees-

San Juan returns the song to my voice.

And its water canals bring-

the cricket of my heart.

And its water canals bring-

the cricket of my heart.

Returning from too long an absence

And in every place I leave someone to bid me farewell.

I am the guitar that dreams

The peasant moon of Ullun and Albardbn.

I am the guitar that dreams-

the peasant moon of Ullun and Albardbn.

I will return-

to your late afternoons, San Juan.

When the autumn gathers-

clusters of sun in the vineyard.

I will always return

to sing in San Juan.

Let's try a Cuequita Guyana

Come on, compadre!

The young man put down his basket,

the girl her scissors she leaves.

The young man put down his basket,

the girl her scissors she leaves.

And among the vineyard rows,

they practice their cueca dance.

And among the vineyard rows,

they practice their cueca dance.

And at night, under open sky,

a thousand songs will be sung.

And between the couplets,

a glass of wine to "skim dreams clean."

And between the couplets,

a glass of wine to "skim dreams clean."

To the vineyard rows we go,

not a single grape cluster we leave.

The bodegas we must fill,

before nothings left to drink.

We must fill the bodegas,

before nothings left to drink.

Desert hills of solitude,

we drink the day.

And we walk along the salty earth

of lost tears.

And we walk along the salty earth

of lost tears.

I can longer say-

that the wind is the bread of the horizon.

Nor bring the morning close to my mouth.

My lips, flesh of copper.

I will the daybreak to come-

upon the darkness before the dawn.

And this zamba it sings and that gives me my name-

weeps between my hands.

And this zamba it sings and that gives me my name-

ends with an anguished cry.

Flesh of my song.

Words that are being born.

I go to the essence of my olive colored land.

Whistling like the wind.

I go to the essence of my olive colored land.

Whistling like the wind.

Light of the dawn.

My mouth wants to bloom.

My skin dreams upon the dry skin of a drum.

It sings upon the leaves.

I will the daybreak to come-

upon the darkness before the dawn.

And this zamba it sings and that gives me my name-

weeps between my hands.

And this zamba it sings and that gives me my name-

ends with an anguished cry.

One day I asked, "Grandfather, where is God?"

One day I asked, "Grandfather, where is God?"

My grandfather grew sad and no one answered me.

My grandfather died in the country, without prayers or confession.

And he was buried him by the Indians, playing the sugarcane flute and the tambor.

And he was buried him by the Indians, playing the sugarcane flute and the tambor.

Time passed and I asked, "Father, what do you know of God?"

Time passed and I asked, "Father, what do you know of God?"

My father grew serious and no one answered me.

My father died in the mines without doctors or protection.

The owner's gold has the color of the miners' blood!

The owner's gold has the color of the miners' blood!

My brother lives in the desert steppes and has never seen a flower.

Sweat, malaria and snakes are the life of a wood cutter.

And nobody ever asks him if he knows where God is.

Such an important man has never visited his house.

Such an important man has never visited his house.

I sing as I walk down the open road, and I sing when I am in prison.

I sing as I walk down the open road, and I sing when I am in prison.

I hear the voices of the pueblo who sing better than I.

There is one thing upon the earth that is more important than God.

That no one should spit blood so that another may live better.

That no one should spit blood so that another may live better.

Does God take care of the poor? Perhaps yes, and perhaps no.

But it is certain that he eats at the owner's table.

But it is certain that he eats at the owner's table.

I suffered greatly walking far from home.

So much running around without ever arriving.

When what I was looking for was back where I was born.

Friendship is gold that can't be bought or sold.

It is only given away when you feel it in your chest.

It isn't something one has just to serve some purpose.

This is the way my paisanos offer their friendship.

Their hands are like bread, like cacho and mate.

And the flower of humility perfumes their farms

Life has been lent to me and I will have to return it-

on the day that the creator says I must hand it in.

The day my bones, my flesh and salt are paid back to the earth where I was born.

THIS MUSICAL WAS SHOT IN THE BARN OF LA BOCA, IN BUENOS AIRES CITY.