"Bucharest Tango" is a unique album, one that resurrects a lost music, the sound of Romanian Tango as played in Bucharest cafes and parks, restaurants and clubs across the 1930s. Oana Cătălina Chiţu (pronounce Kitsu) and her musicians combine the lost tango songs of that era with the folk ballads of Maria Tanase (1913-1963; the Romanian Piaf).
Oana was born in rural Romania and grew up listening to her father sing the lost tangos. Visiting relatives in Bucharest she found they had old gramophones and scratchy 78 recordings of the tangos. She began to memorise this beautiful, vanished music. At the same time she loved the songs of Maria Tanase, the tragic diva of Romania, whose voice once haunted the nation. No other singer of the younger generation from Romania has been able to approach both the tangos à la romanesque and Tanase's ballads so authentically yet freely.
Although Romania is a country with a rich musical tradition a virus of cheap, electronic pop music has seized the nation post-revolution. Oana represents the cutting edge of a new generation of Romanians interested in the brilliant - now largely forgotten - musical traditions from a bygone age.



Although the name suggests otherwise, Berlin-based Asphalt Tango Records focuses mainly on music from Eastern Europe. The label has gained quite a reputation with its impressive series Sounds from a Bygone Age , recordings from Romanian archives by artists such as the late singer Romica Puceanu and violin player Ion Petre Stoican. Similarly, Bucharest Tango , the new album from singer Oana Catalina Chitu, is a tribute to days long past, more precisely the period between the World Wars, when the Romanian tango was extremely popular, even as far abroad as Berlin. The only difference is this one isn’t an antique, but a contemporary production.

The album opens in the familiar tango style from Buenos Aires, even though it’s obvious the main instrument isn’t the “typically” Argentinian bandoneón (a German invention—originally named “Band Union” created in the 19th century by Heinrich Band for use as a portable church organ), but the accordion, a familiar instrument in Europe. On the second track, an instrument appears that’s associated with Eastern Europe rather than tango: the clarinet. Its mournful sound does, however, blend perfectly with the stylized passion of the tango. The third selection on the album brings us at high velocity to the heart of the Balkans, with a driving rhythm in an odd meter, propelled by manic hammering on the cymbalon. In “Mâna Birjar,” the fourth song on this surprising disc, everything finally comes together. The tune starts with the slow and sultry pulse of a Romanian ballad, carried by the wheezing bellows of the accordion, with delicate accents from brushes on drums. Then after two verses, the rhythm suddenly shifts to a tango, followed by a true miracle: Both styles combine to yield a strikingly original crossover. By this time, as a listener you’ll probably think you’ve heard it all, but be warned: A number of titillating cocktails are still to come, mixing Romanian tradition with the stuff canonized in Argentinian brothels at the end of the 19th century, and all of them sparkle.