Palmeri is an Argentinian composer, conductor, and pianist whose many genres of composition include opera, oratorio, concerto, and tango.  But it is his Misa a Buenos Aries, better known as the Misatango, that is unquestionably his most popular work.  This mass is performed worldwide and has generated a cult following of singers who will travel long distances to take part in a performance—an incredible tribute to the power and appeal of this work (if you’re interested in joining such a performance, just search “Misatango Festival”—there’s one in Paris in April 2025).  As the mass’s name implies, elements of tango are conspicuously incorporated into this setting of the standard parts of the polyphonic Catholic mass.

Tango is a song and dance genre whose precise origins and history are complex and subject to debate among scholars.  After a brief discussion of these debates, The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians states that “Despite its many meanings ‘tango’ primarily designates the most popular Argentine urban dance of the 20th century: it is one of the most expressive and nationalistic symbols of the Argentine character.”  The dance achieved international popularity in the early twentieth century and underwent a revival later in the century through the growth of “tango nuevo,” a development integrating elements of classical and jazz styles into the genre.  Astor Piazzollo (1921–1994) is the composer most closely associated with this stylistic broadening that paved the way for Palmeri’s mass.

Palmeri began writing the mass in September 1995 and finished it the following April.  The premiere took place four months later, on 17 August 1996 at the Teatro Broadway in Buenos Aires.  The first recording appeared the following year.  The orchestra for the premiere was the Orquestra Sinfónica National de Cuba, and the choirs were a combination of two different choruses that Palmeri directed: the Polyphonic Choir of the City of Vicente López and the Choir of the Law Faculty of the University of Buenos Aires (the dedicatees of the work).  I am thoroughly charmed by the idea that a law school could generate enough singers for an entire choir!

What really made the mass catch on, however, was its performance as the opening act of the 2013 International Festival of Music and Sacred Art, at the Basilica San Ignacio de Loyola in Rome.  This performance—and its choice of venue—was not by chance.  2013 was the year that the Argentinian Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio was elected pope.  The new Pope Francis was the first pope from the Western hemisphere, the first pope from the Southern hemisphere, and the first pope who was a Jesuit priest.  And the Jesuit order was founded by none other than St. Ignatius of Loyola.

As I write this (early March 2025), Pope Francis has been hospitalized for three weeks now with severe respiratory illness; it’s not clear whether this 88-year-old supreme pontiff is going to survive.  As popes go, he is a relatively liberal one, working as an advocate for the poor (the New Testament is filled with concern for the poor; too bad many so-called Christians ignore that part), speaking out against climate change and corporate greed, and aiming for interfaith cooperation when possible.  If he can’t bring himself to sanction same-sex marriage, he is at least not homophobic (I am not one to sneer at progress).  Given the tango’s likely origin among the poor and its Argentinian identity, I like to think that Francis would enjoy the Misatango.

Palmeri has written the following about the mass:  From two important musical experiences in my personal musical history—arranging tango music and directing choirs—the idea emerged to write a work that somehow integrates these two experiences that developed independently. It was always my intention to arrange tango for choral groups, attempting to maintain the “essence” of the genre. The existing choral repertory lacked neither “a cappella” nor accompanied tango arrangements, but while previous arrangements were sometimes acceptable, they have not been satisfactory. Though the technical and expressive possibilities of choral voices is great, for some reason it is difficult to achieve the precision that the tango genre requires.

Taking this into account, my objective in this composition was to maintain the harmonic language, rhythms, melodic designs, and all of the characteristics of tango within the orchestral score, thus allowing the chorus to have full liberty to just “sing the mass.” My decision to use the Latin text could be explained by the place of the Latin language among centuries of choral music and the universal connection to the language. But I have to say that my decision also carries the weight of my aesthetic requirement: Latin gives the work a reserved, esoteric quality which, from my point of view, has much to do with tango—especially progressive tango.

The mass is written for SATB chorus (with rare divisi indications), an occasional spotlight on a mezzo-soprano soloist, piano (which Palmeri sometimes plays in international performances), five-part string orchestra, and an instrument that screams tango: the bandoneón.  Going back at least to 1900, the standard ensemble for tango performance was piano, violin, and bandoneón, a “diatonic accordion with 38 keys or buttons for the high and medium registers and 33 for the low register, in the most classic size adopted by bandoneón tango players” (in the words of New Grove).  The use of any type of accordion would stamp this piece as having popular influence; I can’t think of a single classical composition that uses accordion.  But Palmeri’s choice makes the Misatango orchestra into an oversized tango trio (piano, strings, bandoneón). 

The layout given below shows the meter, the initial key, and the number of measures in each movement.  Duple meter is the default meter for tangos, and in fact 2/4 was initially the norm.  Misatango’s keys are all closely related (c minor/C Major; the dominant g minor/G major, and a minor, the relative minor).  The key choices are quite possibly a reference to traditional tango as well, since that was characterized by tonic/dominant/relative minor relationships. 

Kyrie	c minor	C	173 mm.
Gloria	C Major	2/4	155 mm.
Credo	c minor	C	226 mm.
Sanctus	g minor	C	76 mm.
Benedictus	G Major	C	70 mm.
Agnus	a minor	C	150 mm.

The Kyrie opens heavily (the expressive indication is pesante) with a syncopated homorhythmic texture; syncopation is another trait frequently used in tango, and it plays a big role throughout the mass.  The brief introduction progresses to a fermata on a first inversion ii7 chord, and then Palmeri launches into the Kyrie proper.  This opens in a manner that is the basis for most of the mass: a relatively simple accompaniment with repeated or ostinato-like features, and a strong reliance on regular four-measure phrases.  This, along with syncopation, will characterize most of the mass.  The rhythmic regularity allows for the syncopation, and of course refers to the fact that a tango is a dance; it must have a strong and regular pulse.  The regularity of the phrase length is also a feature associated with popular dance, and (although most singers and audience members are probably unaware of it), it’s one of the features that makes the work easy on the ears; we are not twisted up trying to follow what’s going on.  The spice comes from the syncopation and some of the pop harmonic progressions that appear from time to time.

Palmeri writes this post-introduction Kyrie as a classic fugue.  In the extremely regular exposition, each voice (introduced from bottom to top, BTAS) enters after precisely four measures, alternating the expected tonic/dominant/tonic/dominant for their opening pitch.  We eventually have a brief flirtation with the relative major (Eb) but quickly head back to c minor.  The orchestra then takes over to lead us into the contrasting Christe—still in c minor, but with a new accompaniment figure, and tenors alone at the start with a more lyrical melody than before.  There’s still plenty of syncopation, though.

The orchestra closes the Christe with a fermata, and then they introduce the final Kyrie with a new descending imitative motive that will serve as counter-subject to the fugue theme returning from the first Kyrie.  This descending motive opens with a classic tango rhythm (in fact, the mass is suffused with tango rhythms, but this is one of the oldest and best-known).  After 50 measures of contrapuntal fun, we close the movement with the same kind of heavy homorhythm that opened the mass.  The movement ends but leaves us hanging harmonically, as we have a half cadence on the dominant instead of the expected perfect authentic cadence.

That half cadence resolves brightly as we begin the Gloria in C Major.  This cheerful key is appropriate for this jubilant opening text, but the movement will flip back and forth between major and minor (always with C as our tonic, though).  We’re in minor for “gratias agimus,” major for “Domine fili unigenite,” and minor for “Qui tollis” (where the tempo slows down and the mezzo soloist first appears).  That section, especially when the chorus enters, is more than a little reminiscent of the meltingly beautiful slow movement of Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez, a work that Palmeri surely knew when he was writing the mass.

When we return to C Major we are at the “Quoniam” section, which is essentially a varied repeat of the opening of the movement with its lively tempo and major/minor/major shifts that lead us to the closing Amen.  Many masses will have a fugue for the “Cum sancto spiritu” text, but (probably because Palmeri has already given us an unexpected fugue in the Kyrie), here he simply continues the largely homophonic texture used in this movement.  Thus, the Gloria has an overall tripartite formal structure, a favorite form in early tangos (though before we get too excited here, that’s a formal structure used very widely in all kinds of music).  Very unusually, the Gloria is shorter than the Kyrie.  Given that the Kyrie has nine words of text, while the Gloria has many, many, words, a longer Kyrie basically never happens in mass composition.

The multi-faceted text of the Credo accordingly generates contrasting sections in this movement.  We are back in c minor, and the movement opens in a fashion similar to the Kyrie: a slowish homorhythm (four measures) ending on a fermata, and then a brisker eight-measure orchestral patch that foreshadows much of the following layout: symmetrical phrases, syncopation, repeated melodic patterns.  When the chorus enters again (a repeat of the “Credo in unum Deum” text) we are simply repeating notes on octave Gs, a texture that will characterize much of this section (we finally get some variety at “Jesum Christum.”)

The serious “Et incarnatus est” slows down and turns things over to the mezzo soloist; the progression of soupy (and unresolved) seventh and ninth chords that close her solo are another example of pop influence here.  The chorus returns to c minor, appropriately, for the painful “crucifixus” text.  The uplifting “Et resurrexit” remains in c minor, perhaps surprisingly, but features an initially rising melodic motive plus a snappy tempo; it’s presented at first as a fugal exposition (again BTAS, again tonic/dominant/tonic/dominant, again with entrances at four-measure intervals).  And guess what?  It’s a variant of the fugue subject from the Kyrie.  Once everyone’s in, though, we’re largely in homorhythm through “non erit finis.”

For the final section of the Credo, beginning at “Credo in spiritum sanctum,” Palmeri slows everything down again and generates a slow burn until the end of the movement: reiterated instrumental motives, four-measure phrases, and (mostly) straightforward harmonic motion in recognizably pleasing patterns.  At first it’s just the mezzo, and then she is joined by choral voices part by part (BTAS again).  The textural build is accompanied—once the altos join—by an accelerando until we’re back to our tempo primo and simple homorhythm (with syncopation, of course) for “et vitam venturi amen”—text many composers set to a fugue, but not here.  And although the chorus concludes on octave Cs, the orchestra builds a major/major seventh chord on F over a C foundation, thus leaving everything unresolved harmonically.

With the Sanctus we finally leave the world of c minor/C major for the time being.  Like the Kyrie and Credo, the movement begins with a slower introductory section.  This one is for orchestra first, with the indication “Fraseggiato ‘tangueado’,” which means “tango-ed phrasing.”  The mezzo soloist joins in briefly; when she’s done the tempo picks up again for the chorus to join, once more in a primarily homorhythmic texture.  This section closes on a dominant seventh chord, and then we’re in the faster “Pleni sunt caeli” portion that sounds like it was lifted from Riverdance.  Our imitative opening gives way to more homophony, and then everything slows down again for the Osanna.

As many composers do, Palmeri puts the Benedictus and final Osanna portions of the Sanctus text in a separate movement, this one in a bright G major and a slower tempo.  After another homorhythmic opening the mezzo gets a short solo, and then it’s all choral for the rest of the movement.  Our part is quite attractive; sopranos and tenors pick up on the mezzo’s melody, with altos and basses functioning more as accompaniment initially.  There’s some nice trading back and forth on repeated notes (first the women, then the men).  When it’s time for the final Osanna, Palmeri does not follow the frequent practice of bringing back the music for the first Osanna, but instead rather cleverly provides the text with a varied version of the Benedictus music.  Altogether a very pretty movement for one of the most positive texts in the mass.

The Agnus begins with a more substantial orchestral introduction than the earlier Sanctus, now in a slow a minor but with the expected four-measure phrases and repeated bass and melodic patterns that Palmeri has used throughout the mass.  The mezzo picks up with the same music, for the first “Agnus dei...miserere nobis,” and then it’s our turn, for the second “Agnus dei...miserere nobis.”  And then after those 16 measures of text, the remainder of the movement is devoted to the three words “dona nobis pacem” (grant us peace).  That’s 110 measures!  And these words aren’t even introduced as they should be liturgically, with “Agnus dei qui tollis peccata mundi.”  Nope, we go straight to DNP.

Not that I’m objecting.  These are arguably the most important words of the entire mass, and Palmeri gives them a wonderful treatment.  He basically brings back the fugue subject from the Kyrie (shades of the Mozart Requiem!), and while he starts out as before, his continuation is more powerful.  The slower tempo helps here, as does the continuous a minor (as opposed to the Kyrie’s flirtation with major and with some pop harmonies).  Palmeri does an excellent job of building tension and then pulling back, thickening and thinning the texture again and again.

The chorus drops out at 111, turning the text over to the mezzo.  The tempo slows down slightly while she repeats the pitch C, and the orchestra leads us from a minor to the dominant of C major and a fermata.  And then there’s a magical switch at 114.  Alto and bass sing the fugue theme but now in C major over reiterated octave Cs in the orchestra, forming a kind of C pedal.  The indication for these orchestral Cs is “marcato ‘Pugliese’,” a reference to the musical style of important tango composer Osvaldo Pugliese, who had died barely two months before Palmeri began composing his mass.

Soprano and tenor then join in with the fugue theme (in imitation) over the continuing pedal.  Once we’re all in, the mezzo sings above us all (the first time in the mass that she has joined us).  And now while the orchestral bass continues its C foundation, the other instruments play a continually shifting series of seventh chords above it. None of these chords resolves, but the C major foundation of the orchestral bass and the choral fugue subject leaves no doubt as to where we are harmonically.

At 132 the mezzo drops out, and it is just chorus for the remainder of the work.  We have six measures of homorhythmic texture, where we mostly sing repeated notes, and then at 139 we settle down to the whole notes for this final section.  While we are reiterating octave Cs, the orchestra finally has the fugue theme (over its own Cs for the bass instruments).  In the last three measures, we sing “pacem” over orchestral octaves Cs, and then we are alone, with a final measure on a voiced “m.”  Beautiful.

If you like singing along with YouTube videos I would recommend the one by the WDR Rundfunkchor conducted by Mariano Chiacchiarini, in a 2018 performance in Cologne.  The choir is professional, the norm for a European radio choir (I sang in one when I lived in Brussels) and they do a terrific job (although I feel sorry for the women, who have an unappealing costume foisted on them that looks like it is made from polyester but probably cost a bundle anyway, because why not add insult to injury?).  The sultry mezzo looks like she just took a break from her nightclub gig (but hey, it’s tango!).  Instead of a string orchestra there is just a string quintet, but it works fine.  Palmeri himself is at the piano, and it’s lots of fun to listen to him improvise.  The conductor is a delight, and he mouths the words along with the chorus.  And when the mass ends, there is a long, long silence from the audience, which is of course exactly what we want after a musical journey with this moving conclusion.

Really, you have to be some kind of grinch not to enjoy singing or listening to this engaging work.

March 2025