“Can you hear that?” On a cold winter afternoon in Buenos Aires, 52-year-old Damián Guttlein sat at his kitchen table, holding an old bandoneon—a musical instrument resembling an accordion. He tapped one of the many buttons, giving it air as he gently pulled and pushed. “Can you hear it’s off?” he asked, as the note echoed slightly dissonant, like two notes played at once.
With a swift flick of his wrist, Guttlein removed the outer button case, revealing the instrument’s wooden interior, where metal reeds lined the inside. Using a metal file, he carefully scraped at the reed corresponding to the note he had just played, removing a thin layer of steel. After snapping the button case back on, he tested the note again. This time, it was smooth and pure, gently wavering like the voice of a lonely singer. “Now that’s a pure sound,” Guttlein said, adding, “I don’t know how else to describe it.”
The sound was unmistakable—the sound of Buenos Aires, cherished by anyone who has danced the tango or visited the Argentine capital.
There was no electronic tuner in sight. Guttlein relied solely on his memory, slowly refining each note with precision. Widely regarded as one of the world’s greatest bandoneon tuners, Guttlein holds a unique talent that preserves the tradition of Argentina’s original luthiers. These luthiers were instrumental in making the bandoneon a central instrument in tango orchestras nearly a century ago. His workshop, nestled in the quiet neighborhood of San Martín, has become a pilgrimage site for bandoneon players from Argentina and around the globe.
Lately, the distinctive sound of the bandoneon has found a new life in modern music. It is increasingly being incorporated into recordings and live performances by Argentine artists in genres such as rock, pop, and even trap. Guttlein pointed out a performance by Argentine DJ Bizarrap and Colombian singer Shakira at the 2023 Latin Grammy Awards, as well as a jazz-inspired NPR Tiny Desk performance by pop singer Nicki Nicole. Even rock star Conociendo Rusia featured the instrument. All of these performances used bandoneons tuned by Guttlein. “Think about how many people are enjoying that sound now,” Guttlein said. “These instruments are coming back to life.”
The bandoneon, a type of concertina, is most closely associated with tango music in Argentina and Uruguay, but it has European roots. Invented in the 1820s by German luthier Heinrich Band, it was initially intended for use in church processions, resembling a handheld organ. In the early 20th century, German and Italian immigrants brought the bandoneon to Buenos Aires’s working-class port neighborhoods, where it became integral to the passionate ballroom dance known as the tango. Its melodies are rich and melancholic, weaving together sadness and sweetness. Some of tango’s most influential orchestra leaders, such as Astor Piazzolla, Aníbal Troilo, and Rodolfo Mederos, were bandoneon players, and their music helped elevate the instrument to international fame during the golden age of tango in the 1940s.
The secret to their success, however, lay in the instruments’ tuning, which was handled for decades by two Italian-born luthiers: Ricardo Romualdi and Fabio Fabiani. Together, they became known as “Los Tanos” (slang for “The Italians”).
Romualdi was Guttlein’s childhood neighbor. As a young man, Guttlein was fascinated by Romualdi’s work. In his twenties, Romualdi invited him into Los Tanos’ workshop. “It’s a job you only learn by watching and listening,” Guttlein recalled. “They were so generous with me.” Initially, Guttlein performed menial tasks like fetching coffee and sweeping the floors. However, with his background in metalworking and carpentry, as well as his experience playing the piano accordion, Guttlein quickly picked up the trade. He eventually found his calling and began traveling with his girlfriend (now his wife) across Argentina, searching for old, unused bandoneons to restore. With help from Los Tanos, he refined the instruments and sold them to professional musicians, building a reputation for his work. “It was a big bet,” he admitted. “This is a very small world, and if you screw up, people find out quickly.”
Romualdi and Fabiani eventually entrusted Guttlein with some of their clients, and from the late 1990s to 2005, he worked alongside them. When the elder luthiers retired, Guttlein continued their legacy, carrying on the art of bandoneon tuning. “Ricardo worked until his very last day,” Guttlein remembered. “He loved what he did.”
Now, in a small workshop attached to his home in a yellow Spanish colonial house, Guttlein keeps the tradition alive. The space is neat and simple, with shelves lined with instruments awaiting repair. His tools consist of little more than a metal file, spare reeds, and plates, and of course, his ear. The bandoneon only needs tuning once every 8 to 10 years, but the process can take up to a month. “You have to tune a bandoneon badly for it to sound good,” Guttlein quipped. “It’s perfectly imperfect.”
While newer bandoneons have more precise interiors, Guttlein believes their sound lacks the warmth of those crafted in the past. He explains, “Their sound is strong, but it’s not the sound of the past.”
While most of his clients come to him, Guttlein occasionally travels abroad when there are enough requests. He recently returned from Colombia, where he spent several months tuning instruments. The sound that artists seek, especially when they’re working abroad, is what Guttlein refers to as “the sound of Buenos Aires.” Without realizing it, they’re asking for the “Los Tanos” sound—tuning by ear, passed down through generations.
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