Gauchos could be (and I think some English-speaking sources have) described as the equivalent of cowboys. That feels kind of disrespectful, I think. To my limited understanding since I mostly lived in a city, gauchos are people who tend to cattle and pasture in the grasslands of Argentina and Uruguay. This image and the rural esthetics bred from this historic lifestyle have been imprinted in music, art and literature. I also realized, not surprisingly, that the gaucho continues to be revindicated as an symbol of independence and anti-capitalist fight.
One of my favorite Uruguayan singers is Alfredo Zitarrosa. His deep voice and thoughtful lyricism converted him into an icon of popular music. Like many of his peers, he was exiled during the civil-military dictatorship because of his “disident music”. Zitarrosa always explained that his music was not meant to be leftist political propaganda like the military regime claimed. Rather, he just sang about “what was in the air”, his memories of a rural Uruguay with long valleys and quiet streams, his mother’s small apartment nearby la rambla and the average José who would share those experiences too. The image of the gaucho, a protector of those natural resources transliterated into idyllic paysages and calloused hands, was present in a lot of his songs too. Daniel Viglietti, Los Olimareños and other singers pictured these ideas through their lyrics and their guitars. The gaucho was a symbol of pride of a simpler life connected deeply with nature that resonated against the images that the military regime was trying to uphold.
Recently, I started reading The Purple Land by W. H. Hudson. This book is a loan from a dear friend, its return a promise to visit Montevideo again. This novel tells the story of an Englishman travelling through Uruguay searching for a job to turn his life around and provide for his wife, whom he eloped with. A small detail I adore is the fact that the main character is a botanist who appreciates beauty in every living being and every landscape. Its vivid descriptions of the Yí River, the sunsets on the grasslands and the gauchos he encountered paint Uruguay in such a different light from what I am accustomed to as a city-dweller. But I see the similarities between Hudson’s writing and Zitarrosa’s masterful lyricism.
