The music industry at the time was dominated by the two companies Victor and Odeon. Even though the musicians were of the highest quality, Victor only worked with established bands and so was unwilling to sign the new orchestra. Troilo therefore signed a three-year contract with Odeon. At the time, record executives were pushing fast, D’Arienzo‑style tempos, and were more interested in instrumentals than in vocals. Troilo chose Eduardo Arolas’ 1917 tango “Comme il faut”, a French expression meaning literally “as it should be“ or “properly”, paired it with Agustín Bardi’s “Tinta verde,” two instrumentals that moved briskly than the more leisurely speed the band played at the Marabú. Choosing these classic tango compositions signaled respect for the old guard, but the recordings were avant guard.

The 1938 take of “Comme il faut” begins with a syncopated 3‑3‑2 pattern, and you can hear Troilo’s bandoneón breathing between sharp staccato bursts and lyrical legato lines. Goñi anchors the compás with a pulsing left hand and fills melodic gaps with guitar‑like bordoneos. Listeners can already hear the expressive phrasing that would make Troilo a pillar of the golden age.

The recordings ended up being too avant guard for the time, and the record ended up being a financial flop. Odeon decided to not record another track with Troilo for the rest of their three year contract, which is why there is a noticeable gap in Troilo’s discography until he signed with Victor in 1941. While it is a tragic loss of what could have been recorded in this three year period, the bold artistic choices Troilo took gave us a powerful listening experience we can still appreciate today.

“Comme il faut” from March 1938:

Troilo's debut record in 1938 was purely instrumental and commercially disappointing. But even though Odeon left him without recording opportunities for three years, his orchestra thrived live on the Marabú stage and Radio El Mundo.

In March 1941, Troilo signed with RCA Victor and he returned to the studio with a fresh label and a new idea of what a tango orchestra could be. By the time Victor opened its doors, he had three years of repertoire ready to go and a mature lineup that included bandoneonists Juan Miguel Rodríguez, Eduardo Marino, Marcos Troilo and a young Astor Piazzolla; violinists Hugo Baralis, David Díaz, Pedro Sapochnik and Reynaldo Nichele; bassist Kicho Díaz; singer Fiorentino and a men often considered the best pianist in tango history: Orlando Goñi.

At the March session they cut “Toda mi Vida,” “Yo Soy el Tango,” “Mano Brava” and “Cachirulo”: a burst of pent‑up creativity built during the hiatus. Among this line up was “Yo Soy el Tango,” his first sung tango on record. The piece, with music by Domingo Federico and lyrics by Homero Expósito, speaks about the tango itself. The lyrics reminds listeners that beneath the polish, tango keeps a rebel heartbeat and remembers its roots.

Troilo entrusted this monologue to Francisco Fiorentino, a singer he had honed on stage and who embodied the idea of a new type of singer: a vocalist integrated into the group rather than an afterthought.

Musically, “Yo Soy el Tango” opens with a long instrumental lead-in. Whereas the 1938 recordings have an almost nervous energy, “Yo Soy el Tango” keeps the compás calmer, letting the bandoneons breathe more between phrases. Goñi’s piano provides a flowing marcación bordoneada, and the violins draw a lyrical arc. While they keep the beat steady, the musicians vary the dynamics and volume, creating more complex rhythms than the driving almost metronome D’Arienzo sound popular at the time.

The orquestra plays the melodic lines much like Francisco Fiorentino sings, such that Fiorentino enters, his voice integrates seamlessly within the ensemble. This is the archetype of the ‘cantor de orquesta’, where the singer-orchestra combination is tightly synchronized, as opposed to the ‘estribillista’ style popular in the late 1930s where the singer simply adds a verse on top of the song. This change in the use of singers was pioneered by Troilo, and was soon widely adopted by leading bands.

 “Yo Soy el Tango” from March 1941: 

In contrast to the self‑referential swagger of “Yo soy el tango,” this lyric speaks about a woman whose voice carries the scent of the suburbs and the ache of a bandoneón. Her identity remains a mystery: some point to Malena de Toledo, others to Nelly Omar, and Manzi himself suggested she was an invention. That ambiguity only deepened the song’s allure.

With “Malena,” Héctor María Artola becomes the first outside arranger to write for Troilo’s orchestra. Instinct yields to design: lines are carved cleanly, textures balance, and the music gains a deliberate, luminous control. While arrangements can give up some of the spontaneity of the improvised style, it allows for a new level of sophistication in composition.

Artola’s arrangement underscores this shift from proclamation to confession. Compared with the 1941 sessions, the tempo is slower, Orlando Goñi rocks a more gentle marcación bordoneada, and in the inner registers, the bandoneons shade the texture with low, velvety inner-voice lines, while Troilo’s phrasing stretches early notes and then releases them toward the cadence.

Fiorentino enters after a long instrumental introduction, his voice woven even more into the fabric than in the recordings before, epitomizing the cantor de la orquesta model. The success of “Malena” will pave way for later masterpieces like “Gricel” and confirm Fiorentino’s status as the archetypal orchestra singer. Its quiet intensity still invites dancers to feel the emotion, slow their steps, and listen for the sadness in the bandoneón’s sigh.

About three months later the group recorded a second take, which replaced the first on the original release and became the standard on LP and CD.

The contrasts are subtle but meaningful. The easiest tell comes around 1'25" in Fiorentino’s line: the familiar second take has‚ "con ese tono triste de la canción"; in the first take he sings‚ "con ese tono triste de callejón". Actually neither matching Homero Manzi’s manuscript (tono oscuro). We’ll upload the second, familiar take.

“Malena” from April 1942: