Last Tango in Paris

In Gato Barbieri: The Italian Years that Shaped a Legend, Andrea Polinelli chronicles the remarkable journey of Argentinian saxophonist Leandro “Gato” Barbieri, focusing on the transformative years he spent immersed in the Italian jazz scene. One of the book’s most compelling chapters dives into Barbieri’s pivotal role in shaping the haunting, sensual soundtrack of Last Tango in Paris, Bernardo Bertolucci’s 1972 cinematic firestorm.

Polinelli doesn’t just explore how Barbieri came to compose the score — he excavates the cultural, personal, and musical terrain that made this moment possible. At the time, Barbieri was already an intense, expressive force in the European jazz circuit, known for his fiery tone and deep emotional commitment to his music. He had played with Mingus, shared stages with Ella Fitzgerald, and headlined Italian jazz festivals. Still, Last Tango in Paris would catapult him into international fame.

When Bertolucci chose Gato over more conventional names for the score, it was a bold artistic decision. The two had met years earlier, and Bertolucci was deeply familiar with Barbieri’s body of work — especially his habit of weaving tango into his albums. Gato was both proud and terrified to take on the project, understanding both its creative opportunity and its emotional weight.

Polinelli captures Barbieri’s unease with the business side of cinema — the fame, the money, the pressure — and how it contrasted with his deeply lyrical, almost spiritual approach to music. Yet the result was astonishing. The Last Tango soundtrack became a touchstone in the history of film music — a seamless blend of Latin rhythm, orchestral drama, and jazz improvisation. And it won Gato a Grammy.

The chapter explores how the music was recorded twice — once for the film itself, and then again for a commercial release. It details the pivotal role played by arranger Oliver Nelson, who took Gato’s haunting melody and orchestrated it into something unforgettable. Key collaborators such as Franco D’Andrea and Giovanni Tommaso recall the intense, real-time nature of the sessions — before the era of overdubs and fixes — with all musicians playing together, live, under the baton of Gianfranco Plenizio.

Polinelli doesn’t shy away from controversy either. He addresses a musical mystery that emerged years later — uncanny similarities between Gato’s main theme and a 1959 composition by Brazilian maestro Radamés Gnattali. Was it coincidence? Subconscious influence? Plagiarism? The book presents the facts and lets the reader decide, enhancing the intrigue of this already rich story.

One of the most powerful threads running through the chapter is the emotional depth of Barbieri’s performance. As Polinelli recounts through the testimony of fellow musicians and critics, Gato’s saxophone in Last Tango isn’t showy or indulgent — it’s restrained, focused, coiled with energy. “It’s like a Zen situation,” remembers pianist Franco D’Andrea. “The energy is there, enormous, but he manages to control it… The way he exposes the melodies — God what a thing, it gives you goosebumps.”

The music mirrors the emotional complexity of Bertolucci’s film — its sensuality, its melancholy, its existential ache. The accordion evokes nostalgia and Parisian loneliness; the strings evoke longing; the saxophone punches through it all with a cry from the soul. As editor Roberto Perpignani notes, “If there was no jazz by Gato Barbieri, it would not be the same film.”

In this chapter, as in the entire book, Andrea Polinelli brings the reader into intimate contact with a moment when artistic vision, personal history, and cultural upheaval collided — and changed everything for one of jazz’s most distinctive voices. Gato Barbieri: The Italian Years that Shaped a Legend is a must-read for anyone passionate about music, cinema, and the stories that live in between.