Flamenco: OH-lay, oh yes! January 22, 2014
On our last day in Seville, Sunday, the 19th, my one goal was to see a flamenco performance. After all, Andalusia is the home of flamenco. In Sevilla, the gypsies - who originated this art form - were confined to the town of Triana, across the river from Seville. It was there that they had expressed their sorrows and frustrations through this ancient tradition of song, guitar-playing, and dance. Modern flamenco shows, geared toward tourists, can be quite expensive. We had been steered by Pablo, the young adult son of our hosts, toward La Carboneria, a nearby flamenco bar where the only expense is for the drinks and food that you consume. The one catch is that they don’t always present flamenco performances. We decided to take our chances here, rather than in a more pricey alternative.
So, at about 8:30 pm, we wended our way through a dark, narrow, empty, twisty street of the old Jewish quarter, Santa Cruz, feeling a little unsafe until we heard the sound of a child’s laughter coming from one of the houses. A bit tentatively, we entered La Carboneria through an old, old door, freshly painted bright red. We were met by two old men, one softly playing a clarinet, the other - even older, with a big dowager’s hump, wearing a long black coat and large flat-brimmed hat - crouched next to a tall white fireplace. Its glowing log sent out a welcome warmth on this chilly evening. The men assured us that a flamenco performance would take place there at 9:30 pm.
 |
| Door to Carboneria |
We entered a large, no-nonsense room, furnished with long tables and benches surrounding a plain stage, that held 3 wooden chairs against the back wall. Along one side of the room was a bar serving all manner of alcoholic beverages - with a few tapas offerings as an afterthought. Overhead, a corrugated steel roof covered everything. There were very few folks there at this point, so we had our choice of places to sit and selected a spot right in front of the stage. With an hour to wait and no books on hand to read (we don’t usually leave home without a couple), we resorted to quizzing each other on Spanish vocabulary.
Right on schedule, the trio of performers took their places on stage. They were all in their 30’s, I would guess. To me, the female dancer and the male guitar player looked like sibs. She was extremely thin, dressed in a tight red dress, with traditional ruffles along the hem, and black dancing shoes. Her black hair was pulled back into a traditional chignon at the neck, her eyes outlined definitively in black eye-liner. He was casually dressed and seemed comfortable cradling his guitar. Between the two of them sat a female singer, dressed in normal street clothes.
i
Never having experienced flamenco, we were mesmerized and at the same time intrigued by the unexpected lack of melody in the singing. There was a wailing aspect to it, ranging from low and slow to loud and fast, which gives it such a deeply felt emotional tone. It reminded me of opera in the depth of emotion being expressed. Of course, it was sung in Spanish and we had no clue as to the lyrics. Several songs were performed with just the singer and guitarist. The dancer kept her attention soberly on the floor in front of her, joining the singer in occasionally clapping the rhythm. Off to the side of the stage, the old man in the long black coat danced a little bit, almost in spite of himself.
Finally there was a number that involved the dancer, who took to the front of the stage, her torso stretched out tall, her arms and hands in graceful, taut poses, soon whirling in staccato fashion, her feet striking the floor decisively to accompany the guitarist in creating rhythm. It was beautiful!
They performed for ½ hour and then left the stage. We didn’t know if that was the end or just a break. We sat for a bit and then decided that we’d had our flamenco experience for that day. As we departed through the warm outer room with the fireplace and the high walls covered in posters and paintings of dancers and guitarists, it seemed that we had been in some sort of temple to flamenco.
As pleased as we were with this experience, little did we realize that the very next evening, in the city of Cordoba, we would stumble onto an even more inspiring flamenco gathering. By then we had moved out of the lovely apartment in Seville, taken a train to Cordoba, and moved into another AirBnB accommodation. That evening we were walking around the old part of the city, trying to get our bearings (and to get warm by moving around), when we heard flamenco singing coming from a tapas restaurant. It was about 8:30 pm, and we decided to stop for a bite to eat and to listen. In the fairly large dining room, there were 4 people sitting at the end of a long table. The young male singer’s plaintive song filled the room, accompanied by the skillful guitar playing of a middle-aged man. We quietly ordered a tapas and began to listen. Soon the small group was joined by others, mostly older gentlemen, who greeted each other warmly and took a place at the table or nearby. The room began to fill, all respectfully paying careful attention. Then an attractive woman shyly but resolutely began to sing in a vocal dance with the music of the guitar. There were no actual dancers.
the female singer and the guitarist (note the Montilla-Moriles wine on the table)
When one singer finished, the guitarist would pause and then continue playing, while another guest would pipe up with a song, ending to shouts of OH-lay and appreciative clapping from everyone. Before long, the room was filled with about 50 admirers crowded into the space, all ordering a beer or the typical Cordoba white wine, Montilla-Moriles. We learned from someone sitting near us that these were all amateurs, who gather once a week to sing the traditional flamenco songs. This gathering seemed to me to be a bit like a Spanish style ceilidh, with no “play set” and various people making their musical offering to the group in a spontaneous way. It was obvious that they were passionate about this art form. There seemed to be enough young folks so that there is no danger of it dying out in this region. I’m sure that we were the only strangers in the room that night - and we felt privileged to be there.
No comments:
Post a Comment