Night Music March 3, 2014
"West Virginia, mountain momma, take me home...." The words seemed so out of place here in a tapas bar in a pueblo blanco in the south of Spain. Yet, there was no mistaking the lyrics being sung by two Irish guys and a Brit, playing guitars and a ukele, crooning with John Denver accents, on this windy Friday evening. As we quietly slipped into chairs close to the musicians, it felt wonderful to hear a tune so familiar that I could softly sing along.
We have been so very lucky to have been taken in by the Alozaina ex-pat community. We are grateful for the folks who invite us to community events, buss us on both cheeks when they greet us, meet with us in writing support groups, and share their knowledge of the town. One of the regular happenings that we've been meaning to attend and hadn't - until last Friday evening - is a local flamenco gathering. It's small and casual and doesn't even necessarily happen every Friday evening - and can include American folks songs performed by non-Spaniards! In that way, it's a bit organic - like so many other things in the ex-pat community here. We had heard the buzz that a few friends had definite plans to be there this Friday, so, with our time in Alozaina winding down, we decided that we'd be there, too.
Along about 8:30 pm, we climbed the 100 steps to the town plaza, just behind us, and then picked our way through the labyrinth of passageways, down the 89 steps on the other side of the central ridge, to Pepe Bravo's bar. The streets were dark and empty, and the fierce wind whipped around, blowing us along, as we unraveled the route. A gray-haired, pony-tailed fellow with open shirt, standing just outside the door, smiled at us as we entered Pepe Bravo's. As it turns out, he was the singer who would share some traditional flamenco songs that evening, accompanied by a couple of skilled flamenco guitarists and, to pass the tradition along, his grown son. These fellows were gracious performers, beginning only after the ex-pat's had had their turn singing favorites from the 1960's. Then they pulled their chairs in closer, beginning what appeared to be an unrehearsed unfolding of tunes, the singer leading the way, drawing on deep inner resources, while the guitarists deftly danced their fingers over the strings.
Before too long, Rod arrived with his beautiful old family violin from Britain and his huge accordion. Midway through the evening, he joined the flamenco artists, spontaneously blending the sounds of the fiddle and later the accordion, with this most Spanish of traditions. As he did so, the eight year old son of one of the guitarists looked up in fascinated awe at this strange new instrument.
Yielding to pressure, Bruce even got into the act, playing a couple of fiddle tunes. The audience of 15 or so was relaxed, chatting, sipping beer and wine, coming and going for a smoke outside, listening, appreciating. The evening was one more little gem of a memory to tuck away - and share with you.
We have been so very lucky to have been taken in by the Alozaina ex-pat community. We are grateful for the folks who invite us to community events, buss us on both cheeks when they greet us, meet with us in writing support groups, and share their knowledge of the town. One of the regular happenings that we've been meaning to attend and hadn't - until last Friday evening - is a local flamenco gathering. It's small and casual and doesn't even necessarily happen every Friday evening - and can include American folks songs performed by non-Spaniards! In that way, it's a bit organic - like so many other things in the ex-pat community here. We had heard the buzz that a few friends had definite plans to be there this Friday, so, with our time in Alozaina winding down, we decided that we'd be there, too.
Along about 8:30 pm, we climbed the 100 steps to the town plaza, just behind us, and then picked our way through the labyrinth of passageways, down the 89 steps on the other side of the central ridge, to Pepe Bravo's bar. The streets were dark and empty, and the fierce wind whipped around, blowing us along, as we unraveled the route. A gray-haired, pony-tailed fellow with open shirt, standing just outside the door, smiled at us as we entered Pepe Bravo's. As it turns out, he was the singer who would share some traditional flamenco songs that evening, accompanied by a couple of skilled flamenco guitarists and, to pass the tradition along, his grown son. These fellows were gracious performers, beginning only after the ex-pat's had had their turn singing favorites from the 1960's. Then they pulled their chairs in closer, beginning what appeared to be an unrehearsed unfolding of tunes, the singer leading the way, drawing on deep inner resources, while the guitarists deftly danced their fingers over the strings.
Before too long, Rod arrived with his beautiful old family violin from Britain and his huge accordion. Midway through the evening, he joined the flamenco artists, spontaneously blending the sounds of the fiddle and later the accordion, with this most Spanish of traditions. As he did so, the eight year old son of one of the guitarists looked up in fascinated awe at this strange new instrument.
Yielding to pressure, Bruce even got into the act, playing a couple of fiddle tunes. The audience of 15 or so was relaxed, chatting, sipping beer and wine, coming and going for a smoke outside, listening, appreciating. The evening was one more little gem of a memory to tuck away - and share with you.
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