Category — Flamenco Singer Fernanda de Utrera
Flamenco Singer Manolo Caracol speaks – 1970 Interview by Paco Almazán – translated with comments by Brook Zern
Translator’s introduction: This blog’s many interviews with great flamenco artists of the past are important. They can also be surprisingly relevant, shedding new light on contemporary arguments and issues. They let serious English-speaking aficionados understand the thoughts and feelings of those who shaped the history of the art.
As an example: No singer in my lifetime has been greater than Manolo Caracol. None came from a more illustrious artistic lineage, or more completely embodied the entire known history of the art. None were as prodigious — winning a historic contest at about twelve years old. And I think no recording reveals the emotional power of flamenco song as well as Caracol’s double-LP “Una Historia de Cante Flamenco”, on which he is magnificently accompanied by the guitarist Melchor de Marchena.
This interview by Paco Almazán from Triunfo magazine of August 8, 1970, goes to the very heart of the art. It served as a response to an earlier interview in that publication where Antonio Mairena, the leading singer of that time, had challenged the greatness of the other Gypsy giant, Manolo Caracol. Caracol would die not long after this interview appeared.
The interview can be found in the blog of Andrés Raya Saro called Flamenco en mi Memoria, at this url: http://memoriaflamenca.blogspot.com/2017/01/las-entrevistas-de-paco-almazan-ii.html?spref=fb
(My attempted clarifications appear in brackets.)
Sr. Almazán writes: Manolo Caracol started by weighing in on the casas cantaores – [the few crucial families who were immensely important in the early development of the art.] He claims that in reality, his family is the one and only real deal when it comes to bloodlines or heritage:
Manolo Caracol: The house of the Ortegas [Manolo Caracol is the professional name for Manuel Ortega] is actually the only one we know of. In the rest, there were one or two singers, but not a whole branch of them. I know of no other, because the house of Alcalá [a town that produced notable singers] is not a single family. Los Torres [the family of Manuel Torre, who remains the supreme paradigm of male Gypsy artistry] have produced some artists, and so have the the Pavóns [the family of the La Niña de los Peines, the maximum female Gypsy singer, and her brother Tomás Pavón, one of the four or five most revered male singers]. Pastora, Tomás and Arturo – three siblings, and that’s it. My great grandfather, [the legendary singer] Curro Dulce, who was my father’s grandfather; and on my mother’s side, [the legendary singer] El Planeta who was the inventor of the [important early song] polo, and was the world’s first flamenco singer. Or who created the polo, because I believe that flamenco songs are not made. Furniture is made, clothing is made, but flamenco songs are created. El Planeta was older than El Fillo, and from there on, and the Ortegas emanate from them. El Fillo was an Ortega, and was the first “cantaor” [singer] who was “largo”— who had an extensive repertoire. A great cantaor, a grandiose cantaor – that was El Fillo, and he was from Triana. Before me there were several cantaores. Now, in the Twentieth Century the most famous – well, I think that was me, and for that reason I say that even children know me and me biography. But I’d like to talk about today’s problems.
Interviewer’s note by Paco Almazán: Remember Caracol’s beginnings, after being one of the winners of the 1922 Concurso de Cante Jondo of Granada – he says “when I won the prize” [a stunning achievement for a twelve-year-old boy]. He traveled to Madrid and triumphed on the terrace of the Calderón Theater, reaffirming that Madrid plaza’s importance.
Interviewer: But Manolo, everyone accuses you of just that. Of having taken the cante into theaters, degrading the purity of flamenco! Don’t think that everyone thought it was a good idea!
M.C. It’s not a good idea? Well, what’s good? If right now the inventor of penicillin, Doctor Fleming, hadn’t shared it with the world, the sick would not have been cured. If I don’t take flamenco song to the people who might like it, and understand it, or at least welcome it. You can sing with an orchestra, or with a bagpipe – with anything! Bagpipes, violins, flutes…the man who has real art, real personality, and is a creator in cante gitano… You have my zambras [his rendition of sentimental popular songs with a flamenco aire, which had enormous sales], and my cantes [flamenco songs, which had more limited sales], all with roots of pure flamenco song, not fixed in a cosa pasajera!…But if this business of pure song [cante puro] has become popular now, starting about ten years ago, when the flamencologists decided to speak of flamenco and the purity of flamenco! Es un cuento! It’s a story! [A fairy tale]. This business of the purity of flamenco is a story! Singing flamenco and speaking of whether it’s pure flamenco…and they chew on the idea, and they talk, and talk [a clear reference to Antonio Mairena]. That’s not flamenco singing! That’s a guy giving a sermon. Cante flamenco and cante puro – not even the singer knows what’s what. He’s a cantaor who has been born to sing above him. The rest are just copying. That’s why today there is no creation, when before there was creation.
Paco Almazan’s note: How happy Caracol must have been after these statements! He goes on and on, and when Almazán asks him which artists he liked most or influenced him as a youngster, he gives us this gift:
M.C. There were different aspects. Who moved me the most, whose singing reached me most deeply – that was Manuel Torre. Who was most pleasing to listen to – that was Antonio Chacón. Tomás Pavón was pleasing, and also reached me. And another great artist, La Niña de los Peines [Pastora Pavón, sister of Tomás], the greatest cantaora [female singer] that was ever born. She was a singer who had everything, had altos and bajos [high and low registers]. And any singer who doesn’t have a good low register is worthless. There are many singers from that era who sing de cabeza [using headtones? In a studied way?], sing songs that never existed and that they couldn’t have known, and who call them cantes de Alcalá, or cantes del patatero [songs of the potato seller?] or of Juan Perico. [This again refers to Antonio Mairena, who probably invented certain styles of important song forms and attributed them to other, perhaps fictional, artists.] That’s worthless! It’s as if we dijeramos un aperitivo [served an aperitif?] to cante flamenco. Sing – sing and create – take command the way a great torero does, improvising. That’s real singing!
There are fewer real singers today. Today, as far as I know, among the younger singers I like Camarón [who would become a revolutionary and the most important singer of his generation], and among the veterans I like Pepe Marchena, a creator in his own style [the established master of a pleasing style of singing, with clear tone and a strong vibrato]. Juanito Valderrama [another pleasing singer, in the “cante bonito” or “pretty song” style] is an extraordinary artist [both Marchena and Valderrama, like Chacón before them, were non-Gypsy artists who represented a cultural counterbalance to the great Gypsy artists like Caracol; Caracol himself shows appreciation for both camps, when many others were partisans of one side or the other.] Valderrama doesn’t really reach me, but he’s a great artist and I like listening to him nonetheless. Those girls from Utrera [Fernanda and Bernarda de Utrera] are true cantaoras, and a lot of admired artists today are copying them. The places with the best singing are Triana, Jerez and Cádiz. In Alcalá what there are is bizcotelas. That’s what you’ll find in Alcalá, bizcotelas and dust for the alberos of bullrings. Among the guitarists, there’s Sabicas and this boy [este muchacho] Paco de Lucía, who plays very well, although not on the level of the maestro [Sabicas]. And Mario Escudero, who has come here from America. And among the Gypsy players [in addition to the Gypsy artists Sabicas and Escudero] we have Melchor de Marchena, Niño Ricardo, and that other guy, Habichuela [presumably the great accompanist Juan Habichuela]. Manolo de Huelva is retired now, but is a phenomenon, although he’s eighty. [Many people who saw this guitarist at work say no one was better, or as good.] And in dance, after Carmen Amaya, from this period I don’t know anyone among the dancers, neither in this era nor before [delante de] Carmen Amaya. I don’t know anyone.
Paco Almazán writes: The interview is long. Almost at the end, the newspaperman asks if flamenco loses something with the new verses that some younger singers are using.
M.C. Hombre, if the verses come from the sentiment of the song and the person who’s singing, and if they’re good… You can’t sing a martinete [a tragic deep song form] and tell about a little birdie singing in its nest. Now, anything that touches on pena [grief, misery], of love, of the blacksmith’s forge – all that is worthwhile.
Then the final question:
Paco Almazán:. Can you put the word “airplane” [modern, unpoetic, unexpected and possibly inappropriate to some] into a cante?
M.C. It’s all according to what’s being sung, and how. You can put it into a bulerías [a lighter form], “Ay! I went in an airplane, I went to Havana…” and there you have it. They can create precious new verses as good as the old ones, with more profundity and more poetry.
Comment by Andrés Raya: Remember that in its day, this interview, as well as the earlier one with Mairena, generated a lot of response among the flamenco aficionados of Madrid, giving rise to long arguments and heated discussions. Even beyond Madrid. In its Letters toe the Editor section, Triunfo published letters from many provinces. I’ve got copies of many, and may rescue them from the telerañas.
A press comment [about the Cordoba contest] confirms what Caracol says here. It’s from ABC of Madrid, dated August 9, 1922, and already the Caracol child is named “the king of cante jondo”.
Translator’s comment: Interesting indeed that Caracol singles out Camarón — who would become the ultimate rule breaker — as the most important young singer.
At the time of this interview, aficionados were choosing sides. Manolo Caracol had incredible emotive power, but he broke certain rules — as evidenced by his insistence that flamenco could be sung to bagpipes or anything else. (Today, that inclusive view dominates flamenco to the extent that a flamenco record featuring just a singer and an accompanying guitarist, once the norm, is almost unheard of.) He owned the genre called zambras [not to be confused with the zambras performed mostly in the caves of Granada, that are rhythmic Arabic-sounding songs and dances.]
The opposing view was embodied by Antonio Mairena, who obeyed (and invented) rules — to the extent that if he created a new approach to a known style, he might attribute it to some shadowy name from history to give it validity. Mairena rarely projected the emotional power of Caracol — he was almost scholarly in his renditions, giving what critics sometimes called “a magisterial lesson” in flamenco singing, rather than jumping in headfirst and just letting it all hang out. (In private, though, he could be pretty damn convincing.)
I tend to believe that early flamenco song had a gestation period, a “hermetic” stage when generations of Gypsy families forged the beginnings of the deep-song forms (tonás/martinetes, siguiriyas and soleares, which deal with Gypsy concerns from a Gypsy perspective) outside of public view due to the intense persecution of Gypsies in that era.
Caracol, who ought to know a lot better than I do, says that his great-grandfathers [Curro Dulce, El Planeta] were not just the first known flamenco singers but the first flamenco singers, period: they invented the whole genre. (It’s hard to defend the idea of this “hidden period”, especially since the “proof” is that it by its very nature it would be completely undocumented anywhere. (I’m not so sure that these alleged hidden sessions would have been reported in the Seville Gazette when they were essentially illegal and dangerous.)
For that matter, Caracol, like most authorities today, views the idea of “pure flamenco” as absurd or meaningless, while I kind of like the notion. I never liked the gifted singers like Pepe Marchena and Juanito Valderrama who specialized in the cante bonito or “pretty song”, now back in vogue, while Caracol always admired them.
Oh, well. It’s still a privilege to hear from the man best qualified to talk about flamenco history, and that’s why these interviews are so valuable.
January 27, 2017 1 Comment
Frontstory: If the 46 hours of great homespun sixties flamenco mentioned yesterday in this blog (at http://soundcloud.com/quinfolk/sets/the-flamenco-tapes-recorded-by-david-k-loughran-1964-1965) isn’t enough for you, here’s a website with another 46 hours worth:
No kidding. The casts of the two collections are very similar. The Loughran material may partly predate this batch from the Finca Espartero, Don Pohren’s flamenco dude ranch where anyone could get immersed in heavy-duty music without spending years learning the ropes and paying dues. This Finca material seems to pick up where the ’64-’65 Loughran material leaves off, starting in 1966 and evidently continuing to beyond 1973. Guitarists on each collection include Diego del Gastor and and some of his gifted nephews; shared singers may include the Utrera sisters plus Perrate de Utrera, Joselero, Juan Talega, Curro Mairena, Ansonini, Manolito de la María…
Backstory: A few years ago, I found this flamencogitano.com website and later met and thanked the aficionado who made it. But I’d had the material for several years before that.
When this stuff was recorded I was often in Morón, sometimes living at town’s no-star hotel and sometimes staying at the Finca. I had tried to record some of those sessions with my new-fangled portable Norelco cassette recorder, a high-tech but lo-fi wonder of the era. Fortunately, a dedicated expert with a good open-reel machine did that invaluable work properly. About four decades later, I learned that someone else had obtained those recordings and was selling them as CD’s. I was thrilled to buy the 51 CD’s for five hundred bucks — hey, a bargain at twice the price, though not an ideal situation.
(In 1972 I wrote about the Finca for the New York Times, trying to capture the aura of the era — it’s here at http://www.flamencoexperience.com/blog/?p=463 )
I know there are serious issues surrounding the ownership and distribution of other people’s music in general, and privately-made flamenco recordings in particular. There are too many stories involving distrust, suspicion and anger. But a half-century is a long time to try and suppress great music; a lot of people who would have loved to hear this stuff have died over that period.
It never rains but it pours. Now anyone can listen to this extraordinary music for four days and nights, or even longer if one has to sleep. (And you might have to sleep — it’s an understatement to say that this music is repetitive. While Paco de Lucía often took many years to create enough guitar material for a new LP or work out a new record with Camarón, these recordings involve the same folks doing the same traditional stuff on good nights and bad nights and occasional great nights. Predictably, the sound quality varies from barely mediocre to surprisingly good.)
Note to the visually inclined: As a complement to this audio material from that amazing epoch, go to YouTube and see the scads of half-hour films in the great Rito y Geografía del Flamenco TV series of the early seventies. (I bought the first 16-millimeter film copies of a few programs in 1973, at five hundred bucks a pop, before the network vetoed further transactions. After fifteen years of begging and scheming I was allowed to pay a lot for the transfer of all the programs from film to videotape. I gave the first set to Columbia University, grabbed the second set for myself, and declined the commercial rights. My stash includes some programs that were never marketed in any of the three Spanish editions: not the poorly done Alga Editores cassette version, not the better TVE cassette version, not even the marvelous CD edition in beautiful hardcover booklets with English subtitles, enhanced video and sound and terrific commentary from the guiding light of the project, José María Velázquez-Gaztelu. I suppose my unseen programs should be put up on YouTube if it doesn’t antagonize any human beings or lawyers…)
March 25, 2015 1 Comment
An Important Collection of Private Flamenco Recordings Brought to Light at Last – How to Hear Them On SoundCloud
In the 1960′s and 70′s a few foreigners, mostly Americans, were so struck by the quality of flamenco in several towns near Seville that they resolved to save those magnificent sounds forever.
They succeeded beyond measure. Today, Spain owes most of its understanding of the music of that time and place to the crucial efforts of people including Chris Carnes, Moreen Carnes, Steve Kahn, Carol Whitney and a few others — some who choose to remain nameless and others to be named later. (I never had a good tape recorder in Spain, but I helped some of those people by buying tape and paying to ship their Uher recorders to Germany for repairs.)
This is very different from commercial or official recordings. This is flamenco “de uso” — as it was used in everyday life, sometimes with the hope that someone would hire the artists for actual money, but usually because the artists loved to make and share this music with their friends and fellow artists. In a world where “pure” is mocked by scholars as meaningless and “authentic” is applied to just about everything anyone wants to sell more of, well, as noted below, this is the real deal.
Yesterday, in response to a post on this blog about Diego del Gastor, I learned that another intrepid gringo had been adding to the historic effort. I remember the name, and here is information from his son-in-law, David Quinn, with explanations in brackets and more comments at the end. You can see his brief note as a reply to the post:
“My wife’s father, David K. Loughran, who died recently, hauled around a reel-to-reel tape machine to Flamenco parties in and around Morón de la Frontera, Spain in 1964 and 1965.
“The musicians he was recording are known as flamenco masters, “mythical figures” of flamenco. The town is the epicenter of Gypsy flamenco. These players were the real deal – actual Gypsies – the real source of this music.
Diego del Gastor, La Fernanda de Utrera [one of the greatest singers in flamenco history], Manolito de la Maria [ditto], [the American] Chris Carnes, Fernandillo de Moron, Antonio Amaya Flores “El Mellizo” [the guitarist and older brother of Diego del Gastor] and others.
“There are 46 hours of recordings, made at house parties and in cafés,
some with just the musicians and recorder present, some at crowded fiestas. The quality varies, but considering the circumstances, I think it is remarkable.
“I know there are musicians reading this; if you know someone who might be interested in hearing these please share this post, and/or the link below.
We’re trying to gather as much information as we can, with the goal of a more accurate track list.
“At the very least, they make excellent fiesta music!
“They can be heard at https://soundcloud.com/quinfolk/sets/the-flamenco-tapes-recorded-by-david-k-loughran-1964-1965
“These notes on content are unedited and transcribed From the hand written notes on the reel boxes:
*Reels 1 through 4:
- Diego, solo, December 1964
- Diego, Fernando, Manolito, Jselero, at a juerga at Venta El Calero
- Diego, Fernando & Manolito at a juerga at Club Mercantil
- Diego, Mellizo & Manolito at Diego’s house, a juerga for Pepe Rios
*Reel 4 Side B through Reel 6 Side A
- First juerga in Morón after cante jondo contest in Cordoba, with Diego, Paco del Gastor [the brilliant nephew of Diego], Manolito, Fernando, and Enrique [son of the legendary Joaquin el de la Paula]
- Juan and Dieguito del Gastor [the two other nephews of Diego, both fine guitarists] in Chris’s room at the hospedaje
- Easter Sunday juerga at El Calero with Diego and Manolito
- Andres Cabrera, Vicenta
- Juerga at El Calero
*Reel 6 Side B through Reel 9 Side A
- Antonio Amaya Flores (El Mellizo) at home
- Saetas in Utrera (Hermandad de los gitanos – Semana Santa 1965)
- Saetas at la Campana, Seville, with Lebrijano [a superb singer], Manolo Mairena [an excellent singer, younger brother of the great Antonio Mairena].
- Short Juerga at Casa Pepe with Dieguito del Gastor [now called Dieguito or Diego de Morón], Joselero [Diego del Gastor's brother-in-law, a fine local singer], Fernando [Fernandillo de Morón, a good singer and festero], Bob Haynes [a fine American guitarist], Church [?], etc.
- La Sallago [an excellent singer who sounded terrific until her very recent death], Terremoto [one of the greatest singers in flamenco's history].
- Terremoto, La Paquera [a great Jerez singer]; bautizo [baptism] in lower barrio with Diego, Paco, Perrate[an excellent singer] & La Fernanda
- Juerga at Tailor’s (El Escribano) house with Paco (solo), Diego (solo) & Niño Rosa
- Diego, Manolito and Fernando at Bob Fletcher’s in Seville.
*Reel 9 Side B through Reel 11 Side A
- Diego at Chimenea’s with Pohren
- Paco at Casa Pepe
- Paco – juerga at Pepe Chino’s house with Diego, Nino Rosa, Juan and his padre
- guitar solo by student
*Reel 11 side B through Reel 14 Side A
-Part of Fletcher’s fiesta with Diego, Manolito, Fernando
-Mellizo, solo at hospedaje
-From Pohren’s tapes of Paco, Diego, Juan Talegas, Manolito, Nina de los Peines
-Esteban de Sanlucar, La Perla, Miguel Valencia at Pohren’s club
-Chris and Fernando, and others
-Bautizo at Andre’s and Fernando’s with Diego, Perrate and La Fernanda
-Solo by Diego
*Reel 14 Side B through Reel 17 Side A
-Fiesta, Casa Villa Clara
-Iglesias and company
*Reel 17 Side B through Reel 19 Side A
*Reel 19 Side B through Reel 22
-Selections from Don Pohren’s collection
-Selections from Don Pohren juergas – Antonio & Paco [Francisco] Mairena, Eduardo de la Malena
-Richardo Pachon [later the producer of Camaron’s historic recordings, Luis Maravilla [possibly the dancer Luisa Maravilla, Pohren's wife]
-Fiesta with Pohren
-Flamenco: Diego del Gastor, La Fernanda de Utrera, Manolito de la Maria, Chris Carnes, Fernandillo de Moron, Don Pohren, David K. Loughran
End of explanations and notations by the son-in-law of recordist David K. Loughran.
Okay. I am grateful to the late David K. Loughran for his selfless dedication, and to his son-in-law Dennis Quinn for allowing — better yet, insisting — that this material finds a deserving audience.
It is often said that Diego del Gastor was an unrecorded guitarist, and in fact he assiduously avoided efforts by Spain’s most prestigious record label — at the time their only other guitarist was a young man named Paco de Lucía — to entice him to record by building a high-tech studio near his home. (Diego just skipped town until they tore it down.)
On the human scale, Diego may have been the most recorded flamenco guitarist in history. I have many hundreds of hours of his playing, both alone and for the singers named above and dozens of others. (And I still don’t have most of the material in the largest stash, recorded by the late Chris Carnes and now residing at the University of Washington where it probably doesn’t get the tiniest fraction of the attention and audience it deserves.)
Not surprisingly, I already have a lot of the same material that Mr. Loughran recorded — clearly from tapes made by Chris and others. But a lot of the other material listed above was originally recorded by Mr. Loughran, and has enormous historical importance. I hope other addicts will join me in the effort to add more detail and information to the sparse notes seen above.
I haven’t listened to the material yet, and rarely use or trust sites that normal humans feel comfortable signing onto. I assume SoundCloud is a logical place to have archived this music, and that it will remain accessible there indefinitely.
March 24, 2015 2 Comments
1996 Potaje Flamenco de Utrera (an homage to female singers) – Report by L.G. Caviedes – Translated by Brook Zern
The Madrid paper, El Mundo, reviewed the 1996 Potaje de Utrera — perhaps the original annual flamenco festival from which all others took their inspiration. The article by Luís García Caviedes was headlined “All the Essences of Cante Gitano: The ‘Girls’ (Niñas) of Utrera Triumphed in the 40th Edition of the Potaje.” It said in part (I had trouble with many of his stylish words):
“The brejes (what’s a breje? a wrinkle?) do not erode the cante when it is true. They may diminish the faculties, but not the worth of the song. That’s the way it is with Fernanda and Bernarda. The eternal “Niñas de Utrera” remain a touchstone in the cante gitano andaluz.
The 40th Potaje Gitano de Utrera was conceived as an homage to women singers. And for the second time — the 18th edition, in 1968, was an homage to the Fernanda and Bernarda — it centered on these geniuses from Utrera. It was a time to find out just who carries the sceptre, and just what the cante really is.
Bernarda is the compás made into woman. She can sing the Official Government Regulations on Housing por bulerías. She interpreted bulerías of every stripe: bulerías cortas, bulerías al golpe, romances por bulerías, fandangos por bulerías, and tarantos por bulerías.
But her genius isn’t limited to this. She dominates like no one the technique of cante, she knows the secrets of breathing and the exact points to pause. Moreover, when she knows there’s a problem ahead, she is capable of lowering her cante a full octave (una escala entera) and continuing to sing with full harmony, tone and compás.
Fernanda is the empress of the queen of the cantes: the soleá. She is the inheritor of the musical conception of Mercedes “La Serneta” and Rosario “La del Colorao”. She follows their guidelines (pautas) but recreates them as well. Her cante is now the solea de Fernanda. Her way of teasing the lines (burlar los tercios), the flavor and insight (sabor y tino) with which she sings, form a majestic, torn (desgarrado) and vital whole. She is the essence of the cante.
Angelita Vargas opened the event. She danced por soleá as the Gypsies dance: moving (meciendo — swinging, swaying) her whole body to the compás and with primary emphasis (predominio) on the waistline and above (“de cintura para arriba“), without abusing the legs and feet. Force and bodily expression are her primary powers. She put a face on the evening (Puso cara la noche).
In this line continued Inés and Pepa de Utrera. Inés knows every inch of Utrera, which is something indeed. The niece of Fernanda and Bernarda, with her own very personal style (sello), she displays elegance (galanura) and knowledge to spare. In this day of bait-and-switch, of substituting inferior goods for the real thing (“En calendas de tanto gato por liebre” (passing off cats as hares), she does not enjoy the recognition she deserves. The flavor and prestancia (elegance, prestige, taste, style, grace) of Inés should have more resonance with the public (debería tener otra resonancia para el público).
Pepa de Utrera is the flamenco fiesta itself. In the opinion of maestro Miguel Acal, she is the finest festera (festive-style performer) in Spain. She has a clear voice and the force to knock out (sacar) seven or eight other cantaoras. Manuel Romero “El Divino”, the singer from Las Cabezas, walked out and said that Pepa is cabable of playing dominoes with the bulería. And she must be quite an artist, to have commanded the stage for twenty minutes with a single palo (the bulerías) without wearing out her welcome (y no hacerse jartible).
Antonia “La Negra” and her daughter Angelita Montoya marked another climactic moment of the night. “La Negra” is already known for her strength (garra) and expressive force. She is a maestra in the tangos; terrific (desgarrada) in bulerías, and impressive por soleá. Working with Angelita Montoya, she had a great success (una noche redonda). Angelita Montoya was the surprise. She integrates all the wealth (caudal) of her family, which is no small thing. Loaded with faculties, and with a cannon of a voice, she almost reached the level of her mother. There are differences between those who assimilate musical experiences and concepts in the true school of flamenco – the family — and those who decide to study recordings and recreate the music by calculation. The former artists evolve and create; the others never get beyond merely reheating the meal. (Aquellos evolucionan y crean, estos no pasan del refrito.)
Tomasa “La Macanita” is one of the bright hopes of aficionados. This Gypsy from Jerez, with the surprising and interesting guitar of Moraíto Chico (hijo), drew the cante (dibujo el cante). The flavor of Jerez was in her tientos, while her tangos were reminiscent of the Plaza Alta of Badajoz. Por soleá she scraped (rozo) perfection, and por bulerías, there was the pure aura of the [Jerez] barrio de Santiago and of la Perla de Cadiz. “La Macanita” and Moraíto Chico almost decided (casi sentenciaron) the night.
End of report.
Translator’s note from 1996: That’s the poop from the Potaje. Quite an event.
I’ll close by noting that the female bullfighter Cristina Sánchez is off to an excellent start. She just started fighting full-sized bulls, and has already proved herself capable. She did very well in Burgos, cutting an ear (awarded after a good performance, and much harder to earn in major rings like this than in small provincial rings) from a bull that weighed nearly 600 kilos. No easy task for any 60-kilo person. Lots of devoted fans and publicity for this revolutionary figure, the first to successfully penetrate this macho domain. I may disapprove in theory, but she walks it like she talks it. Olé, torera.
January 17, 2014 No Comments
Flamenco Singer Aurelio Sellés (Aurelio de Cadiz) speaks – 1962 interview by Anselmo Gonzalez Climent – Translated by Brook Zern
Translator’s note: Aurelio Sellés was the great master of flamenco song from Cádiz — the seaport town renowned for a brighter and happier style of song than Seville or Jerez. But Aurelio was also a notoriously crusty and cranky guy. The flamenco magazine Candil reprinted an old interview with him, conducted in 1962 by the pioneering Argentinian flamencologist Anselmo González Climent (who coined the word flamencology as the title of a seminal book, “Flamencologia”).
Here are excerpts from the interview, with comments from Climent and some interjections or clarifications of mine [in brackets]:
Aurelio Sellés: “Juan Talega [the revered deacon of serious flamenco song and a key source for the singer Antonio Mairena] only knows the monotonous song of his uncle Joaquín [el de la Paula, a legendary master and creator of a key soleá form, the soleá de Alcalá]. He’s shameless, sloppy, boring and corto [short, i.e., limited in repertoire]. He’s a hindu [evidently a deprecatory word for Gypsy] whom I can’t stand. A bad person, a liar, incompetent. I’m tired of the “geniality” [alleged genius] of Gypsies. It’s Manuel Torre this, and Manuel Torre that, and on and on. [Manuel Torre is universally admired as the greatest Gypsy master of cante jondo, or flamenco deep song, which is attributed to the Gypsies of Andalucía]. In fact, Torre was only good for siguiriyas [the most difficult form of the so-called "deep songs"], and only when he could do it. In the rest, he just danced around something that he fundamentally didn’t know.
I’ve seen Juan Talega booed by Gypsies. [Talega's reponse: "Aurelio and all the cante of Cádiz are worthless. There's no variety, and no personal styles. It's all a lie."]
Climent, the interviewer, says: “Aurelio told me to stay away from the Gypsyphiles headed by Ricardo Molina. So I did, out of respect and docility. But it put me in a bind. Ricardo counterattacked, warning me that if I maintained fidelity to the payo [non-Gypsy] faction, our ethnic-preference differences would deepen, and we wouldn’t be able to make common plans for the future. And in fact, we never again could deal peacefully with the matters that had united us so amiably before…”
Aurelio: “Don Antonio Chacón [considered the greatest non-Gypsy singer of all time] was the divo mas largo de todos los tiempos — the most complete, masterful singer of all time. But he adulterated all the songs, to fit them to the tastes of the señoritos (posturing would-be gentlemen). Because of his voice [in a high register] he couldn’t really do the siguiriyas and soleá. He got his best songs from Curro Dulce.”
“In Granada, the flamencos are demanding and violent. They didn’t just boo La Paquera and Terremoto [two gigantic figures of the flamenco song of Jerez] — Terremoto couldn’t vocalize well — they actually threw them out.
Seville? I don’t know anyplace where the people are more fickle. I’m outraged that Mairena and Talega dare to talk of a Seville school of singing. How can you compare that with the roots of Cádiz. And the Gypsies — if there were more of them, they’d get rid of the payos and all of Andalucia. The Gypsies are blind about flamenco. They don’t know a lot of the styles.
Okay, Antonio Mairena knows the song. But he has no gracia [charm, appeal], and doesn’t reach your heart. His brother Manolo [who unlike Antonio is half non-Gypsy] is better. Antonio invited me to be on an anthology he directed [Antología del Cante Gitano y Cante Flamenco]. He took away jaleo and palmas, and put the guitarist where we couldn’t hear each other. I think he did it out of malice. It hurt my reputation a lot .
My mother disliked Enrique el Mellizo [the greatest interpreter of Cádiz flamenco song of all time] — said he was dirty and uneducated. But when he sang, Gypsies would hurl themselves out of windows. In a way, I admire him more than Chacón. The first time Manuel Torre heard Mellizo, they had to stop him from jumping out of the window. [Interviewer's note: It seems that the true measure of the glory of a singer was measured by the quantity of listeners who, possessed, leaped from balconies -- at least during fiestas on the lower floors. Aurelio assigned this honor to Chacón, Torre, Mellizo, Tomas el Nitri and once to Antonio Mairena.]…
Aurelio: I put the true cante por alegrías [the most important flamenco song form from Cadiz] in circulation in 1921. Before that, the best singer of alegrias was Paquirri el Viejo, a disciple of Enrique el Mellizo…
Socially, Pastora Pavón [La Niña de los Peines, the greatest female flamenco singer of all time] was a beast — she deserved no honor for her comportment…
People go to flamenco concursos [contests] because it’s fashionable. And what’s worse — they dare to give opinions! I mean, people who still stink of singers like Pepe Marchena [a wildly popular singer of cante bonito, or “pretty” flamenco song] or Antonio Molina [another cante bonito singer] — giving opinions!…
In Córdoba, they think they have good cantes — what a lie! The songs are twisted, unimportant, and desangelados [de-angelized, lacking in magic]. I only sang there to show them the real cante.
“Today, nobody knows how to sing tonas, deblas, martinetes, [three similar forms of unaccompanied deep song sung in a free rhythm], cañas, polos, etc. The only one with an idea is Manolo Caracol [the fabulous Gypsy singer] despite his famous anthology where he sang bad stuff that was not the true cante. [The anthology is considered Caracol's masterpiece.] He has hounded me to show him the key to some styles. He wanted to record everything I know. Once he beseiged me, to repeat the tangos de Cádiz as done by my older brother, el “Chele Fateta” I don’t want to help others rob me; I’m going to write my memoirs, and record an anthology that’s all mine [sadly, Aurelio never recorded a true anthology]. Caracol keeps after me to show him the Cádiz cante, but though I consider him a true phenomenon, I fear him as a person. With that kind of desperation, he’d take what’s mine and pass it off as his. I know his caste [i.e., Gypsies, or Caracol's kind of Gypsies]. They’re capable of anything. The branch that lives in Cádiz have customs to scare anyone. I heard one, once, singing siguiriyas to someone who had just died….
No aficionado of flamenco can be a bad person. They’re all good people. But the flamencos themselves — they’re crápulas [this is not a compliment, to sat the least]…
The best flamenco guitarist of all time was Rafael de Jerez. [Could he mean Javier Molina? Or Rafael de Aguila, a noted disciple of Javier but a lesser artist?] Others are Manolo de Huelva, who’s still alive but drunk and worn out, and Melchor de Marchena, the greatest one right now. Perico del Lunar [the revered Jerez guitarist who was behind the monumental 1954 Antologia del Cante Flamenco] is a veteran with too much prestige. He’s one of the biggest sinverguenzas [shameless frauds] in the business…
When Fosforito [the admired non-Gypsy master who won the important 1956 Cordoba contest] tries to sing the Malagueñas del Mellizo, it’s pathetic. His bad malagueñas are on a par with Mairena’s bad tanguillos [another Cádiz form]. Fosforito sings with his head. He’s a good aficionado, but he pontificates a lot and learns little…
Juan el Ollero was a cantaor from Triana who invented the soleá of Córdoba about a century ago. [This story may be true. It would mean that the so-called soleá de Córdoba was not the invention of a Cordoban singer, but was imported by a noted non-Gypsy singer from Seville’s Triana district who knew that version. The two soleares certainly sound similar to one another.]
My older brother lived in Argentina around 1878, and brought back a lot of songs that he expertly crossed with our songs. He specialized in milongas [an Argentine song borrowed by some flamenco artists, and sometimes even considered a light flamenco song], rematados [ended] por alegrías…”
[Climent begins the second part of this interview by noting Aurelio’s reservations about the material on Antonio Mairena’s very important first LP. Aurelio says that Mairena’s siguiriyas are barely interesting, particularly the “cambio” of Silverio — the part that changes from the Phrygian mode to the major key – and adds that the soleá of Enrique el Mellizo has merit, but is far from the mark of Enrique. Regarding the corrido or romance — old Spanish ballads which were conserved only in a few Gypsy families — he allows it to be called authentic. Aurelio sings “a bajini” (in a whisper) a version that is not as close to the compás of soleá as is Mairena’s. He recalls hearing in Seville a romance sung to the style of martinete. He deduces that the traditional form called the romance acquires a distinct flamenco base according to the preferences of each region where it’s sung.
Climent notes that Antonio Mairena often said he didn’t know know how to sing polos, cañas or — with more reason — fandangos.
Aurelio says: “I’ve never in my life heard a complete polo or caña. And what I do remember of those cantes has nothing at all to do with what is circulating today. I know and sing some fragments, above all the remate of the soleá apolá [accent on the final “a” of “apolá” — so it would be a soleá that was influenced by the polo, or “apola(da)“, “poloized”. There’s talk of cañas of Seville, Triana, Cádiz and Los Puertos, and of a singer called Tobalo. If he was a singer, he wasn’t the only one to give it shape. There must have been many types or variants of polos. Today, we hear one that was made fashionable by the dancer Pilar López, who knows how to experiment and invent. But the blame for the monotony of the form goes to Perico del Lunar [the Jerez guitarist who arranged the influential and venerable and original 1954 Anthology of Cante Flamenco, and who allegedly clued the singers in on the more obscure forms]. Perico, with good or bad faith, has adulterated almost all the old cantes…His anthology is neither authentic nor correct.
Aurelio speaks of the cantiñas [a key Cádiz form, linked to the alegrías] of Fosforito and Mairena: “This is my turf. The entendidos [knowledgeable folks] discuss whether or not the cantiñas are independent of the alegrías. Some say that’s not really the question: They say the cantiñas are not a special cante, but a light way of singing, of “cantiñeando” [singing out], or whatnot. I assure you that the cantiñas are in fact a special type of alegrías, with a tonal change that isn’t too distinct [poco solido] and that gives the singer a lot of leeway and freedom.
It’s a form that is even lighter [todavia mas aligerada] than the alegrías. The cantiñas of Fosforito are loaded with ornamentation [adornos]. Those of Mairena are a mixture of cantes, with the unique trait of ending por romeras, which are also alegrías. Mairena’s are more from Seville than from Cádiz. He makes them monotonous, and they seen as repetitive as the sevillanas de baile.
The soleá de Alcalá is a slow, cold, short cante, without the bravura lines [tercios valientes] they give it in my region. It has art, and balance. It’s even agreeable. But it lacks pauses, variety, high lines. It’s very low-key [muy apagada]. The soleá de Utrera is more defined, it has more content and it even has some similarities with some variants of the soleá de Cádiz.
Climent notes that the Gypsyphile/Mairenista Ricardo Molina gained increasing respect for the non-Gypsy cante of Aurelio. Climent wondered what had happened to cause the change. Then one day, Molina said to him “Doesn’t Aurelio seem not quite castellano [payo or gache — i.e., not really non-Gypsy] to you — doesn’t he seem a little Gypsy? Do you think he could really be a cuarterón [quatroon, in this case a quarter-Gypsy]?.
Aurelio: “I don’t tolerate crossing the cante [styles]. You should start and end with the same style — of this person or that person. You have to sing the malagueñas de Mellizo as a single entity, complete. The same with those of Chacón or la Trini. I can’t stand singers who start with a verse from Enrique, go to one by Fosforo el Viejo, and rematan [wind up] with La Trini’s. It’s not right. I sometimes need four or five coplas in order to get myself properly into the line of, say, Enrique. Nowadays, nobody takes the trouble. Let’s not fool ourselves — there’s a lot of ignorance out there.”
Climent: Another key tenet for Aurelio is the almost sacred obedience to compás — flamenco’s often complex rhythmic system. Aurelio says “The compás is the fundamental element of the cante. I can exceed my limits, go crazy at the high point of a remate — but without ever leaving the axis of compás. Caracol, when he gets carried away [se desordena], also loses [desordena] the compás. It’s his worst defect, for all the high esteem I have for him. [This is a common criticism of Caracol, acknowledged even by some admirers]. A singer who doesn’t stick to compás shouldn’t even qualify for a contest. And certainly the cradle of compás is in Cádiz, above all in the soleá and the bulería.
I can’t sing with just any guitarist. The tocaor who marks his own compás is a bad player. He needs to support himself in a mathematical calculation. And that’s not what it’s about. The compás is something more subtle and fine than that. You have to have it by right [de casta]. The best maestros are Manolo de Badajoz, Melchor de Marchena, Sabicas and Paco Aguilera. Niño Ricardo [a revered and hugely influential guitarist] is incomplete, disordered, abusively personal. He gets away from the cante and the compás. With me, at least, we just can’t get it together. [Again, there is some justification for this claim. Ricardo sometimes went out of compás, considered a sin in other guitarists, possibly because he was attempting very difficult material without correspondingly awesome technique, or maybe because sometimes his imagination just ran away with him.]
Fosforito has good and bad traits. He interests me, and I voted for him in the 1956 Cordoba contest. But his soleares are disordered, his siguiriyas indecisive, his alegrías debatable, his cantiñas absurd. Still, his voice is appropriate to cante grande, and he’ll become one of the greats if he can capitalize on his strengths.
La Fernanda, La Bernarda, La Pepa, all those from Utrera, are Gypsies like you can find in any corner of Andalucía. [La Fernanda de Utrera is acknowledged as the greatest female singer of soleá of all time, and the greatest cantaora of recent decades. Her sister Bernarda is a fine singer]. They’ve done well in contests due to lack of competition. Under the circumstances, they can be good. The one who impresses me most is Fernanda. She knows how to fight against her weak vocal faculties. Among the young people, she was the one who was best in the whole Cordoba contest.”
Climent writes: La Perla de Cadiz [a great cantaora, and an inspiration for Camarón de la Isla] was the only contestant who excited Aurelio. He convinced two judges, but failed to convince me or Molina. Aurelio said “Perla as better than any other cantaora in the contest — at least in the cante chico. As she is from Cádiz, she is a Gypsy with quality. She’s a professional, born and bred [hecha y derecha]. It was ridiculous not to give her the first prize in the cante chico [lighter flamenco styles].”
Climent: “To Aurelio’s disgust, we only gave La Perla the second and third prizes. I believe Aurelio was influenced by factors other than the cante itself. But we all agreed that it was too bad la Perla’s husband didn’t compete, since he showed us privately that he was a magnificent singer and a fine dancer, too. He was a “gitano fino“, prudent, modest, in his place [sic: “en su lugar“].
Aurelio: “Manolo [Manuel] Torre is the singer I admired most. For me there have been two principal epochs of cante: The first, of Paquirri el Guante, Enrique el Mellizo and Tomas el Nitri. The second, exclusively of Manolo. As a professional, he was a genius [genial], unique. As a person, he was simple, “tirado“. A humble Jerez fisherman, de cortas luces [uneducated, not bright], lacking character. He was a low Gypsy [gitano barato]. But a friend of mine…”
[Translator's note: With friends like Aurelio, who needs enemies?]
Aurelio: The singer called Medina el Viejo was the maestro [teacher] of Niña de los Peines. He was the best interpreter of peteneras — exactly the one that would make Pastora famous. He also showed the way with his bulerías, tangos, tanguillos and alegrías. Pastora specialized in tangos, taking cante chico to the heights. But in the rest of the styles, her singing was weepy, overly quejado (lamenting), exaggeratedly abultado [inflated], as if to compensate for her lack of domination in songs as costly [demanding] as the [great and crucial] siguiriyas and soleares.”
Climent writes: “Juan Talega’s countertheory denies any influence of Medina on Pastora. Talega says “Pastora never suckled from that teta. Anyone who says different is an ignoramus. Medina had his style on some cantes, but never had the gracia and essence of Pastora. He was a lightweight, a divo, a Pepe Marchena [pretty singer] of his era. He was lucky, and got famous, but he’s worthless next to Pastora. She got her cante chico, from tangos to bulerías, from Manuel Torre, her only maestro, before developing her own personality. Manolo Caracol doesn’t agree on this, but he’s wrong. He’s just jealous and envious of the Pavón family. Tying Pastora to Medina is a way of taking credit away from her. Caracol’s a bald-faced liar. She was a disciple of Arturo Pavón, her older brother. She is an unequalled singer of festive cante, although she does lament [queja] too much in the cante grande. She’ll go down in history for her inimitable tangos.”
[Translator's note: Folks, please forgive the length of this and related posts (which actually omit most of the original material). For all we can learn by talking among ourselves, the real deal is found in the music and the words of the verses, and in the oral testimony of the artists, whose disagreements and vituperation, like their music, make us all look like amateurs.]
Climent writes: Aurelio says he admires the singing of Manolo Caracol, and pardons his sins of theatricality, applauding his traditionalist spirit. “I can’t deny the enchantment of his virile, rajo [rough, raspy] voice. But I don’t like his anthology. I don’t know why he elongates the soleá corta [“short soleá“] of Joaquin [de la Paula]. Or why he misses the purity and valentía [boldness, courage] of Enrique el Mellizo’s cante. And his way of losing the compás when he’s emotional or distracted.
There’s no single mold for the martinetes [early, unaccompanied deep flamenco songs]. Those of Triana are classical, valiente [brave, gutsy], varied. Those of Cagancho el viejo have no competition. Those of Seville are more measured, more conservative, with more adornos than pellizcos [chillingly emotional touches]. Those of Los Puertos are the best of all. They demand flexibility, courage and great depth. Those of Cádiz are quebrados [uneven, rough] and gracioso, if that’s the word for such a serious cante. The martinete of Tio Juan Cantoral is the most legendary. But I prefer those of Los Puertos.
Chacon revived the caracoles [a song sharing the rhythm and major key of the alegrías], from the Goyesca period. But even with his greatness, I don’t like the song. The music seems defective, and nobody can stand the words. ”Curro Cuchares and el Tato together in the Café de la Union” — why, they weren’t even contemporaries.
Juan Talega wants to show that he can sing a lot of siguiriyas. Some are passable. But in general, what he’s done is make variations on one siguiriya style — Loco Mateo’s.
There’s a pretty song that’s not given much weight, and is rarely sung well. It’s a Gypsified style, with the sound of a slow bulería: the alborea [a ceremonial Gypsy wedding song, traditionally reserved for intimate gatherings]. In my youth, it was part of my repertoire. It’s not easy. It deserves to return to circulation.
Bulerías is not Juan Talega’s forte. What he does is a rythmic trick, so he can keep singing soleares though it appears to be bulerias. I don’t like those absurd and senseless combinations called the solea por bulerias or bulerias por solea. The two songs [bulerías and soleares] are similar, but the purity of each one should be conserved.
My soleares are a mixture of Los Puertos, Jerez and Cadiz. I don’t forget those of Frijones — nor does Caracol in his anthology.
I agree (me hago solidario) with (flamencologist) Jose Carlos de Luna when he says that the cante begins in Morón.
[Translator’s note: This may be an odd geographic theory, or may be an attempt to attribute several great Gypsy song forms like the siguiriyas and soleares to Silverio Franconetti of the town of Morón de la Frontera. Silverio, a non-Gypsy with an Italian father and a great singer and creator, was the key figure in first commercializing flamenco by creating “cafés cantantes” where a paying public could witness flamenco.]
Aurelio: I’ll grant that this or that came from Seville, but Seville, in general, is very presumptuous and can’t compare with the solera [this refers to the sun-driven distillation or aging of sherry] of Cádiz.
The jabera is nothing more than a light malagueña. It’s a malagueña for dancing.
Despite the unjust neglect [olvido] that surrounds her, Carmen Amaya is the most serious [exemplar] of baile flamenco. With all her extraneous trappings, she never strays from flamenco. There’s no other bailaora who’s similar to her. The only other one who’s worthwhile is Pilar López, although at times, as Ricardo Molina correctly says, she is too “intellectual”.
Antonio Chacón was the first singer who tried to sing in Castillian (clear Spanish, rather than the loose and sometimes incomprehensible Andalucian dialect). He did it to increase his popularity. He thought that this way his singing would be more “formal”. The bad thing was that his imitators carried this idea to ridiculous extremes. Not even Pepe Marchena escaped this influence.
I have sung for the public just three times in my life. First, with [the great dancer] Pastora Imperio at the beginning of my career. Then at a public homage for me in Cádiz. And finally this year in a festival dedicated to Parrilla de Jerez.” [This would be the father of Manuel Parrilla.]
Climent writes: “Juan Talega thinks that the soleá dance is older than the song itself. He doesn’t know the origin of the danced soleá — but he insists that the soleá as a song was invented by his uncle, Joaquín el de la Paula. He goes on to say that the song was born in a little area encompassing Utrera, Alcalá de los Panaderos [Alcalá de Guadaíra], Seville and Triana.
Climent writes: Ricardo Molina [the flamencologist and acolyte of the great Gypsy singer and gitanista Antonio Mairena], increasingly caught up in his gitanophilia, insists on ascribing Gypsy traits to Aurelio. He’s sure Aurelio can’t be absolutely payo. He tries dialectical approaches. He professes surprise at the idea that Aurelio and his 21 siblings could really have the same father. And it’s strange, but as if that same suspicion somehow reached his ears, Aurelio tells me that after four years absence in the war of Santo Domingo, his father returned to Cádiz and the first thing he did was go directly to his wife to assure himself of her fidelity. “From that moment on,” Aurelio says, “that’s when my parents started to have kids one after another.”
Meanwhile, Ricardo Molina is really interested in helping Aurelio record his “flamenco testament”, in Cádiz, away from the intolerable friction with Talega and Mairena, who had made him record for their anthology unrehearsed and who chose the songs for him to sing — many eliminated in the final commercial release. Ricardo Molina admires and really likes Aurelio — a complete change from his first response at an earlier concurso. He calls him the most capable and genuine singer of his generation. [i.e., prior to Antonio Mairena's generation].
Aurelio speaks of the non-Gypsy giant Silverio Franconetti: “He was an incomparable siguiriyero, giving that form hierarchy and variety. His variants and cambios are still done. Ricardo Molina blathers about his being a disciple or imitator of El Fillo, but he was just as masterful. I can’t stand Ricardo’s pro-Gypsy enthusiasm. I admire lots of Gypsy singers. Manuel Torre was a king, apart. But all my life, the real singers have been payos [non-Gypsies]. Cante flamenco is a backbone with three names: Silverio Franconetti, Antonio Chacón and Aurelio Sellés Nondedeu.”
Climent: “Aurelio’s guasa [difficult attitude, wise-ass or mocking behavior] deserves an article of its own… He’s a true friend, incorruptible, faithful to the point of partiality..”
Climent writes that the 1962 Cordoba contest was dominated by artists provided by Pulpón, the manager/promoter who had firm control of many flamenco artists. This upset the Cordobans, and infuriated Aurelio de Cadiz, because Pulpón favored artists from near his Seville power base — including Fernanda and Bernarda de Utrera and Juan Talega. But, Climent says, things worked out pretty well “when La Fernanda, herself alone, justified the entire event.”
Aurelio: “I’m fascinated by the obsessive belief that there exist good soleares de Cordoba. They have gracia, thanks to their simplicity. They start without a warm-up temple, and go to the high parts (alturas) like an elevator. I’m also intrigued by the alegrias de Cordoba. Very castillian, cansinas [boring, tiring], of little compás, and with poor textual repertoire. I think they came from a variant of Paquirri’s that were popular here. I showed this to Ricardo Molina, and he agreed.”
“[Singer] Juanito Varea, from Castellón de la Plana [far north of Andalucia], was the disciple of a Gypsy guitarist called Castellón [probably not a reference to Agustin Castellón, called Sabicas]. He’s got his act together (es muy consolidada) now. He has a classical flavor, and lots of courage. There’s a certain leaning toward theatrical cante, above all when he does his famous fandango. I’d advise him to lose that, and stick to the cante grande [great song, big song — a term that includes the three cante jondo or deep song forms and may go beyond that to include some other serious flamenco songs, e.g., the tarantas or granainas] where he belongs.”
Climent writes: “I noticed that Aurelio stayed near me, and seemed to sing to me. I asked him about this, and he said “Sure, I do that in every reunion. I sing for just one person, and forget the rest. It’s more heartfelt, and comes out a gusto [just right]. The true singer draws inspiration from a friend, and grows. Even in public, you have to imagine another person — just one person.”
Climent: “We talked of the silences in the cante. Aurelio’s are forged with “radicalidad jasperiana (¡dicho a cuenta de sus inefables jitanjaforas!“) [?]. They are more frequent and more believable than those of — we won’t name names. They are more credible, in general, than those of the Gypsies, which are more aesthetic than metaphysical. In Aurelio, they conform to a vital imperative. He is clearly conscious of when this silent break is necessary. It’s as a culmination of that which is impossible to express. He says “Even in the alegrías or bulerías, sometimes the mood produces a kind of paralysis. It must be the emotion. Who knows? But I know it when it happens.”
Climent says Aurelio wanted to visit Lucena [near Cordoba]. He didn’t say why. But there, he sought out the baptismal font where his wife was baptised. When he found it, he cried like a baby.
Climent: “Ricardo Molina and Aurelio were devastated when Pepe Pinto kept impeding the efforts to have La Niña de los Peines (his wife) record her discographic testimony. Ricardo wondered if Pinto was professionally jealous of Pastora. He even suspected that Pastora “se ha aflojado” (perhaps meaning losing her mental faculties, which may have been the case, though around that time she did one final and fabulous star turn at a festival). Aurelio, on the other hand, thinks she’s in excellent shape, and thinks Pinto is committing a grave error.”
End of translation. A lot is being written about flamenco today. I hope people will give due attention to the actual words of the flamencos themselves, including giants of the art like the irritating and irascible Aurelio Selles.
– Brook Zern firstname.lastname@example.org
October 30, 2011 1 Comment