Farruco

In the last few days posters have appeared on the corners, advertising subscriptions to the season's bullfights. It lists the seats and the prices per show per seat, all the way from a little over 1€ to around 800€ (in the sun to private box). The bar where I took coffee while reading about Farruco this afternoon has several black and whites of some old bullfights. That is nothing special as numerous bars do. What they did have though, were several sticks that have a flag attached, and appear to have a tiny bull-dagger on the end.

What I didn't know before coming to Spain was what a connection there is between bullfighting and flamenco. Of course every flamenco student learns that dancers employ certain moves that mimic a torero, but I didn't think it meant much other than the fact that both were separate parts of Spanish culture existing in this country together. There have apparently been many flamenco musicians who were also aficionados of bullfighting and considered these two arts to be akin. I suppose that they have something deep or fundamental in common involving a lack of fear of death or willingness to face it head on. The other commonality would be the primal aspects of human nature that they both call on. I have been sensing this recently like I never have before. There is a wildness in a few of the performances I've seen here that most of what I've seen previously has only hinted at. And yet these aren't even thought to be "pure" or like they used to be. I haven't even told you about the most recent one, because I don't want to spoil it. You cannot get even half the effect on Youtube, and I saw this dancer in a small place, closeup.

This morning after actually making a concerted mental effort to do something (keep straight the conjugations of the imperfect subjunctive with the conditional and the future, while still struggling with the preterite and imperative) I settled down with reading the next chapter in the Historia Social de Flamenco. It was on Farruco, who I believe I've suggested that if you have the remotest interest, you should look up on Youtube.
A gitano who believed that only his people could do decent flamenco and learned to dance by virtue of living alongside it, drew his feeling for compas (rhythm, feel for things, timing) from the rhythm horses kept while they transported him continually, as a child, while he looked for shelter under bridges (directly translated from book). His father had been orphaned due to his grandfather having committed a murder and put in jail (including time spent hiding in caves). His father was taken in by liberal aristocracy and given an education, then joined the military and died fighting the fascists. His mother, a gitana, wore military uniform and short hair, and dug trenches in Madrid while it was beseiged during the war.
Farruco was incredibly proud and seemed to have no apprehension saying what he thought or asking who the heck somebody was right in front of them, before continuing to converse with them. He apparently did not know how to read or write, but travelled the world dancing. One story related a concert in Belgrade, which was attended by many Romani people, who may come from a similar or related stock. They apparently were nearly unable to end the show, they had to raise and lower the curtain "tens of times"; the applause seemed to go on forever. The book describes his dancing as emptying himself out in gushing torrents (sort of), which the people there responded to, as their dancing had become a lost art. After this he spend the night dancing on a tabletop in a bar full of Hungarian gypsies.
He was extremely critical of the young new flamenco dancers, and once told Joaquin Cortes, "son, what you're doing means nothing/has no value (sounds better in Spanish - "no vale na' "). Farruco said he would create something incredible using a third of the effort these dancers use; they look like they're fighting against the floor.
Apparently he had no use for instrumentation other than the guitar and palmas, and said, "what would I need a flute for, I am not a snake charmer!" "And the young dancers that do six pirouettes could fall on their backs and break seven ribs" (paraphrased).