the fresh rosemary lining the floor of the open courtyard was worth the E20 to get in. i left sevilla at 6 with sachiko and danielle and arrived in puebla de cazalla a while later to find that there was only one hotel in town. we walked down the lifeless streets and crossed the roundabout leading to the highway, found the hotel by the gas station, "completa". i really wondered what we were thinking trying to get a hotel room in the only existing hotel a few hours before a festival. i considered calling ricardo and begging him to rescue three flamenco dancers in distress, on his way back from jerez. despite being completa, they decided they could give us one remaining room.

i have never seen so much security at a flamenco show, and in a tiny pueblo. i wondered if it had anything to do with the history of the town, which i've been reading about. one of the singers on the bill has been a vocal activist all his life and in particular, at the end of franco's reign. the town has seen some bloody times, and had some difficulties between rich land-owners/police, and the poverty stricken.

there is not a lot of music besides flamenco for which i can describe my reaction as being riveted. this happens to me commonly here, particularly with good singing. there are moments where i become perfectly still, with everything in me glued to what i am seeing and hearing.
flamenco cultivates rawness. if that is not a total oxymoron. it is the antidote to the things that dull my life and attempt to take it away from me.

the festival started at 11 and lasted past 5 am. we left while jose menese was singing a solea. the large courtyard was still full.

diego clavel stood out the most for me. a white haired man with a face like my uncle al. he wore a very smart suit with cufflinks (they dress well, in festivals of this sort). he sang unusual letras like stories or parables, that i've never heard before - beautiful. he had a number of long melismatic bits, in a soft voice, which would occassionally end in a sudden, gut-wrenching voice of fury that he grabbed from somewhere inside himself to tear away all else on the surface and be exposed.

we loved cancanilla, a festero (fun, joking, combining his singing with some well placed dance moves) from malaga. pretty much everyone who took the stage had an illustrious string of flamencos they'd worked with or toured the world with. diego del gastor's grand-nephew danced. to me his face bore a strong resemblance, despite being a grand-newphew and likewise his absolutely calm, rock- like solidity in dance is how i would describe diego's guitar playing. i liked it but my compañera did not. it seemed to go back to older times when stance and attitude meant as much as fireworks. his movements were completely economical (control). rubito hijo was awesome. we heard a lot of incredible siguiriyas. none of us were as impressed by la moneta (the only female dancer) as we'd expected. she was still incredible, and totally different from any other dancer.

last night i loved andalucia so much.