Last week Pati and Manuel joined us for two classes.
Concha started teaching me a bit of singing, which was painful. She kept asking me to sing over and over, meanwhile struggling with hurt pride due to finally understanding that my internalisation of compas is not very good (this is not understood back at home). It started at the lunch table, and while the three of us did the dishes, we continued singing: "Tiro piedras por la calle, y al que yo le de, me perdone. Tengo mi cabeza loca de tantos cabilaciones." (I throw stones in the street, and the person I hit, forgive me/pardon me. My head is crazy with so many doubts.)
We spent time singing at the beginning of our classes this week too, as a kick in the butt for our compas.

I spent a few days in a terrible state about whether to forego the El Torta concert in Jerez, along with staying over at Manu and Pati's, or to risk insulting Concha by not attending a sudden concert organised in Lebrija, at which she would be dancing, the same night. Concha understood because she knew I'd already bought a ticket, and also that I had very few days left in which to see Pati and Manu before they leave for Switzerland.
I believe I am at my limit with the instability and lack of direction in my life, and the inability to make decisions this is giving me. I wanted to see both; also I need time away from the intensity of being here at times, but on the other hand the last Viernes Flamenco concert in Jerez was too big and too loud, and I wanted to hear Torta in different atmosphere, as well as taking the opportunity to see a show in a small town which I never get to do, because of inability to return on the train the same night to wherever I have lived. I ended up trying to contact Manu and Pati the day of the concert, to try to change plans with them. At the train station in line to go to Jerez, 5 minutes before the train, I got ahold of Pati and, still unsure what I actually wanted to do, asked if I could see them the next day. I was still waffling until I left the station.
Something not quite right in my head...!

Yesterday was full of flamenco. Esperanza Fernandez's father (Concha's bro-in law) sang bulerias, and did a few compas of palmas in the middle of eating lunch, pretty much everybody seemed to be rapping their knuckles on tables in 12/8 time various times during the day, and then Curro played guitar in the house for the first time since the fiesta. He was fixing his thumbnail, which has broken, and played between gluings, so I kept coming back downstairs each time he started up.

The concert was in an outdoor movie theatre on top of a hill. I felt important carrying Concha's shoes and makeup bag in my purse, and giving her barrettes and bobby pins to fix her clothing. They called us in to the room below the stage, which felt very special until I realised the entire audience would drift in there during the course of the evening to get sliced baguettes, sausage, cheese and drinks. I was happy to be in a small town in a small-ish audience until it turned out that the sound was just as loud as it has been in all the other concerts recently. Unfortunately, the first set was terrible, which I did not expect, due to it being a chance for local aficionados to show their stuff. There was an announcer who saved things. This man with huge character and a deep, sonorous voice cut through with a terrible rasp probably due to a lifetime of smoking, filled the place with atmosphere with his stories, memories and poems he'd written about certain of the performers. I believe he was Concha's cousin, and introduced Concha with a poem read in the intonation of an ancient storyteller around a fire, about her father, a legendary character.

Curro was there to play for his mother, and for Miguel Funi. Miguel arrived at the venue in an off-white suit, with his characteristic scarf around his neck, and of course Akiko. By the time he got on stage, he was wearing a bright pink shirt with black pants and vest, and his white scarf. Watching him, I felt that the average person who has no idea what bulerias sounds like in general is missing out on one of the ultimately coolest things in the entire world, and pity for those people who love flamenco but have never experienced bulerias here in Andalucia by people who've lived flamenco their whole life.

A woman who came over the other night with her husband and sang in the patio, sang for Concha. Though this lady was a very proficient aficionado worth listening to, she kind of butchered Concha's dancing (the cante has to fit with what's going on and this is the responsibility of the singer, in some respects). I am sure Concha has danced far better, and does every other day in our lessons.

Miguel Funi is different than everyone else. First of all he's tall and thin, and very brown skinned but with fine features that don't look "typically" gitano. More importantly, he has tons of class, the most incredibly relaxed and self-possessed demeanour, but still being normal and humble at the same time. Then there is a very subtle humour that seems to emanate from him, possibly all the time even when he does nothing (oh, except when he was being interviewed by a reporter after the concert and was speaking out about political problems in the world of flamenco). Then, as I may have mentioned before, though he is gray haired and aged 72, his skin has no wrinkles and his fiance is 38. Mai, who is 21, thinks he is something pretty special and very guapo.

Bulerias Miguel style are only possible in this culture. There is a grand space... nothing is rushed. It is exactly the opposite - it's like there is no such thing as rushing - it does not exist. This is not to say there aren't fast parts. In this space which he creates with his presence and voice as well as his dancing between letras, he puts images, with his cante, that bring you in (if you can understand the words, or maybe even if you can't). He stops and poses in a way that would be typically flamenco, dripping with Andaluz, and yet totally his own. Of course, if you know what bulerias are, you will understand that all this is done to the most compelling, funky rhythm possible, and with shouts and hoots, to spur him on or emphasise his dancing or singing. Not many people dance and sing nearly in equal parts, like him. These people, who nearly always incorporate more humour than others, are called festeros. Miguel also did two serious numbers last night.
Curro's guitar accompanyment fits it perfectly and I think he is going to end up no less of a genius, in his own way, if he isn't one already.