I just found this video. It's the Moneo family singing bulerias. There are a bunch of clips, all separate. This is a really good recording and gives you a good idea of what it's really like in a spontaneous fiesta. This is the treasure that us foreigners seek and sometimes are lucky to watch.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hfw7f0zSfgM
Here is another brilliant one. This is just some kind of gathering and it would all be totally spontaneous, nobody practiced getting up to dance, that is to say. Of course they know how generally.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYJUpHKtgzE
The guy on left at end is Luis Peña, a teacher I studied with briefly in Sevilla. He doesn't usually come to Jerez.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Sunday, June 30, 2013
I love my neighbourhood. As I ride my not-so-magic-any-more bike (has seen some beatings, literally) into the Lola Flores square at Bar Maypa, I am liable to catch Antonio the butcher's eye, who is standing at the door visiting, and wave a quick "hola". Paco, at Bar Maypa always greets me if he on his way to or from work, and sometimes Antonio, a member of the Fajardo-Moneo clan (respected flamenco singers) will be sitting on the bench under the olive tree. I am continually surprised that he recognises me, as the times I've previously talked with him he seemed very drunk and is somewhat elderly. Then there is Pacquito, with his white spiky hair and moustache, who is often to be seen swaying his hips and twirling his hands. He calls out "¡hola Keen!" as a fellow owner of the name Kim told him this was my "real" name. Pacquito will say, "my wife walks like this...", and then doing roughly the same thing, adds, "and I walk like this...!" Some say he is not gay at all but this is the persona he has taken on. He loves to act the part, if indeed he is acting. You can guess the answer he gives when you ask him who walks better.
As I get closer to home, I might see Adela or occasionally Maria at the doorway. Adela loves to go for paseos, and always thinks that's what I'm doing too, even if I am going to work. Adela's son may be hanging out in the square with the other unemployed men. And if Mari-Carmen of the Coviran grocery shop is outside putting boxes out, I get a nod. Since the sidewalks are too narrow for two people to pass comfortably and not so convenient for anyone with a stroller, many people amble up the middle of the street, which is one way, like almost every street except for the major ones.
If I go down the next street over, and happen to see them, I'll greet the owners of Bar Porrón, and then Manuel who is always standing somewhere near Peña Buleria or the corner store across the street.
It is common to run into most of my friends or acquaintances in the streets around my home.
There is always something going on on Friday or Saturday night or both. Sometimes there are two events on the same night, that most people want to go to, like last night, so the second event just waits until the people arrive from the first one, and the concert might start 1-2 hours later than advertised.
Last night was the fin de curso of one of the dance teachers. After that Jose Mendez sang at a little bar recently re-opened, and a provider of excellent flamenco (which is almost always free everywhere). It was 11:00 already and Jose's girlfriend was in the Peña watching the dancing. Then Jose came in too, so we knew we didn't have to go over to the bar yet. Half an hour after he was due to start, we followed him over to the bar. On the way we ran into other friends who were going late to the dance show and who we told to come along cause Jose was singing. At the bar, we hung out and talked with Jose and his uncle (a friend of us girls, Pepe, el Zori) and various other people while the owner sang a letra of bulerias himself. Then he yelled, "let's start", so everyone crowded into the room where there are benches along each wall and a few tables and extra stools.
Jose is the nephew of the famous, now dead Paquera de Jerez, whose place of birth is next door. Jose has inherited powerful lungs from his family.
The girls and I squeezed in beside Ani (our teacher) who gave constant jaleo (yelling encouragement) while he sang. Jose is super down to earth and nice. Like most people here - flamenco or not - he remembered me and greeted me warmly, after being introduced only once quite some time before.
Jose sings with all his lungs and soul. At times his voice was almost ear-splitting. The best flamenco is heard without a microphone and this place certainly doesn't have one. Jose doesn't probably ever need one. Flamenco does not have to be sung loud, and those who sing shouldn't attempt to yell, but some people have strong lungs, like this man.
A few nights ago was the fin de curso of Ani, in which I danced a tiny piece of bulerias. I didn't do badly but I wasn't totally pleased. Ani was satisfied with me, which means a lot as if you don't live up to your standards, she can be tough on you. There were three excellent singers that you would not find in a show of this sort in a city like Sevilla. Three singers from old and respected flamenco families, who are steeped in it and continue to steep their children in it. Some of these children are students of Ani, and danced that night. In the audience are grandmothers and friends and cousins of everybody, and the family of Dolores Agujetas helping out with recording everything. This is something that I think does not exist in any other place. There are only a few extranjeros (people like me), surrounded by genuine Jerezanos with flamenco in their blood, just doing their thing, in their community, in the place where they grew up. In Seville it is the opposite way around, and the former communities where the gitanos once lived are no longer.
I went to practice the night before. It was the children's practice time - I could not come during the adult extranjeros time. While I waited, I went into the practice room with my friend Kim and a couple of little girls, probably about 7 years old. One of them is the daughter of a singer from a renowned family and the other was the daughter of a local girl who dances, presumably of gitano background. The girls took control. Their confidence was frightening. They were polite and nice to us, as if they were adults. They did palmas for us and told us we danced well. We did palmas for them. And what palmas they did! I have no idea how a child of that age, with tiny hands could make a sound so loud, so secure and so consistent. And their dancing and compas (rhythm) was so secure... they knew what they were doing better than 90% of adult foreigners. One of the girls had an attitude of utter fearless confidence of the kind that is unnerving, but I think natural for her. I think she could kick anyone's butt that got in her way.
As I get closer to home, I might see Adela or occasionally Maria at the doorway. Adela loves to go for paseos, and always thinks that's what I'm doing too, even if I am going to work. Adela's son may be hanging out in the square with the other unemployed men. And if Mari-Carmen of the Coviran grocery shop is outside putting boxes out, I get a nod. Since the sidewalks are too narrow for two people to pass comfortably and not so convenient for anyone with a stroller, many people amble up the middle of the street, which is one way, like almost every street except for the major ones.
If I go down the next street over, and happen to see them, I'll greet the owners of Bar Porrón, and then Manuel who is always standing somewhere near Peña Buleria or the corner store across the street.
It is common to run into most of my friends or acquaintances in the streets around my home.
There is always something going on on Friday or Saturday night or both. Sometimes there are two events on the same night, that most people want to go to, like last night, so the second event just waits until the people arrive from the first one, and the concert might start 1-2 hours later than advertised.
Last night was the fin de curso of one of the dance teachers. After that Jose Mendez sang at a little bar recently re-opened, and a provider of excellent flamenco (which is almost always free everywhere). It was 11:00 already and Jose's girlfriend was in the Peña watching the dancing. Then Jose came in too, so we knew we didn't have to go over to the bar yet. Half an hour after he was due to start, we followed him over to the bar. On the way we ran into other friends who were going late to the dance show and who we told to come along cause Jose was singing. At the bar, we hung out and talked with Jose and his uncle (a friend of us girls, Pepe, el Zori) and various other people while the owner sang a letra of bulerias himself. Then he yelled, "let's start", so everyone crowded into the room where there are benches along each wall and a few tables and extra stools.
Jose is the nephew of the famous, now dead Paquera de Jerez, whose place of birth is next door. Jose has inherited powerful lungs from his family.
The girls and I squeezed in beside Ani (our teacher) who gave constant jaleo (yelling encouragement) while he sang. Jose is super down to earth and nice. Like most people here - flamenco or not - he remembered me and greeted me warmly, after being introduced only once quite some time before.
Jose sings with all his lungs and soul. At times his voice was almost ear-splitting. The best flamenco is heard without a microphone and this place certainly doesn't have one. Jose doesn't probably ever need one. Flamenco does not have to be sung loud, and those who sing shouldn't attempt to yell, but some people have strong lungs, like this man.
A few nights ago was the fin de curso of Ani, in which I danced a tiny piece of bulerias. I didn't do badly but I wasn't totally pleased. Ani was satisfied with me, which means a lot as if you don't live up to your standards, she can be tough on you. There were three excellent singers that you would not find in a show of this sort in a city like Sevilla. Three singers from old and respected flamenco families, who are steeped in it and continue to steep their children in it. Some of these children are students of Ani, and danced that night. In the audience are grandmothers and friends and cousins of everybody, and the family of Dolores Agujetas helping out with recording everything. This is something that I think does not exist in any other place. There are only a few extranjeros (people like me), surrounded by genuine Jerezanos with flamenco in their blood, just doing their thing, in their community, in the place where they grew up. In Seville it is the opposite way around, and the former communities where the gitanos once lived are no longer.
I went to practice the night before. It was the children's practice time - I could not come during the adult extranjeros time. While I waited, I went into the practice room with my friend Kim and a couple of little girls, probably about 7 years old. One of them is the daughter of a singer from a renowned family and the other was the daughter of a local girl who dances, presumably of gitano background. The girls took control. Their confidence was frightening. They were polite and nice to us, as if they were adults. They did palmas for us and told us we danced well. We did palmas for them. And what palmas they did! I have no idea how a child of that age, with tiny hands could make a sound so loud, so secure and so consistent. And their dancing and compas (rhythm) was so secure... they knew what they were doing better than 90% of adult foreigners. One of the girls had an attitude of utter fearless confidence of the kind that is unnerving, but I think natural for her. I think she could kick anyone's butt that got in her way.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
My teachers.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4GJoPHj-Qw
With their children's group. Ana Maria (Ani) comes out first. Then Carmen. Ani is the woman who teaches the best bulerias class in the world. One could argue that, but bulerias are originally from Jerez, and she teaches the best class in Jerez. (One which is as much like a genuine party as any class could be. After all, bulerias are a party. Complete with drinking and smoking, people interrupting to complain about stuff, to discuss deep philosophical questions... whatever. And the class starts about 15 minutes to half an hour late and finishes the same amount late).
This is our Carmen. Carmen is the best flamenco dancer anywhere. I don't care that there are many others in Spain who are technically more advanced. Most of them are just technique showoffs with a serious face - like classical music, but even among the truly good ones... well... Nobody but nobody has the character and personality like Carmen. And flamenco is not flamenco if you are just concerned with technique. All the brilliant technical displays are boring after a while, but soul doesn't bore you.
Besides, she is sweet and down to earth and last night I watched her singing in the street with some other gitano girls after all the big shows were over. What other flamenco dancer does that?!! That's the real thing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMQvyeesoho
Jose Mijita Carpio sings about 3:30 and Carmen dances first. It's just a little bit, but there aren't many videos of her online. Jose is fantastic. I am a huge fan. He always sings for Carmen.
Eva Rubichi who sings first is excellent, but I don't like what she sings here.
Here is a piece of Carmen dancing again.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&feature=endscreen&v=Q1T3cNlJKC8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4GJoPHj-Qw
With their children's group. Ana Maria (Ani) comes out first. Then Carmen. Ani is the woman who teaches the best bulerias class in the world. One could argue that, but bulerias are originally from Jerez, and she teaches the best class in Jerez. (One which is as much like a genuine party as any class could be. After all, bulerias are a party. Complete with drinking and smoking, people interrupting to complain about stuff, to discuss deep philosophical questions... whatever. And the class starts about 15 minutes to half an hour late and finishes the same amount late).
This is our Carmen. Carmen is the best flamenco dancer anywhere. I don't care that there are many others in Spain who are technically more advanced. Most of them are just technique showoffs with a serious face - like classical music, but even among the truly good ones... well... Nobody but nobody has the character and personality like Carmen. And flamenco is not flamenco if you are just concerned with technique. All the brilliant technical displays are boring after a while, but soul doesn't bore you.
Besides, she is sweet and down to earth and last night I watched her singing in the street with some other gitano girls after all the big shows were over. What other flamenco dancer does that?!! That's the real thing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMQvyeesoho
Jose Mijita Carpio sings about 3:30 and Carmen dances first. It's just a little bit, but there aren't many videos of her online. Jose is fantastic. I am a huge fan. He always sings for Carmen.
Eva Rubichi who sings first is excellent, but I don't like what she sings here.
Here is a piece of Carmen dancing again.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&feature=endscreen&v=Q1T3cNlJKC8
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Last night we went out with Kim, Yukie and El Zori for caracoles at a bar near the cathedral. We left just about sunset and it was a long walk cause Zori kept pausing as he talked to us. They were the best caracoles I've had, sure enough. We all ordered seconds.
Zori invited us to the Peña Buleria today and the girls couldn't go because of a previous date, but Geoffrey and I went. We got there ahead of him, though we went later than he told us. It's a little intimidating at first, cause it is open to everyone but not totally. It's hard to understand - it's a club, and the people going for lunch pay a monthly fee to belong. If we were to go all the time, we should really pay, though they are so welcoming, they tell us, "This is your house, come whenever you want". Yet at the door, they stop and ask you, "Yes, can we help you?" If you say someone has invited you then no problem. Anyways, Antonio, a gentleman who can be seen selling lottery tickets on the street, hanging out at the Tres Reyes (bar where the fishmongers and Geoffrey go), and singing Saetas during Semana Santa, comes and puts a big plate of sardines in front of us, and tells the bartender to give us some tapas of tortilla on bread, they give us tomato and tuna salad, and keep bringing more and more sardines. There are very few people today; just three tables of people, only one woman among them all. Zori arrives and doesn't recognize us, cause Geoffrey's wearing a white and magenta striped shirt, and looks like "one of us", whereas last night he had a Giri (foreigner) shirt.
I get some stories from both Antonio and Zori about their childhood growing up in the neighbourhood. These men were born here, beside other famous flamenco singers, Zori being the cousin of Paquera, and Antonio living on the same street as, and playing with various flamenco heavyweights. He said up to about 7 years old they would play stuff like marbles and whatever, in the street, but about that age, they started to rap their knuckles on the table and sing. Just hanging out in their spare time doing that, I suppose.
After someone comes by with ice cream sandwiches and we have a few more drinks and Geoffrey has even more sardines, Gasolina starts to sing. Three other guys take turns doing solea por bulerias, then Antonio starts up with some bulerias and I can hardly stay in my chair. That's what it's supposed to be like. When someone sings bulerias for real, their is so much rhythm (there is not a proper English word to describe what there is - it's called soniquete - groove would be the closest thing), well, there is so much groove, you almost automatically dance. I only need a little bit more time and to feel slightly more at home there, and I'll do it. I am almost there.
Zori is 78 and has just lost his wife. He has always loved flamenco more than any other pursuit, like work and all the duties of raising a family. Finally he can just dedicate himself to it completely. He stays out later than people our age, and is constantly partying. His nephew Jose Mendez has a lot of gigs, in Seville and abroad. Zori often joins him, and is invited up to dance bulerias for the final number, whenever he goes along. He is renowned in Jerez and somewhat in Sevilla for his "arte" (art + something else not involved in the English word art... perhaps whimsy, sense of fun, "cool", and joie de vivre all combined). His daughter calls him and tries to invite him for breakfast, for dinner, to make sure he's not alone, but he's always out with friends and admirers.
He told us his name comes from going to school on the San Telmo hill and during recess, the kids would run to catch up with the Zorrillos (sp?), a type of cart that came from Sanlucar, carrying packages. He would always be the first one to catch up to the cart and so was named Zorillo, later it got shortened.
The singing was like heaven. Not because it is a stereotypically whitewashed "heaven-y" kind of sound, but because it seems to come from deep down, with no barriers to self expression, and equally important, it comes from a certain context and is done in a certain context which infuses the singing. One where people hang out without a schedule, where time is not important, there is spaciousness - a lack of anxiety or pressure that is present in most other settings in my life but is so normal and is anyways only an undetectable undercurrent but colours everything, but is only noticeable when it's missing. They have inherited a living tradition with huge meaning and significance, and a high form of art has been of central importance in their everyday lives, all their lives, and they have shared this together for years. You feel or know all of this as you are sitting there listening to them, you hear it in their singing.
Zori invited us to the Peña Buleria today and the girls couldn't go because of a previous date, but Geoffrey and I went. We got there ahead of him, though we went later than he told us. It's a little intimidating at first, cause it is open to everyone but not totally. It's hard to understand - it's a club, and the people going for lunch pay a monthly fee to belong. If we were to go all the time, we should really pay, though they are so welcoming, they tell us, "This is your house, come whenever you want". Yet at the door, they stop and ask you, "Yes, can we help you?" If you say someone has invited you then no problem. Anyways, Antonio, a gentleman who can be seen selling lottery tickets on the street, hanging out at the Tres Reyes (bar where the fishmongers and Geoffrey go), and singing Saetas during Semana Santa, comes and puts a big plate of sardines in front of us, and tells the bartender to give us some tapas of tortilla on bread, they give us tomato and tuna salad, and keep bringing more and more sardines. There are very few people today; just three tables of people, only one woman among them all. Zori arrives and doesn't recognize us, cause Geoffrey's wearing a white and magenta striped shirt, and looks like "one of us", whereas last night he had a Giri (foreigner) shirt.
I get some stories from both Antonio and Zori about their childhood growing up in the neighbourhood. These men were born here, beside other famous flamenco singers, Zori being the cousin of Paquera, and Antonio living on the same street as, and playing with various flamenco heavyweights. He said up to about 7 years old they would play stuff like marbles and whatever, in the street, but about that age, they started to rap their knuckles on the table and sing. Just hanging out in their spare time doing that, I suppose.
After someone comes by with ice cream sandwiches and we have a few more drinks and Geoffrey has even more sardines, Gasolina starts to sing. Three other guys take turns doing solea por bulerias, then Antonio starts up with some bulerias and I can hardly stay in my chair. That's what it's supposed to be like. When someone sings bulerias for real, their is so much rhythm (there is not a proper English word to describe what there is - it's called soniquete - groove would be the closest thing), well, there is so much groove, you almost automatically dance. I only need a little bit more time and to feel slightly more at home there, and I'll do it. I am almost there.
Zori is 78 and has just lost his wife. He has always loved flamenco more than any other pursuit, like work and all the duties of raising a family. Finally he can just dedicate himself to it completely. He stays out later than people our age, and is constantly partying. His nephew Jose Mendez has a lot of gigs, in Seville and abroad. Zori often joins him, and is invited up to dance bulerias for the final number, whenever he goes along. He is renowned in Jerez and somewhat in Sevilla for his "arte" (art + something else not involved in the English word art... perhaps whimsy, sense of fun, "cool", and joie de vivre all combined). His daughter calls him and tries to invite him for breakfast, for dinner, to make sure he's not alone, but he's always out with friends and admirers.
He told us his name comes from going to school on the San Telmo hill and during recess, the kids would run to catch up with the Zorrillos (sp?), a type of cart that came from Sanlucar, carrying packages. He would always be the first one to catch up to the cart and so was named Zorillo, later it got shortened.
The singing was like heaven. Not because it is a stereotypically whitewashed "heaven-y" kind of sound, but because it seems to come from deep down, with no barriers to self expression, and equally important, it comes from a certain context and is done in a certain context which infuses the singing. One where people hang out without a schedule, where time is not important, there is spaciousness - a lack of anxiety or pressure that is present in most other settings in my life but is so normal and is anyways only an undetectable undercurrent but colours everything, but is only noticeable when it's missing. They have inherited a living tradition with huge meaning and significance, and a high form of art has been of central importance in their everyday lives, all their lives, and they have shared this together for years. You feel or know all of this as you are sitting there listening to them, you hear it in their singing.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
I just got back from Sevilla. How happy I am to be in Jerez. There's a fresh breeze from the ocean, it's totally quiet on a Sunday afternoon at 4 pm.
We are going to have shark steaks on the barbeque for dinner. There are storks circling above the rooftop. Geoffrey is up there doing stuff in his workshop; just finished making himself a table saw out of a metal bed frame and various odd bits of metal, and a regular power saw which he set underneath it.
I am sanding my shoe lasts.
I was with Sachiko and some other friends last night at a peña where Pepe Torres danced. We went out afterwards to the main place for flamenco. Hidden in a place with the door half down, it lasts all night as long as the police don't come and force it to close down. There is no good place where they can sing and do what they want, as somebody is always bothered. It used to be the norm in Sevilla in certain neighbourhoods. Unfortunately and amazingly, the city allows music to be blasting from numerous huge speakers at an all night concert, keeping up everyone in that entire section of the city till 6 am, but a few people playing quality music, un-amplified, are shut down. Anyways, thank goodness Jerez is different. It is a community event complete with older people, here, and there is usually not a problem when it goes all night because, at least I suppose, people know that this is normal life here so they shouldn't live beside a peña if they don't want to hear it.
It makes me realise all the more how unique this place is where I live, what a treasure it is. A cultural treasure, a way of life that hardly exists anywhere else.
We are going to have shark steaks on the barbeque for dinner. There are storks circling above the rooftop. Geoffrey is up there doing stuff in his workshop; just finished making himself a table saw out of a metal bed frame and various odd bits of metal, and a regular power saw which he set underneath it.
I am sanding my shoe lasts.
I was with Sachiko and some other friends last night at a peña where Pepe Torres danced. We went out afterwards to the main place for flamenco. Hidden in a place with the door half down, it lasts all night as long as the police don't come and force it to close down. There is no good place where they can sing and do what they want, as somebody is always bothered. It used to be the norm in Sevilla in certain neighbourhoods. Unfortunately and amazingly, the city allows music to be blasting from numerous huge speakers at an all night concert, keeping up everyone in that entire section of the city till 6 am, but a few people playing quality music, un-amplified, are shut down. Anyways, thank goodness Jerez is different. It is a community event complete with older people, here, and there is usually not a problem when it goes all night because, at least I suppose, people know that this is normal life here so they shouldn't live beside a peña if they don't want to hear it.
It makes me realise all the more how unique this place is where I live, what a treasure it is. A cultural treasure, a way of life that hardly exists anywhere else.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Today a student told me that she doesn't like Cadiz very much, due to negative experiences there. I forget the exact nature of them, but they were involving business. She works for large companies directing things.
I already know that the Gaditanos (people of Cadiz) are happy-go-lucky people. I have always automatically felt happy being there. Besides it is beautiful. It is on the Costa de la Luz (coast of light) and the first time I went there, the light had a heavenly quality to it. I'm sure I've said before that it is the only place in Spain where the traditional carnival survived the dictatorship, so they told me. They are utterly hilarious and take their ridiculousness and irreverence quite seriously. Besides, their humour is a good percentage of the time, quite intelligent, and they are known for having a mildly anarchist bent.
Well, said my student, the director of the company showed up to a meeting with the bank to ask for money, wearing shorts. They don't take anything seriously, she said. I think the company may not have survived.
The only major and important form of flamenco song in a major key is Alegrias (happiness), which is an invention of Cadiz. I have not studied it much, but just did so last month. I am currently trying to learn a few letras (verses) and to sing it a bit, so that I can understand the dance better. Generally I don't really enjoy listening to this form, as is just lacks guts, many times. But that depends who you listen to. Here is La Perla de Cadiz (the Pearl of Cadiz) singing one. I believe she is dead now, but don't quote me. She is accompanied by Paco Cepero, a flamenco giant, who lives here, and whom we shared the bar with a few Saturdays ago at the Tabanco (place where sherry is served out of barrels piled up).
La Perla de Cadiz
I already know that the Gaditanos (people of Cadiz) are happy-go-lucky people. I have always automatically felt happy being there. Besides it is beautiful. It is on the Costa de la Luz (coast of light) and the first time I went there, the light had a heavenly quality to it. I'm sure I've said before that it is the only place in Spain where the traditional carnival survived the dictatorship, so they told me. They are utterly hilarious and take their ridiculousness and irreverence quite seriously. Besides, their humour is a good percentage of the time, quite intelligent, and they are known for having a mildly anarchist bent.
Well, said my student, the director of the company showed up to a meeting with the bank to ask for money, wearing shorts. They don't take anything seriously, she said. I think the company may not have survived.
The only major and important form of flamenco song in a major key is Alegrias (happiness), which is an invention of Cadiz. I have not studied it much, but just did so last month. I am currently trying to learn a few letras (verses) and to sing it a bit, so that I can understand the dance better. Generally I don't really enjoy listening to this form, as is just lacks guts, many times. But that depends who you listen to. Here is La Perla de Cadiz (the Pearl of Cadiz) singing one. I believe she is dead now, but don't quote me. She is accompanied by Paco Cepero, a flamenco giant, who lives here, and whom we shared the bar with a few Saturdays ago at the Tabanco (place where sherry is served out of barrels piled up).
La Perla de Cadiz
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Why I am here:
This month there are shows again at Peña Buleria. There weren't advertised anywhere except a poster on the door and maybe in a couple of strategic places in the city. They are free and they are mostly attended by locals who belong to a large kind of thing that seems like a family. It is a true community. They seem closed because they all know each other and they share this common, incredible thing. They are not closed though, and welcome outsiders but don't really seem to be bothered by us for the most part. I suppose that is because their own "thing" is so strong, alive and well. We are kind of neither here nor there. At least this is my current understanding of it. That is exactly how it should be, I think.
Last night was Momito, one of the so called "Momo" clan, who have illustrious members. I know at least two of them to chat with or hang out with (not the really illustrious ones, but some who are good singers).
Again, I have the feeling at this peña, that I have entered into heaven already. The last is always bulerias, and two palmeros got behind the singer to "clap" and shout. The singer is already pouring out everything in him, but the palmeros are encouraging him on with explosive loud yells. Many people all over the "audience" yell as well, when the wave strikes them/when the spirit moves them. The energy involved in flamenco is like that of old fashioned acoustic blues... there is nothing hyper. It is grounded and has a solid feeling, but heat like a fire.
Totally foreign to the rest of us... I have no idea how to explain. Last night I thought I have never seen so much true joy as what I see in flamenco. It is harsh, raw and completely real and spills everything out. But when they get to bulerias, then that's what it is. The ultimate meaning of party. Which is what heaven should be, I assume. Singing and dancing, clapping and shouting.
After the show is over, we hang out for a while and tonight they just happened to spontaneously erupt into singing for a while. A large circle opens up and someone steps in and starts singing. People accompany by clapping. Someone else sings. Somebody feels like dancing and steps into the middle. Old men with white hair in suits and young ones with funky jeans almost falling off. All are equally involved. Un-scripted goofing around but within a sophisticated musical framework, which involves being totally in tune with another person who's singing or dancing.
Something vital is here that I am missing. I get a transfusion when I go stand even just watching, that allows me to carry on.
This month there are shows again at Peña Buleria. There weren't advertised anywhere except a poster on the door and maybe in a couple of strategic places in the city. They are free and they are mostly attended by locals who belong to a large kind of thing that seems like a family. It is a true community. They seem closed because they all know each other and they share this common, incredible thing. They are not closed though, and welcome outsiders but don't really seem to be bothered by us for the most part. I suppose that is because their own "thing" is so strong, alive and well. We are kind of neither here nor there. At least this is my current understanding of it. That is exactly how it should be, I think.
Last night was Momito, one of the so called "Momo" clan, who have illustrious members. I know at least two of them to chat with or hang out with (not the really illustrious ones, but some who are good singers).
Again, I have the feeling at this peña, that I have entered into heaven already. The last is always bulerias, and two palmeros got behind the singer to "clap" and shout. The singer is already pouring out everything in him, but the palmeros are encouraging him on with explosive loud yells. Many people all over the "audience" yell as well, when the wave strikes them/when the spirit moves them. The energy involved in flamenco is like that of old fashioned acoustic blues... there is nothing hyper. It is grounded and has a solid feeling, but heat like a fire.
Totally foreign to the rest of us... I have no idea how to explain. Last night I thought I have never seen so much true joy as what I see in flamenco. It is harsh, raw and completely real and spills everything out. But when they get to bulerias, then that's what it is. The ultimate meaning of party. Which is what heaven should be, I assume. Singing and dancing, clapping and shouting.
After the show is over, we hang out for a while and tonight they just happened to spontaneously erupt into singing for a while. A large circle opens up and someone steps in and starts singing. People accompany by clapping. Someone else sings. Somebody feels like dancing and steps into the middle. Old men with white hair in suits and young ones with funky jeans almost falling off. All are equally involved. Un-scripted goofing around but within a sophisticated musical framework, which involves being totally in tune with another person who's singing or dancing.
Something vital is here that I am missing. I get a transfusion when I go stand even just watching, that allows me to carry on.
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