EXCERPT FROM SARA’S JOURNALFebruary 27, 1999
Calle Conde de Barajas, Seville
Flamenco III
The Teatro Lope de Vega sits at the edge of the Parque Maria
Luisa, Seville’s large expanse of green-space, and the former grounds of the Palacio
de San Telmo (the University of Navigation). The Theatre is named for "the
Spanish Shakespeare" Lope de Vega, who wrote more than 1500 plays. The Neo-Baroque
structure opened in 1929 as a casino and theatre for the Ibero-American Exposition.
Tonight we are here to see a man who is followed wherever he goes. His
fans from his native Cadiz attend his performances in all parts of Spain, like followers
of the Grateful Dead. His name is Antonio "El Pipa". He is a bailaor (a
male dancer), and he dances to the most classic and traditional of Flamenco styles.
The theatre is intimate and warm. The stage is sparse, dark, with
dramatic lighting, which casts golden shadows on the ten performers. They sit in a
crescent, on simple wooden chairs. Seven men—two guitarists, some singers and
hand-clappers, and three women, dressed in gypsy-flamenco dresses with ruffles and shawls.
The most extraordinary phenomenon is the guitar, strumming consistently and at the same
time totally freeform, and the feet and hands of the other eight--stomping and clapping
and all slightly different. The men wear black suits and white shirts, and everyone wears
heeled shoes. One leg is lifted sideways as if to kick a soccerball to the other foot, and
planted again in unison with the others. With the lights, one only sees the flash of eight
knees, eight pairs of hands, and the faces of a casual yet exerting company.
Antonio "El Pipa" is a mixture of everything we have ever
absorbed in popular culture about Spanish dancing, Saturday Night Fever and the
bullfighter. His movements are rigid and then fluid, all feet tapping with ankle pivots,
tight buttocks and artful hands attached to the huge gestures of white-sleeved arms. He is
young. And he loves the stage. His partner, Maria del Mar Moreno, is sensual and evocative
in her movements. Her hands are Flamenco’s undeniable Indian roots. They twist and
turn and point gracefully… and they never stop moving. She reaches up, and then
brings them in to her chest and to her hips. She lifts the many layers of ruffles and
fabric of her dress to reveal her tapping feet.
The singers range from 80 cigarettes-a-day rasp—loud and
powerful—to high, Arab-sounding, musical song. One Cantor has been named El
Torta—"The Cake". He sings slowly, with lots of embellishment.
The crowd is responsive, shouting "Ole!" to encourage
the musicians, stomping and clapping in rhythm between the songs. The company is clearly
enjoying themselves. It’s almost informal, maintaining an intimacy that great
Flamenco requires.
For dessert, we visit a tiny Pena Cultural Flamenca (a bar
designed specifically to cultivate the art) called Pies Plomo—"Lead
Feet". It’s all smoke and a crowd caught up in the angst of the singer at the
end of the room. Tonight Manuel de Paula and his guitarist Martin Chico are paying homage
to one of the great, old song masters, Manolo Caracol, who is described as having had a
"Life of Notes". The songs are mostly sad and about love, about a man who brings
a woman from the Sierra, so beautiful you only have to look at her to see, and who bites
your lips with her kisses.
%20sings%20while%20the%20Bailaora%20(dancer)%20expresses%20his%20words%20with%20movements.JPG)
.JPG)
