The Comunidad de Madrid (the local government) sponsored a series of flamenco shows (called "Cumbre Flamenca") in a metro station in mid-September. Yes, you read right. They built a 3000 person covered theater in the middle of the station. And it was free to all comers. We did stand in line for two and a half hours to get in, but it was worth it. I went to the last night, which was sort of what the previous nights were leading up to. The two performers are apparently flamenco superstars, and getting them to perform, let alone together, was a big coup for the Comunidad. The man, "Pansequito" (né José Cortés Jiménez) sang--I always associated flamenco with dancing (you know, the castanets and scarves and twirling skirts), I didn't realize it is a form and style of music as well. I mean, I had a vague idea of what flamenco music was, but hadn't given much thought to the singing aspect. Anyway, Pansequito sang in a style that, to me, sounded at times like a muezzin's call to prayer; very nasal, alot of vibration and elongation of words. This is probably getting repetitive, but flamenco did originate in southern Spain, where Moorish influence is the strongest, so the image it evoked in me is probably not coincidental; Flamenco incorporates Arab, Spanish, and Gypsy motifs. The songs were also slower, more simple (just a voice, a guitar, and some clapping), and more raw sounding than what my concept of flamenco was before the concert.
The other singer was a woman named Aurora Vargas. According to the program, she played Carmen opposite Plácido Domingo, and is known for her mastery of both singing and dancing. Initially, she sang--it was very dramatic and expressive and intense (I think she's a bit of a diva, but she certainly has the talent and years of experience to back up her attitude). Like with Pansequito, the songs sounded more like laments and exhortations and story-songs (I couldn't understand a word, though) than the fast-pace rhythms I associated with flamenco. I'll admit, I was a little disappointed when I thought I wasn't going to see any dancing, but then during her second to last song she jumped up with a flourish and started spinning and stomping and waving her scarf (no castanets). It was incredibly sensual and suggestive and aggressive, all about the power of the woman. It was whatever the opposite of machismo is, if there's a word for that. . .
I should also mention the other artists in the performance; a guitarist who acccompanied both singers (amazing), and two men billed as "palmas" (palms) whose sole purpose was to clap. Not to say it's an easy job--their movements were highly stylized, with very precise, fluid motions that brought the palms together for an almost muted clapping sound as they kept time with the guitar, and small steps forwards and backwards following the beat.
We were assured by other Spaniards we knew that this performance was the real deal, "pure" flamenco and not just a show for tourists. I have no basis for comparison, but the combination of the unconventional location, the fact that it was free to the public, and the artistry involved made it a really incredible communal and individual experience. Clap clap clap.
And now, allow me to rewind a couple hours to when we were waiting in line. Originally, there were four of us (all grantees). One friend arrived early and was almost at the front of the line. When I arrived with two others, we cut in through the gate to stand with her (which I hate doing). The people behind us didn't seem to mind. As the evening went on, however, more Fulbrighters kept coming and cutting into the line (people we didn't expect but were happy to see). Spaniards are not as much of a line-abiding people as Americans, so we certainly weren't the only group line-jumping liberally, but the scale became kind of ridiculous and I felt bad, so at one point I turned around to the group behind us and said, in Spanish, that I was sorry for all the cutting and that we didn't know there would be this many people, thank you for your patience, etc. The woman was laughing, and said "yes, I think all the Americans in Madrid are right here, no?" Then she asked, "Do you all have grants?". Yes, I said. "Fulbright?" She asked. Um. . .yes, in fact. "Oh my gosh! I had an intercambio with a Fulbright girl last year!". Now, an "intercambio" is an exchange between people who speak two different languages, where they meet for conversations and help each other improve their language skills. People find intercambio partners online, or often through international networking groups. So this woman had had a great intercambio experience last year with a (now) former Fulbrighter.
But is gets weirder. She asked us if we knew "Erica", her intercambio buddy. My friend, Alex, who was standing next to me, asked "You don't mean Erica X, do you?". "Oh my gosh! Yes!". Turns out, Alex knows Erica because she replaced her as the Fulbright Teaching Assistant at her school this year. Alex and Erica had been in email contact for months, and Erica had even mentioned this friend she had made through an intercambio. This friend was Henar, a lawyer and native Madrileño, and the woman standing right behind us line for flamenco. We spent a few minutes with bilingual exclamations of "no way" "amazing" "what are the odds?" etc. We exchanged email addresses, and a took a picture of Alex with Henar to send to Erica, and this past Friday we all met up for drinks and tapas in the city.
So that was my first encounter with flamenco, one of the most common images associated with Spain (along Don Quixote, paella, and bullfighting). Next, what happens when a city already known for its nightlife stages an an all-night festival? Find out in Part II. . .
p.s. The pictures included in this post do not do the set-up or the music justice, but it was the best I could do. I did record some short videos of the concert in action, but they were too big to upload here :-).
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