Lucía en VIVO – 24 february 2025 – Centro Social Blas Infante – Festival de Jerez
Cover photo: Ana Palma Galería fotográfica – Leer en español
Like a true music star in a packed and smoky stadium, with platforms, LEDs, samples, and the soul of an old rocker, Lucía Álvarez, La Piñona, premiered Lucía en VIVO last night—her latest production, which had been sold out for weeks at this 29th edition of the Festival de Jerez.
“Good evening, Jerez!” the bailaora calls out, stepping beyond her usual self, grabbing the microphone to address the audience directly—something she will do throughout the night as she confidently embraces a new role: that of someone who dances, sings, speaks, jumps, caresses, laughs, makes video calls, and perhaps even cries—free. Liberated. Or in the process of liberation.
With the soundtrack of her life not as mere background but as the driving force, Lucía guides us through her inner world—one that swings from the mystical to the raw, from electric energy to spine-chilling ayees—a world that can only be shared in the deepest of connections. And from that vulnerable place, she is supported by the flamenco guitar of Ramón Amador, the electric bass of Juanfe Pérez, and the drums of Javier Rabadán, who cradle and sustain her with strength and complicity, along with the singing of Manuel Pajares. Special mention must go to this singer from Extremadura, who, without great media fanfare, masterfully navigates the diverse registers demanded by this piece—one that (seemingly) feels like his own. That’s the magic of choosing good companions for the journey.
Piñona does not challenge expectations—she simply steps away from them, from the persona imposed upon her. She does not confront; she reveals, she exists. It seems that merely being already transgresses, already provokes. And so, she disobeys, she resists, and she does so with joy. The dancer from Jimena de la Frontera lays her guts on the table, scattering dreams, memories, and inheritances—that intimate cosmovision that weaves an untransferable narrative, a universal braid of delirium, loss, courage, and heartache. And though she employs humor and irony, Lucía en VIVO emerges as an invented format that exudes emotion and tenderness in every sweep of her long arms, in those subtle and now unmistakable gestures of a dancer who expands the limits of her freedom with every step.
What remains is the sheer pleasure of watching her lose the fear of dancing a gesture unleashed—but entirely her own, entirely true to herself.
