That which we call ‘flamenco’ isn’t just ‘cante jondo’, or hard-cord gypsy music like soleá, siguiriya, bulería…or Andalusian cante like malagueña, taranta, fandango… Flamenco can often be that certain something you can’t possibly define…like La Cañeta de Málaga.
We
all know she isn’t going to sing Manuel Torre’s cante, or
Chacón’s, or the Pavons’, or Terremoto’s. But
in all honesty, can anyone stand up and say what she does isn’t
flamenco of the very highest order? Was Paco Valdepeñas not flamenco
when he sang «María de las Mercedes»? Or Antonio el
Chaqueta with his amazing bulerías songs? Just what is it?…that
something these artists put into a simple song that changes it forever?
Take note: we don’t mean to imply that any song sung by anyone who
gives it a flamenco spin manages to pull off that amazing metamorphosis.
The music of Bach, Mozart and Beethoven is magnificent, to say the least…but
is not the music of Chopin, Falla or Rodrigo also «good music»?
Could anyone say in good faith «no, that’s not classical music
of a high level» without crossing their fingers behind their back?
As far as flamenco…what defines it?…what gives it a ‘flamenco’
quality? A poorly-sung soleá can really stink, and a siguiriyas
can make one want to hastily leave the premises to go listen to the radio.
«Hey man…what’s with you? Like…isn’t flamenco singing
neat no matter what? I mean like…isn’t a solea just plain great
because it’s flamenco? What’s eating you anyhow?»
«No…look… I think the Art of the Fugue, Beethoven’s Ninth,
La Traviata, that stuff…it speaks for itself because they’re extraordinary
finished works, even allowing for occasionally mediocre performances.
But in flamenco, the interpreter is the crux of the matter. Creators of
styles like soleá or siguiriya, there’ve only been about
thirty or forty, so that’s why we say «soleá of Serneta»
or «siguiriya of Loco Mateo», among many others who were noteworthy
enough to be remembered. Soleá, per se, has no more existence than
that which it is given by the interpreter, for better or for worse…cante
is re-created every time it’s sung».
What I’m getting at is….what’s more flamenco?…a bad soleá
or a great bulería song that’s done in a flamenco way by
El Chaqueta, Bambino, or, while we’re at it, la Cañeta de
Málaga?
That certain something you can’t possibly
define…
La Cañeta fifty years ago…and today
María Teresa Sánchez, from Málaga, daughter of la
Pirula and wife of cantaor José Salazar…she just as soon sings
you her mother’s tangos made so popular by la Repompa de Málaga,
as any contemporary song put to bulerías or rumba…and those songs,
whether Mexican rancheras, ballads, boleros, they become flamenco when
this woman interprets them. Her command of the compás, her delivery,
the way she moves on stage….it’s that special «GRACIA»,
in capitals, a word that can’t even be translated – this diminutive
woman, a gypsy without looking it, with her short powerful bursts of heelwork,
has you on the edge of your seat and sets your hair on end before you
even know what’s happening. If she’s not flamenco, I don’t
know what is.
It would be a tall order to think of another person specialized in these
festive cantes, currently active, with as much «duende» and
art as La Cañeta gives out to her audience in such generous handfuls
wherever she goes, as the members of the Peña Fernando Terremoto
flamenco club found out recently in Jerez, a town of knowledgeable and
demanding flamenco fans. The sad thing is….the sad thing. That the artists
who get the juicy contracts are the pretty girls and boys, attractively
sexy, all big smiles, and if they show a little skin, all the better…their
singing or dancing is the least of it.
«Audiences want young pretty faces, don’t you get it?»
(Sigh…) Unfortunately the art itself is gradually approaching a steep
cliff with no place to go but down, we have to repeat this again and again,
year after year, even if it does no good, we’ll go down kicking
and screaming. (Of course, this is something people have been saying since
the beginning of flamenco. There’s evidence that it was left for
dead, or at least moribund, for having strayed from the straight and true
path at a time when bulerías didn’t even exist…)
But the fact that this Cañeta, this great artist, hasn’t
got eight or ten records on the market, while so many singers, «cantadores»,
and plenty of wannabe flamencos record one CD after another with all kinds
of fake instrumentals cooked up in a studio, while young people with perfect
bodies just keep recording and recording, winning prizes and multi-million-dollar
contracts, well, it’s enough to make you slump down and cry my friend…
«For chrissake, that’s how it is here in Spain!…or didn’t
you ever hear that thing about ‘Spain is different’, get with
it man!»
While other countries cherish and coddle their great artists, here we
give them a kick in the gut and leave them to wither away in exchange
for the flash-in-pan fool’s gold of summer hits. Then, no sooner
do the great artists disappear, than the tributes begin to rain down –
streets are named after them, lots of unveiling of plaques or naming important
prizes after them, in other words, the politicians make the most of it,
what a racket.
But you know how it goes, these are nothing more than personal opinions,
how could they be anything else….?
