Saturday, October 8th, 2005. 9:00pm. Teatro
Villamarta, Jerez de la Frontera
Text:
Estela Zatania
Photo: Agujetas & son by José María Castaño
rest photos: Estela Zatania
When the summer season of Jerez flamenco just closed
with the Fiesta de la Bulería barely one month ago,
the new autumn/winter season got underway Saturday at the
Villamarta Theater.
The sober program – the singing of Manuel Agujetas
and Tomasa la Macanita and dancing of Juana Amaya –
made an excellent jumping-off point, a way of taking a reading
of the essence to guide us through the coming months of new
flamenco adventures that are sure to come.
No one’s offering resistance
to the authority of this woman with her very flamenco voice.
Three
times Macanita invoked “Viva Jerez!” to open the
evening, adding, just in case there was still any doubt, “because
this is where I’m from”. Frontal attack with martinete
– in recent appearances the singer has struggled with
a disobedient voice, but on this night she is in perfect voice.
Tientos tangos, incorporating some Extremaduran styles, Pastora’s
‘gururgú’ and other odds and ends. For
years now tangos from specific areas have been losing their
respective identities, there’s no distinguishing inherited
styles from those cooked up this morning and it’s the
moral equivalent of bulerías without the redeeming
rhythmic factor. But no one’s offering resistance to
the authority of this woman with her very flamenco voice,
her wonderful shawl and her generous smile. Soleá on
6 “por medio” and guitarist Juan Diego seems not
to have enough material in this key. “Cualquier diíta
menos pensao…”, “Por el hablar de la gente…”,
“Qué quieres de mí…?”…we’re
in Fernandaland, that virtual space Macanita knows so well,
stopping by Lebrija on the way. “El día que yo
me muera”, the famous cantiña verse of Pinini
is applied to another style and the ending is Paquirri. Macanita
commits the imprudence of interpreting a “theme”,
the lastest euphemism for song, “El corazón tras
la puerta” to bulerías. It’s not that she
doesn’t do it well, but it’s just out of place
on this occasion. Little tapas of cuplé alternating
with traditional bulerías add interest, but a whole
song start to finish weighs like a ton of bricks, and Juan
Diego misses some of the chords. The siguiriyas she offers
next could have been left back in the dressing-room given
the presence on the program of Manuel Agujetas, dean of the
black sounds. She winds up with bulerías with a nod
to Paquera, a long segment away from the mike, and snippets
of dance from the palmeros round out the performance.
The town of Morón de la Frontera has a history not
only of guitar-playing, but also of dance. From el Quino and
Pepe Ríos, Fernandillo and Andorrano, inspired festeros,
right up to the sizzling present with Pepe Torres and Juan
de Juan… An important link in the chain is Juana Amaya –
strength and compás in a gypsy package. The girl who
partnered Mario Maria at just barely fifteen and managed to
project her personality when she danced opposite Farruquito
in 2003 in the show “Por Derecho”, continues to
be one the of the most interesting dancers of the current
scene.
A voice rings out with martinete, Juana appears and makes
her footwork statement to move into sigiuriyas where she’s
backed up by singers Juan José Amador, father and son
and David el Galli, the sizzling guitar of Paco Fernández
and el Bola and Joselito Carrasco’s percussion. Juana’s
set is sliced in half by the intermission, terribly annoying,
and she opens the second part with soleá. She’s
beginning to look like a mature woman and her dance is all
nerves and punch. She has an intimate relationship with the
ground – others find their center of gravity a bit higher
– and this adds emotional weight. The repertoire of
moves is a bit limited by today’s standards –
flamenco is developing very swiftly these days and Juana employs
a slightly dated language, but the message arrives intact
once again demonstrating the timelessness of that which is
well-done.
In these flamenco times when sweet, precious voices are coming
back in style, Manuel de los Santos “Agujetas”
brings his primal scream to the Villamarta theater. Anarchic,
terrorific personality, great head of hair, gut-wrenching
sound. He begins with soleá to stand everyone’s
hairs on end with the first verse, but just when you’re
fumbling to fasten your seat-belt, he’s finished the
set and it’s applause time. This custom the singer has
of not developing or finishing off the cantes takes a lot
away from his performances. In fandangos you don’t mind
the brevity – each sung verse is a self-sufficient entity
– but the variety and nature of soleá cante makes
it highly adaptable to an ascending structure where compositional
sensitivity is another facet of the interpretation.
Anarchic, terrorific personality,
great head of hair, gut-wrenching sound.
Manuel Agujetas is one of the few who still says “bulerías
pa’ escuchar” to announce soleá por bulería,
but once again it’s just too short and the singer is
jumping from his seat bowing after just three short letras.
Aside from not allowing the ambience of the cante to grow
naturally, the guitarist, in this case the splendid Málaga
man Antonio Soto, is deprived of the opportunity to present
his wares and is reduced to strumming.
Agujetas
voices as much politically incorrect talk as he does cante,
and it’s impossible not to be waiting for his wild statements.
The audience is part of the game and one shouts out “you’re
the greatest!” triggering the singer’s answer
“everyone in Jerez knows it already”. “You’re
the baddest dude, Manuel!”…”Gracias”.
It’s all part of the Agujetas show.
“A few fandangos, done my own way” leads to siguiriyas,
the jewel in the crown of this singer. Barely opening his
mouth he lets loose all the fury of his permanent rage via
a form made just for such purposes. More fandangos, followed
by soleá, and you couldn’t have seen a more docile
and obedient crowd when Mrs. Agujetas comes out to dance.
The singer first asks if we’d like to see her, and afterwards,
whether or not we liked it, and no one dares blink.
Agujetas announces the soleá of Manuel Torre, “I
never knew him, but he was from Jerez” and scolds about
the lack of attention Chocolate’s death has received:
“Lola Flores was from Italy and she’s got her
monument!” For martinete he brings out that special
sound of his, more fandangos, his son Antonio comes out, not
looking well, and he sings briefly, two soleá letras.
Manuel clutches the back of his son’s chair with a look
that’s a mixture of pride and worry, hanging on every
note, saying “oles”.
“I love everyone in Jerez…except four gypsis who
can’t stand me!” Soleá. Siguiriyas encore.
“As long as I’m still alive, cante isn’t
going to be lost”.
