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Text: Pablo San Nicasio
Photos: Rafael Manjavacas
Who needs feet?
The power of today’s flamenco dancing, the fashion of saying it all with footwork. Heel and toe…the more the better. These are issues more closely related to athletics than flamenco, without a doubt, but in many shows it’s what there is. Whatever sells, whatever makes people get up out of their seats. And the night had actually gotten off to a good start…
Although somewhat lower attendance than for other events included in the Suma festival, the atmosphere at the Teatros del Canal was far from poor. And in fact, the number of dancers, especially those from Amor de Dios, was above normal for a Sunday afternoon.
You could almost call it a convention of Madrid flamenco dancers gathered to see two of the most glowing examples of this generation which, as previously mentioned, is big on the footwork. Alfonso Losa and José Maya, two under-thirty flamencos who have already made their names. Friends, colleagues and rivals since the very beginning, these two dyed-in-the-wool dancers have been presenting their show “Grito” for several months, but Madrid was looming, waiting to be conquered.
With more than twenty people on stage at some points, the show comes out with high marks. With strength, showy images of the dance group with concentrated intensity of expression, audiovisuals, anti-war message, the two stars face to face, wall-to-wall power and an original way of moving the action, the first four numbers were frankly excellent.
What is inexplicable is why it stopped there.
“Grito” has undeniable coherence in the first quarter of an hour. From that point on, it’s unrelated individual dance numbers, with no connection beyond the complicity of the two dancers, with flashes of fireworks in the compás.
It’s completely overdone, especially the three-beat compás (soleá, soleá por bulería, bulerías and more bulerías), and only in the farruca is Alfonso Losa a bit more moderate, but not much.
Powerfully racial singing, guitar-playing and dance with homogenous intent and results. Choreographies in which Alfonso and José show all their technique and strength, especially in the footwork. It’s clear they know how to move their feet, but the gut-wrenching anti-war cry of the beginning, winds down to zero as the minutes pass, and all that’s left is the incredible complexity of heel and toe percussion.
On paper, it looks like more aesthetic variety in these two dancers of such different backgrounds, but in “Grito” the name of the game is gypsy vitality, and in that department Maya comes out on top, although the dancers are tied when it comes to virtuosity. Lots of facing-off…now it’s your turn, now mine, the back-up held in thrall as the seismic singing is mercilessly churned out, admirers and friends in the audience are at the end of their ropes, everyone overwhelmed… But I was still waiting for the primal scream (“grito”), and my “Grito” fizzled out in the night. The show becomes silence…
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