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Metamorphosis
Nearly a century and a half are distilled in the veteran
team Chano – Matilde. “This is the Bienal, isn’t
it?” asks Matilde surprised at José Luis Ortiz Nuevo’s
oblique reference to the Vietnam war. “He’s just an
intellectual, that’s his problem…” Instead of
the Plaza de las Lanzas, it’s the Pabellón Mudéjar.
The same metamorphosis (“a neat word to use in bulerías”
says Chano) that Matilde and the singer complain about, the one
that comes with age, seems also to have affected the program of
the world’s biggest flamenco event. It’s unfortunate
that the venue has a small capacity. We must be egotists because
we long to enjoy the intimacy of flamenco intended for mass consumption.
Chano warms up with tangos, compas and gracia. His hoarse voices
cuts through with no need to show off or resort to shouting, just
the essence comes through. Matilde recalls earlier times when she
danced to his singing on an empty stomach. José Luis Ortiz
Nuevo points out the inherent remembered suffering in Chano, known
for his festive cante and a light-hearted personality. “He
has no need to brag about hard-scrabble times and sadness.”
But they are there. Soleá hurts him deep inside and some
of that pain leaks out into the air.
José Luis Ortíz Nuevo, Matilde Coral, Chano Lobato
Matilde says time leaves certain marks (she points to her head),
and sounds (she points to her feet). “My mother is still dreaming
about winning the lottery so she can retire me from singing”.
Chano sings alegrias for the dancer who paints the air with the
fringe of her shawl, all enhanced by the dim suggestive lighting.
The shawl falls to the ground and the dance continues, with wisdom
and little else except plenty of compas and elegance. Matilde’s
movements are even sensual, her hands caress the air like birds,
her feet only follow. The audience’s warmth backs up each
movement.
Chano takes off with malagueña and then flatters Seville
with tanguillos as is his custom. Plenty of carnival verses and
Chano’s little dance too. And the anecdote about his dog,
the one who answers back in bulerías compás, and according
to him he doesn’t exaggerate the way Pericón used to.
And suddenly that’s what he’s singing, bulerías,
delighting the audience with Argentine tangos and other odds and
ends thrown in. With tears visible on her face, Matilde gets pulled
out to dance, and emotions are high. Impossible to give more on
this sentimental journey of high spirits and good flamenco. The
Bienal has begun ladies and gentlemen!
Texto: Kiko
Valle.
Photo: Rafael Manjavacas
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