A couple weeks ago I was listening to KPFK
and their special guest was Manuel Agujetas, the flamenco master vocalist. The occasion was his performance that night
in an intimate performance to be held in the Los Feliz neighborhood of greater
LA. His singing was incredible, unlike
anything I’ve ever heard, so rich and powerful it’d probably take several Gypsy
Kings to equal it. I even considered
going to the show, but that would have required an arduous ten-minute walk from
my apartment. Who’s got the time these
days? They also interviewed him and Sr.
Manuel had some interesting comments to make, one of which was something like—and
I’m paraphrasing—“these days anybody can call anything flamenco”…and apparently
get away with it. He must have been
talking about a band called “Caramelo”…and others, too, of course.
Caramelo is a band from Brooklyn
and they’ve got a new album out called “Ride.”
If it’s a flamenco band from Brooklyn,
then you might figure right away that we’re not talking about deep
tradition--maybe no deeper than a few well-worn LP covers at most. But that would be wrong. These guys—and girl—have gone to the well,
drunk deeply and come back with mixed drinks. Sounds good to me. The band revolves around female vocalist Sara
Erde, doing bilingual bilabials on songs that range from the tango-intensive
drama of “Peligrosa” to the funky who’s-yo-mama of “Brooklyn.” What about flamenco? Alfonso Cid handles those male vocal chores,
mostly on “La Luna.” They never claimed
to be a purist flamenco group btw, but influenced, so no false advertising
here.
The opening song, “The Girl is Gone” sets the
hybrid pace, with a mosque-like chant “no te vayas, nina” (“don’t leave
me, girl”), though most of the song is in English: “I won't be lying for my
love today, Won't be crying about the way you play, Won't be waiting in an
empty bed, And I won't go crazy from the words you said. High roller the deal
is done, Game over, the girl is gone.”
The song features a killer lead guitar solo, too, courtesy of co-founder
Jed Miley. “Como Quieres” ups the
lyrical ante, an upbeat ditty featuring a tongue-twister that had me looking
for a lyrics sheet (thank you): Como quieres que te quiera, Si quien
quiero que me quiera, No me quiere (“How do
you want me to love you, When the one I love Doesn’t
love me?). By the time we get to
“Brooklyn” it’s obvious that this band has got some pure pop
hooks, upbeat and very danceable: “That’s the way we get to Brooklyn,
that’s the way we go now,” and featuring a trumpet killer solo, pure pop for
kids of all ages…and races.
“Nico” proves they can do a slow ballad, too,
and take bilingualism to a high art: “Nico, I need to take you home, Que
rico, the sugar in your soul, Despacito, the way you lose control,
Nico, I need your love.” Rico,
indeed, tasty tambien I tell you, usualmente tienen que ir
a south Texas to find un restaurante Mexicana serving up scrambled
tongue como estas, tacos de lengua o de pura cabeza. “Peligroso”
is tango-like, gypsy—per the theme—yet light on its feet at the same time: “Why don't
you stay, Here on Avenue A? Don't go back to Buenos Aires.” “La
Luna” is the one genuine flamenco song, complete with weeping wailing and
gnashing of teeth: “Girl, your words, Pierce my soul. Girl, your questions,
Without longed for answers. Girl, that light, In the moon of your face!!) The album is “Ride” by Caramelo. It’s good. It’s out now.
But is it flamenco? Is anything flamenco? Carlos Saura’s flamenco film trilogy (not to
be confused with the documentary, which I have yet to see) is a wonder,
thesis>antithesis>synthesis. If
the first realization about flamenco is that there are guitars as well as
voices…and verses, then the second is that there’s dance, equal if not more
important than the song, and the third realization is that there’s a stage
surrounding it all. Saura’s trilogy is
not ABOUT flamenco; it IS flamenco, in the same way that dance is. In “Amor Brujo” the unreal is posing as real
and the good guy dies. In “Carmen” the
real is posing as unreal, and the witchy woman dies. In “Bodas de Sangre” the unreal is unreal
throughout—and recognized as such—and both guys die, and the woman wails, BUT…it’s
only a stage. In all three films the
actors are the same…but different, the story is the same…but different, but
none of that matters. What matters is
the dance, the voice, the verse, the chord, the clap…the strut…the fret. It’s all a stage. Nothing matters, but honor, and dignity, and
the dance, and the music. The
characters, notes, movements, and sounds are just playing roles, and hopefully
well.
But not me.
I’m not a musician (unless the fellatio I used to perform on the
business end of a trombone in high school counts as “music”). And I’m not an actor, nor dancer, nor
singer. I’m not really even a
critic. Have you ever heard me say anything
bad about any piece of work? I’m a
writer, so I look for stories. If I
can’t find one, then I’ll make one up.
I’m a philosopher, so I look for meaning. If I can’t find any, then…you get the
idea. I want to know what’s real, behind
the matrix and the makeup. World music
is full of it. I’ve pondered mightily on
“Afro-Cuban music,” but that’s nothing compared to flamenco. What is “flamenco?” Everybody agrees that it’s Andalusian music,
but not much more. So why is it called
“Gypsy?” It has nothing to do with the
people known as Roma. You’ll have to
read long and hard before you’ll find the word “Moor,” much less “Arab,” far
less “Muslim,” in describing flamenco.
But what is Andalucia? It’s that
region longest occupied by Moors, of course, over 700 years. And what are the distinguishing
characteristics of traditional flamenco, and traditional Spain, in
general? There’s honor, pride and
dignity, male dominance… Sound
familiar? Ever notice the similarity of
flamenco dance to some Middle Eastern forms of dance? Ever notice the similarity of flamenco vocals
to the voice coming over the closest muezzin five times a day? So why do so-called “gypsies” get credit for
something that 700 years of Arab-Spanish culture most likely created? You tell me.
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