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Flash Review 2, 6-5:
Sophisticated Duende
Soler and Romero up the Ante
By Paul Ben-Itzak
Copyright 2000 The Dance Insider
"Contemporary" Flamenco
has always seemed something of a bailiwick to me. It often indicates
experiments by a Flamenco artist who has tried to extend beyond
his/her natively gifted body and it's realm and canvas to devising
a movement pattern for a whole group utilizing the geography of
an entire stage, usually with the embarrassing result of seeing
a dancer who is the consummate master of the immediate space directly
around him being ultimately unable to maneuver groups in an interesting
way. Friday at Symphony Space, in a concert by the group of Manuel
Soler presented by the World Music Institute and produced by Miguel
Marin, I found an exception to this rule.
But first to the mundane
norm I was used to: For one, I'm thinking of Maria Benitez, and
her resurrection of the 1914 Miguel de Falla ballet "El Amor Brujo,"
involving (if memory serves!) a gypsy woman, her lover, the new
woman he has moved on to, her employment of witchcraft to try to
get him back, and the madness which ultimately consumes her. I'm
also thinking of the "choreographed" segments of Christina Hoyas's
show at City Center a couple of years ago. I'd heard from reliable
Flamenco fanatics that Hoyas was the real thing, and so was disappointed
by the ultimately mundane choreographies. And I'm thinking of the
plethora of ballets commemorating Federico Garcia Lorca which swamped
these shores a year or so ago. With all of these artists, I got
the sense that they felt they had to give American audiences a story,
when we (or at least I) would have been sated with a simple tablao-style
concert, recreating what it's like to encounter the Flamenco magic
in an Andalusian cafe. (And, indeed, the second half of Benitez's
concert was exactly this, and all the more thrilling for it.)
Before Friday's show,
the only exception I'd found to the general choreographic mediocrity
was Marco Berriel. This mature, suave, handsome, ballet-trained
(I think he danced with Bejart) artist created a (Lorca-themed,
I think) fiery duet with Joaquin Cortes that gave some much-needed
class to the latter's otherwise pretty trashy touring show. Knives
were involved, and from the way these were used, the spare choreography,
and the restrained intensity of both men, electrifying pins-and-needles
tension ensued. Less stormy but equally eloquent was a Berriel character
duet with Lola Greco set in the thirties and, if memory serves,
involving love songs written by Lorca and initially performed with
Argentinita.
On Friday, I caught a
performer-choreographer who reminded me of Berriel, in his suavity
and economical, fresh additions to the standard Flamenco lexicon.
Fernando Romero, who looks like a 20-year-old but dances with the
poise of a 40-year-old, showed me something I've only rarely seen
before in a Flamenco concert: Adagio! Or should I say, quietly,
adagio. In one languorous section, I think he even moved for two
or three minutes without slamming a foot to the stage. His arms
floated lightly rather than with the serpentine tension usual for
flamenco port de bras. And the drama was all in the choreography,
not in any over-bearing facial expressions. (Flamenco regulars know
what I'm talking about: Where the soloist seems suddenly angry at
someone sitting somewhere out in the audience, or overly proud.)
And even when his feet did cut loose, his torso remained calm. Romero
won the audience not by his bravado, but by his elegance and originality.
And his mastery extended beyond his body's realm and across the
whole stage which -- again, quietly -- he mastered, somehow using
every corner, moving as freely and with the stage-geography-spanning
mastery and confidence of a ballet dancer used to commanding this
whole terrain. And with great variety. He broke out of the Flamenco
box and showed me not just sexy boasting or fleet feet, but genuinely
original choreography on the level of an experienced, innovative
ballet or modern choreographer.
Speaking of the box,
the master of The Box -- I'm speaking of that unassuming low-tech
flamenco beat box experts tell me is called the cajon -- the real
quiet, unassuming master and master of ceremonies of the evening
was Soler himself. We see him first illuminated with three other
men on an otherwise dark stage, as they take turns singing, clapping,
and stomping, unaccompanied by guitar. (There's probably a nicer,
less crass-sounding term for this than stomping -- the fault is
in my paucity of flamenco terminology, not the dancing!) These are,
if not necessarily old, middle-aged, experienced men, announcing
they are about to take us on a journey, to tell us a story. And,
again, every trill, every tap, every clap is clear, the whole economically
presented. This is the anti-Cortes. No bare chests or struts or
jumping up and down are needed by these men; they capture us with
the sense that they have seen it all and are going to show us maybe
just a little bit of it, but an authentic sample we will treasure
forever. If Cortes is the one-night stand, these guys are the dependable,
rich, depth-full marriage.
For the rest of the evening,
Soler is content to sit upstage on his cajon, not calling attention
to himself. Except, of course, through his drumming -- and make
no mistake, this is the most virtuosic, obviously experienced in
its effortless variety, drumming -- which it takes us only a few
minutes of listening/observing to notice is not your usual routine
background cajon-beating. Soler hits every corner, at various tempi
and volume, and we quickly realize that there's a musical method
to this scheme; every corner presents different sounds, from the
base of the middle of the box to the tenor of the rim. (A microcosm
of the percussive orchestra provided by the whole group, with its
hands and feet.) I took in this concert just a day after mourning
Tito Puente, and watching Soler I felt like I was in the presence
of an equal, not just in virtuosity but in spirit. A quiet (as opposed
to boisterous), wry, innocent smile seemed to play on his lips the
whole concert. And, at the end of the evening, I felt like for the
most part (dancers Juana Amaya and El Mistela were too melodramatic
and a bit unconvincing for my tastes) these Flamenco artists had
not taken the easy route to thrill me. But, rather, those mentioned
as well as vocalists Juan Jose Amador and Enrique el Extremeno,
guitarists Miguel Perez (especially in his duet with Romero) and
Paco Fernandez, and percussionist Agustin Henke had impressed me
with Flamenco music and dance performed by adults, for adults.
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