-Grandpa, so many people have missed you these last few months. Where on earth were you? You shouldn’t disappear just like that, otherwise the quality of our discussion suffers.

-I was considering never again returning to Spain, because everything here is going downhill. I don’t mean just with flamenco, as you can imagine, although that’s our main concern here.

-You weren’t in Pamplona, were you?

-Noooo… Well, that festival has a point. They dared to feature Martirio, who is basically La Serneta of our days. Did you know that La Serneta wore peinetas, too?

-No, I didn’t know that. Yet, Martirio isn’t flamenca, is she?

-It depends how you look at it. She’ll have to improve María Borrico’s cambio and Juquera’s cabal, but otherwise she could be considered flamenca in Pamplona. Perhaps not in Jerez, because there they prefer artists like Tía Juana la del Pipa.

-I think you’re trying to pull my leg, grandpa, but only you would know. Do you also agree with the flamenco in the balconies thing?

-Man, no, that’s too much, they went too far! If I had my way, I’d dress them all like bullfighters. I mean, those who sang and played the guitar in Pamplona’s balconies. That would have been typically Spanish. Flamencos have performed everywhere, even at La Bodeguilla, just imagine. After all, singing from balconies is nothing new: that’s where saetas have been performed for centuries. Incidentally, singing saetas from balconies was banned by Seville’s archbishop in the 1920s, to promote the spontaneous singing of saetas by the faithful on the streets, with no money involved.

-But that was just saetas, right?

-Well, look… Niña de los Peines always celebrated her birthday at her home, with friends, family and artists. When she lived on Peral street, at La Alameda (before she moved to Calatrava street), some neighbors gathered to congratulate her at her door, and she came out and sang some tangos with Pepe Martínez’ guitar. That is, the balconies thing in Pamplona is nothing new, although they took it to a commercial level.

-I heard you were at the Festival de Cante Jondo Antonio Mairena. How was it?

-Yes, I attended it. There was more people than in the War. They had a nice and balanced line-up, so it was appealing. I think this historical festival will get back on its feet, and that’s a good thing, because it’s named after Antonio Mairena, who in my opinion is one of the best cantaores of his generation. The festival should be shorter, though, it’s a bit too long. Yet, regarding everything else, Mairena del Alcor still has a lot to say in the world of flamenco.

-Didn’t you attend the contest?

-No, my doctor forbade it a long time ago. No contests. A new model of cante contest is necessary, because things have changed a lot. The current model is no longer valid. Well, it’s valid to earn money and nothing else. If the prizes were a certificate or a collection of flamenco books, no one would take part.

-By the way, granpa, Ortiz Nuevo is again at the helm of the Bienal de Flamenco.

-It looks like it. I hope he make things right. The Bienal needs a push and a change of mentality. We can’t claim it’s “dead”, because its venues always get full, but it has fallen into an unbearable routine. Ortiz Nuevo should start from scratch, point to new direction and then take a well-deserved rest. Yet, I don’t think he’ll be able to achieve this in just one or two years.

-Are you working on any project these days, grandpa?

-I want to write my memoirs as aficionado. I’ll title it “Confieso que he sentido”(1)

-You scare me, grandpa. I bet it will be controversial.

-Nah. Although I’ll call things by their names. Bread is bread, and wine is wine. I can’t disappoint my fans.

-Thank you, grandpa.

-Why?

-For coming back to flamenco reality.

-I never completely leave, you know that.

 

(1) “Confieso que he sentido”: “I confess I’ve felt” or “I confess I’ve been moved”.