Barullo: «Paco never stopped being the child of the Chiquitos de Algeciras»

Chocolate sang to him when he was little to encourage him to dance. Manuela Carrasco also accompanied him in his first steps. And of course, his family, the Farrucos… But in the artistic life of Juan Antonio Fernandez Montoya, Hubbub, there is an unrepeatable peak: the ten galas in which he accompanied Paco de Lucía replacing his cousin Farru. There were some Spanish and European dates and one American one –Dallas– that he will never forget. In Madrid, where he has been living for seven months, sought after by the main tablaos, he presents a new production with the Christian González agency, entitled The hubbub presents. A spectacle, and there he wanted to share with Expoflamenco memories of that time.

 

–Who was Paco for you, before working with him?

–In my house it has always been heard flamenco. And Paco has been a great reference in that respect, an idol. But I also consider him to be responsible for what there is today in music in general, not only in the flamencoAnd if you ask me, not only on the guitar. For me, it is the best guide to understanding the discipline and responsibility that comes with being an artist.

–Do you mean that you have not only taught music, but also ethics, a way of being?

–Everything. He is the perfect musician.

–You made your debut with your grandfather, Farruco, and you joined your cousin Farruquito’s shows… What could be so special about Paco for someone used to hanging out with big names?

–His transparency, how transparent he was at all times. He liked to be treated like one of us. He never snorted, never.

–Do you remember the first time you saw him?

–I must have seen him before, but I was a child and I didn’t realise who he was. But the first time he came to see us dance was at the Casino de Mallorca… I’m lying, the first time was before, at the Albéniz. I was 12 or 13 years old, he came into the dressing room, we took photos with him, we went to dinner together.

–Weren’t you impressed?

–He was impressive. But he was so simple that, although you never forgot what a musician he was, he gave you a lot of peace of mind. He played jokes on you like the first one, always with his wit… When you see someone with that sense of humour, you relax a lot. I think he was like that since he was young.

–He had a passion for his grandfather. Did he ever talk to you about him?

–Of course, I have a lovely story about him when they were both part of José Greco’s company, the Italian dancer. On one of the trips we made in the van, he was in the front, with his feet on the dashboard, and I was in the back. Something happened, I don’t know, the kids said something, and I laughed. He was half asleep, he turned around, took off his cap and said to me: “Damn, your laugh is so similar to your grandfather’s.” Later, in the hotel, we went to his room to play poker, and he spent more time telling me the anecdote about my grandfather than playing. And he told me that, in Greco’s time, all the musicians in the company always ended up in my grandfather’s room, because they loved listening to his stories while they had a drink. And he loved that my grandfather told him the same story every day, but he added something more to it every day, so every day it was different [laughs]. He told me crying!

 

«The surprising thing for me is that Paco never stopped being the boy from Chiquitos de Algeciras, with his white shirt with puffed sleeves, his black pleated trousers, his waistcoat, his mid-calf boots and his little palm trees behind him»

 

 

–What dance did you like?

–Well, I don’t know if anyone has told you this before, but he said he didn’t like dancing…

–His cousin Farru told me something like that.

–Well, that’s what he told me, “The only one I liked was your grandfather Farruco. When I saw him, I thought, what is this? Every night the show was for Farruco, and he was the first dancer of the company, but not the owner!” Greco was a master, I have watched all his videos and he took dance all over the world, but…

–How did the teacher sign you?

–Well, my cousin Antonio, Farru, had a job issue and several dancers were considered to replace him. And of all those who thought of it, it turned out that I was the one. There was also talk of Carpeta coming, but he was younger, he was still being refined. That's how I received him and my name is Sophie, from the maestro's office. I felt like I was in another galaxy. Although I was lucky enough to have been born into the family I was born into, I had the use of reason and I knew that Paco's job was a big deal.

–And from that moment until you go on stage, I guess you can't think of anything else…

–Look, I have had several stages of improvement. One of them was when I started dancing, because my mother went on trips with my aunt, with my cousin Juan and with Farru… Farru was maybe six years old and I was four, and I decided that I wanted to dance not only because I like it, but also because it is a way of being with my mother. There were other moments like that in my life, and another one was when the teacher called me. I locked myself in a studio, I set a goal, a minimum bar that I had to reach before I could face the teacher: in time, in speed, in everything.

–You went to the “gym” to be in perfect shape, right?

–That’s right. And you, as an artist, notice the change. I’ve never liked rehearsing for the sake of rehearsing. That’s why you might see me three months with three kilos more, and three months with two kilos less, because when I have a project that motivates me it doesn’t cost me any effort to start rehearsing, quite the opposite. And I want more projects that motivate me to improve myself.

–In addition to these stimuli, don’t you also have fears?

–That only happens before, not on stage. On stage I never even know who I am. But before that you get bitter, you get depressed, you put yourself down, you criticize yourself, one day you leave the studio saying “well, today wasn’t bad”, and you get home and think “that’s worthless”. And you think you have to try to do something else, that you have to try harder, “I’m not going! Tomorrow I’ll tell him not to count on me”. “What are you doing?”… And that happens to me not only with Paco, but with everyone.

 

"I consider him to be the culprit of what there is today in music in general, not just in the flamenco. And if you push me, not only on the guitar. For me, it is the greatest guide to understanding the discipline and responsibility that comes with being an artist.

 

–Did you ever think with Paco that you were occupying a space that others deserved more?

–And even more so at 21 years old. And without having rehearsed even one day, nothing.

–So how was the preparation of the repertoire?

–Well, look, I fought with my cousin Antonio for four or five months to get him to put together the song that I was doing with him dancing. But not only because of the lack of confidence, but also because we are brothers, he kept telling me “I'll put it on for you, I'll explain it to you.” Until one day we had a meal at home and I asked him to come into the studio with me, but with his boots on to teach me the steps or the timing. Instead of that, he gave it to me. rec and, speaking, he told me the number, without the music, without the times.

–Do you remember what the message was like?

–Of course: “When the lyrics start The strings on my guitar are already crying… You go out, you do seguiriya for a while, then you move on to tangos, then to soleá por bulería, then to bulería…” And I, well, yes, but how do you change, when does the transition come? He explained it to me and that’s it. I recorded it on a mini-disc and listened to it non-stop, day after day. Until the first day of rehearsing with the maestro, directly on stage, at the sound check in Munich.

–Hadn’t you reviewed anything before?

–The day before my concert, my cousin was doing it and I had to watch it, but I got really sick with acute gastroenteritis. Imagine, half-fainted in the hotel and Farru looking for a pharmacy on duty in Munich to buy me some primperán… I suppose it was because of the accumulated nerves, the excitement of being there with Paco, when I got to the hotel my body broke down.

–So, he arrived at the first test dehydrated…

–Completely white, and look how black I am. The kids could tell, with the dark circles under my eyes, I had been throwing up bile all night. I couldn’t even drink a little water, it made me feel worse. I arrived first at the theatre, I like to have everything measured, the clothes, so I don’t lack anything… We get on stage, the maestro and the musicians arrive, and the first thing he does between the boxes is ask where Barullo is. And I raised my finger like the one at school, El Piraña, and the kids started laughing. Paco turned to me and said, “Well, we’re going to rehearse, right, dammit?” Not one how are you. And I, well, come on. I stand on stage in front of him, and I hear him start to laugh. “But at least put your boots on, right?” My God, I had gotten on without shoes, and I had my boots in the dressing rooms. You can imagine how I went up and down, I didn't touch a single step. I go back to my place and Paco laughs again. "Won't you take off your cap?" And I say, "Sorry, maestro, I forgot to take it off." And again, "What are you going to dance with, with your bag?", because I was carrying one of those bags that you carried on your shoulder.

–A bundle of nerves…

I wanted to die, but I asked Piranha to let me know. palos, because I didn’t remember the order, and he sang them to me from afar. Thank God I gave all the times, and the maestro said, “maybe the blond one will be saved,” referring to Farru. And that? “Because he told me: don’t worry, maestro, I’m going to show everything to my cousin and I’m going to leave it chewed up.” And that was when I went to my backpack, grabbed the discman and put it on for him: “Look how my cousin has played it for me, maestro.” He listened to the whole thing, the four or five minutes of the recording, and he started laughing, “what a scoundrel,” with the S that he had, “what a rascal.”

 

«I have been lucky enough to collaborate with Beyonce, Marc Anthony, Bjork, Paulina Rubio… But I don't think we should always remember that. They are people I have admired since I was a child, but no one like Paco»

 

 

–How did you feel after the first gala?

–Imagine. Getting ready to go to the cinema, even though I love it, is not the same as going to a concert by an artist you like. And it is not the same to see just any artist as to see Paco de Lucía. Now think about what it is like to go dancing with Paco de Lucía. Do you know what I enjoyed the most? Touching his palmas. Because in the dance I enjoyed looking back and seeing the teacher, but when you're dancing you don't think about who's behind you... Your goal there is to please the teacher a lot, more than the audience, but also to be happy with yourself. He also made me sing, the children had heard me sing at some meeting, but one day he came and said to me, "You have to have a tessitura, don't you?" He wanted me to do it. In the marsh, with the candle and the rosemary…, which goes to the seventh in the middle. Well, he forced me to do it, I was dying of shame, “Maestro, please, I don’t sing.” “It’s just that the dancers I bring, sing.” I don’t know how to sing now, imagine when I was 21. And yet I enjoyed it to the fullest, with David de Jacoba and Duquende, and me bringing him the palmas up there…

–Did the teacher give you the go-ahead?

–He told me: “I really liked you dancing. But you touch the palmas “So they cut your arms off by the ears.” I didn’t know it was a joke, but until four or five in the morning, when we went to dinner on a boat with some German friends who invited us, I was sick again, because he made me believe it was true. I wanted to jump into the water, because of what he had told me. In the end he told me it was a joke. It is true that I am very proud of the fact that his nephew, Antonio Sánchez, always tells me “Did I tell you that the maestro really liked your dancing? He would tell me, 'this kid is the one who reminds me most of Farruco'.” And Piraña would tell Farru, “the maestro is with Barullo loco, eh?” Obviously, my Farru is a great dancer…

–Have you ever heard that Paco would have liked to take Juan, Farruquito, too?

–Yes, of course. He didn’t tell me, but we heard it from people very close to him.

–What other things happened to him?

–I was working in Bayonne, and Sophie calls me again: “Barullo, you’re going to work with Paco on such a day, at such a place, are you free?” I say of course, and she tells me that I’m travelling from Paris Airport at such a time. Anyway, they take me from Bayonne to Paris Airport, and when I get to the airline counters, at about six in the morning, they tell me that there are no reservations in my name. I start calling Sophie, and she doesn’t pick up the phone. There was about an hour and a half left before boarding, and finally she picks up. What’s wrong, Barullo? I tell her, I send her the pager and she tells me that it wasn’t the Charles de Gaulle, but it was Orly. I take a taxi, but soon I’m stuck in the middle of four lanes of motorway at a standstill, everyone honking their horns, and it’s raining cats and dogs. I’m not going to make it, I told myself. When I see a biker and I say to my taxi driver: “Tell him that if he takes me to Paris Orly airport, I will give him whatever he asks for.” I couldn’t afford not to go to Paco’s concert, not because of any irresponsibility on my part, because I was at my airport at the time… So I gave the biker 250 euros and he took me with my big suitcase, I have a phobia of motorcycles, raining like that, we were getting in between the cars… They all assumed that I wouldn’t make it, and when the maestro saw me come through the door with my clothes soaked, he was amazed. I told him how I had gotten there and then he laughed. “How you make a living… and on a motorcycle too!” [laughter]

–What did Paco talk about with his people?

–I've already told you that he remembered my grandfather with me. Camarón He talked a lot, ugh! He always had it in his mind. He told us things that we already knew, I think that's something that happens to people who get stuck in a moment in their life or in a memory.

–Did he ever tell you about his devotion to gypsies?

–Yes, and it is in his interviews. There came a time when he was confused and believed himself to be a gypsy. But even that makes him a great artist, because there are many who are not half as artists, professionals and musicians as he is, and without being gypsies, after a quarter of an hour they already have the flowered shirt, the handkerchief and swear by their mamma and its dad. Which is ridiculous, because to be a good artist you don't have to be a gypsy, and many people have shown that. But Paco said that since a gypsy played, sang or danced, to do it like that you had to get together with gypsies at meetings, at parties, in their houses.

 

«There came a time when he was confused and believed himself to be a gypsy. But even that makes him a great artist, because there are many who are not half as professional and musicians as he is, and without being gypsies, after a quarter of an hour they already have the flowered shirt, the handkerchief and swear by their mother and father.»

 

 

–How did you find out about the teacher’s death?

–It’s another nice story that I have to tell you. I was dancing at the Tablao El Cordobés, with David de Jacoba singing, Antonio Villar, Tomate’s son, José, and Tomate’s daughter, Mari Ángeles, singing. And the night before we went to have a beer with Tomate, his children, David and I. It was about four in the morning and we were hungry, and everything was closed. I called my wife, who was in an apartment that the owner of the tablao was giving us, and I said to her: “Honey, are you capable of making rice?” “Of course.” We ended up eating rice and maestro Tomate started talking to us about Paco and Camarón, telling us lovely things and maybe also some anger they had had among themselves, because we were with the family. They would leave my house at seven in the morning to go to their flat, which also provided the tablao. And they turned around because I called José del Tomate, since as soon as they left he had the television on and the thing about the maestro came on. They turned around and hugged each other, we started to cry, this can't be... And that same day we had to perform at the tablao, imagine David, singing without stopping crying, me dancing without being able to dance.

–How much do you remember him?

–Every day. There is always music playing in my house, and you watch related videos, my wife might be listening to Parrita or Camarón and at any moment Paco always appears. And in Madrid or wherever I am, wherever I dance, I go through a journey in my head of the people who have marked me, from Manuel Molina to Farruco, passing through Michael Jackson, Camarón, for Chocolate, for my mother… I always need ten or fifteen minutes to remember them, and that's where Paco always appears.

–Why do almost none of the artists who have accompanied Paco give themselves importance for having done so, when it could be a good endorsement for their career?

–It may be respect, but when you have been with an artist of the stature of the maestro, he counts on you and shows you that you have been with Francisco Sánchez. I don’t think it is ethical to seek media interest, when the best thing you have taken from it is personal, like self-improvement. I have been lucky enough to collaborate with Beyonce, Marc Anthony, Bjork, Paulina Rubio… But I don’t think we should always be remembering that. They are people I have admired since I was a child, but no one like Paco. The surprising thing for me is that Paco never stopped being the kid from Chiquitos de Algeciras, with his white shirt with puffed sleeves, his black pleated trousers, his waistcoat, his mid-calf boots and his little palm trees behind, no matter where he was playing. That says a lot about an artist. Others fill a theatre twice and stop being who they were, they start dressing differently, they pull in other people… He always played what he played, and he was always who he was. ♦

 

 

→  See here the installments of the series THE CHOSEN ONES, by Alejandro Luque, about Paco de Lucía's collaborators.