The October 9 of 2010, Paco de Lucía closed the Seville Biennial. Although he got the audience on its feet, it wasn't his best night. His nerves were evident, as they almost always were when he performed in the Sevillian capital. Until, at the end of the festivities, he asked Manuel Fernández 'El Carpeta', the grandson of his friend Farruco at just 12 years old, to dance, and his face lit up. They played with him for twenty minutes with a smile from ear to ear, forgetting the hardships he had endured the previous two hours. El Carpeta, naturally, has never forgotten that occasion, nor the two subsequent recitals in which he accompanied the genius from Algeciras. He was scheduled to continue touring with him, but death cut short that dream.
–Many of us heard about you thanks to that Paco de Lucía concert at the Maestranza. What did that dance mean to you?
–The most beautiful twenty minutes for anyone who loves such a great artist. There were twenty, but for me it was three, because I wanted it to never end. How can I remember that? Well, like the moment when you think that one day you might become someone. And when you admire someone as much as I admired Paco, you want to be there, to be like him. Those are the beautiful things that life gives you. flamenco, which gives you your career. Going out in my homeland, with my brother Farru by my side, and being able to dance a little bit to the maestro, being so young but knowing what he was doing… Having the guitar genius there, the greatest artist this country has ever produced, and having him dedicate his little strings to me, was a dream.
–Do you remember what El Carpeta was like at that time?
–I don't think much has changed [laughs]. Carpeta was 11 or 12 years old back then, and he'd already premiered his own show. Art school, at the Barcelona Auditorium. I already knew what it was like to get on stage, I had done Farruquito and family with my brother, but he was a restless person eager to explore. At that time, dancing wasn't yet a job, it was a hobby, but I approached it a bit more professionally. But I treated it as a game, while still having the utmost respect for it. He was a very mischievous boy in a good way, with a research bent, and curious about everything that was being talked about at home, including, of course, the maestro Paco de Lucía. When he had his chance, he investigated, learned everything he needed to know, and seized the moment like no one else.
–That's where nerves and the desire to make the most of the experience came together, right?
–Imagine, it was a thousand sensations all at once. I'll explain some of them: nerves, a feeling of joy, excitement… And excitement, because we were near a genius, a near-God, someone very important and a true heart, like he was. I was near someone I'd adored for as long as I could remember.
–He would tell you that he was going to take it out at the end of the party, but did he tell you it would be for so long?
–[laughs] These things happen a lot of the time. You don't have anything planned, and then it just happens… The maestro had said to Farru: “Hey, we're playing in Seville, bring the kid, Manuel, and let's do a little something with us.” We were having a good time, he sang Duquende to me, and… I remember there's a beautiful photo of him hugging me, me in a white shirt and a vest. These are things that happen when the atmosphere and the moment are magical. You go out to dance for a little something and it turns out you stick around for a while. I look at Paco, Paco looks at me… I'll never forget that. And he asked me to dance more! With our codes, he kept saying: “Let's go there, enjoy!… Let's go there, enjoy, Manuel!” When you feel like dancing, it motivates you like that. I went for a little touch and I stayed for a long time.
"I've worked with very great, talented people who fill football stadiums. But Paco's talent was something else entirely: that creative ability, that ability to put you in a movie without saying anything. Because a singer tells you a story with words you understand, but he told it to you, he put you in the movie with six strings. It would take a hundred years for another one like that to come along."
–It was also a very painful concert for Paco, as often happened when he came to Andalusia. And in the end, his face changed when he started playing for you.
–With all due respect, he was there himself. He was a colleague of my brother's, he had been a colleague of my grandfather's, and he saw, I don't know, the legacy left by his friend, Maestro Farruco. "It's all over now, the concert is over, now I'm going to enjoy it." Paco was very natural, but he was also very strange; he didn't share with anyone who wasn't real. The best musician in the world could come along, but if he wasn't as natural as he was, it would be difficult for him. But he enjoyed it there; he let loose after two hours of concert. It's true that a fifteen-year-old kid who was just starting to play would come to see him, and he would get nervous, because of how much he respected the guitar and the flamenco.
–You'd already been around Paco many times. What kind of person was he to you, beyond his genius as a musician?
–Look, those two beings, the person and the musician, came together in a moment. Before arriving at the Biennial, he was almost God to me, as I've said. Paco de Lucía! And then the person I was closest to was Tito Paco. Someone who saw me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Nephew, come here," naturally, devoted to his colleagues, not to his musicians… He arrived like an idol and left like someone we loved. Someone in the family, a heart full of love and humility.
–Do you remember the first time you saw him in person?
–Yes, the first one was at the Casino de Barcelona. My brother, if I remember correctly, did a concert with old soulThe maestro was also playing around there and came to see us. Or could it have been with Farruquito and familyI don't know, what's certain is that he closed the Casino for him, and that's why I was able to get in, obviously.
–At home, were stories told about Paco?
–My whole life. And the last performance I did with him was in Cádiz, at the castle, and after the sound check, in the dressing room, he said to me: “I'm going to tell you how I met your grandfather.” It was a festival where several artists were sharing, and he played the guitar. All of that before going with José Greco. When my grandfather arrived, there was a murmur, “Farruco has arrived, Farruco has arrived, that boy who dances very well.” My grandfather was older than him; Paco was a child, and he greeted him: “Maestro, how are you?” And my grandfather said: “Do you know how to play soleá?” He replied that of course he did. “Then you're coming with me.” And it was the first time they performed together. That anecdote was the first closeness Paco and I had on our own, without my brother there. How lovely, isn't it?
–After that, as time went by, Paco wanted you to go on other tours with him. How did you propose?
–I have that in my email, and I want you to please take it out. I even had the last tour written down in my email. I was going to be the last dancer. I didn't get to be, but I was going to be.
"He always told me. 'You have to have discipline, Manuel, and be a good person, a good person. And love the flamenco "How you love yourself." But the best advice Paco could give you was his person, his example."
–Besides Cádiz, what other concerts did you do with him?
–I only did the Córdoba Guitar Festival, and then the Cádiz one.
–It was like being left with honey on your lips, I guess…
–Imagine, I was 14 at the time… I'm lying, 16. I already knew what responsibility was, I already knew what it was like to dance with Paco de Lucía behind me. And I stayed… More so, after he told me that Michael, his manager, was going to send me the dates. And he did.
–Who gave you the impetus to put on a full show? Was it Farru?
–It was Farru. He called me one day, I was at school, leaving around three, and he said, “Come on over to the house, I want to talk to you.” It was different from what happened in Seville, when he said, “You’re going to dance with Paco.” What happened in Córdoba and Cádiz was different; he sat down with me. And I brought my costume and dance shoes. It was a big step. Farru simply told me, “Get your act together, and don’t stop watching Paco in the videos,” because I watched him every day. He suggested I look into things, I spent a week with my boots on, and then another week of riding and drinking Paco from the time I got up until I went to bed. The desire was there; Farru just gave me the responsibility.
–Paco, did he give you any instructions?
–No, no, Paco, that's not it… He was very meticulous about the rhythm, with perfection in that sense. But I was younger; Farru is nine years older than me; he was 23. If he had caught me now, he'd probably give me instructions, but back then, before we left, he just told me, "Enjoy it, we're going to have a good time." If he had said anything else, I would have been furious…
–Do you remember any other conversations with him?
–We've had some close conversations that I probably can't share, but that's not for nothing… They were things he'd experienced with my grandfather, as friends, as young men growing up, who were handsome and resourceful, earning money. And Paco, in that sense, was very playful; he was constantly joking. You can imagine. And yes, he told me about the times they'd both gone fishing with the maestro Pepe de Lucía…
"Nerves, a feeling of joy, excitement... And excitement, because we were near a genius, a near-God, someone very important and a true heart, like he was. I was near someone I'd adored for as long as I could remember."
–Where did they fish?
–When they had a day off with Greco, in America, they'd go out. There are photos of the two of them fishing. And not a single one of them is serious; one making a face, the other making another… And look who they were, two heavyweights.
–It has been said at one time that Paco had a thorn in his side that Farruquito had danced for him, have you heard that?
–Look, I think there's some confusion about that. It's not that I have a thorn in my side because my brother didn't want to, it's just silly. It's just that when Paco called my brother Juan, he had an 80-concert tour coming up. In fact, my brother told him, "Maestro, if you'd called me a month earlier, I would have said yes and dropped everything." Farru was standing next to him, and he said, "Well, my Farru can be there." And Paco set his sights on Farru. But come on, just as Paco might have had a thorn in his side, imagine my brother! He was left with a stake! My brother has been on Paco's side, of course, but a tour was a different story, and that time it coincided with his tour. But thank God, the three of us have done some things with Paco.
–You've already worked with some big artists. What was different about going on stage with Paco?
–As you say, I've been lucky enough to work with great artists, also in pop and urban music, who aren't part of my career, although they are in my tastes. What set Paco apart? One of them was his naturalness. They're all humble, but there's a difference between humility and naturalness. I can be humble, not always believing I'm someone, but the naturalness of arriving somewhere and everything being fine, arriving at a regular hotel or a regular catering establishment and saying, "Okay, shall we sleep here? What age?" That was it, the closeness, and the musicality... Because I'll tell you something: I've worked with very great, talented people who fill football stadiums. But Paco's talent was something else entirely, that creative capacity, of putting you in the picture without saying anything. Because a singer tells you a story with words you understand, but he told it to you, he put you in the picture with six strings. It would take a hundred years for another one like that to come along.
–Do you remember how you received the news of his death?
–Perfectly. I was asleep. My mother came into the room, “Manuel,” and I was in a light sleep. “What’s wrong?” “Paco died…” I shot out of bed like a flash, imagine. “What? I can’t believe it.” Everything came together, thinking about what a good person he was, an idol, but the hardest thing was that I had Paco’s tour dates. I got dressed, put on a gray sweater, jeans, and ankle boots, and lay on the couch all day without moving: crying, crying, drinking water, crying, drinking water, crying… A very special person had passed away. Michael Jackson was my idol, but I didn’t know him. His passing hurt, but not like Paco did, because Paco was ours. In music and in person. He even came to eat at our house, and he was very close. Three days of being around was already worthless to us. I had to rent tears to dedicate them to Paco.
–Have you ever thought about what your career would have been like if Paco hadn't left so soon, if you had been able to complete that tour?
–Of course, it's obvious. I don't care about anything foreign, anything outside, but the wonderful experience I would have had with Paco… It's unimaginable. And artistic projection, of course. I would have met so many people, I would have stepped onto stages I don't think I'll ever step onto in my life, and it would have been a boost of motivation for my dancing and my career, for learning as a person and as a musician. It would have made me a different person, and for the better.
"When Paco called my brother Juan, he had an 80-concert tour ahead of him. (…) My brother danced for Paco, of course, but a tour was a different story, and that time it coincided with his tour. But thank God, the three of us have done things with Paco."
–You've continued your career anyway. What has it been like, and what challenges have you set for yourself?
–Getting on stage physically and mentally prepared is always a challenge. Putting on a show that smells of Farruco, Farruquito and Farru is normal, but each time it becomes more personal, that the music, the lyrics and the choreography are from my band and me… The objective I have is to not stop dancing, not to become the most famous, nor the one who earns the most money or the one who fills the most stadiums. To have a little space in the flamenco and that, when a hundred years have passed, the Carpeta can be studied in any field of work, in any exhibition of flamenco, and it can be seen that he was there.
–Any lessons from Paco that you always carry with you?
–The discipline that had to be had in the flamenco, he always told me. “You have to have discipline, Manuel, and be a good person, a good person. And love the flamenco how you love yourself." But the best advice Paco could give you was his person, his example.
–How many times do you remember it every day?
–Every day, at all hours. Why? Because in my house, what we hear the most is flamencoI get in the shower and listen to the Colombian song Monastery of Salt, My boy Curro, Custodian Patio de good things, or I put Farru in the video with Paco… What's more, I have his signature tattooed on my arm.
–That’s not an exaggeration, is it?
–No, it's literal. He said his signature was a wheel of churros, and it's true. I have my three idols tattooed on my arm: Farruco, Michael Jackson, and Paco de Lucía.
–Let's go back to the beginning. Where did you see that Paco concert at the Maestranza?
–Between boxes, all the time. And combing my hair, because since I didn't know the show, I didn't know when the end was either. I was constantly combing my hair so that as soon as Paco looked between the boxes, I'd come out dressed and perfectly combed, because I had very long hair, and if you don't comb it properly, it bothers your face. I sat through the entire recital in one of those trunks where they keep the microphones, all the time. Alain, Piraña, Duquende, Serrano, Antoñito were there… Now I know them, and we're all colleagues, we're friends. In fact, I dance with the sextet now; I was recently in Israel with them. But I was younger then, and all I knew was what they'd told me. Do you know what hit me hardest?
-That?
–The sound check. Paco was trying it out, and he'd say to Farru, "Here, try the guitar." That's it? And seeing him eating a banana, drinking a small bottle of water before starting, that leaves a bigger mark on me than a performance. I'm seeing it as it is. I can die in peace, because I danced for my idol.
"I lay on the couch all day without moving: crying, crying, drinking water, crying, drinking water, crying… (…) He even came to eat at our house, and he was very close. Three days of being close was worthless to us. I had to rent tears to dedicate them to Paco."
–The problem now is figuring out who, after the idol, would like to dance with. Do you know?
–From there on up, there's no one. I've danced with Vicente from that guild too…
–Have you ever spoken to him about Paco?
–Whenever we see each other, he's my brother's friend. He says that while Paco's shadow was still there, everyone followed him. Now that he's gone, the shadow is even greater, and many people are putting their weight on him. But Paco has left a good legacy, and there are many warriors carrying on his legacy. Diego, the Parrillas, Josemi, El Paquete, Román Vicenti, Antonio Rey, Maestro Riqueni… Of those alive, there are many very good ones, and they hold Paco in a very good place.
–But we were talking about who you'd like to accompany…
–I do concerts where I'm surrounded by very international guest artists. I've been to the Latin Grammys in Las Vegas and I think the youngest was Karol G... Alejandro Sanz was there, with whom I've already done a few things, Juan Luis Guerra, Maluma... But come on, I'd like to dance for a lot of people. One that I'd like to dance for, without having anything to do with me, is Bruno Mars, and do a nice fusion. ♦
