The 39th Festival Flamenco de Alburquerque, the largest such festival outside of Spain, just ended its run, June 19-27, in New Mexico. Despite difficult social, economic and political times (we still have nothing on Spain, where the bloody Franco revolution ended only 87 years ago) a large and representative delegation of pro flamenco dancers, musicians and theater technicians were allowed to enter the country and converge, once again, in Albuquerque. (Each busy performer is required to meet annually for an in-person interview at the American Embassy in Madrid in order to qualify for a visa). In addition to lectures, classes, community outreach programs, films, late night tablaos and even a student competition, the evening performances, sometimes three in one night, kept audiences jumping between venues, and performers offering the best of classical, contemporary and experimental works.
Yjastros is the American Flamenco Repertory Company, a professional dance group in residence at the University of New Mexico, the only degree-granting institution in the U.S. offering both undergraduate and graduate degrees in flamenco. Considering its connection to the University, it was surprising that none of the Yjastros performers seemed wet-behind-the-ears or particularly student-young, for that matter. It is a group of veteran, workaday dancers who get the opportunity, thanks to the concept of the company, and the direction of Joaquín Encinias, to be part of flamenco-meets-modern dance, where soloists occasionally break out, but the pack is where it’s usually at. This offers Encinias the opportunity to experiment with the use of space, and choreography that moves out of the traditional confines of classical form–one or two soloists, and a few backup dancers if there is the budget. A uniform flamenco phrase, in Encinias’ hands, could involve ten dancers traveling in horizontal lines then circling as they match footwork and body dynamics in perfect unison. An exception to the no-stars formula would have to be the one male dancer, Carlos Menchaca, who joined Yjastros in 2006, and offers the kind of luxurious hip, hand and foot connection that demonstrates real mastery, plus a clear love of the form, and of dancing. He was the one star.
For their June 21 performance at the National Hispanic Cultural Center Journal Theater, Yjastros offered “Flamenco Fandanguero: Primos de la Raza Cósmica.” The piece explores the connection between Spanish flamenco (which has roots with the Roma people once in India) and the New World song and dance form “Son Jarocho,” currently centered in Veracruz, Mexico, but shaped by centuries of cultural exchange among Spanish, Indigenous and African-descended communities. Both flamenco and son jarocho involve folk dances with rhythmic feet, as well as a guitar and song-based accompaniment, but the two forms have evolved quite differently. It was to the credit of the Yjastros dancers that they managed to embody Spain, Africa, Mexico and more.
Son Jarocho itself seems exponentially more optimistic and sunnier than flamenco. Rather than a flamenco singer wrestling with lyrics about grief, exile, jealousy and death, you have a party. Music in son jarocho often features lyrics about animals, courtship, work, and a teasing, celebratory sound. Yjastros was lucky enough to be able to bring four members of the illustrious Vega family, musicians from Veracruz who started “Grupo Mono Blanco” in the late 70’s and became central to a revival of son jarocho.
To witness flamenco and son jarocho presented side by side allowed one to appreciate the global nature of dance, but also offered a break for festival goers, some of whom attend as many as 23 different presentations. It must have been refreshing to spend one small bit of time in jarocho levity during ten days in flamenco “hell.”
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A few miles across Albuquerque at Rodey Theater on the UNM campus, which is a black box theatre offering good sound, lighting and intimacy, Susana Casas, from Sevilla, was joined by Juan Fernández, a dancer from Cádiz, in “Cómo Reluce.” The program, offering a classical series of cantes/dances such as Tarantos, Alegrias, and a Sequiriya, was stitched together with a concept relating to light. How does one “shine?”
Casas was stunning when she emerged, in one section, wearing a killer pink flamenco dress with poofy body and a voluminous train. But what she demonstrated in her dancing was not only a command of the form, which she has been performing professionally for some fifty years (she started at 8) but a sense of the intention and attention to creating a community on stage with the musicians. Her semi-circle included two singers and a guitarist–all wonderful– and there was a group sense of breath and ease. She often danced with a secret, Mona Lisa smile, especially when she knew that she was connecting with the audience. What a pleasure to experience a middle-aged woman allowed to glorify not just her dancing and femineity, but her age.
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It may have been true in vaudeville, but it is now definitely true in flamenco, that “you’ve got to have a gimmick.” That is the marketing dilemma that flamenco artists face in today’s competitive environment. At the festival in Albuquerque, director Marisol Encinias, who travels to Spain several times a year to scout talent for her festival, strives to balance classical tablao-style performances by masters in the field, with the up-scale company performances designed for bigger auditoriums and often including scenery, lighting effects, larger groups of dancers and music that can run the gamut. In Úrsula López’ company performance on June 25, it was the use of a saxophone player and a drum kit vs. the usual cajón, which helped created an atmosphere heavy and masculine. Dancers were representing figures in the Spanish Revolution, in fact, “Comedia Sin Título,” the name of the piece, refers to the last piece of writing the poet Federico Garcia Lorca completed before being summarily executed at the beginning of the war.
So López has her gimmick–her theme, her approach to an evening-length work–but that term seems insulting to use when confronted with the powerful, fresh take she has on a theatrical presentation “using” flamenco, rather than “presenting” it. In her company, unisex costuming in the opening offers a militaristic unity. From here, genderless flamenco dancing, and unique, sharp-edged choreography, explored a masculinity that “manifests” in her own body and in the hands and feet of her female company dancers. López’ men are idiosyncratic at times, and able to join in dance with military precision, at others. There was never an overt representation of war, of Lorca’s firing line, or even of death.
López clearly holds dance in general, not just flamenco, in high regard. Like Joaquín Encinias and his group, Yjastros, she mines her own creativity for the gestures, movement and choreographic possibilities of groups. Classical ballet may be obsessed with the illusion of weightlessness and air, but flamenco, much like Martha Graham’s original version of modern dance in the U.S. and like various forms of Indian dance, is all about weight, earth, storytelling and community. López offered flamenco familiarity juxtaposed with angular, gestural arms; stomping feet combined with wildly traveling group phrases; flamenco cante interrupted by snare drums and soprano sax. Comedia sin Titulo was not gimmicky–it was original, perfectly danced, and unforgettable.
