"Camarón is a dog singing"

Isidoro Cascajo de la Barrera. Seville, September 2002

Jondura. Said label defines the second night of the Bienal. The jondura had found close kin in Manuel de los Santos Pastor or, as he is known from Japan all the way to the old continent, with a detour through North America, Agujetas. The cantaor is jondo, but also wild. "I don't understand nothin', just cante", he swore just behind the stage he shared on the night of September 4, 2002 with Chocolate and Fernando Terremoto at the Royal Alcázar. He says he doesn't know how to write and denies all that has been and will be. The cantaor is of the old school, one of the orthodox singers who have forerunners such as El Marrurro, Tío José de Paula, and of course Agujetas Viejo, the father of Manuel, who was inspired by Manuel Torre. But he is also something of a flamenco anarchist since, except for a Japanese woman with whom he has been living for several years, he commits to no one. This interview was held when Agujetas was still huffing and puffing like a wild mustang after a race right in the Patio de la Montería after getting off stage.

Agujetas (Photos: Javier Hurtado)

Don Manuel, how do you feel singing on the feature stage of the world's top festival after years without appearing on its billboard?

I haven't been to the Bienal for four years. And I don't know why; I go where I'm called. I don't feel attached anywhere; I go where I'm paid. What are you gonna do? You can't do anything, you know what I mean? They call you here, and you come; they call you there, and you go. This is how I make a living and I have to put food on the table.

Do you consider yourself labeled with certain cantaors separate from the rest that have nothing to do with anyone, something like El Cabrero?

Nooo -he says expressively, shrugging his shoulders-, that is something else. El Cabrero does one thing, but he isn't one of the top figures like me and Chocolate, although Chocolate is now quite old, isn't he? We are purity. Me and Antonio. And those things have to be paid for. You know what I mean?

And is flamenco well-paid?

It isn't well-paid, but almost. Antonio might go for two pesetas, but not me. I'm a man that doesn't go just anywhere because I cost big money, you know what I mean? I go where I get paid; if America pays me, to America I go. If not, to Japan.

There's a big following in Japan...

	"What you're told about the flamenco going on in Japan is a lie"

Don't believe everything you're told about Japan; that's a lie. What you're told about the flamenco going on in Japan is a lie. Know what I mean? (He says with his mouth half open, looking out of the corner of his eye, very expressively, showing his gold teeth).

But they say there are a lot of followers in Japan...

(Without letting the question be finished, he jumps in) No! It's a lie! Completely! El Güito went to Japan, and you know what for? To teach. There's neither a following nor flamenco. And if he goes there to work -he says, lowering his voice, as in secret, on talking about money - they can pay him six pesetas. But it's worthwhile for him because he teaches. All that about flamenco in Japan is a lie.

It must be a myth; I was sure of it.

Man, because my wife owns some apartments, is the daughter of a doctor and I can go to work and I'm going to rent theaters in Japan. Have you heard that loud and clear? A few ignorant people here started all that up. And all the flamenco groups: here a group artist, who gets a thousand pesetas in Spain... Listen up so you can set it straight in your newspaper. And if he works abroad at a flamenco tablao, for there is one and only one in Japan, he'll be paid two thousand pesetas, -he raises his voice - the girls go there. None of them are gypsies! They stay for six months: two thousand pesetas and they teach a little. Got that straight? And they stuff themselves with rice. All that about flamenco is a lie.

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