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Agujetas
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Well, that's abroad. And here?
Here, the festivals that come up. I don't go to peñas either
because I get paid. I do records or television if I get paid... and they don't
pay either. People go for the fun of it; they don't get paid. Get it? They make
records in vain. Not me; I get paid. I get paid for speaking.
I'm not going to pay you anything.
You don't understand me. I got paid the other day in Japan for what I'm telling
you now. But I didn't do television in Japan; they came to Spain to have a chat
with me just like you are doing right now. And I got paid -now the tone of
his voice rises and he starts laughing until his sides split - and I talked
for ten minutes and got paid three hundred thousand pesetas. (He cracks up completely
here and his laughter brings the interview to a halt.)
Would you take the Bienal to Jerez or do you like it in Seville?
I like everywhere. The thing is for me that you can't sing that way:
two or three cantes... you don't even warm up. You're no good. You can't take
charge of the cante. After three cantes is when you start to get into it. Here
your cantes are numbered. Come on: soleá, seguiriya or a fandango. And
then it's time to go! What are you gonna do?
Of course; you can't warm up.
How are you gonna warm up? I don't warm up even when I'm eating!
Will you leave a legacy behind you? Will anything of the old school remain?
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"Chocolate knows how to sing and I know how to sing. But there's
nobody left anymore but Chocolate and me... and Francisca (La Paquera)"
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Nothing's going to be left; nobody can do that. What they're doing is a bad
copy of flamenco. Any girl comes out screaming like a dog. Pure flamenco doesn't
exist; what's out there now is trash. What El Güito danced was no good and
the boy behind him was worse. And another guy might come out singing Camarón's
cantes and that Camarón is a dog singing: bow, wow. That's not flamenco.
And you can't talk about those things. Know what I mean or not? That's it. Chocolate,
what the Terremoto kid does... although he won't get anywhere either, because
it turns out he didn't sing as a boy and flamenco can't be learned; you have to
be born with it. I have eight or nine brothers and sisters who sing; one has made
a record in vain. And what he's done is a copy of me, and that's worth nothin'.
You have to be born a cantaor. Then the son is studying the father's record, and
since he has the same voice, he's singing and he's feeding on it.
Those things are better left unsaid.
What are you gonna say it for, if I'm telling you. What is it that you
wanted to know? Chocolate knows how to sing and I know how to sing. But there's
nobody left anymore but Chocolate and me... and Francisca (La Paquera).
Translation: Joseph Kopec
revista@flamenco-world.com
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