Carlos Lencero, writer and rhapsodist. Interview

“The book ‘Sobre Camarón’ is a
portrait of one artist by another”

Carlos Sánchez. Seville, November 2004
Photos: Daniel Muñoz
Translation: Gary Cook

Carlos Lencero: poet, narrator and rhapsodist. At just fifteen years of age he left home to go and live in the Plaza Alta, the gypsy barrio of his hometown Badajoz. His house saw much coming and going of artists like Porrinas de Badajoz. He admits to falling asleep out on the patio listening to Niño Ricardo's guitar. His career began when he received a scholarship to study cante flamenco from Jerez. And at age sixteen he settled in Jerez's vintage gitano neighborhood, where El Momo used to get together with Fernando Terremoto, El Borrico, Morao, Agujetas and Parrilla de Jerez. Later he traveled to Morocco to study the influence of Arab music on flamenco... And he stayed there for ten years. He chose to make Seville his home for three reasons: composer Joaquín Turina, poet Luis Cernuda, and flamenco. He survived thanks to the recording industry, writing lyrics for almost every flamenco artist of his generation, the generation of José Monje Cruz - Camarón de la Isla. Illness kept him out of the spotlight for the last seven years. Now he's back, returning to a very different flamenco scene, and with his latest work: ‘Sobre Camarón. La leyenda del cantaor solitario’, a book in which one artist sketches out the portrait of another.

Carlos Lencero

What drove you to write 'On Camarón', when this figure was already covered by Enrique Montiel, José Manuel Gamboa and Faustino Núñez?

I think that both Montiel's book (‘Camarón. Vida y muerte del cante’) and Gamboa's are fine pieces of work. Enrique Montiel, coming from Camarón's home turf, knows perfectly what the city of San Fernando is like, the microclimate you find in 'La Isla'. In addition, he knew Camarón ever since they were kids. So the way Montiel positions the character himself within his surroundings is really hard to beat. As for José Manuel Gamboa and Faustino Núñez's (‘Camarón. Vida y obra’) it's an essential book for any fan's bookshelf - and not just for flamenco fans, but for music lovers in general. When it comes to speaking about Camarón's life, everybody says the same thing. This is a character whose life was in two parts. In the first part he was a gypsy, born on the isle of San Fernando, and who sang well. He started to make a name for himself on the Andalusian circuit, then set off for Madrid, crossed paths with the Lucía family and started to record albums. But suddenly he became the essential cantaor, with all the festivals clamoring to have him on the bill. And then on the other hand there's a Camarón who's pleasant, an open, accessible person you could go out on the tiles with from dusk till dawn. I remember great nights with Bambino and him. And this is José Monje Cruz I'm talking about. From that moment on, for reasons we're all familiar with - he didn't try to hide them - his problems with drug intake began, which affected him in such a way that he became isolated. They turned him into a person who was brain dead. He lost his ability to communicate. He withdrew from his old friends and ended up all alone. He got in too deep. But that man will always be present in the history of the gypsy race. Camarón is a legend of cante flamenco.

So your book refers to José Monje Cruz, and not to Camarón de la Isla, right?

The one I'm interested in is José Monje. The one who'd sit at the Andalusian 'mesa camilla' with the coals warming him from below, a bottle of liquor from the Sierra de Huelva on the table, and a few lines of song once in a while. What happens, though, is that when a book is edited by an established and respected publisher, you're sometimes forced to modify your original perspective. In the end I had to include a complete Camarón discography, something that had already been done - in Gamboa and Núñez's book there's a magnificent one. Also there’s a series of hot topics you can't avoid repeating, because José wasn't an eloquent man, nor was he very good at opening up and speaking about things. There were subjects like his family or his parents that were a little taboo for him. He's difficult subject matter because on many occasions he was an invisible man.

	Camarón de la Isla

Tell us about the title of your book, ‘Sobre Camarón. La leyenda del cantaor solitario’.

I think it's a title I put a lot of thought into. Both of us were solitary souls at one time. The difference is that whilst the dark side of a solitary life terrified José, it always gave me strength. José found himself surrounded by a circle of clownish hedonists, but when he went to bed at night he was completely alone. He told me he didn't sleep so that he could go on smoking. I think that sums up the situation José found himself in really well.

As for the artist, who was Camarón de la Isla?

José was truly gifted. He had a finely-tuned ear. He hit the right note every time. The natural pitch of his singing voice, which he could raise as far as he could lower it, was perfect. But when his health started to deteriorate, around the time of the ‘Yo soy gitano’ album, it affected him in every aspect. Getting back to his talents, though, Camarón had a very fragile voice, what I'd call the voice of a broken angel. He could reach up to unthinkably high notes without wavering. He blew away the competition. We also have to consider the influence of Paco de Lucía's guitar on Camarón's vocals, and vice-versa. There was a symbiosis between them. In fact, on his latest album, ‘Cositas buenas’, Paco de Lucía plays accompaniment to a Camarón who is no longer with us. José was one of a kind. It'll be a long time before anyone causes as great a stir, before anyone can bolster a race of people like he did the gitanos. As for his songs, José knew all the cantes from a very early age. Since the days of his father's forge, where all the artists at the time would drop in. Camarón sang bulerías, alegrías and soleá really well, other styles too. Above all, he never broke the golden rule of flamenco: anyone who doesn't sing with elegance sings terribly. Camarón always sang elegantly.

What did José Monje Cruz mean to flamenco?

It meant a reinstatement; it meant that a lot of young people, including gypsies, went back to following flamenco. Because if you go to a barrio gitano and ask who Antonio Mairena was, or Antonio Chacón, 99 percent of the people won't be able to answer you. And ask the other one percent to sing you one of those artists' cantes, and I assure you they won't be able to. Unless you're talking to a professional, that is - they're obliged to learn that stuff. Now, if you ask about Camarón, that's a different matter. If he'd never existed, flamenco would've dwindled, it would've lost ground. Camarón together with Paco de Lucía opened the doors to flamenco.

So is it fair to say that Camarón marks a turning point?

I think so. There's clearly a before and after with Camarón. In addition, if you notice, there was a parallel movement where Camarón himself led young gypsy artists to listen to music from all around the world. From rock and roll to blues, to jazz... The gitanos incorporated elements from all these musical styles into flamenco. And elements of flamenco were incorporated into those musical styles too. Alfredo Kraus, for example, whose background is in classical music, always said the way flamenco musicians sang was an excellent technique, a very intelligent way of utilizing the voice.

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