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Although it does not have a clear reflection in the way that Cathy Claret sings,
that whispering, cante is an ineludible reference. "And my tastes are very
clear. My monsters are Pata Negra, Ray Heredia, Camarón, Remedios Amaya,
Sorderita and Potito. Moreover, I know them all". She professes special devotion
to (Camarón) de la Isla, whom she admires with fetishist madness: "I
can't resist buying everything I see by Camarón. I have a dish at home,
look at this ten-thousand-peseta banknote with his bust, look at these photos...".
And she shows one in black and white in which José Monge is at the front
door of the Abbey Road studios. She was there, in Badalona, when he died. She
tells so and clams up a while behind those sunglasses which now only have the
Madrilenian night to filter...
Her altar of chosen ones is not, at first sight, an example of orthodoxy. But,
of course, there are many ways of understanding such a concept. "Purity is
not in playing on a plain guitar. There are those who are tacky on a plain guitar
and those who are pure on an electric guitar. Purity is in you not doing things
for fashion, money or fame. Aside from that, all mixes seem fine to me. If you
take away those who do it for fashion, money or fame, there are a few left, there
are very few left".
Cathy Claret (Photo: Daniel Muñoz)
Cathy Claret expresses herself with such clairvoyance about current mixes.
"Fusions seem fine to me, but I think there are a lot of people who do it
for that; for fashion, money or fame. And I think that the more you mix, the better,
as long as you feel it". Upon asking her if she thinks that fusions with
other genres have been forced in recent years, in the interest of labeling, she
responds that "there's a lot of opportunism". And following a moment
of silence she adds that "I feel sorry for true flamenco. Everyone says that
flamenco is doing fine, but those who do true flamenco don't have that much work.
I've been told they had to cancel a Remedios Amaya concert because there was nobody.
That really makes me furious".
She affirms not having seen anything new she likes... and turns towards the
digital: "Now they talk about electronic with flamenco and they make music
for stores, for elevator music. And what was 'Quién maneja mi barca' by
Remedios Amaya if not electronic with flamenco? And everyone threw stones at her
as if it were the worst thing in the world. I love that record. I took a bus by
myself to see her many years ago at a real dive and there were twenty people in
the place. However, in Montpellier gypsies from all over went to see her. There's
ten times more of a following in the south of France than in Barcelona. I've held
concerts without a record company or anything, just putting up posters. People
come from all the neighborhoods. All full, jam-packed. That boosts your morale
a lot".
And more so knowing she is unknown. "For the time being, I only have the
gypsies as an audience. Nobody at all knows me! (she says, laughing)".
And that, despite 'Bolloré', a song which Raimundo Amador has paraded all
over the world and which, curiously, to the Belgian record company he presented
it to for the first time, seemed like "the worst song they'd heard in all
their lives". Not so in the land of the rising sun, where even, as an amused
Cathy Claret confesses, "there is a Japanese singer who does versions of
my stuff... and sings my songs better than me!".
Cathy Claret
Regarding the songs and 'Sussurando'... This album, in relation to previous
records such as 'La chica del viento' (Zanfonia, 2000) or 'Soleil y locura' (Virgin,
1991), supposes a turnaround: from more to less. "I wanted to make a less
flamenco album in order to do the opposite. This is the record I've put the most
thought into. I focused more on the concept. I wanted to make it more minimalist.
For instruments, there are only flamenco guitars, box drum, toy instruments and
organ. I wanted to make something really purified, just with chosen instruments.
Instead of having it done, I asked them just to do a couple of notes for me on
the vibraphone and they burst with laughter. All of them playing are gypsies from
France, Barcelona, Andalusia". Linked to the music are lyrics which, as the
author comments, do not come from flamenco, but rather "come from me... looking
within my soul or looking at heaven". Of course, Cathy rules out the aforementioned
adjective to define it: "You could say it's more canastero than flamenco,
in the sense that everyone playing is an orthodox gypsy. I'm not saying it's flamenco".
"Canasterita! Olé the orthodox gypsy women!". The jaleos
her pals shower upon her in the tangos 'Al compás de la esperanza' show
how, to them, she's one of them. "I say I'm flamenca because I'm in deep.
And more so in my life than in my music where, after all, there are only nuances.
My life is one hundred percent flamenco. My daughter is a gypsy, my husband is
a gypsy, all my friends are gypsies... well, except Gema" - Subterfuge's
promotion manager - whom she already shares toothpaste with... and even slang:
-She taught me a new word today: ronear (to show off; also, to get round or
mislead).
The conversation drifted in other directions some time ago. Housing, unemployment,
music, politicians, clothes... The promotion day has been extremely long, but
some tapas and laughs ease the fatigue. She will go back to Barcelona in a few
hours, to that little house in the Gracia neighborhood where electricity still
runs at 125 volts. Nor will she want to spend much time in the city of Barcelona;
the Catalonian capital stresses her... The place for Cathy Claret is that other
Andalusia in southern France where there are also marshes and bullfights and gypsies,
where she welcomes Rafael Amador for a few months every year, where flamenco is
as beloved as in its sister region, where the wind blows...
Only the wind
Takes away my sorrows
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