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"Why don't they listen to him from before 'La leyenda del tiempo
when Camarón was singing slow seguiriyas and he was doing things of Tomás
and Manuel Torre?"
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And the truth is, he's a young man with an adult's life experience: "I've
seen so many people... When I was five I was in the fiesta of 'Flamenco Puro'
with Fernanda and Bernarda de Utrera, with Adela la del Chaqueta, with Güito,
with Manuela Carrasco, with Angelita Vargas, with Chocolate, with Enrique el Extremeño,
with Farruco... that was my infancy. And I've seen and listened to those people".
A short anecdote: "I was sitting on Fernanda's lap and as she was singing
she clutched my shirt and wrinkled it and her voice broke. How can I possibly
like someone now who sounds more like opera than flamenco? That's for Montserrat
Caballé, who's a fantastic singer. Nowadays even singers are mixed up.
'What fine tuning this singer has, what great technique'. Pavarotti and Plácido
Domingo sing well. Flamenco singing is something else, and you don't need so much
voice... the way Rancapino sings, the way Tío Borrico sang, the way El
Indio Gitano sang, the way Enrique el Extremeño sings or Tía Juana
la del Pipa. That's singing flamenco. They can also put a very fragile but prodigious
voice such as that of Camarón, but the problem is that the singers who
are imitating Camarón today -there are quite a few and unfortunately they're
almost the best-known- are imitating Camarón who was sick and made a couple
of screechy sounds and couldn't make it. They listen to him starting from 'La
leyenda del tiempo' to the present. Why don't they listen to him from before 'La
leyenda del tiempo when Camarón was singing slow, slow, slow seguiriyas
and he was doing things of Tomás and things of Manuel Torre?
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The accent is on genealogy. "The person who loves flamenco wants to know
where he came from. If you're going to study a culture, how can you resort to
the most recent elements? You're lost. Look to the past! After that, do whatever
you want, but no matter what you do, make sure the people who see you, know that
you know". To his way of thinking, the roots exist in many different forms:
"Maybe it just shows in the way you walk or dress, in a shirt, in wearing
a proper pair of pants, not lycra tights. I respect everyone because each individual
can do what he or she wants, but a form-fitting polo shirt and spiky hair is for
a discotheque doorman ladies and gentlemen, not a flamenco dancer. No".
That's how he feels it, and he repeats, that's his opinion. And he puts one
of his admired elders as an example, Chocolate, who sang to him and his grandfather
in that scene of passing on the baton included in Carlos Saura's film 'Flamenco'.
"Chocolate has got to be fed up with the suit and tie, he's just the one
who could afford to come out singing any way he chose... Why doesn't Chocolate
come out to sing in a T-shirt? Because he's seventy years old and he knows where
flamenco singing comes from. He doesn't spend any time in the dressing-room practicing
scales, nor is he concerned about making it to the seventh fret, nor about finding
some weird poetry for soleá. Chocolate sits down in a chair, opens his
mouth and out comes soleá". And he takes advantage of the moment to
speak out for the maestro: "Chocolate is alive. And yet, they wanted to bury
the key. Let's not bury it, there's a living survivor. If you know about culture,
don't bury a key at the bottom of the ocean". The conclusion? "It's
all about money. The greatest plague there is in flamenco I would say is money.
It didn't used to be that way, before, flamenco artists were poor and hungry and
they suffered. So alright, today we don't have to be hungry, and I fully respect
the popularity flamenco is enjoying these days in theaters and stadiums. Bravo.
But from there, to losing so much respect for flamenco... That has to come to
an end". And again, with a gesture of humility (and youth) he accepts that
"perhaps I'm not the best person to be talking about this because I'm twenty
years old, but I'd love to see people over forty, who know about flamenco, join
forces and tell everyone to stop all this already, that's enough pulling everyone's
leg".
When asked about the preoccupation with other aspects of dance, he attributes
certain flaws to the economic angle, what you might call the shortage of technical
means. Juan says "that's not the artists' fault. For example, Manu Tenorio
(a participant in Spanish television's contest for amateurs 'Operación
Triunfo'), when he goes out to sing, if they give him the best sound money can
buy and it doesn't cost him a thing, and then he gets a king's ransom every time
he appears, that's not the fault of flamenco. If you pay flamenco a pittance,
how can you expect to have good sound equipment, and if on top of it you've got
three kids to support...? Not all of us have been so lucky. Suppose the agents
call me and offer X amount of money. Well, I call in a good sound technician,
a lighting expert, I rent a studio to rehearse a month, and if there are any glitches...
But let me tell you one thing, flamenco doesn't have to do with perfection".
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"You have to be a revolutionary, if not, why were we put on
this earth?"
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And immediately the scene comes to mind of the Mont-de-Marsan (France) festival
in 2002. Farruquito was in the middle of seguiriyas when the heel of his boot
broke, and without skipping a beat and with great aplomb, he took off his shoes
to finish the dance barefoot. "I got out of it the best I could. These are
things that happen and you have to resolve them. Imagine if I had that seguiriya
perfectly measured out and my heel breaks. What do I do? Start crying and hobble
off stage. I sat down on a chair, took off my boots and finished the dance shoeless.
And everyone followed me because the musicians I have know how to play seguiriyas
and how to sing seguiriyas. I don't do this because I'm any better than anyone,
but because I have a vision of flamenco the way it used to be, Farruco's flamenco".
And I remember he always used to say: "Dress well, go out with your shirt
tucked in, with your ascot, your jacket or vest, go out dressed very well, don't
go out like some bum... Proper dress shows respect for the audience, an esthetic,
an image. And when you go out to dance, if you get carried away and you rip your
shirt you don't care any more because it happened dancing". And he adds his
own observation: "Like the person who practices martial arts, he goes out
with his perfect kimono. If it rips afterwards, it doesn't matter. I don't know,
there are so many things that trouble me so, I can't even sleep half the time".
To be twenty years old, be living in the twenty-first century and advocating
pure flamenco, at the very least gives pause for thought. For example, Farruquito
shades his attitude toward other kinds of music: "I respect classical music,
I respect ballet, I respect modern dance... A classical musician can't do what
a jazz musician does, now can he? Then a classical musician spends twenty years
studying piano and some black kid from the street who saw his father play comes
along and the classical guy goes crazy over him. So why's that? It's a mystery".
And his attitude regarding evolution: "You have to be a revolutionary, if
not, why were we put on this earth? I'm fearless because I'm quite sure about
what I feel and if I make a mistake, I make a mistake, but I'm feeling it. A lot
of people are afraid because they're insecure. What's sad is that so many maestros
revolutionized flamenco before, and also later on, and now when we're living the
best of times, there's no revolutionary. With all they did, those early people...and
now we don't appreciate it". He looks at himself and says "I'm eternally
grateful for what my grandfather did with me. How could I possibly ever take for
granted that sacrifice he made for me?! No indeed. He gave me a future and gave
me a life. How could I throw something so great out the window? That would be
to have no feeling or awareness. And if flamenco is so much feeling, how can there
be so few people who truly feel?" Enough said.
-Doesn't the responsibility of carrying on after Farruco weigh too heavily?
-This is what I was placed in this world for... I came to this world to be
brave, to say something with my dance. If I don't dance, I'll still make my mark.
You come to suffer, but not just suffer. And if you can put up with it from day
one, knowing that sooner or later, without knowing how or why, you're going to
die, you can put up with anything.
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"A twenty-year-old man can't be a cute kid any more, he has
to really dance"
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The interview could, almost should end right then and there. What can you say
after listening to this boy which life prematurely made into a man? But we must
speak about the future. The dynasty is bubbling with young blood... "That
is my greatest wealth. I'm already indebted in that sense. I'd be a worthless
criminal if for one single day I were to fail to defend this legacy because it
would be devastating for my people. I've got my Farru, who's fourteen years old;
my cousin Barullo who's twelve; I've got my other cousin who's eight, El Polito;
and I've got my four-year-old brother. I have endless wealth. I can already retire".
And he speaks with absolute conviction: "After a short time, when I see my
brother Farru I'll be able to say that I can die in peace, I can even stop dancing.
At twenty, I still have a lot to learn, but I already view my brother in this
way... It's a kind of life insurance. Although it continues to be perfected, he's
already got it inside here, he feels it inside himself. In two or three years,
and I'll be the first one, a lot of dancers are going to have to put away their
boots and go buy tickets to go see Farruco in the theater. The greatest answer
of all is just going to see him dance. Me, who's twenty years old, I'm telling
you this... a twenty-year-old man can't be a cute kid any more, he has to really
dance. You have to be a man out there...but that kid is only fourteen".
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The sanctuary of shyness
"Por no tener compañía / yo buscaba
los ruidos / cuando más silencio había" ['In my lonliness I
sought noise when the silence was greatest']. These three lines are part of
'Dulce Canela', a bulería written by Farruquito and included on Niña
Pastori's album 'María' at the singer's request. "We met a long time
ago, and one day at a flamenco party... I don't know how to sing, but when you're
feeling good, anyone can sing. I sang a couple of these verses that I dream up,
she liked them and asked me to let her record them. I didn't take to the idea,
but she insisted. And since I knew she was going to do them nicely...". But
no, let's not speculate, Juan Fernández is very clear about his calling.
Composing is a refuge. "Ever since I was a little boy I've liked to write
a few things, not like a lot of people who are starting to write verses now, something
else that's becoming fashionable. I began by writing down my thoughts. I've always
been a very shy person, now is when I'm finally talking Silvia. Since it used
to be like pulling teeth to get me to talk, I tended to write. After 'Bodas de
Gloria' I started writing flamenco verses for the female singers to do in my show".
The fact that they are somewhat out of his regular world has to do with their
friendship: "The thing is, I really love Maria. And Chaboli, who I consider
a brother, is one fine musician, and in all modesty, it's hard now". And
it comes full circle as shown by the inscription that Niña Pastori offers
on her most recent record: "Thank you Farruquito. I admire you, and for me
you're a genius".
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