Luis el Zambo, cantaor flamenco. Interview

“If Tío Borrico were alive to see what an artist’s paid right now, he’d knock his head against the wall”

Carlos Sánchez. Jerez, May 2006

Better late than never. That’s what Luis Fernández Soto ‘El Zambo’ must have thought when he decided to leave fish for cante at the age of forty-seven. And it’s not surprising, since cante flamenco has always been present in his family. Not in vain is the lineage of Los Zambo related to Jerez families as outstanding as those of Sordera, Parrilla and Terremoto, not to mention great artists like El Gloria, El Serna and the world-famous José Mercé. A truly leafy tree which branches out into a vast line of excellent cantaores. At present, Luis el Zambo is coming on strong on today’s current flamenco scene. And he does so from a position of consideration and respect towards the legacy left and upheld by his ancestors, because as the artist himself remarks, “cante’s truth lies in the roots”.

Where does your family come from?

On the one hand there’s Los Fernández. My grandfather was Fernández Ramos, first cousin to El Gloria, nephew to Tío Juanichi and brother to Juan José, who used to sing really well. We’re also related to Tío Borrico, Tío Tati, Tío Cabeza and El Serna. We’re from the same family as Los Parrilla and Los Terremoto. Throughout that entire branch there were really good cantaores who weren’t artists. Then there’s Los Soto’s side. There, we’re related to all Los Sordera; they come down from Paco la Luz. But I think the list of artists is longer on the side of Los Fernández.

Why are you called Los Zambo?

That comes from my father. Tía Anica la Piriñaca’s husband, who was my father’s uncle, gave him that name because my father had been knock-kneed since he was little. In the olden days, nearly all the gypsy families in Jerez used to have a nickname and ours was Los Zambo.

Luis el Zambo (Photo: Daniel Muñoz)

Your professional career in cante began quite recently. Why so late?

I’ve always sung. The thing is that my father didn’t want me to dedicate myself to cante. There were five of us brothers and sisters. At that time, my father used to sell fish with a bicycle and my mother in two baskets. I was the eldest of my brothers and sisters, so I had to help them. When I was about twelve years old, my uncle Manuel Soto ‘Sordera’ told my father he wanted to take me to Madrid because he saw qualities in me for cante. But my father told him I wouldn’t leave his side while he was alive. And I didn’t go anywhere. Beginning there things started to get better and my father got several fish stands. And then I forgot about cante because if at that time you used to earn one thousand five hundred pesetas working at Los Canasteros, I used to earn about five thousand pesetas selling fish. Besides, back then being a cantaor was really badly considered because it was an unknown world and linked to nightlife, booze and women. If Tío Borrico were alive to see what an artist’s paid right now, he’d knock his head against the wall. My father wanted the best for us and he saw our future in fish. It was in the year 1995, when Tere Peña called us to make a record with people from Jerez, that things changed. Moraíto convinced me to do it. Luis de la Pica, El Mono, María Soleá, Juana la del Pipa and a few others were there. So they put us in a big building in Seville and we recorded there. The album was released and was a hit. As a result of that I started to be called up and I began doing things. And then the fish started to lose importance, till the time came when it cost me money to keep up the fish shop. That’s when I gave it up and dedicated myself completely to cante. I was about forty-seven years old. So I’ve been at it for over ten years now.

Do you earn more in flamenco nowadays?

Yeah. Nowadays flamenco has a better reputation and is better paid. It has nothing to do with the previous era. For example, Tío Borrico went to the Maribar Inn to sing for free; he was always hoping for someone to give him something for singing. But well then, that doesn’t mean that nowadays you’re going to get rich with flamenco; only a few manage to do so. You have to be a good cantaor and have enough work to be able to support a family. And even so, if you’re called twice a month you just have enough to barely get by. But what’s clear is that there isn’t as much hardship as there used to be. Flamencos didn’t use to earn hardly anything. For example, my uncle Manuel Soto ‘Sordera’, after performing at Los Canasteros, used to have to go out and look for some party to earn a little extra cash to be able to get by on.

Isn’t there that “hardship” any more?

Not at all. Now hard times mean, for example, that you have to take a long drive and then you have to come back that same night after singing. But well then, we shouldn’t complain about those things. There didn’t even use to be a car before.

Luis el Zambo (Photo: Daniel Muñoz)

What cantaores have you taken notice of?

I’ve really taken notice of El Serna, a great cantaor. Also my uncle Sordera, Terremoto, Tío Borrico, El Gloria, Las Pompi, La Niña de los Peines, Tomás Pavón, Chocolate. I can’t forget about La Paquera de Jerez. There’ve been really good cantaores. La Perla de Cádiz… you start naming cantaores from that era and you never stop. I don’t know if it was due to the hunger there was, but in that period everybody used to sing amazingly well. Antonio Mairena was another extraordinary cantaor. Fernanda de Utrera, Tío Perrate, Manuel de Angustias… anyway, a lot.

Did people use to worry more about listening to the old-timers?

There used to be something called respect, a thing that’s been lost nowadays. When I was younger I used to go to the Maribar Inn to hear Tío Borrico sing. Since things were more or less going well for me, I used to buy him a few bottles. He started singing … and after a few hours he told me to do a little cante through bulerías. I didn’t dare sing until he told me. At the old-timers’ parties it never occurred to me to sing unless they pointed a finger at me. And when they used to tell you, you sang just once and that was it. I myself would see those monsters sing and I used to tell myself I couldn’t sing in front of them. Because when you listen to good singing, you get a lump in your throat that stops you from singing. Nowadays it’s different. Look, three years ago I went to Barakaldo to sing with Agujetas, Chocolate and three or four other people. After singing we went out to dinner. So Chocolate told me to sing a little bit through bulerías… and when I was singing someone else butted in and starting singing too, and uncle Antonio Chocolate told that person: “Nephew, you have to know how to show respect”. These stories didn’t use to happen before because you were too embarrassed to sing in front of those maestros. I’ve been at a party with Fernanda de Utrera and I didn’t sing. Nowadays young people think they know how to sing because they open their mouths.

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