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Flamenco and percussion. Compás, the cajón flamenco, and Manuel Soler
Manuel Soler, dancer, percussionist: He is one of the three flamencos that
took up the cajón. Along with Rubem Dantas and Antonio Carmona of Ketama, 20 years
ago he introduced an instrument that is today essential on flamenco stages… Tacón,
palmas, cajón…
"A compás" around the effigy
A sole cajón is spotlighted. Alone on the stage, as if it were an effigy, like
the monolith from nowhere in "2001." This is the beginning of "A compás."
Manuel Soler (© Paco Sánchez)
"This is my way of letting the percussion be the star. I'm saying, 'There you
are, but until I sit down to play you, you can't do anything.' So I sit down,
and I do everything I can with soleá. I speed it up and get into a bulería, I
do a few steps..."
Manuel Soler is relaxed and describes for us his new show. The quality is guaranteed
with the presence of his accompanists. There are four singers: Juan José Amador,
Segundo Falcón, La Tobala and Ana Mari González ("she performs in the best shows;
she's the blonde that's almost always with Carmen Linares"). The guitarists are
Pedro Sierra and Paco Fernández, the bassist Manolo Nieto, and the percussionists
Efraín Toro ("don't take your eyes off him") and Agustín Henke, "el Nervio" ("he
was with me in all the courses, and he knows how I play"). And Manuel Soler.
He can't help but admire the three dancers. Juana Amaya:
"There are very few today that can even be compared. I like her because she's
very flamenca, and her performances are powerful. When she dances she can't smile..."
Rafael Campallo: "He's got one special thing, and that's knowing how to sell.
He knows when to add something and when to do nothing." Israel Galván: "I think
he's the most promising young dancer today. He's very advanced; born with genius."
"A compás" served as the closing act for the "IV Convención Nacional de Percusión,"
rather like a marathon, with no rehearsal for the 100 minutes of performance,
without pauses:
"Things get boring when the guitarist has to tune up. In those two minutes the
show falls apart; the magic is lost." There was plenty of that magic in "Por aquí
te quiero ver," a show that ran from the 1996 Bienal until just recently, with
the last performance in Holland.
Soler points out the differences and enthusiastically describes "A compás:"
"It's halfway there, but it's more developed. We kept the order, but the structures
are completely different. We start off with everything that can be done with clapping
and footwork. Three dancers come on-stage, doing a couple of steps, with just
their feet lit up. Then I start to respond to the four singers, I finish it off,
and I stay there looking at the cajón. Campallo dances a mirabrás, there's a tango
from Tobala's new recording, Juana does a soleá por bulería, and Ana Mari mixes
tangos and bulerías, because since my last show, we've been mixing them up. You
can change them around, and you won't even notice. Then Israel dances a soleá,
also split up, and we want to do an experiment with a cante por romances with
a different compás, to break the rhythm. To finish, there's a theme and then the
devastating bulería. It's not the typical fin de fiesta; it's explosive."
An explosive Manuel Soler. Around 54 years old ("Tell them 55, it doesn't matter..."),
he was first dancer at 11, worked with Manuela Vargas until he formed his own
ballet at 15, in 1967 he went to Mexico, then Madrid with Lola Flores and La Polaca.
He even worked as a guitarist, and in 1976 he began to collaborate with Paco de
Lucía. He went to Caracas-he loves salsa-, and joined the group of Óscar d' León.
Upon his return he worked intensively as a session musician. "The recording that
pointed the way for cajón players was the first album of El Mani" (!) "Yeah, that
set the standard for the cajón in sevillanas and rumbas. I also played with Romero
Sanjuán; he really turned things around." A real pioneer, he worked with Los Hermanos
Toronjo and participated in the first recording of Los Hermanos Reyes. "It was
recorded in the Lope de Vega theater because there weren't even any studios; it
was done with a mobile unit." He's a veteran of rhythm, and a great person; always
a compás.
Attack
"What they lack is knowledge; learning the old and applying it. There's a tremendous
amount of ignorance, especially in percussion. You buy a cajón and you just start
to beat on it; then you play with Carmen Linares, and she says she's going to
sing the caña. Now what are you going to do? |
A setback in
the cajón
It's common knowledge that one of the best cajón players today is one of the best
selling singers (Antonio Carmona, Ketama's singer). However, the cajón got its
start in flamenco at a social party in Peru, with the band of Paco de Lucía. "Rubem
Dantas was playing a conga and I was playing a small bongo. Then a group showed
up with a cajón, which fits better in flamenco. Rubem was the first to record
with it; then Ketama-Antoñito-with Rubem's cajón, too; and then I got started
with my recordings. The cajón started to become popular, not necessarily because
of me. In any case, because of Rubem and Antonio, who really knows what he's doing.
That's why he's so famous with the cajón." Over five years ago, he was substituted
in Paco's group by the enormous Jerez native Joaquín Grilo, following "Live in
America." "In Costa Rica I was diagnosed as having angina pectoris. We'd come
from Mexico, and I think it might have been the change in altitude. I spent three
days in the hospital with an oxygen mask. They went on the Nicaragua, I came back
home, and Joaquín took my place." |
Genio de rabia
y miel
A master of dance and percussion, Manuel Soler participated in the three recordings
that propelled Camarón to lasting fame. He had a hand in the revolutionary "La
leyenda del tiempo," in the best seller "Soy gitano", and in the terminal "Potro
de rabia y miel."
"La leyenda..." marked Camarón; it broke molds, and it was a pleasure to participate.
Camarón was still focused, and he always hit the mark. There's no one like Camarón,
because nobody has his afición; I don't care who that bothers. It was like he
had three voices: We'd start to look for the right frequencies, and he had a low,
a middle, and a high voice… It was too much. And everything he left us... He was
something else." |
Luis Clemente
Translation: Norman Paul Kliman
Magazine
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