Ramón Montoya (1937)

This appeared in the Argentine newspaper "La Nación", on May 11th, 1937, but did not include the name of the journalist.

ANDALUSIAN POPULAR ART

Ramón Montoya remembers great singers of "cante jondo"
The adventurous life of the cantaor Antonio Chacón

In the early hours of yesterday morning, the celebrated guitarist Ramón Montoya arrived in our city aboard the steamship Campana, from Marseilles. He is considered to be the most complete performer of popular Andalusian music, and has come to our capital, contracted by the owners of the Maravillas theater, where he will perform in tonight's presentation of regional art, as part of the show being offered by the dancer Carmen Amaya. Montoya has been involved in performances of the art of cante jondo for over a quarter century, and his skillful playing has been compared to important figures in flamenco expression such as the Macarronas, the Niña de los Peines, and Antonio Chacón. In an interview held in the Maravillas theater, the famous guitarist remembered all the "greats" that have venerated the popular singing styles of the Andalusian people. He offered many colorful episodes, some picturesque, and others sentimental, and others involving the actor Manolo Vico, linked to the artistic life of Montoya through several adventurous performances on the peninsula. At plain sight, Montoya offers no clues as to his place of birth, nor does his accent when he speaks. Upon seeing him, with his face lit up, one would say that he was from the north of Spain; and speaking, he seems to be perfectly Andalusian. But from the very first questions, Montoya speaks at length and in detail on all things that one may ask about him.

What region are you from?

I'm from Madrid, from the Avapiés district, that silly neighborhood that defines the capital of Spain so well. On occasion, I've had to present my personal documents just to demonstrate that I'm a native madrileño.

I was supposed to come to Buenos Aires about seven years ago, when García Malla invited me to perform in the Casino theater, but the fear of being at sea-after all, I'm gitano as well as madrileño-kept me from acting on those tempting offers. I remember that Manolo Vico, who knew about this country, told me on several occasions: "Don't be silly, Ramón. Go over to America, you're going to earn piles of money!" But I have to confess that those interesting contracts lost all their appeal at the mere thought of so many days at sea.

Montoya began playing in the cafés cantantes of Madrid.

How did you become a guitarist?

In the cafés cantantes of Madrid, many, or most of which don't even exist any more. From that period, I have warm memories of the Marina café, where I started, located in Jardines Street, number 21. I also worked at the famous Naranjeros café, in Cebada Square; the Gato café, in the street with the same name, the owners of which responded to the colorful name of las hermanas Higorrotas (the Brokenfig sisters); the Magdalena café, also in the street of that name, between the squares of Antón Martín and Progreso; and also the Pez café, in Ancha Street, of San Bernardo. In the Marina café, I got to play with the famous Macarronas, with Malena de Salud, the daughter of El Ciego, who, for me, is the greatest female performer of men's dancing. She would come out in a short jacket with chaps and a calañés hat, a tiny little thing with a great big voice that went perfectly with her art; Anita Caña, who has very good artistic qualities; la Mejorana, one of the greatest performers of classic flamenco dance; and Antonio de Bilbao, whom they met in Buenos Aires in the San Martín theater, in Eulogio Velasco's group, several years ago. That reminds me of the unusual way in which Antonio de Bilbao came to be known in Madrid. It happened on one of those memorable nights in the Marina café. After the performances of several artists, and encouraged by several of his friends, Antonio stepped onstage and asked me to accompany him. Judging from the way he looked and dressed, no one could have suspected what a great dancer he was. He wore a beret that revealed his Basque origin, and when I asked him what he was going to dance, he told me, "Por alegrías". I looked at him and thought that it was all a joke, so I responded by playing the same way, but he reacted, and told me confidently:

"No, play it right; I know how to dance!"

And he certainly did know. He was so good that he put all the dancers, guitarists, and the public right into his pocket. He caused such a sensation that the owner of the café came straight over and made me contract him. That used to be part of my job at the time, as the official house guitarist. I asked him how much he wanted to earn, and he said, "Two pesetas." That was a good salary back then, but if he'd said fifty we would have given it to him. I was earning seven pesetas, which was also quite good, but because I was playing outside the café, I was earning over twenty duros (100 pesetas) a day. The only thing I can say about Antonio de Bilbao is that not long afterwards, he was the king of the Marina café, and all of Spain began to praise him. I also have to mention Faico, an excellent interpreter of the farruca. He went to perform in Paris, and had a big hit with the La Giralda pasodoble. Ramírez de Jerez put on some great shows there, too, with farrucas and tangos, as well as Monijón, the cousin of Faico.

Which bailaoras do you remember as the best?

Mariquilla, la Flamenca, in classic styles, on the same level as Macarrona; and Encarnación Hurtado, la Malagueñita.

He considers Chacón to be the most complete performer

But in cante jondo -Montoya continues- the greatest artist to have been born in Spain is Antonio Chacón, or, better said, Don Antonio Chacón, because if anyone deserves to be called Don, it's him. For me and many others, Chacón was the master of all the cantes flamencos. It can be said that he was not only a cantaor, because he could talk about painting, literature, and medicine. He took his singing seriously. He could start at eight o'clock in the evening, and go on until the same time the next day, with the same enthusiasm and effect. He'd overshadow everyone, and wherever he went, nobody could compete with him. For fifteen years, I accompanied him with this guitar that's been with me now for twenty-seven years, the one that the flamencos call la leona de Montoya (Montoya's lion). Chacón was the greatest singer of the gitano style of seguidilla, and, at the same time, he was a gentleman and a friend. When he died he didn't leave behind a penny, after having earned over two million pesetas. He used all his money to live as the great man that he was. In the levante styles, Manuel Torres was great, also. He was a magnificent singer of the murciana and the cartagenera. Manuel Escasena was another great singer, and Antonio Chacón admired him. Escasena's head was strangely shaped, and people used to compare it to a cucumber. I remember that Chacón once said to me about him, "Montoyita, have a listen to this "cucumberhead", he's extraordinary". And on more than one occasion, Chacón himself saw to it that a hundred-peseta note was given to Escasena at a juerga in Villa Rosa, pretending that some other person had meant for it to be given to him. Good old Antonio Chacón was a kind man. I remember when Chacón introduced me in Seville at a party, at the time of the fairs. The biggest names in cante of that period were there, and it was me, the great unknown, who accompanied Don Antonio. When he introduced me, he just said, "First, you're all going to sing, and then I'll sing, accompanied by Montoya, and I assure you that I'm going to make all of you cry". And that's exactly what happened: everyone ended up crying. He admired me so much that he even forgave me at a party of the Duke of Medinaceli for arriving late because I'd preferred to go on with a game of pool. He simply said, "Montoya, are you a pool player or a guitar player?" On another occasion, back in Seville, the admiration of the Andalusians made them refuse to believe that I'd been born in the capital, and he replied in a friendly way, "Tell 'em you were born in Seville, will you?"

In Paris, he performed in the Opera Cómica with la Argentinita

The conversation turned to his more recent performances and the events to take place in the Maravillas theater, and Montoya tells us:

I've just finished performing in Paris for eight months. After the first three, I was going to come to Buenos Aires, but my stay there was extended, and they wouldn't let me come here. I performed several times in the Pleyel, in Paris, and twice in the Opera Cómica, accompanying Encarnación López, la Argentinita-she went over really big. That countrywoman of yours is an excellent dancer! For me, she's the most complete artist in Spain, among bailaoras, and even with that tiny voice of hers, she sings wonderfully. She's all art of the finest quality, and the public of Paris could appreciate that, just as the public of Madrid had done before that. Then, I performed in Brussels, in London, and in Switzerland, until I was able to leave for Marseilles, to board the ship, for all those days at sea. I don't even want to think about that, because I'll need all the courage I can muster for the return trip.

"In my performance in Buenos Aires, my repertoire will consist of interpretations on the guitar -on my Leona- of pure classic flamenco art, such as soleares, malagueñas, granadinas, mineras, tarantas, rondeñas, bulerías, tango in major and minor, guajiras, farrucas, seguidillas, and la rosa; and I'll perform each piece according to the public's wishes. I've received many references to the Argentine people, and I've been wanting to meet them for a long time".

Translation: Norman Paul Kliman