EL CABRERO / NUEVAS VOCES DEL CANTE GITANO

Protest songs. Inherited songs

Candela Olivo. Mont de Marsan, July 4th, 2002

Nuevas voces del cante gitano: Pepe de Pura, María Peña, Guillermo Manzano and Tomás de Perrate, cante; Antonio Moya and Miguel de Badajoz, guitar. El Cabrero, cante, with Manuel de Palma, guitar. Café Cantante de la Place St Roch. Mont de Marsan (France), July 4th, 2002. 7:30 p.m. and 9.30 p.m.

El Cabrero (Photo: Daniel Muñoz)

María Peña (Photo: Daniel Muñoz)

First half. A time for remembering a heritage. With the objective of offering "some bit of unpublished art" as in all the other editions, the Festival de Mont de Marsan brought together "young" artists (as old as forty) of the Pinini, Torre and Perrate dynasties under the banner 'Nuevas voces del cante gitano' [new voices of gypsy cante]. The marketplace at Place St Roch, filled to overflowing was predisposed and prepared for listening to cante...there was silence and composure in spite of the dynamic ambience of this venue which was conceived in the style of a café cantante. The group presented a tightly-woven show, but by turns, beginning with the soleá of Guillermo Manzano, a rough echo of Triana in exile. Pepe de Pura who usually sings for dancers, took up the thread with Miguel de Badajoz on the guitar to offer his malagueñas...a thin wisp of a voice, falsetto and arabesques. Then with Antonio Moya coaxing his wooden-pegged guitar, Tomás de Perrate let rip his raw acid lament por seguiriyas...at the same time he dampened it, which emphasized the intrinsic drama of this pre-eminently Utreran cante. The closing turn was reserved for María Peña who recalled the sounds of the women of Lebrija such as Inés Bacán and Pepa de Benito with tientos-tangos. A second round, this time por bulerías with occasional forays into cuplé, and the obligatory little dances, was the closing of this collective recital.

Second half. A time for protest. Because it is a "rebellious cante that does not allow itself to be molded", El Cabrero opened with seguiriyas for an audience which was already predisposed to enjoy the singer's "charms". His hat pushed down to his eyebrows, the three-day beard, the red kerchief knotted at his neck, all in black...and a voice that demands to be heard in its ongoing discourse, be it spoken or sung. 'La lluvia' [the rain], a Borges sonnet applied to bulerias with a certain touch of Bambino gave free reign to the powerful voice of the shepherd who followed up with malagueñas, not without first ordering that the cameras be removed. Manuel de Palma's playing remained straightforward and sure while the singer took advantage of the opportunity to pronounce his missives: "Picasso said much more with his painting than me, he expressed himself though his painting and the regime didn't like it, and I tick them off with my singing". Having said that, and adding that he never thinks about when he is going to fall asleep forever, he went in for the kill with an autobiographical cante with tanguillo chorus: 'Como el viento de Poniente'. A string of fandangos reconfirmed the cante's militancy...the audience applauded every twist, every clever trick, every gesture. Then soleá after warning that "since I'm not prejudiced, I speak the truth", then cartageneras, "a very tough cante because it has nooks and crannies, it can't be faked", and then a bulerías song of his own about the evil within men. The finale was to have been a toná sung standing up, after some chuckling over the need to place the microphone on a chair, and a pacifist, anti-establishment message. Since the audience was standing and they clamored for it, he had to give in: "after a toná you don't feel like shit", and responding to a request, he sang farruca...and fandangos de Huelva...and so ended another political gathering. "Now just let them try and kick me out of here".

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