ANDRÉS MARÍN. ‘ASIMETRÍAS’.
SEVILLE'S 13th BIENAL DE FLAMENCO 2004

Deep-rooted avant-garde

Silvia Calado. Seville, September 29th, 2004
Photos: Daniel Muñoz

‘Asimetrías’ (‘Asymmetries’). Andrés Marín: dancing, artistic direction and choreography. Úrsula López, Leonor Leal, Elena Algado: dance corps. Encarna Anillo, Londro, José Valencia: cante. Guitars and music: J.A. Suárez ‘Canito’, Antonio Rey, Salvador Gutiérrez. Percussion: Daniel Suárez. Trumpet: Irapoan Freire. Tambourines: Álvaro Garrido. Central Theater. Seville, September 29th, 2004. 9 p.m. Seville's 13th Bienal de Flamenco 2004.

Andrés Marín

Asymmetrical. Free. Abstract. Andrés Marín drifts away from the standard. And not because he is seeking to be different in a sensationalist way, but due to questions of personality. ‘Asimetrías’ is, as defined by the artist himself, “a proposal of the creation of a space to develop dancing”. That place is marked off mainly by the cante which holds a great deal of this show's weight, by means of three visions which at the same time determine the course of the dancing. The music is led by the creations of three guitarists of different signs, with Canito as the key in the understanding between instrument and bailaor. There are also three bailaoras who accompany him, with a special role for Úrsula López, soloist of the Andalusian Dance Company. Baile, cante and toque “resort to the binding of tradition and the avant-garde, paying tribute to the personalities and styles of the purest flamenco”.

A metal, austere space. Three cantaores stand in the shape of a triangle. Seguiriya and martinete. Andrés Marín begins cutting the air with his angular dancing. Silence. Stop. The movement is thought about before it is. Three steel rectangles on the floor. The bailaor taps his heels on top of them, trying to get another sound out of them, another temperature... as Vicente Escudero had already done years ago. Futurism. The big-bellied voice of José Valencia floods the forge. The lights start to go out. The dancing is heard, is felt, is hardly seen. The cantaora is seated on her rush-bottomed chair beside guitarist Antonio Rey. A raspy, velvety voice for the milonga ‘Espejismo’ ('Mirage'). Ode to melodic cante. Ode to Pepe Marchena. Contrast in the guitar with vibrating staccatos, with obvious climbs. The percussion seems novice.

The trumpet player comes in on the right. He remains standing, sketching out a melody varied with the mute. Three women. Red, black and white. The cyclorama is lit up in blue light. Tanguillos. Asymmetrical choreographies. Faltering dance. The stress is on the esthetics. Turns which make the dresses bell-shaped. Unknown arm postures. X-shaped. A flirtatious game. The tribute to the marchenero cantaor goes on. ‘Marchena’ is the name of the taranto. Andrés Marín positions himself on a rectangle of light. Danced cubism. Londro sings to him standing up. Dancing of minimum details. Úrsula López comes in for the dance for two, dressed in blue tones, on a horizontal bar of light. Very poised, very ‘yerbabuena’. Uneven dancing for two. She remains alone. The taranto, instead of to the mine, sings to the woman. “Te compro con el refajo, unas enaguas de azulina” ("With the petticoat, I'll buy you a cornflower underskirt"). And the lyrics are visualized on stage... All the sensuality.

A finger slips over the skin of the tambourine. Alegrías. The cantaora adds the voice to the dancing for three... yellow dresses with a train. A bright, feminine piece, respectful of the manners. The silence encourages fantasy. The music sounds compact, accompanying and enlivening the dancing. Back to withdrawal. ‘Generation of '27’ joins the poetry of Miguel Hernández, Rafael Alberti and Federico García Lorca with a tribute to the fandango in several of its forms. The intimate tenderness of Londro (rocked by the out-of-this-world guitar of Canito), the smooth stylized swell of Encarna Anillo, the unrestrained flood of José Valencia. Fade to black. And back to cante. Cante without music against a backdrop with phantasmagoric voices. A complete turn by the three cantaores. The dancing starts to be missed. The bailaor... and his shadow will take a long time to reappear. Soleá from a great many other angles. And the bailaor, equidistant, adapting to everyone. Now the stress is in his feet, now in the non-motion, now in the extraordinary postural repertoire. The backdrop is lit up faintly orange. A Martian dialogue with the guitar of Canito, whose path as a composer also goes beyond the canons. Andrés Marín is a great expert and connoisseur of music, a prerequisite for abstraction. Free. Esthetic. Unique. He does not look like anyone else but himself. His dancing is harsh. And it is hard to give him an olé, even if he deserves it, because he upsets, interests, challenges. The bulería comes in unstoppable, with Rey remixing the ingredients he plucks from here and there. The bailaor goes on with his complex minimalism. The three bailaoras. Last group asymmetry. The trumpet makes the last call. The full theater explodes in intense applause finishing to the beat, providing the placet for a flamenco show which was simple, neat and continuative of the esthetic path undertaken by Andrés Marín with ‘Más allá del tiempo’ ('Beyond Time').

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