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Carmen Carmona presents 'Calivinacá'
at Madrid's Suristán
The young old girl of the Darro
Silvia Calado Olivo. Madrid, May 28th, 2002
Carmen Carmona: voice. Paco Cortés: guitar. Sala Suristán.
Madrid, May 28th, 2002. 11:00 p.m.
Debut in the capital. No butterflies. Well a few, but just enough. It was
almost midnight when Carmen Carmona came up on stage at the Sala Suristán
with a decided gait despite the precarious high-heeled red sandals, all covered
in roses. By her side, an undeniable plus, the Granada guitarist Paco Cortés.
Supposedly, the young singer from Granada had come to present her first recording,
'Calivinacá', but in actual fact there was no trace of the four rumbas
contained in the album...nor, for that matter, practically any other cut. Carmen
Carmona came as a 'singer singer', integral and mature, youthful and ancient.
Carmen Carmona (Photos: Daniel Muñoz)
She started out sketching a nana. The singer, forceful and velvety. The guitarist,
listening and responding. The embellishments were reminiscent of Camarón,
that figure who permeates her personality and which she avoids turning her back
on. The soleá was dedicated to her uncle Juan Habichuela who sat in the
dark shouting encouragement. With a guitar introduction full of wisdom, she drew
herself in, singing with authentic grief: "Qué mala suerte la mía,
por donde quiera que voy, una mala estrella me guía"... ['What
misfortune, wherever I go, an evil star is following me']. And that wasn't
the case, because she was smiling as her voice grew bigger and greater, until
it transformed into plaintive verses which others turn into fiesta. "Que
me estabas desatando, la cinta del delantal" [You were untying the strings
of my apron]. She lightened up the load with some fandangos. Shooting upwards,
fashioning the lament in the style of the boy from La Isla. Spiraling downwards,
as only she is capable of doing. And Cortés marking the outline upon which
to sketch. The young old lady closed the first part of her recital with tangos
in the sedate Granada style. Capo on the sixth fret. Rhythmic guitar-playing.
"Ay, llorona, llévame al río". [Crying, take me to
the river]
After an intermission with canned flamenco, Carmen Carmona, the twenty-five-year-old
singer (multiplied by four), took on the Levante with sweet embellishment from
the six strings. Afterwards delving into seguiriyas. An elaborate, tortuous guitar
introduction for a red-hot knife of cante. Referencing the record, she closed
out with the romance of Alonso de los Reyes. A bit of tientos once again recalling
Camarón. And a footnote: she scatters philosophical messages throughout
her verses (about intelligence, human beings, conscience...), a racial statement,
full of love to be sure, in the positive as well as in the negative. For the grand
finale there was a wink to Las Grecas in the form of tangos...María la
Portuguesa. With some fandangos with chorus, she decides on 'Calivinacá'...'Caricias'.
And she caresses like silk, without a moment's hesitation, sketching in the air
with her hand: "Sueño que me acaricias y besas mis labios..."
[Caressing dream which kisses my lips]. A final touch por bulerías.
"Pónmela al seis".
And so it was that the rumba girl Carmen Carmona appeared to be in her debut
album, left no doubt that she was the real thing; that the soleá, fandangos
and seguiriya she churns out on her record are authentic; that she knows and is
knowledgeable; that she is self-assured and is brimming with maturity... Looks
like Granada's Darro river is swelling...
Carmen Carmona with Paco Cortés
(Photo Daniel Muñoz)
revista@flamenco-world.com
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