Silvia Calado Olivo. Madrid, 6th June 2002

La Macanita (cante) with Diego de Morao (toque) and Chícharo, Gregorio and Bo (compás). Pepe Habichuela (guitar), with Bandolero (cajón and tambourine). Compañía María Pagés, with Manuel Soler (cajón and baile), Ana Ramón (cante), Fiti and Rubén Lebaniegos (toque). Colegio de Médicos, Madrid. 6th June 2002, 9pm.

	La Macanita (Photo Daniel Muñoz)
	Pepe Habichuela (Photo Daniel Muñoz)

Rapturous applause greeted La Macanita as she stepped out on stage. Tomasa Guerrero, wrapped in an embroidered Manila silk shawl, sequinned dress, cast-iron throat. She dives straight into a martinete, her wailing filling the auditorium of Madrid's medical school... and it's away with the cante. Diego de Morao saves himself for the second number: seguiriyas. And it's taken from her new album, 'La luna de Tomasa' (Tomasa's moon), the type of tune where she begs you in her cut crystal voice to be frank with her. The son of Moraíto backs her up knowingly on guitar, with his harmonised Jerez style. The wailing wavers, rises and falls. "¡Viva Madrid y viva Jerez!". She starts off the soleá simply, marking time with the compás, clutching her shawl, the wise one interjects halfway through, the notes drifting unhurriedly from her throat. The coplas had to be heard. And then on to bulerías, Macana offers three flavours: the first she dedicates, 'To my mother Manuela', a tuneful format, with gentle, whispered lyrics; the second a cuplé, a light cabaret song, sung on foot and without a P.A., spirited and sentimental; the third, 100% Jerez, a song to bring the party to a climatic end, leaving a space for her accompanists to strut their respective steps... even Diego de Morao, who abandoned his guitar and picked up Manuela's daughter.

All the exuberance the cantaora from Jerez oozed had been washed down in a matter of seconds... On came Pepe Habichuela spirituality flowing from his guitar... he plunged to the depths and pulled out a fandango, he soared to the peaks and there struck up a seguiriya tinged with the upbeat rhythms of tango, of rumba... Backing him up supplying compás were "these two geniuses". Wise in his compositions, wise when playing the virtuoso, during silences, at rest, in the seriousness and his manner occasionally reminiscent of a rock star, in the restlessness that transforms his earlier recordings. An ovation again. "There are some real music-lovers here today".

Tock tock… tock tock sounds the cajón. The sound begins like a beating heart, the box-drum in the masterful hands of Manuel Soler, announcing the soleá which opens the set by Compañía María Pagés, from whose number we're presented with four men, dressed severely in black, casting asymmetrical forms over the stage. Class, taste and dance itself can never be incompatible with strength and virtuosity - those in doubt take note. María Pagés appears, her head turned away. She moves to an old recording of Rosalía de Triana: a seguiriya. As Gomaespuma, the comedy duo who organise the event, advised at the start, "she doesn't just have feet, she comes with a full kit of accessories: arms, eyes..." In fact the feet are silenced to give voice to the great spiral of expression that is the bailaora sevillana. Now Vallejo... and when that's over, Ana Ramón takes up the singing. María commands the stage now, sure when the music cuts, almost disappearing during the silences, preaching aesthetics. The masculine contingent returns, its silent movements spilling out into tangos, throwing in a popular farruca, making music. Then the female contingent emerge again, warbling, a dynamic breath of fresh air, colourful, full of charm and grace. María, "señora", comes back sequinned, unfolding her wings, taking off. She dances por soleá, without music behind her: the music is inside her... She gives her all as she dances, she too shows power, skill and a sense of humour as she ingratiates herself with the guitarist. The company strolls onstage huddled together, keeping the rhythm. Feet. Handclaps. Humour takes over the show, flamenco isn't all suffering. The argument between the ladies' fans, the rivalry between the men's canes, the memorable one-upmanship converted into a showdown between the castanets, where Soler ends up skiing (see accompanying video clip). And to round off both the show and the festival, a tango, fooling around with the dancing to bring the fiesta to its climax. Amiamiamiamiamia mamma. Amiamiamiamiamia mamma. Amiamiamiamiamia mamma...

María Pagés (Photo: Daniel Muñoz)

And they all lived happily ever after... the third annual Flamenco pa'tos festival was over. Frankly speaking it's one of the best flamenco showcases on offer, and organised for no obvious reason by radio duo (but not for much longer) Gomaespuma. The fortunate members of the audience left wondering what to do from now on in the Spanish capital around 9 at night. For anyone who didn't realise the collection boxes at the door were for donations to children at the school which the Fundación Gomaespuma has set up in India, they still have another opportunity to show their altruism when the third 'Flamenco pa' tos' disc is released, this time dedicated to a genius of comic flamenco: Emilio el Moro.