NOCHES DEL ESPAÑOL 2007. ISRAEL
GALVÁN, ‘LA EDAD DE ORO’
Applause for fission
Silvia Calado. Madrid, May 18th, 2007
‘La edad de oro’.
Israel Galván: baile, choreography. Fernando
Terremoto: cante. Alfredo Lagos: guitar. Noches del Español
2007. Teatro Español. Madrid, May 18th, 2007. 8:30
p.m.
Israel Galván (Photo
Daniel Muñoz)
Flamenco and more flamenco. All over
the city of Madrid... and the province. While José
Mercé was singing at the Huerto de los Leones in
Alcalá de Henares, at the Teatro Albéniz
the group Son de la Frontera was presenting its new album
‘Cal’, Chano Lobato was performing in Rivas
and Jesús de Rosario at the Fine Arts Circle, bailaor
Israel
Galván was doing the same with ‘La edad
de oro’ at the Teatro Español. And the thing
is that over the past few days, several programs starring
the jondo genre have coincided in the Spanish capital.
The choice wasn’t easy, but seeing the latest in
flamenco dancing at a theater dedicated nearly exclusively
to classic plays, and therefore, before a non-flamenco
audience, seemed to be the most enticing a priori. And
it turned out to be so a posteriori.
A few minutes go by before the audience
gets it. And from then on, the fun begins. Israel Galván
doesn’t do a typical show; that’s why the
crowd needs to be warmed up somewhat. The avant-garde
Sevillian doesn’t seek applause, doesn’t cause
it... so every ‘olé’ he’s offered
is overwhelmingly true. He just as easily excites, pleases,
surprises or arouses laughter. In ‘La edad de oro’,
moreover, a blatant face-off takes place between the stage
and the seats. Nothing mediates; neither the storyline,
nor the stage design, nor the wardrobe. Just the art of
the three stars in interaction.
Israel Galván
(Photo Daniel Muñoz) |
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But that three-fold dialogue goes very
far. Without losing sight of the canons, they take the
liberty to break them. And that defragmentation was previously
unseen in flamenco, thereby generating new expressions.
Sometimes the essence barely remains of the rhythm in
motion. Others, the note is dance to which is never danced
to. Israel Galván might be Kafka’s bug, an
entire insectarium... or every bailaor there ever was
and ever will be.
The trilla, soleá, malagueña,
bulerías, fandangos, seguiriya, tientos-tangos,
alegrías. Every style of flamenco cante is susceptible
to fission. And without losing their jondura when they’re
uttered by Fernando
Terremoto, with all the history of his genes concentrated,
pinching, exciting... all the way in. And without giving
up the feeling, weight and sensitivity of Alfredo
Lagos on guitar. And both of them remaining classic
at all times. All of it, in relation to the Sevillian
artist’s raw baile, to the silence and the space,
turns out to be really impressive. You could cut the tension
with a knife. But above all, it could and should be applauded.
If flamenco calls to be considered art, it has to be ready
to evolve. The audience is.
