2007 NÎMES FLAMENCO FESTIVAL. FERNANDO DE LA MORENA

Le flamencô

Silvia Calado. Nîmes, January 22nd, 2007

‘Du Rhône au Guadalquivir’. Fernando de la Morena (cante) and Diego del Morao (guitar). First part: Antonio Negro (guitar), Pepillo (cante), Juanma Cortés (box drum). 2007 Nîmes Flamenco Festival. Odéon. Nîmes (France), January 22nd, 2007. 8 p.m.

Nîmes puts its very own accent on ‘flamencô’. For one week, the city in the south of France’s rich cultural program specializes in the artform from the south of Spain. Evenings of cante and baile at the old Odéon cabaret, large-scale shows at the Théâtre de Nîmes, lectures, encounters, courses and late nights at the Hotel Atria on a bill which already sports the ‘sold out’ sign.

Fernando de la Morena (Photo: Daniel Muñoz)

And to start things off, it offers a journey to the beginning. First, cante. And not just any cante, but one of Jerez ‘nationality’, full of long experience. Fernando de la Morena offered a substantial performance which, as usual, he began with the trilla, standing and unaccompanied. That near announcement speaking about fieldwork is nothing banal and less so before enthusiasts thirsty for criteria. The guitarist then took up his seat, with all the weight of his lineage shining through in scarcely the first chord. Diego del Morao outlined the route for a cantaor who sounded abrupt and still reserved.

“A little bit por soleá?”. The cantaor says and the guitar falls to the ground in search of the ideal Jerez sound. A veteran bailaora says that “the soleá is grief which has already been digested”. And that’s what the cantaor’s sounded like, with just enough dramatic art, with air and with gravity, flowing slowly in a well-measured ‘crescendo’. The fandangos are that sigh which relieves. A string of folk philosophy which Fernando de la Morena nearly utters more than he sings, overlapping the verses and alluding to a lack of affection by striking the air with open hands. “Time changes anyone”, he judges. But there’s no way to avoid the seguiriya, grief at its purest. The guitar displays all of its coarse realism wrapped up by the guitarist’s body. And they speak to one another from within. The cantaor just has to go with the flow, open up his arms and throat, and add intensity.

But the grief goes by in a hurry. In comes the bulería. Three or four clappers who happen to be there marked the beat. Rhythmic tapping on the guitar. And uncontrollable energy in his voice. “I can’t wait for snail month to get here”. In the seats, bodies move about by themselves. And that guitar which lets loose gunfire, which takes the liberty of flying without ever leaving the ground. The audience understands... they just have to go with the flow. And they call for an encore. Bulerías, but “more joking ones”. And they call for another encore. Bulerías, but the maravi-maravi-maravi-maravillaaaaa” kind.

Diego del Morao (Photo: Daniel Muñoz)

Now there is only the hope that the crowd has understood the difference. Fernando de la Morena and Diego del Morao are, at the very least, professional flamenco artists. The openers who kicked off the evening - Marseilles-born Antonio Negro, Pepillo and Juanma Cortés - are just local amateurs with a great deal to learn. It isn’t enough to seem flamenco; you have to be flamenco. And that involves respecting the keys and musical structures, the codes of communication between members of the group and even the meaning of the lyrics. Of course, for all that, you have to bother to get to know it. But they’re in luck: in these seven days they have a chance to begin to do so.