NIÑA PASTORI. ‘NO HAY QUINTO MALO’

Something about her life

Silvia Calado. Madrid, November 11th, 2004
Photos: Daniel Muñoz

‘No hay quinto malo’. Niña Pastori: cante. Chaboli: box drum. Diego de Morao: guitar. José María Cortina: keyboards. Antonio Ranos ‘Maca’: bass. Loli, Anabel, Toñi: choruses. Encounters Series at Casa de América. Madrid, November 11th, 2004. 9 p.m.

Niña Pastori says ‘No hay quinto malo’ (‘There's no bad fifth one’). And everything points to her being right. Her new album has soared straight to the top post on the Spanish charts and has been received enthusiastically by the public. The reaction of those attending the presentation of the Cádiz-born cantaora's fifth album was more than eloquent. It took place at Casa de América's small amphitheater in Madrid, which is holding a series of musical encounters this season.

	Niña Pastori

Around the stage in a semicircle, the crowd is expectant. The musicians take their positions. The star comes in taking firm steps. The place bursts into warm applause. She sits down, picks up the microphone and... “This is a very special day for many reasons. I haven't come up on stage for one year and two months, the time in which I've been working on making a good album. The beginning is important to me and the ambience out there is enthusiastic. I'm very happy. All the songs on this album are very special, since they all tell something about my life”.

And to start off, she chose ‘Santo romero’ from among the ten cuts on the album. Like most of the tracks, a song through tangos, with a catchy but not aggressive refrain, musicalized tastefully and with enough space to let Niña Pastori's voice loose. Regarding her voice, the cantaora has gained in maturity, serenity, and if possible, in mastery of the nuances of her entire range. She knows how to restrain herself, she knows how to withdraw and hardly whisper. She knows how to fly high, become hoarse and groan with all her throat... And feeling. Not only does she believe what she sings, but she feels it. That's it. She's already sung the first one. She's breathing now. The next song is ‘La tata’ (‘The Nanny’). “I think people are going to identify with it because we've all had somebody older who's taken care of us”. While she utters these words, she gets up, microphone in hand. Chaboli marks the rhythm with the brush against his leg. And she strolls all around the stage, singing softly. The refrain, and there is one, is done extremely smoothly by the girls in the chorus. It's all well-measured. Although it is taken for granted, the professionalism is surprising, being, as it was, a presentation. “My God, how beautiful!”, they shout to her.

The performance continues with ‘Imposible’, a song that is announced with a simple organ melody that turns into the composition's trademark. Here María sings as if in grief, totally devoted. There is room for the skillful guitar of Diego del Morao, who not only shows off his training but also a personal musical understanding... so flamenco. María clenches her fists, singing forcefully. And the audience gets emotional. “A little bit through bulerías”. And through bulerías, it is. Using the framework of the song ‘La cuna’, the cantaora controls herself and uses flamenco orthodoxy, accompanied by the one hundred percent Jerez toque. Olés after each part.

The concert's climax comes with the single ‘Puede ser’. “This is another very special song. I wanted to make a record that I would later enjoy in the concerts, since it's fundamental to uphold it for a year enthusiastically and with gusto”. The song combines Niña Pastori's interpretative depth with the fundamental coordinates of the catchy song with a pull, plus the addition of a certain amount of elaboration in the musical aspect. Convincing. It sounds great, as if having left a long trail behind it already. And the thing is that, as María says, “this album is different from the others because I sing things that I really feel”. It happens in the song ‘Tres minutos’ which, as all the press already knows, “Chaboli came up with the night before our wedding”. Love, all love. The crowd ends up on its feet. And they call for an encore, which is met through bulerías, traditional-style once again, with Anabel doing a little dance. But the audience wants more. And they are sincere. “The thing is that we don't have anything else prepared. We really only rehearsed just enough, we're so slack”. And the crowd doesn't mind. They ask for ‘Cai’. And they get ‘Cai’. María sings the tune from the album ‘Cañaílla’ which she marked so many times alone with the piano of José María Cortina. But the audience still hasn't had its fill. “Well, repeat then!”. Niña Pastori doesn't like the idea very much -“it's not nice, is it?”-, but she agrees. And she goes around stage with “puede ser, que nos veamos otra vez, con otros ojos no lo sé y tú no digas nada...” (“we might see each other again with different eyes, I don't know, and don't say a word”).

Niña Pastori

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