SEVILLE’S FLAMENCO THURSDAYS 2007.
ROCÍO MOLINA & LAURA ROZALÉN
Hey, what do you say she needs?
Silvia Calado. Seville, November 22nd, 2007
‘Turquesa como el limón’.
Rocío Molina & Laura Rozalén:
baile. Paco Cruz, Manuel Cañas: guitar. Jesús
Corbacho: cante. Sergio Martínez: percussion. Popi,
Vanesa Coloma: clapping. Flamenco Thursdays 2007. Centro
Cultural Cajasol. Seville, November 22nd, 2007. 9 p.m.
Rocío Molina (Photo
Antonio Cid)
“She never resigns herself”.
There’s a voice in off that speaks thus of Rocío
Molina. And the entire show confirms it. ‘Turquesa
como el limón’ is a show halfway between
loutish and classical which warns spectators not to judge.
“That’s the way we are”, is the verdict
by the Málaga-born bailaora and her colleague Laura
Rozalén when the time comes for the final applause.
And what they are - or what they want to project they
are - is two bailaoras keen on dancing, who enjoy their
differences and who don’t want anything to snatch
that enjoyment away from them. Even if there are too many
kilos or not enough centimeters, ‘limitations’
which to them is none other than a reason for joking;
and for those who enjoy personality and difference, a
reason for joy. Rocío Molina reveals herself as
a shameless comic, stuffing herself with snacks -which
she first offers to the audience -, looking herself over
in the mirror for blackheads, swinging her belly, dancing
about to Brazilian rhythms, parodying and self-parodying.
A remix of voices with foreign accents. Signs hanging
from ropes. “Go on a diet”. “I’m
bitter”. “Olé”. “Girl,
you’ve got a long way to go, to be able to dance”,
as she was told by one critic... or any other by a ballet
instructor. And as far as dancing goes, she even dances
words.
Rocío Molina
(Photo Antonio Cid) |
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Starting at that moment, the show forgets
such a daring initial approach and takes on the traditional
ways of alternating solos and a pas de deux. A group consisting
of two guitars, percussion, cante and clapping seconds
them. Laura Rozalén dances a solo garrotín,
old-time, flirtatious, well-rounded and very, very slow,
creating pictures as if painted by Botero... but over
a century ago. Jesús Corbacho calls Rocío
Molina. And she comes out dressed as a “cenachera”,
now alone with the guitar, to dream up a zapateado in
which each movement has its reason. “Love. Chocolate.
Turquoise color”. Words preceding the entrance of
Rozalén, singing a jota in a bata de cola and por
cantiñas. To contrast the classicism, Molina returns
with her nearly futuristic dance. She does the soleá
por bulerías in semi-darkness - a little bit of
light was lacking -, with amazing work in her arms, feet
and the rests, with body language absolutely all her own.
The audience bursts into applause. And she goes on, now
por bulerías, doubling up, turning her arms into
wings, marveling with her turns. Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta.
“Aligera las mulas que viene el
alba”. The cante by Corbacho, who handles replacing
Falo at the last minute so well, announces the pas de
deux. Black batas de cola. A shawl. The other, castanets.
The “zejel” of ‘Tres morillas’
makes them dance smoothly about the stage... until they
vanish. And then Rocío Molina comes back on a square
of light, with a red dress dotted with polka dots, to
remember the initial joking. She speaks via finger snapping
with the percussionist, as if bashful, as if provoking,
until they break out into mischievous rhythm that will
turn into a rumba and the grand finale. “The flowers,
the stars are dying of envy...”. And the two of
them remain alone there, enjoying their differences, laughing
at the world, cheek to cheek.
