MADRID'S VERANOS DE LA VILLA 2005. EVA YERBABUENA

Timeless

Silvia Calado. Madrid, July 13th, 2005

‘Eva’. Eva Yerbabuena: baile, choreography and artistic direction. Dancers: Mercedes de Córdoba, María Moreno, La Choni, Luis Miguel González, Juan Manuel Zurano, Eduardo Guerrero. Cante: Enrique Soto, Pepe de Pura, Jeromo Segura. Guitar: Paco Jarana, Manuel de la Luz. Percussion: Antonio Coronel. Saxophone-flute: Ignacio Vidaechea. Music: Paco Jarana. Wardrobe: Jimena San Román. Lighting: Raúl Peroti. Shoes: Begoña Cervera. Veranos de la Villa 2005. Legazpi Slaughterhouse. Madrid (Spain), July 13th, 2005. 10 p.m.

Eva Yerbabuena (Photo: Daniel Muñoz)

Seven years have already gone by since Eva Yerbabuena premiered the show ‘Eva’ at Seville's Bienal de Flamenco. It happened before conceptually more elaborate works such as ‘5 mujeres 5’, ‘La voz del silencio’ and ‘A cuatro voces’. It was a prelude. And even today, the Granada-born bailaora resorts to this timeless show to display the essence of her baile, devoid of all ornateness.

‘Eva’ has commanded standing ovations in New York and Tokyo, but the battle was far from easy in Madrid. The portable outdoor stage, the poor sound quality, the stifling heat... hampered communication from one side of the stage to the other. Even so, the artist offered delightful moments of baile, feeling, profession. The granaína was impressive. This time she danced it wearing a pink bata de cola dress. A lovely picture. A single ray of light was beamed down to light her defiance of gravity. A 45º-angle... or less. Silence. Her hands start to sketch delicately. Motionless flight. Her countenance aloof. Sluggishness as a weapon. Someone thinks he's seen La Argentina, with her torso nearly spiraling, her smile invincible. The cante takes turns, gathering bits of the fandango path leading from Sacromonte to Ronda. The dress floats. The bailaora floats. Why bother waking up the night watchman?

The soleá. She begins it by hushing up the movement, letting herself soak up Pepe de Pura's cante. He gives her the starting signal with the lyrics: “El pasito que yo doy” (“The little step I take”). The calmness now means tension. It has to come; the charge has to come. And there she goes, flinging her arms left and right, turning against the laws of physics, striking furiously to the end. And all of it while dancing to the cante. With the special touch of the slow motion finishing off the job now bordering on bulerías. And just like that, without a fuss, she leaves.

Both numbers are flanked by group choreographies performed by the company's six dancers. After Eva's free foreword, letting herself be swayed by the old sound oozing out of the phonograph, following the round of tonás by the three cantaores at the foot of the stage, the male half of the dance corps converses through alegrías. Solos. Trios. A carefully thought-out measure for a style normally relegated to the grand finale. The bailaoras come into action between the granaína and the soleá, but not alone. Three mixed pairs come in speeding up the seguiriya. From more to less. Till it's stopped. The guitar, the percussion, the flute. The music leads, provides ambience, feeds. The ‘Yerbabuena’ trademark in the frozen arm poses, the repetition of circles, the crosses, the break-ups, the give-and-take between earth and wind. Eva accompanies them in the close and withdraws them with a startling soundless style one step ahead of the soleá. The next group number is the guajira with the three bailaoras with bata de cola dresses and fans. Beautiful sounds by Paco Jarana, leaving the model aside. Refreshing. And lastly everyone's tangos with everyone, finished off by Eva's unhurried little dance, to a ‘granaíno’ tempo. Back to the start. Has it all been a dream? “I feel alone in silence and I move in time to realize something that's always seemed unquestionable to me: flamenco's timelessness”.

magazine@flamenco-world.com