Presentation of Ketama's record
'Dame la mano'
Friendship stew
Silvia Calado Olivo. Madrid, May 8th, 2002
Manolo Caracol's cave is covered
with the glitter of a cheap dive. "What a pity, Los Canasteros!" says
someone. That Madrid tablao that gave moments of glory to Sordera, Gaspar de Utrera,
Farruco, Mario Maya, La Paquera, Juan Habichuela... and to a new generation that
was born into the profession and crossed frontiers. Juan Carmona, El Camborio,
was one of those people. José Soto, Sorderita, another. And together they
were the embryo of Ketama. The child is now a young adult, and the biological
father is none other than the Habichuelas, although what's beneath the glitter
is never forgotten. Juan, Antonio and José Miguel, Carmona all three of
them, chose for the purpose the little place currently baptized Polana as "an
invitation to a brotherly handshake" with their new album, the twelfth in
the Madrid-based group's discography as pointed out by José Manuel Gamboa,
journalist and producer as well as host for this occasion along with Juan Verdú.
Camborio, Antonio and Josemi Carmona (Photo Daniel
Muņoz)
The two hosts for the occasion filled
the audience in about the record's idiosyncrasy. With a large dose of irony, and
all the finesse of TV hawkers, Gamboa and Verdú showed off the two formats
that will be given away to the first fifty thousand people who buy the record
-the extinct LP and the book with record- at the same time trying to fight piracy.
The speech left no room for doubt: "It's time for the Ministry of Culture
to lend a hand to authors, musicians and record companies, now that they've already
shown their solidarity with immigration", a reference to the government's
inefficiency in the fight against the sale of illegal copies.
Of the three Carmona who came on stage
elegantly decked out, only the founding member dared to speak. Antonio had refused
to talk, and an injured leg, rumored to have been related to Athletic de Madrid's
rise to first division kept Josemi silent. Juan Carmona spoke in the name of all
three when he said "the record was made with a lot of heart, and has some
things that are very flamenco, and others that are less so". And as far as
the incursion into hip hop, he was right. He also dwelt on the anti-piracy campaign
in which the release of the new record has become involved, and pointed out the
truly magnificent gift which accompanies the record: a DVD of a flamenco fiesta
with the Habichuela clan. The DVD bears the title "La academia de los Habichuela"
[the Habichuela family's academy], a jibe at that other enemy of musicians and
composers which is the TV show 'Operación Triunfo' [which scouts for, and
promotes unknowns] and all its consequences. To prove how one learns about being
a flamenco artist within the family ambience, El Camborio brought out his son
to sing the chorus from the single 'Dame la mano', and he requested silence. A
sweet little voice, more on key than that of many, was proof of how that school
is getting on, accompanied on the guitar by his father, and by his uncles' glowing
approval.
Habichuela's stew (Photo Daniel Muņoz)
Camborio junior's little song was the
only live performance of the night. Ketama was unexpectedly silent and left the
audience with a summary of the fiesta on a large screen which came off almost
like watching it live in the packed room... in fact most of the key people were
crammed up in the balcony section reserved for VIP's. Certainly the images were
worth more that all the words that preceded them. Tangos, rumbas, bulerías.
Here a chorus, there a little dance...a little song from Antonio, a little rumba
from Rosario, a little warm-up from Niña Pastori. A Juan Habichuela falseta,
another of Pepe's, one of Camborio's and another of Josemi's, Antonio playing
some cajón, and then Chaboli. Children, grown-ups and in-betweens, in other
words, "una pila de gente" [a whole bunch of people], as it says in
the video's subtitle.
In the end, when the applause came,
everyone was left with the irrepressible desire to see the full fifty minutes.
What could be better than a gypsy bean stew served straight from the pot by the
clan's womenfolk in a show of anti-consumerism... speaking for those poor souls
who still cling to VHS. And amidst it all, an inevitable parallel: might not this
hardy masterpiece of Andalusian gastronomy be for the Habichuelas, what Panoramix'
magical brew was for the Gauls? Leaving the question hanging in the air, the reality
of the moment was the metaphor of fraternization, of this breaking of bread, this
shaking of hands by Ketama.
revista@flamenco-world.com
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