Chicuelo

Chicuelo hadn’t recorded solo for seven years. And he’s conceived a great deal of music since that début album, ‘Cómplices’. Parallel to his ceaseless work accompanying today’s cante greats such as Duquende and Miguel Poveda, he has forged one of the most interesting toque personalities. The foreground of this album is occupied by guitar, which sounds clear, lively, convincing. He has the gift of readability and what could be called musical sensuality, a way of natural persuasion, a sensory appeal. Chicuelo makes the difficult sound easy. And the listener can remain in the foreground, completely gratifying, or delve deeply to the point of appreciating every nuance and the dimension of this musician. The fandangos ‘Tomodachi’, dedicated to his so-often colleague Shoji Kojima, are a real statement of intention, the start of a contagious, eternal journey. Barely catching his breath, he turns towards tango rhythmics through a Camarón-style voice, that of Salao, and singsong string arrangements. And he remains ‘A la deriva’ (‘Adrift’), but with a steady course. Carles Benavent’s bass acts as a compass.

The bulería ‘Somorrostro’ takes off flying low, going on to delight in Jerez-style rhythmic tapping. Guitar, clapping, box drum, jaleos. In ‘Crema catalana’ he shifts gears... but just to mislead. What starts off as a ballad reveals itself as a sparkling rumba, with a fierce attitude incited by the drums. Although you don’t know how, the sweetness is preserved. Now then, lullaby. ‘Diego’ is a song which sways, with jazz-style arrangements with Raynald Colom on trumpet and Rai Ferrer on contrabass. The vocals by Londro and Mónica Navarro tastefully season the song por fandangos de Huelva, in which the guitar comfortably excels parallel to the viola of Elisabeth Gex.

She is also the one who seconds the guitar in the bulería ‘A tres’, a piece with rich dynamics that bears witness to the tocaor’s forceful personality. The soleá por bulería ‘El Mirador’ has the temperance and flamenco feeling demanded by this style, the guitar allowing itself to be accompanied subtly, and just at times, by vocals, percussions and winds. Then in the final stretch of the album, the colombiana ‘Sambiana’ is presented as a divertissement, full of pirouettes and aerial figures. But at the end, the landing is tackled solo by the guitar with the granaína ‘Alalhambra’, a space of intimacy, sobriety, withdrawal, where tradition is personalized and updated. ‘Diapasión’ is, like Chicuelo, a “must”.