It’s all in the family. Triana and Lebrija blend together somewhere deep within a Pandora’s box inhabited by Esperanza Fernández helping along dreams of a new flamenco born of kings. Curro’s little girl has come out on the discographic Tablao to draw a line on the surface of the water: on one side, a sea of modernity, on the other an ocean of great depth. The girl warms up with forward-looking bulerías, the eternal chuflas. And without stopping to criticize, she opens the box, not Pandora’s, but a treasure-chest of essences, to extract from herself the last great virtue: that special something, charged with hard-bitten concepts in danger of becoming extinct.

A soleá de Alcalá backed up by the intense sound of an outsized talent at the piano -David Dorantes- in full fiesta in Lebrija, sets the land of Alcalá reeling with a pathos capable of raising goosebumps. Esperanza sings straight from the heart, laying those depths of feeling so wanting in these forced-happy times, at the altar of all which is jondo.

And that’s not all there is. Lorca’s version of the Baladilla de los Tres Ríos, done to rumba, underscores the horizon of a singer who flirts with both past and future, coolly aloof, with unsurpassed majesty. The premise is demonstrated in the delicacy with which she expresses herself to the compás of the dance. But precisely in that disquieting though marvellous pulse, it’s time for the seguiriya.

Triana is at her feet. The guitar of Niño Josele and the verses of José de la Tomasa bear witness to a cante which Fernández imbues with all her gypsyness leaving an aching heart and a restless spirit. Incredible. The seesawing between two worlds is impossible to describe, especially upon arriving in Lebrija, where the girl visits her grandmother to delight her with bulerías. La Malena, with her blanket over the shoulder of Moraíto Chico, delves intelligently into the heritage of Antonia Pozo. Blessed restraint.

A fine ear, compás, and a balance between the old and the new: these are not traits that everyone can boast about dominating. And Fernández tucks the "purists" into bed with her Nana de la Esperanza...ea, mi flamenco, ea...ole cantaora, ole....