Flamenco fire-up…
Ian Biddle, Senior Lecturer in Music and Cultural Theory at the University of Newcastle and festival co-organiser
For me, it all began about 11 years ago, with food (anyone who knows me will not be surprised): my best friend, Esther Zaplana Rodríguez, a true believer in Spain and all things Spanish, cooked a traditional Paella Valenciana for me and some of her Spanish friends. As I ploughed through several tons that heavenly fishy velvety creation, she put on one of her hundreds of flamenco CDs. I think it was Carmen Linares, singing a mournful soleá – slow, painful with a voice that could rip its way through tin. She sang, so Esther told me (I couldn’t really speak much Spanish then) of being abandoned, left for dead, of vengeance and hatred, of a loss so big it could eat you up like a big wolf.
Until that moment, I had known next to nothing about Spanish music, and even less about Spanish language and culture, but now it had me: it was like the beginning of a love affair so powerful and so all-consuming that I felt I would never be the same again. Now, whenever I hear that extraordinary style of singing (all raspy and intense), those intoxicating rhythms, that blistering overheated guitar sound, I feel like my heart could explode and my feet start twitching.
Since then I have been to Spain more times than I can remember, and I always visit the great Casa Patas in Madrid – perhaps one of the most famous of the peñas where flamenco of the highest quality can be seen. Each time I leave it I mourn for it and I turn to flamenco to articulate that loss. And yet, it nourishes me in way I can’t really put my finger on – all that sadness, pain and anger also make you want to hold on to life, to celebrate every fleeting pleasure with that special intensity.
Mourn with me… it’s just great!