It is June in Minnesota. This means everyday is a crap shoot: one day, hot spot in the nation (103 and humid), next day torrential rains, today 46 degrees and dropping. BUT: it is summer and summer is the best. The best. And we’re managing to do our sangria/grilling extravaganzas between all that. And with lots of flamenco, too.
My son, Aaron, graduated high school and we had a big blow-out for him last weekend that I’m almost recovered from today.
Manuel Flores, festero and palmero with Son de Frontera is just so wonderful. I had the very good fortune to see a lot of the old-time flamencos like Anzonini del Puerto and Andorrano, Funi, Fernanda, Bernarda, Paco Valdepenyas—the list goes on and on. For this I can only thank my friend David Serva who turned me on to that world, even when I had no idea what I was seeing (and hearing!). Today, I can hardly believe the luck. Times change, great artists pass away and others gradually take their place. Flamenco is an amazing art form in that way.
Still, I have to say: after reading all the buzz about Israel Galvan—I’ve been watching him for a few years and, generally, liking what he does—then seeing his latest Casa Patas video (from June 11th, I believe) —I am very sorry, but: NO! This coked-out, ridiculous posing is very sad. Give it the “ole” test: if you can sit and watch it without being on the edge of your seat, without spontaneous outbursts of “ole!” every few seconds—then it just ain’t happenin’. And, for me, it sure ain’t happenin’. Bobote sings but can not watch. Nor can I.