Our homies from Sevilla continue to hook us up.

Yesterday afternoon Alberto dropped off three free tickets he got from a friend, so that we could go see some of the top flamenco artists in the world-performing at a secluded outdoor venue across the Rio Guadalquivir. I had seen a quality flamenco show before, up in the hills of Granada; but this blew that experience out of the water.

The lineup was full of well known and respected artists. One of whom, Jose Merce, is considered one of the single best flemenco singers in the world.

Flamenco is raw passion. From the guitarista to the cantante to the bailarina, this art form speaks to the passion of Spain and is completely captivating.

The first act was a duo between a male guitarist and a female singer. The guitarista was an older guy who held the guitar upright as he played. Despite the complexity of the chords, he never looked down at the instrument once. It was almost like he was whispering in the guitar’s ear about what to play.
His fingers moved over the guitar strings effortlessly but the ferocity of notes coming from the guitar showed that he was indeed a professional.

The female singer, who was in her twenties, belted out the words with pure passion. Flamenco singers cover every emotion on the extreme sides of the spectrum; every word is attached to a definitive mood or feeling. In a single song, she went from love to confusion, to despair to anger and back to love. They really feel the words as they sing them. At one point I thought she was getting so worked up that was going to burst into tears.

The second act was a troupe of guitarist and flamenco “clappers and stompers,” (not a technical flamenco term), who created the rhythm to which the beautiful female dancer moved. This women had such an amazing presence on stage that I felt like she was almost a supernatural being of some kind. Deliberate, confident, beautiful, and graceful, she wore a long, white, traditional Flamenco dress that dragged behind her when it wasn’t flying through the air, or wrapped around her body.

The last song of this group ended with all guitar dropping out and all four men clapping, stomping and shouting to hold the rhythm. As she walked off stage, they followed her, tightly gathered around her, so that you could only see her hands up above her head, gracefully twisting in the classic flamenco motions.

The final act was the legendary Jose Merce. You knew this guy was a rockstar the minute he walked on stage….super flambeezy style. He had long poofy grey hair (a very rare haircut in Spain), and wore a white suit with a silky black shirt that was unbuttoned so that you could see his hairy chest and huge gold necklace. You could tell this guy thinks he’s the shit and has done more than his fair share of partying.

Fran was telling me that these aging flamenco stars drop dead all the time because of their long love affairs with cocaine and booze and after seeing Jose Merce on stage, I couldn’t argue with that.

Despite his larger-than-life, flamboyant style, this guy backed it up with a long set of amazing flamenco singing, accompanied by a skilled guitarista.

The night was amazing and after it was all over we walked back over the bridge to the center of town to have a long, relaxed dinner at our favorite restaurant, being served amazing Spanish tapas by our gracious hosts.