Welcome to one of the most active flamenco sites on the Internet. Guests can read most posts but if you want to participate click here to register.
This site is dedicated to the memory of Paco de Lucía, Ron Mitchell, Guy Williams, Linda Elvira, Philip John Lee, Craig Eros, Ben Woods, David Serva and Tom Blackshear who went ahead of us.
We receive 12,200 visitors a month from 200 countries and 1.7 million page impressions a year. To advertise on this site please contact us.
Posts: 1696
Joined: Jan. 29 2012
From: Seattle, Washington, USA
RE: Why do you love flamenco? (in reply to El Burdo)
So I'm not the only old geezer here. I'm 67. I first heard something like flamenco when I was around 13 years old: A girl I knew who was a few years older studying classical guitar playing in Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA, was also learning a little flamenco, using Ronnie Lee's and Juan de la Mata's method book (which is not bad), with a teacher. I think I probably also heard some flamenco on television around then. It just really turned me on. I admit that I first listened to Manitas de Plata, but quickly graduated to Sabicas. I tried to learn flamenco guitar playing in Cambridge but my teachers didn't know much, so I talked my parents into sending me to Spain for a year when I was 15 (I had already run away from home for a year and dropped out of school after 7th grade). I had read Donn Pohren's books on flamenco and stayed at his Finca Espartero in Moron de la Frontera my first month in Spain. Meeting Diego del Gastor and taking a few lessons from him was another world. Somehow flamenco seemed to me to be the sincerest form of expression, particularly Diego's playing. And exciting. And beautiful. What's not to love?
RE: Why do you love flamenco? (in reply to silddx)
quote:
That's amazing! I love Donn Pohren's books, and found A Way of Life fascinating! Any good stories to share?!
Ethan, I agree with silddx. Could you post some stories of your adventures in Andalusia as a youth?
Morante, too, could probably write a book about his life in Cádiz.
Just a quick aside and following on that…I’ve been reading “The Flamencos of Cádiz Bay” by Gerald Howson this summer and highly recommend it. I had been looking for the book for years but any time I found it it was stratospherically priced. Then one day on a whim I checked Amazon and there was a first Ed. copy available from the UK, priced at a normal price of about $20 with low shipping. I leapt at the chance. The book is such an enjoyable read that I’ve been slowly playing it out over the summer, savouring it a chapter at a time.
I’ve thought of Ethan more than once when reading this, also of Morante. I visited Cádiz last fall, so that provides a touch of geographical context to me while reading. Cádiz is a jewel of a town, although I fear the current day sensibilities means it can be best appreciated by the wealthy, as I found lodgings are very costly there, which isn’t surprising considering the beauty of the place.
I’m finding “The Flamencos of Cádiz Bay” to be almost therapeutic, coming out of the disastrous couple of years the pandemic provided to most of us. This book is so good it really should be reprinted by someone. It’s got all the hallmarks of a classic.
I took the time to copy a passage…hopefully the book is long enough out of print that I can be permitted to reproduce it here. The setting is Gerald has been invited to his friend Efrén’s house for a (typically) chaotic lunch. Efrén himself, who is Gerald’s guitar teacher and a very popular guitarist in Cádiz, is also referred to as being “ una desgracia” by many of his peers…
So…lunch is done and Gerald and Efrén have just had some serious words about why Efrén should not have disciplined his dog for something it had done the week before…
*spoiler alert*
…“Efrén looked very serious and shook his head.
‘You’re right, you know. She’s just a poor animal, and has no memory. Just a poor animal.’
He shouted for the rest of his family, and when they were all in the room, addressed them: ‘I don’t want to see any of you hitting the dog anymore. She’s just a poor animal; got no memory. She doesn’t remember why you’re hitting her. Understand?’ He was his old self again, shouting in his hoarse voice.
The two girls came up and kissed him, darted out and came back with Paqui. At the sight of her master she wagged the whole rear half of her body, jumped on his lap and licked all over his face.
‘There you see’ he said, ‘She still loves me….Ah, yes. I have a present for you. I’ve fixed up for you to play on the radio next week. First with me, then solo. How’s that for a present, eh? Of course, they don’t pay anything. And here’s another.’ He produced a cigar.
I expressed my gratitude. He chuckled and kissed me on the cheek and patted my back. Then he caught my other cheek between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed hard until I was forced to pull away.
‘You show them how to play the guitar! And then I can be proud of my best pupil!’
I began to realize that they obviously did pay and that he was going to keep the money for himself. I said nothing.
Guitars were bought out, brothers came in and sang and the women and girls danced, snapping their fingers and stamping their feet. I lit my cigar, and after a few minutes the thing exploded in my face, and it stayed there in my hand looking like a palm-tree. Everybody laughed until the tears ran down their cheeks. It was time to go, anyway, and I could still hear their laughter when I reached the street. And then I remembered I had forgotten all about García Lorca.”
P.S. before anyone gets upset about stereotyping, Efrén is but one of the characters found in the book. He’s a bit of a scoundrel, true, but is a far more nuanced and complex person when taken in the context of the entire story.
I’ve been reading “The Flamencos of Cádiz Bay” by Gerald Howson this summer and highly recommend it.
Ah, you found a copy! I love that book; mine I found from a US source and it was priced at $29.95, which seemed entirely reasonable given the astronomical prices elsewhere.
Posts: 3467
Joined: Jul. 12 2009
From: Washington, DC
RE: Why do you love flamenco? (in reply to kitarist)
quote:
Ah, you found a copy! I love that book; mine I found from a US source and it was priced at $29.95, which seemed entirely reasonable given the astronomical prices elsewhere.
Out of curiosity I looked it up on Amazon today. Used hardback editions were priced at $300.00!
Bill
_____________________________
And the end of the fight is a tombstone white, With the name of the late deceased, And the epitaph drear, "A fool lies here, Who tried to hustle the East."
Posts: 15242
Joined: Dec. 14 2004
From: Washington DC
RE: Why do you love flamenco? (in reply to BarkellWH)
quote:
ORIGINAL: BarkellWH
quote:
Ah, you found a copy! I love that book; mine I found from a US source and it was priced at $29.95, which seemed entirely reasonable given the astronomical prices elsewhere.
Out of curiosity I looked it up on Amazon today. Used hardback editions were priced at $300.00!
Bill
I have seen my own CD on Amazon for $400. THese are basic scams where rich or desperate people drop the cash and never get any product. If you find “out of print” or “out of stock” items then suddenly the same thing at astronomical price, its a scam of course.
Posts: 1696
Joined: Jan. 29 2012
From: Seattle, Washington, USA
RE: Why do you love flamenco? (in reply to silddx)
quote:
Any good stories to share?!
Well, I don't know if this is a good story or a bad story. I was 15 or 16. You know how foolish young people can be some times? Well, first of all, Diego spent a few hours with me walking around town looking for a landlord so I could rent the apartment across the hall from the one he shared with his nephew's widow and her three daughters. I was feeling like I was putting him to too much trouble but he kept telling me to be patient. Eventually we found the man he was looking for and I rented the place and moved in. I think Steve Kahn may have been the previous occupant. I have a lot of trouble remembering names, but I think we talked on the phone about it a few years ago. There were some nice photos there and dark room equipment and a lot of stuff that's hard to describe, piles of storm windows or something.
Everyone (at least men) hung out in the bars/cafes in Spain and there didn't even seem to be a drinking age. I mentioned drinking age to people and they were astounded that young people in the USA were prohibited from even wine and beer. Anyway, I noticed that the men in bars were constantly saying insults to each other, in jest, such as, "Me cago en la leche de la madre que te parió." Naturally, I picked those sayings up.
After living in the apartment for a while, with all that stuff in it, I got tired of all the stuff and wanted it gone. Maybe the landlord had initially said that he would have it removed, I can't remember. But one day I went to his place and asked when he was going to do so. He didn't give a satisfactory answer. I said if he didn't remove the things, then I would put them out on the street. He said if I did that then he would put me out on the street. So then I said, "¿Quando venga? Coño. Me cago en sus muertos." Then he sort of tried to hit me but I easily prevented him from doing so. Then one his brothers came out--we were standing in the street--and he also tried to hit me (and failed). After we stood there on the street for a little while, me holding their wrists, I started to walk home. Then they had the Municipal Police arrest me.
I had that crazy fearlessness of youth. Maybe I thought I was James Bond or something. I was in the jail for an hour or so, then somehow word got to Ruth Frazier, an American friend who was married to Pepe Gastor, one of Diego's nephews. She came and they released me. The landlord ordered me out of the apartment. The story got around. Diego, laughing, said, "'Cago en sus muertos,' que gracioso." Mari Carmen--one of the widow's daughters--asked, "¿Has peleado con el?" like she would be really proud of me if I had fought with the landlord. Several Gitanos told me to go and speak to The Judge--but not to tell him they sent me. So I went and talked to the judge. He asked me what happened and I told him. I said I insulted the landlord. He said, "You mean he insulted you?" I said, no, I insulted him. He asked me who told me to go and see him; I said, "Everyone." He told me to go back and live in the apartment and said if the Municipales bothered me again he would take away their uniforms. So I did. And the landlord sent a lackey around every month to collect the rent for him, which was a thousand pesetas or $15. I think before I went back one of the rooms was cleared of stuff--the one room I didn't use anyway.
Well, I don't know if this is a good story or a bad story.
It’s a great story! Thanks for sharing it.
I really enjoy reading about other’s experiences like this and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one. Please don’t be shy about keeping them coming if you think of any more.
Well, I don't know if this is a good story or a bad story. I was 15 or 16.
Great story Ethan! Wonderful photos! Youthful self assurance...
At the beginning of the pandemic I was concerned by the 15% mortality rate reported for octogenarians like me. After a few days I decided to view it as an 85% survival rate. Same numbers, but 85% survival sounded a lot better.
Then it occurred to me that this might be about the same as the survival rate for some of my youthful behaviors.
Then it occurred to me that this might be about the same as the survival rate for some of my youthful behaviors.
I'm happy my story has been so well received. I've been laughing since I wrote it. Laughing and crying a little because I miss friends I had in those days.
Yeah, Richard, I know what you mean. It's amazing that so many of us make it past 30.
Great story, Ethan. Your adventures share elements of the old genre of picaresque novels.
Bill
_____________________________
And the end of the fight is a tombstone white, With the name of the late deceased, And the epitaph drear, "A fool lies here, Who tried to hustle the East."
RE: Why do you love flamenco? (in reply to kitarist)
quote:
ORIGINAL: kitarist
quote:
I’ve been reading “The Flamencos of Cádiz Bay” by Gerald Howson this summer and highly recommend it.
Ah, you found a copy! I love that book; mine I found from a US source and it was priced at $29.95, which seemed entirely reasonable given the astronomical prices elsewhere.
My copy came from a bookstore in the UK that specializes in reselling old books. It’s the hardcover edition published in 1965. It was well described and intact (minus the dust jacket), but shows signs of careful use.
Funny thing is, it has the stamp “HM Prison, 1 Knox Rod, Cardiff”, on the inner leaf, so at one time it was a prison library book, which might explain how a number of our older UK members came to learn of flamenco. It’s also printed in a typeface that matches my last name, which I didn’t realize until now even existed.
Ethan, Thanx for sharing these… these moments in your life that off little windows to a world long gone. And ya, weren’t we all invincible at that age?
Diego Del Gastor is my flamenco hero, I won’t say he was any better or any worse then any of his contemporaries, and what do I know anyway, but he seemed so real and so full of life, yet he didn’t seem full of him self only when he did you could tell he was putting everyone on.
You mention unthread having taken a few lessons with Diego, what do you recall from them?
HR
_____________________________
I prefer my flamenco guitar spicy, doesn't have to be fast, should have some meat on the bones, can be raw or well done, as long as it doesn't sound like it's turning green on an elevator floor.
Posts: 1696
Joined: Jan. 29 2012
From: Seattle, Washington, USA
RE: Why do you love flamenco? (in reply to ernandez R)
quote:
You mention unthread having taken a few lessons with Diego, what do you recall from them?
HR, I play some of the falsetas I learned from Diego in various videos on my Youtube channel. Diego was a patient teacher. It is hard for me to learn guitar music, so it was slow going. He was also encouraging. I remember one night at a gathering of friends in Diego's country house (which may have had just one room and no utilities), he said to give the guitar to this one (me) because he liked the way I was progressing with the material he had shown me. Unfortunately my hands were tired and I flubbed. I actually didn't have very many lessons with him, maybe half a dozen. But I learned a lot listening to him practice, when he did; I could hear him across the courtyard in the center of the building. Sometimes he would listen to me practicing when he was in the landing between our apartments, and let me know how I was doing. I wish I had had him teach me to accompany the cante. Despite what my story may seem to indicate, I was shy. Or lazy, I don't know. (My father had business in Germany during my first month in Spain, so he stopped by to check on me. The only thing he said about my guitar playing was that Segovia could play 5 notes perfectly before I could play one badly. That didn't help my self-esteem a lot.)
At first, the way Diego taught was he would have me play something to see where I was with my playing. Then he would play something to go with what I played. Like, I would play a Sabicas falseta and he would show me three complementary falsets. He may have invented them on the spot. Other times I would ask him for certain things, like a tremolo falseta for soleares or pulgar for siguiriyas. Often he would just play and tell me to pick what I wanted--which sometimes resulted in him not being able to figure out which thing it was. Although he liked to drink at juergas, he was never inebriated when he taught. He was a very responsible teacher. I didn't have a recording device--or a camera--and I'm sure I have forgotten more than I remember of the falsetas he taught me.
Diego was very non-materialistic. I had at least one lesson in his bedroom, which contained a very simple bed (maybe one of those metal frames with a mattress on it), a chair, a small table and one book--I think it was Don Quijote. Once I was next to him in Casa Pepe, the bar next door to where we lived and where a lot of flamenco happened. An artist who had done the artwork for a poster for a festival starring Diego, comprising a picture of Diego, gave him an autographed copy of the poster. Diego just gave it to me. He had no need for a lot of things.
I’ve been reading “The Flamencos of Cádiz Bay” by Gerald Howson this summer and highly recommend it.
Ah, you found a copy! I love that book; mine I found from a US source and it was priced at $29.95, which seemed entirely reasonable given the astronomical prices elsewhere.
My copy came from a bookstore in the UK that specializes in reselling old books. It’s the hardcover edition published in 1965. It was well described and intact (minus the dust jacket), but shows signs of careful use.
Funny thing is, it has the stamp “HM Prison, 1 Knox Rod, Cardiff”, on the inner leaf, so at one time it was a prison library book, which might explain how a number of our older UK members came to learn of flamenco. It’s also printed in a typeface that matches my last name, which I didn’t realize until now even existed.
It’s a great book, very enjoyable reading.
Yes it is.
I bought my copy nearly eight years ago, new for $23.95 from Dan Zeff--danzeffguitars.com. Looks like he's sold out now...
It is a much better read than I expected. But it appears we have our own version of Gerald right here in the Foro. I’m hoping for more anecdotes and impressions from Ethan. Wonderful stuff.
But it appears we have our own version of Gerald right here in the Foro. I’m hoping for more anecdotes and impressions from Ethan. Wonderful stuff.
I wholeheartedly second your observation, Rob. That was a great story by Ethan, and I, too, am hoping for more. Over the years some of us (I include myself) have blathered on about stories and experiences we have had, while Ethan has remained reticent and quiet.
Well, it turns out Ethan probably has the most interesting tales to tell. I mentioned up-thread that his story was picaresque: A young 15-year-old kid goes to Spain, meets some great flamencos and studies the guitar, tangles with some adults, and although he is probably too modest to mention it, no doubt engaged in amorous affairs with the young ladies.
Makes the rest of us seem like we have led very conventional lives. More stories, Ethan!
Bill
_____________________________
And the end of the fight is a tombstone white, With the name of the late deceased, And the epitaph drear, "A fool lies here, Who tried to hustle the East."
Printable Version
New Messages
No New Messages
Hot Topic w/ New Messages
Hot Topic w/o New Messages
Locked w/ New Messages
Locked w/o New Messages
Post New Thread