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I’ve had an epiphany, and it really hurt!
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Patrick
Posts: 1189
Joined: Jul. 7 2003
From: Portland, Oregon
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 I’ve had an epiphany, and it reall...
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In the last few days, I have had a couple of eye opening experiences in regard to guitar construction. This past Friday I spent the better part of the afternoon visiting with flamenco builders John Shelton and Susan Ferreta. At least three members of this forum play Shelton Ferreta’s. I have met with them many times and in every case John takes one of his guitars and proceeds to play Buleria’s at close to ear piercing levels in what I call old style flamenco. The tone he produces is exceptional. When I play the same guitars at more palatable volume levels they never sound as good. John has voiced many times that the only good flamenco, is hard driving, old stuff.
Here’s my point. I have come to the conclusion, the reason his guitars sound the way they do, is because “that’s the way he believes they are supposed to sound”. Now that may not be overly profound, but I think there is more to it then meets the eye. I’m not the brightest candle around, so it sometimes takes me a while to put things together. I personally own a Shelton and have been a bit unsatisfied when attempting to play the more new age stuff on this guitar. It finally hit me that the fact is; this guitar was not designed for this type of music. A lot of people say they don’t like the sound of Conde’s, yet vast majorities of Spanish accompanist play Conde’s. Period.
Why is this the case? I think it’s a simple fact that Conde’s were primarily build as accompaniment guitars. Conde’s as well as Shelton’s have pretty simple tonal palettes. For accompaniment work, you don’t want a lot going on with the guitar. For most of us I believe solo work requires a totally different guitar. Now PDL can take his old dry Conde and play incredible solo work on it, but his fast, hard driving style works well with this guitar.
Yesterday I had the pleasure of talking to luthier Aaron Green for close to an hour. For those not aware of Aaron, his guitars are sweeping the country (US). Some people are saying he is going to be the next Santos or Barbero. Will see. Anyway, I came away with a totally different perspective. From what I can tell, most all of Aaron’s guitars are being used more for solo work. His guitars are quite complicated tonality wise. I get the feeling Aaron’s taste in flamenco lean more to the newer stuff being played. As does Shelton, he builds the way he believes a good flamenco should sound. So which one of them is right or wrong? In my opinion, neither, they are simply coming from a different viewpoint.
Is anyone still with me?
I don’t know where this whole diatribe is headed, but I wonder if we ever stop to think of the background of the builder as to how that influences the outcome of the guitar? How many times have we picked up a guitar and in seconds said, “I don’t like it, it’s not a good guitar”? The fact remains that it could be a wonderful guitar in the hands of the right person for the right situation. I have taken two negras over to John’s shop and literally in seconds he has declared them to be inferior guitars. Does this mean he is wrong? Not at all, he just has a different perspective.
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Date Dec. 16 2003 22:52:39
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Paul Bruhns
Posts: 77
Joined: Jul. 14 2003
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Patrick)
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Patrick:
I've never played a Shelton, or an Aaron Greene for that matter, but I could not agree more with your general observations. I own a Conde, and I do think it is a guitar that must be played hard to bring out it's exceptional Flamenco voice. It's good for Palos that require ripping accompanyment like Bulerias, Alegrias, Fandangos, etc... I also own a Gerundino Blanca, and that guitar is just the opposite, it wants to be caressed and stroked, and is more of a solo instrument, very delicate but what I would term "Gypsy" sounding, in the old Cante Jondo way.
I have other flamenco guitars, but they fall somewhere in the middle... more woody in tone and fun to play but require a more even attack to bring out their best; not particularly in the calibre (IMHO) of the Conde and my other extreme, the Gerundino.
Good Post!
Regards,
Paul
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Date Dec. 17 2003 7:09:27
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Pedoviejo
Posts: 59
Joined: Dec. 12 2003
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Thomas Whiteley)
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This is actually a “tag” to all the above. Just my own 2 pesetas.
In my experience the correct answer is “all the above” – and then some. Both the beauty and the difficulty of fine guitars is that they are all works of art. There’s so many subtleties and variables as to be mind boggling. If I may be so sexist (as a heterosexual male – not a challenge, merely a statement), the comparison of guitars to women is very apropos. The other great analogy is fine wine. The variables in each are about equal. And there are three (or more) principal variables which interact: (a) The quality of the instrument, (b) the quality of the player, and (c) the knowledge and experience of the listener. Add to this mix the mood of both player(s) and listener(s), the overall context, etc. and it becomes unquantifiable. It is Heisenberg’s primary uncertainty principle* brought to the max. (* more or less, the thing observed is changed according to the perceptions of the observer)
Have you ever had a particular wine that you thought was so outstanding that you bought a bottle, brought it home, cherished it, and then opened it on what appeared to be an appropriate occasion – only to be incredibly disappointed? Was your disappointment due to the fact that (a) you stored the bottle on a rack above your kitchen stove for over a year; (b) you are now drinking that wine in your dirty, dingy little flat with views of the neighbor’s garbage collection area, whereas when you first drank that wine you were sitting on a terrace of a chateau on a magnificent October afternoon overlooking an ancient river flowing through an idyllic valley seated next to this incredibly exotic woman who agreed to have dinner with you because she actually found you charming and witty; (c) none of the above; or (d) all the above? Context, context, context.
It’s like those silly questions people ask, prompted by our media-saturated society, about what is the very best this in the world or who is the very best that. Life is a motion picture, not a snapshot, and precepts as well as concepts of “the best” are temporally and context sensitive.
That being said, there is certainly some sort of cut-off point below which we may generally agree that a guitar or player does not rank among “the best” – which is to say that above that they are all merely many aspects of “the best.” And then after that, there’s that context thing again. On one evening you can have one of the very finest guitars in the world, and nothing happens. On another – right gathering of people, right time, right place, right mood – and you’ll swear that you’ve never heard better bulerías despite the fact that they’re being played on a ukulele made of cardboard.
I can attest to the fact that an incredible guitar will at times emerge from the shop of a second rate builder, and that duds can come from the very best makers. I’ve seen them, played them, heard them. That variation is why Arcángel emphasized to me one evening when I had praised his guitars that at the end of his career Marcelo Barbero consistently turned out masterpieces (taking into account that Arcángel was both friend and pupil to Marcelo, a man he idolizes). “Otra, otra, otra!” he said hacking his hand at the air with each “otra” to emphasize his point. To consistently make great guitar after great guitar is not just exceedingly difficult, but approaches the miraculous.
Do makers impart some of their personality to their creations? Of course they do. They wouldn’t be great makers if they didn’t.
On the subject of Conde’s: I’ve only been with this forum for a few days, so I don’t know how much of this has been discussed. I will assume that everyone knows that for many decades – at least since the sixties – the Conde brothers did not make all the guitars which bore their signed labels. The had them made for them according to their specs, then sold them as their own. They just took the methods of their uncle’s mentor, Manuel Ramírez, that one step further. As all know by now, the Ramirez’s haven’t really built guitars for many, many decades, hiring others to do that for them. The initials go on the heal if the guitar is deemed sufficiently good. The Conde’s figured, “hey, what the heck:: Ramirez did it and look how rich he is.” I can’t verify, but I’ve heard from several sources that practically all the other makers, once they achieved a certain degree of fame and could no longer fulfill orders in a timely fashion, did the same thing. That Gerundino or Rodriguez might not be built by the master. Financial temptations abound. I can only say that Arcángel was one who never succumbed to that temptation – in fact he found it to be “sinvergüenza” to put your signed label in a guitar that wasn’t entirely built by you. That’s one reason why his guitars are so prized, and also why they’re so rare. Two and one-half guitars a month was his maximum output when he was building 6 days a week.
But the guitars actually built by the Conde brothers could be “muy flamenca.” They were somewhat funky – putty filled imperfections, joints weren’t perfect, glue wasn’t wiped away where it should have been. But when new and good, they projected well, were bright and played like s.o.b.’s. Further, since there were three brothers knocking them out, and since they weren’t all that fussy about perfectionist details, they produced more than three times as many guitars as the others, excepting Ramirez’s shop. (Ramirez in the 60’s was shunned by many of the flamencos – too stuffy, too expensive, and the quality very inconsistent.) As a result, they could afford to pass them around cheaper. And the bonus: They played along with the professionals. Nearly all the professional guitarists made extra money by selling guitars on the side. Every time they went on tour, they would travel with as many guitars as they could. (The first time I met Ricardo Modrego in the late sixties when he was touring with José Greco and his sister, Nana Lorca, the company’s singer went to great pains to tell me what a “cañón” this guitar was Ricardo had for sale. As I learned later, he, of course, got a piece of the action if he succeeded in selling the guitar.) So the Conde’s always had extra guitars with which to supply the pro’s for re-sale - nearly always the fake Conde’s, sometimes that not-so-great Conde’s. It was something of a symbiotic relationship. That was the reason why Arcángel had one iron-clad rule: If he made you a guitar – and he would give the pro’s a professional discount - you could never, ever sell that guitar to anyone else without his permission. If you did you would be permanently on his black list. As he told me once, “The discount for which I sell the guitar is for you. Why should I take less for my guitar only so that you can sell it for a profit? I can make that same profit myself, thank you very much.”
As to the overall quality of Conde’s, I have one story: Juan Maya was in the shop on Graviña one day looking to buy some guitars. Since it was well known that Juan bought extras to sell elsewhere, Faustino said, “Sorry, Juan, we don’t have any today.” He hung out for a while, then in came Tío Sabas. As Juan told me, “Y entonces, aqui vino de atrás otra, y otra, y otra.” Sabicas played them all. One of them Juan thought was incredible and said so to Sabicas. “Sí,” said Sabas, “pero es un poco blanda.” He was saying that the action was too soft for his taste. Juan scarfed that guitar on the spot since, as all you guitarists know, when you lower the action you also lower the volume, and vice versa. Hence, if an action needs to be raised, the guitar can only get better.
And that’s how to find and judge guitars: Just tag along with a guitarist like Sabicas, go to various guitar builder’s shops, watch all the guitars come out, listen to him play them, ask his opinions, and buy the ones that seem to be best. Simple, right?
Anyway, the point is that here was one shop, one line of guitars by the same builders, one great guitarist playing them – and they were all different. And of course those were all Conde’s at the height of their so-called “golden period”, the 60’s.
One other thing: “The overkill principle.” Tried visiting a world-class museum in one day? You can’t. The eye can only take in so much at one time. Ditto for the ear. It’s way too easy to be overwhelmed. That’s why it’s best to get guitars “on approval.” Take them home for a few days, play them, savor them, feel them. And even then you have to be aware of yet another factor: “The honeymoon principle.” As an acquaintance of mine put it somewhat crudely once: “Whenever you see an incredibly beautiful woman and think, ‘gosh, I could never interest a woman like that,’ just remind yourself that somewhere there’s a guy who’s tired of boffing her.” Fine guitars always sound wonderful – because they’re new to you, they provide you with a new experience, and you’re instantly in love. You must get past the honeymoon to really judge the instrument.
More than enough said. More like a pocket full of duros than 2 pesetas.
Saludos
P.
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Date Dec. 18 2003 0:49:41
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Miguel de Maria
Posts: 3532
Joined: Oct. 20 2003
From: Phoenix, AZ
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Patrick)
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Viejito,
so, basically, what you're saying is get Sabicas to come along and try out guitars with out, don't get piece of **** Condes, and remember that that exotic, voluptuous, curvy Lester Devoe that Paco plays, that he's tired of it?
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Date Dec. 18 2003 2:16:13
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Pedoviejo
Posts: 59
Joined: Dec. 12 2003
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Miguel de Maria)
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The fact that somebody builds the guitars played by Ottmar Liebert doesn't impress very much. Maybe they ARE great guitars, but how would you know? Somebody who knows how to play has to play them. I loved Luis Clemente's piece on Ottmar in his book "Filigranas", unfortunately published only in Spanish. He inserted a photograph of Ottmar and over it in fine print quoted him (translated into Spanish) as saying, amongst other things, that "Purity is an idotic ideal," which he translated into Spanish as "La pureza es un Ideal Idiota." So the caption in bold type over Ottmar's photo reads: "EL IDEAL IDIOTA" - which could equally mean either "The idiotic ideal" or, more likely, and the first definition that would come to mind if you hadn't read the fine print first: "THE IDEAL IDIOT" (On the same page he has an old photo of Gino D'Auri, of whom he has kinder things to say. I'm glad because I sat second guitar to Gino in my first major tour in 1970 when I had just turned 18.)
By the way, $6,000 is mid-range for top quality, new guitars. Devoe's are around there, depending upon whether you buy direct from him or from a re-seller. So in truth they're bargains.
As for buying guitars when you're starting out: None of us had a clue. The best way is to take the advice of someone who has good experience and whom you can trust - which might be as hard to judge as whether a guitar is decent or not, so you might be back to square one. I still have the 1972 Conde Juan Maya sold to me - not so well repaired from airline monkey baggage handlers. Very pretty guitar it was new, beautiful extremely tight grained spruce top, almost flared quarter sawn cypress back - and it took me years to realize that it was a p.o.s. One of those spray-gunned "pumkins" the Condes had built for them.
Robert Bruné, the builder-vendor in Chicago, has an interesting description for those guitars that are highly hyped over the net and in catalogs as a so-and-so top of the line guitar "once owned by" or "from the collection of" some famous guitarist. He calls it "the negative endrosement." If so-and-so great and famous guitarist owns or owned it but now is selling it, you have to ask yourself, "Why?" Because he needs the money? Much more likely the answer is because (a) it didn't live up to his expectations as a performing guitar or, much more likely, (b) it's been played out. Dead. A gonner. Send it to the luthier nursing home. For display purposes only.
Caveat emptor.
No, not all Conde's are p.o.s's. There's lots of great ones. But they're not being sold readily, and certainly not by performing guitarists. The moral is you've just got to try them out, play them a bunch before making a decision. If someone is overly pushing you to buy, especially the salesman, then back away.
In the "old days" there were "widow guitars" available. Great guitars in the possession of the widows of professionals. That was before T.V. became international, much less the net. Now even junk dealers know what kinds of stuff they have. So now it's the reverse: Instead of great guitars being discovered for cheap, there's all kinds of p.o.s's out there with known names on their labels with way, way, way too high price tags. Another usefull quote from Robert Bruné: "The label inside a guitar is usually its least reliable means of identification."
As to whether Paco is tired of that curvy Devoe: Generalities are great. They help us to understand, to comprehend a greater whole and a greater truth. But beware when applying generalities to specifics. That great looking babe your friend picked up down at Malibu? As the philosopher said, "Satisfaction is the death of desire." But would if what you desire is something more than a few curves? Something more lasting, something more elusive? Did you notice that the Italian director, Carlo Ponti, never even thought about dumping Sophia Loren? Lots of curves there, but oh, so much more.
THAT's what you want in a guitar.
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Date Dec. 18 2003 5:28:39
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Miguel de Maria
Posts: 3532
Joined: Oct. 20 2003
From: Phoenix, AZ
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Miguel de Maria)
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Pedito,
yes, thanks for joining us, we enjoy your stuff. My brief history with flamenco guitars has, I guess, been lucky in a way. My ex-partner imported them from Paracho. He charged me $800 for a $300 one, my pick of his inventory of 12. Well, it turned out to be the best of the lot, and I got compliments from about every guitarist I met on it. Very thin top, now it's disfigured beyond recognition, so beat up from golpes and golpe superior. There's a mass of scratches from the top edge of the guitar to the edge of the golpeador, one of my friends (Actually, the replacement at the Hyatt of Esteban of steel string flamenco QVC fame) said, "What is THAT technique?" But it has a nice, rustic sound to it. My new guitar is a Vicente Carillo blanca, sleek and sharp and perfect and blonde. When people play it, they say, "Sweet trebles. Nice bass! Wow, it's pretty loud! Good action!" One of my friends in Sevilla who had a Conde, played my VC and told me he didn't want to put it down. Not bad for something gotten over the internet. Just luck, there.
But this Keith Vizcarra guitar,when I played that it was smooth and loud and there was this feeling, you know, that feeling of: This is a flamenco guitar!
When I asked Keith if he made traditional flamencos for Ottmar, he smiled, and said... No. The guitar I played was nice, kind of old, probably Chuscales beat it up a little when he was using it!
By the way, Pedito, do you know the guitarist Miguel Rodriguez of San Antonio?
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Date Dec. 18 2003 17:28:01
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Pedoviejo
Posts: 59
Joined: Dec. 12 2003
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Miguel de Maria)
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re Miguel Rodriguez
Yes, I do know Miguel but not well. I know his sister and brother in law better, Lucía Sanchez and Val Phoenix, who operate the “Flamenco Society of Houston” (Or “Houston Society of the Flamenco Arts”?) and have had a group for very many years, “Gitanerías Flamencas.” They’re good people and great aficionados.
I most remember Miguel from the first time I met him. It was in San Antonio, 1973, when I was on tour with the “Lecture-Demonstration-Recital of the Spanish Performing Arts” that José Greco did at that time. (That was a very fun tour – just four of us, José, Nana, Maestro Rogelio Machado and me - and we played colleges and universities almost exclusively.) I was introduced to Miguel at a private party by this guy who had made some sort of name for himself playing in a club (“El Poco Loco” ??) down on the river walk, and he was awful – pink ruffle shirts, flashy-trashy playing a la Carlos Montoya on crack. Anyway, I remember Miguel seated with his wife/girlfriend and a new baby, playing guitar way better than the local “famous” guy. Miguel was always very technically proficient, somewhat perfectionistic in his approach – at, if I may say, the sacrifice of that “something” that makes you want to say “Olé!” A petty critique, perhaps, since Miguel is a very accomplished guitarist.
That brings up lots of other memories. That was the first time I met Paco de Lucía. He was giving a concert in Denver at one place while we were playing some little college just outside Denver. We were all invited to a private party at a wealthy aficionado’s house. The patron thought he had gone to heaven when we showed up since Paco was already there. We sat in a bay-windowed seating area in the front, where Nana introduced me to Paco. He was wiped since he had flown up from Brazil that same day and it was now after 11:00 in the evening. The other thing I remember about that party was a collection of the best looking women we had seen the whole tour, all staring in our direction with wonder in their eyes (it’s good to be young, single and seated with famous people). Great promise hung in the air… And then José looked at his watch and declared it to be late and we had to get up to catch a flight in the early a.m. I almost cried as I peeled the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen off my shirt as I was pulled out the door.
That was also the first time I met Carlos Montoya, either in Houston or Ft. Worth. We played one night and he played the other, and we were therefore able to go to each others’ shows. Carlos was playing that so-called “suite” with the local orchestra – you know, the one where he just played whatever he felt like while the orchestra played the score around him and attempted to keep some semblance of compás despite his playing. But he was always jovial and paid attention to his audience, one of the reasons he was always so popular. (Paco has no stage presence at all, in case you haven’t noticed. If he didn’t have more talent and ability than any guitarist has had for the last three centuries he couldn’t sell a concert ticket if his life depended on it. With his shows it has always been the music. With Carlos Montoya it was always the showmanship.) What I remember most was that Maestro and I stood at the back of the sold-out auditorium and we could hear his guitar singing over the orchestra and a packed house. And with a bad sound system besides. An Arcángel Fernández blanca. A guitar to kill for.
Carlos came to our show the next night and he and his wife, Sally, sat in the front row. He was about ten feet away for my solo – and at the time, I was playing Paco’s Alegría in Mi Menor from the “Duende Flamenco de Paco de Lucía” album. A tad perverse. (Some years later I saw Carlos again for the last time, just before he was to play at Tulane U. here in town. The diablito was with me, so while he was “warming up” I asked casually, “How ‘bout that Paco de Lucía?” Carlos stopped playing, looked annoyed for a moment, then said, “He’s a very fine guitarist, undoubtedly…. But he has a metallic sound, not a sound like flamenco should be…” whereupon he dug his thumb into the bass strings to emphasize, I guess, a Manuel Torre “dark sound.” Lots of pops and buzzes. “”Un sonido metálico, no como debe ser" were his exact words which I never forgot – and never forgot to laugh about.)
Near the end of the tour, in late November, 1973, we were in New York and I was fortunate enough to be able to see Paco solo at Town Hall. I went with Maestro Machado (we became very good friends that tour – and there’s another whole well of stories from and about Maestro).
Now I have to diverge again for a little background: Maestro had been with José Greco for 25 years at that point, but that was at the end of his career. Maestro first came to this country in the late thirties as the pianist, arranger and composer for La Argentinita (Encarnción López), with, of course, her sister, Pilar López. Argentinita had several different lead male dancers, and it was she who first brought José Greco to the spotlight, along with Manolo Vargas. (Argentinita gave him his name: His real name was Castanzo Greco, and when she hired him she told him, “From now on, you’re José Greco.” Many years later, when he hired me at the age of 17, I was sort-of-kind-of using the name “Lorenzo” because “Kevin” doesn’t translate into Spanish. So on the first day of rehearsals he walked by me, stopped, and said “You’re now Quevedo Colman”. I later changed “Colman”, which didn’t sound right, to “Colmenar” after I saw that lovely town near Madrid. I later learned all the “Quevedo” jokes, none of them nice.) Argentinita’s guitarist on those early tours of the late thirties, early forties was Carlos Montoya. Back when he actually played in compás. They were under the aegis of the legendary promoter, Sol Hurok, and so was another Hurok “find,” Carmen Amaya and her guitarists: her father, brothers and “Niño Sabicas”. (Someone wrote in one of these threads that Sabicas copied Montoya’s idea of playing flamenco guitar solos. That must have been from Anita Shear, who seemed to worship Carlos’ shadow. However, Carlos’ far more famous uncle, Ramón Montoya, more than anyone pioneered the playing of flamenco guitar solos. There’s also some extant Hurok movie theater promos filmed in the 30’s showing Sabicas playing solos in a show – and, to my great surprise, doing that schmaltzy thing of holding the right hand high in the air to emphasize that he is playing a showy ligado passage solely with the left. Now you know who copied whom.) They all knew each other and at times partied together. Man, what it must have been like to be with them back at the height of the tuxedo & brillantine-hair night club era.
So the point is that Maestro was well known by everyone, including Paco de Lucía who had toured as a young teenager with José Greco in the early sixties, and Maestro was also extremely respected. (Hardly anyone knew him in this country, only as “José Greco’s pianist”, but in much of Europe – including Spain - Maestro was better known, and known as a great concert pianist and director. Like I said, lots of stories about Maestro.) Maestro was probably the finest accompanist for the classical Spanish dance that ever was – he knew all the music, and most important of all, had what I call a “metronome ear”: like a “photographic memory”, it never missed anything. You could have him play a piece and time it with a stop watch, wait five years, have him play it again and it would be the same to the second. No one – including José – ever argued with Maestro on a point of rhythm.
So Maestro and I sat together at Town Hall and watched Paco’s show. And EVERYONE was there. Sabicas’ brother was yelling “Olé’s” from the back as well as shouting humorous encouragements that at one point cracked Paco up. It was after the show that I remember best, however. Maestro said, “Want to say hello to Paco?” Like he had to ask. So we went back stage, and there was almost no one there. It was classic: The lone stage light glowing on top of its torchere casting dark shadows elsewhere. Paco was there in the middle of that chiaroscuro stage talking to two other dark figures as we walked up. I was introduced to Paco again by Maestro, and I reminded him that we had met in Denver a little over a month before. “O sí,” he said apologetically, then explained, “E’taba ciego, hombre, e’taba ciego.” (“I was blind, man, I was blind.”) The other two figures at first I couldn’t see well from a distance and then didn’t pay attention to because I was focused on Paco, trying not to look embarrassed. But then I heard Maestro say to them, in Spanish of course, “And this is our guitarist this tour, Quevedo.” At which point I automatically extended my hand, and then suddenly froze in complete awe and total embarrassment as my hand was shaken first by Sabicas and then by Mario Escudero. What can you compare that to? Standing for one moment on the summit of flamenco guitar Olympus being presented to the gods? My embarrassment was being this twenty one year old American kid trying his damn’dest to pass muster as a professional flamenco guitarist, being introduced by the greatest living piano accompanist of the dance to three of the greatest flamenco guitarists who ever lived – and being introduced as “our guitarist.” It breathes life into the word “humility.” And of course there was no camera around anywhere to memorialize the moment. In hindsight, all the better as that might have made it tacky.
A final coda to that tour: When I got back to Spain in December, one of the first things I did was visit Arcángel to (a) tell him what an incredible guitar he had built for Montoya and (b) why the hell did he build such and incredible guitar for, of all possible guitarists, Montoya? He smiled, pursed his lips a little, and said with finality, “I build guitars for whom I want. So what? A guitar’s a guitar.” He added the latter with great disingenuousness. But that was the end of the subject for the moment. (For those who don’t know: Carlos Montoya always tuned his guitars a half step lower than the standard 440 cycles, and kept the action as low as possible. This tended to make the guitar very buzzy and muddy in sound, but it also made it extremely easy to play, and when capoed, which he often did, it played like butter. It required an incredible instrument to sound good when set up that way, which was one of the reasons I chided Arcángel. I considered it guitar abuse.)
I left the shop and came back later that evening, and guess who was there in avid conversation with Arcángel? Arcángel introduced me, but Montoya immediately recognized me since we had met several times less than two months before. In the course of the conversation Montoya asked me, “So when are you leaving with José on his next tour?” “I’m not,” I said. “I heard he hired another guitarist.” Montoya frowned. “Who’s that?” he asked. I told him the name. He looked puzzled. Then I explained that it was that guy from San Antonio with the hot pink ruffled shirts. Montoya positively exploded. “Impossible! Impossible! You’re a much better guitarist! [Montoya was, at least, always gracious.] And he’s an incredible boor! So boorish! So boorish!” (“¡Que pesado! ¡Que pesado!”) “He assaults me every time I’m in San Antonio! José’s crazy!” and so on and on. After Carlos left I started laughing hysterically as Arcángel looked on with increasing perplexity. “What’s so funny?” he asked. “That guy that Montoya was ranting about as so terrible?” I asked rhetorically. “Y?” asked Arcángel. “He plays just like Montoya!”
We had a good laugh. Then I provoked him again about making such an incredible guitar for Montoya. “Big deal, who cares?” was more or less his response. Two nights later I retuned to the shop and Arcángel was in an unusually foul mood. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “You know who was just here?” I looked appropriately inquisitive. “¡Tío Pollas!* And do you know what he wanted? He wanted me to lower the action SOME MORE! I make him una guitarra de puta madre and he wants me to LOWER THE ACTION SOME MORE!” Whereupon it is my turn to laugh. “So you don’t give a ****, eh?”
¡Ba’! ¡Ba’!
Muy buenas
Tío Pedo
*Roughly, “Mr. Dickhead.” There’s a progression in Spanish with appellations. Prodigies start out as “niños”, then the “niño” is eventually dropped, then they become “tíos.” Thus: “Niño Sabicas” to just “Sabicas” to “Tío Sabas”. A “tío” isn’t just someone of “certain years” but must also be something of a character. “¡Que tío!” is a common exclamation for a “real character.” But Carlos Montoya was never, to my knowledge, ever a “Niño”. He just went directly to “Tío” – “Tío Pollas.”
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REPORT THIS POST AS INAPPROPRIATE |
Date Dec. 19 2003 1:05:44
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Paul Bruhns
Posts: 77
Joined: Jul. 14 2003
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Patrick)
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Pedoviejo:
You have a knack, you!
I really enjoy reading what you have to say. So, is that true? Did they really replace you after that tour in '73? I mean, you said that, but I got the impression you were just pulling Carlos' chain.
By the way, I have played an Archangel Fernandez Negra. I have never since played a guitar that comes close to it. The guitar was built in 1978 and is rarely played. It belongs to my teacher (Paco de Malaga) Francisco Escalante who owns a guitar shop here in D.C. I ask him every now and again, what would you take for that guitar, and he just looks at me and says "nothing, it will never be for sale" I could not describe this guitar and do it justice; I simply don't know enough to even praise it properly! There are some instruments that some people do not deserve to own, which is all I can say about that guitar.
Regards,
Paul
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REPORT THIS POST AS INAPPROPRIATE |
Date Dec. 19 2003 2:06:34
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Pedoviejo
Posts: 59
Joined: Dec. 12 2003
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Paul Bruhns)
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Hey Paul -
I've always said that flamenco and its aficionados is a very, very small world. Ask Paco if he remembers teaching a 15 year old kid back in 1965, the one whose mother would drive him up to Paco's apartment in San Francisco. Back when Paco de Malaga and Ana Martinez were working at the Casa Madrid on Broadway, with Cruz Luna. He was that kid's first flamenco guitar teacher. He and Ana moved to Los Angeles after only a few months lessons, and I don't think Paco knew that his student actually went pro for some years.
I know of a few other guitars too. There's another Arcangel negra here in town, one of the very first ones made. But Gino D'Auri bought the new-in-its-case Marcelo Barbero blanca, one of the last two made by Barbero which had to be finished by Arcangel. That guitar's sister - the very last Barbero made, brand spanking new in its case - is not for sale. I never dared ask to see it, much less play it.
Then the folks know about Mariano Cordoba's almost mint 1924 Santos Hernandez. The one he bought from Paco Juanas, who still regrets it to this day, and the one he'll die with since it was made the year Mariano was born. And on the classical side, here in New Orleans, of all places, there's Elias Barrero's Torres in its original "coffin" case. The one with the notarized statement from Tarrega's widow attesting that that guitar was one of "Paco's" favorite Torres. Isn't guitar lore wonderful? Better than fish stories, although, like the fish, they always "get away." Or, rather, are right there but just out of reach. Positively quest-like.
I'd love to talk to Paco de Malaga again someday. It's been awhile.
I wasn't pulling Carlos' chain: The tour was for real, and so was the intent to hire Mr. Pink Shirt. The tour, however, fell through, so by events it never happened. That was when the days of the "big tour" were finally petering out.
Thanks for the info about Paco.
Recuerdos
Pedoviejo
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REPORT THIS POST AS INAPPROPRIATE |
Date Dec. 19 2003 2:33:03
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Miguel de Maria
Posts: 3532
Joined: Oct. 20 2003
From: Phoenix, AZ
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Pedoviejo)
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Pedo,
great, great post man. I really enjoyed it. I played with Miguel Rodriguez in a rumba group (can you imagine that) a few years ago. I've never met anyone who can play guitar like him. He's a master. But he plays a bit light, doesn't seem to really get into the whole "feeling" or "jonde" thing, although he plays very tastefully. Now that I've practiced a lot, I think I might go and see if he'll give me some lessons. He's always told me, "When I was 12, I was learning flamenco from Sabicas records, that's what you need to do, too." When I told him I was taking lessons from a local flamenco player, he told me that was a great idea if I wanted to waste some money. For the record, Miguel loves Sabicas above all and claims Paco has a horrible tone. When I told him how I loved the aggressive power of Paco's playing, he told me it was unneccessary to play that way.
I think this Pollo guy is "El Pollo de California," a blonde guy from LA. When I was in Sevilla this summer, I read an interview of him. No one I talked to knew who he was, though. Supposedly he was given the name because at one time he only knew how to sing the Antonio Mairena letra about a pollo.
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REPORT THIS POST AS INAPPROPRIATE |
Date Dec. 19 2003 3:29:32
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Pedoviejo
Posts: 59
Joined: Dec. 12 2003
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Miguel de Maria)
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Miguel mihijo – may I call you that? It’s said in a very nice way.
Let me come at some of what you said at a tangent. I saw this wonderful program about Pavarotti. He was pontificating about singing, learning to sing. His main point was that he related the REAL technique of singing to taking a crap. He apologized. But that was the only way to describe the manner in which you learned to control your diaphragm. Of course, he said much more about singing.
I relayed this to my father in law and asked his opinion. His opinion carries weight because, amongst other things, my father in law was a world class lyric baritone, favorite student of Norman Traigle, etc. His response: “****.” Why? Long story short, every singer you speak to had the one and only “secret method” for REALLY learning how to sing. And they’re all full of you-know-what and they’re all correct. Go figure.
You were only reiterating what I said about Miguel. He has his way of seeing things, of playing things. So did the early converts to Islam. So did the Crusaders. And these arch-enemies tell you, YOU MUST CHOOSE SIDES. To which I say, following my father-in-law: ****! Remember our discussion about “who is the world’s best” this or that? Above a certain level, it’s a matter of taste and moment. Strongly felt and held opinions do not upset me. They’re part and parcel of the human condition. But when someone says “This is the only way, and anyone who says anything different is full of ****” – well, that’s what Osama ibn Laden and John Ashcroft say. And I don’t say that to be “current.” It’s what Ibn Tumart and Ibn Tash’fin said, the founders of the Almorvids and Almohads said, the folks that were to do battle in Spain for over 200 years between the 11th and 13th centuries. There’s something inherently wrong in your position when you can only prevail by humiliating and denigrating your opponents. That conduct says that you do not have the strength of your convictions, that you need acquiescence and agreement and suppression of factual evidence to survive.
In my schemata of “modern” flamenco guitar, there are a few “schools” that emerge regardless of whether their members know each other. The “refined” school –begrudgingly praised by Segovia (see the back of Serranito’s “Virtusísmo Flamenco” album from 1971) – the Manuel Cano – Serranito - Rafael Riqueni line. “Refined,” filtered, studied, “cleaned”.
On the opposite side there’s Niño Ricardo, Melchor de Marchena, Juan Maya, Pepe y Juan Carmona “Habichuela”, Moraito, etc., a “school” which is raunchy, earthy, direct, dirty. Muy flamenco, stuff to which you shout “Olé” in spite of yourself.
Then there’s the “in between.” The Paco de Lucía, Manolo Sanlucar, Tomatito, Vicente Amigo, and everyone else “school”. It holds the “whatever works”, the “whatever inspires” is worthy of study. How they sound depends on the party and the party’s participants. Tío Sabas was like that: Much of the time he sounded like part of the Serranito school. But when Carmen Amaya was belting it out, Sabas couldn’t help himself. All the better for us. Context, context, context.
It is a strange thing, this “only my way of viewing things has any value” stance. It often covers up a severe inferiority complex. “I have the very best technique, the most studied knowledge, the greatest range of experience, so therefore if ‘das volk’ can’t say ‘Olé’, it’s their lack of knowledge and sophistication.” That’s a nice, very shut-out-all-opposition viewpoint. But I still adhere to what El Marote told me once, something which has, for me, great “resonance” with this talk about Ian Davies, the Serranoista, being a great friend of Marote at the end of his life: At a bar in Campamento, in a plaza down from his piso, I asked him about Serranito, whom a bunch of people were then talking about because of the acoustic friction between him and Paco. His exact words were: “Es un gran guitarrista. Pero no puedo decir ‘Olé.’” Translated: “He is a great guitarist. But I can’t say ‘Olé.’” To me, that says it all.
If Miguel is, indeed, saying that “tone” is everything and that Paco doesn’t do it right – well, I can only say, in the most demure way, that Miguel still has no earthly idea of what he’s talking about. If you want tone, Miguel, please, by all means, play classical guitar. That’s what it’s there for. But if you want to play Flamenco, then please, by all means, shut up and play flamenco. And if you can’t, please, go somewhere else and leave the rest of us alone. We don’t need to be “cleaned.” In fact, most of us are from a world that has been “cleaned” to the point of ridiculousness, of inhumanity, and we’re attracted to flamenco because it refuses to be “cleansed” in that way.
Ah, Miguelito, what a can of worms you opened. Now you can’t close it again, like Pandora’s box. But maybe we just might like Pandora’s box to be open….
Saludos
Pedoviejo
P.S. Miguel – please pay attention to gender. “Pollo” (masculine) is “chichen.” “Polla” (feminine) is – well, you get the idea. What a difference gender in words can make.
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REPORT THIS POST AS INAPPROPRIATE |
Date Dec. 19 2003 5:15:25
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Paul Bruhns
Posts: 77
Joined: Jul. 14 2003
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RE: I’ve had an epiphany, and it r... (in reply to Paul Bruhns)
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Pedoviejo:
try this link:
http://www.guitar-gallery.com
This is Paco de Malaga's web site, complete with address and telephone number. Paco is usually in the store weekdays from about 2:30 - 6:30 PM Eastern time. However, he and Ana are in Malaga for the holidays.
I also posted (in the audio uploads section of this forum) a sample recording that Paco did back in the 1960s...this might bring back memories for you. I think the title is "old time playing". My favorite styles are Diego del Gastor and Manuel Molina (Parilla de Jerez) because I love accompanyment of the cante.
By the way, over lunch in a local El Salvadorian restaurant last winter, Paco told me a great story about a Barbero he happened upon here in D.C. when he first opened shop. I'll have to get his permission to publish it before I can post it here because, well, a few illegal things took place along the way... and somehow Paco got Richard Brune involved. Anyway the whole thing is a lesson in Investing... you know, the same kind of thing you see on all those get rich quick infomercials?
And finally, I would bet that if you took lessons from Paco, regardless of when and where, he will remember you. He tells me stories of San Fransisco.. he says that's where he really learned to speak English... I think he had an uncle in San Fransisco, and that is what really made him want to go there to begin with. Anyway, Paco and Ana are still in very good health (he quit smoking when he lived in SF) and occassionally perform here in the area. Ana is in her late 60s as well, and her foot work is still considered the best, by those in the younger generation here who say... "If she stayed in Spain, she would have been a star" But, today, she's the little lovable nazi flamenco baile teacher who does not tolerate improvization! I'm laughing to myself now.
Anyway, you said it... a small world.
Regards,
Paul
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REPORT THIS POST AS INAPPROPRIATE |
Date Dec. 19 2003 12:57:51
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Miguel de Maria
Posts: 3532
Joined: Oct. 20 2003
From: Phoenix, AZ
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The Pandora's Box (in reply to Paul Bruhns)
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Pedo,
you can call me mijo if I can call you tio!
I might say that, there is an Apollonian vs. Dionysian thing going on here. On the one hand, the Serranito, the other the Moraito. One cares for purity of tone, technical excellence, the other cares for oles and losing oneself in the music and the orange juice at the bar in the morning. Or is this unrealistic? Are people both ways? Miguel stopped learnin flamenco in the 80's. Then do you know Pedro Cortes? I met him a few weeks ago, he went on tour with Miguel. Said that he was great, but that he lost interest in what was happening with flamenco, so his playing is quite dated. Pedro Cortes plays very modern! I learned about 8 falsetas from him, and he uses lots of rock chords and whole tone scales and stuff like that! His hand position hardly changes from arpeggios and picado and he mixes them together freely. Miguel told me he doesn't like to play flamenco any more, because he's tired of strumming. He just wants to play guitar now.
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REPORT THIS POST AS INAPPROPRIATE |
Date Dec. 19 2003 15:39:37
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Pedoviejo
Posts: 59
Joined: Dec. 12 2003
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RE: The Pandora's Box (in reply to Miguel de Maria)
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That about sums it up, mijo. Miquel loves neat, clean, solo flamenco guitar. I gravitated to Juan Maya because he was an incredible accompanist.
You're at a party, and there's two other guitarists and three dancers, all ready to do their thing. Do you (a) sit with the guitarists in a corner and swap falsetas, ignoring the dancers because the other guitarists have some really neat stuff or (b) play for the dancers and encourage the other guitarsts to join in or take turns, then maybe trade a few falsetas here and there when eveyrone's taking a break? Next time you have an opportunity to party with a bunch of aficionados, watch what the other folks do. You'll spot who's into what.
For me, great flamenco is like great love making: Lots of anticipation and desire, a lot of exploration with equal parts of caring, a touch of mild violence - and the greatest pleasure derived from the giving of it. It's never a solo act.
Never met Pedro Cortes, although heard he's pretty good.
Saludos
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Date Dec. 20 2003 0:18:33
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