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Pedoviejo -> RE: Question for Grisha (May 5 2005 0:51:23)
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No, no disrespect taken. Maestro Machado was a dear friend and mentor, but like I said, he could be quite anal retentive. He sat with the same quiet dignity and respect whether listening to a piece by de Falla or watching a porn flick. Art was, well.... as good as sex and vice versa. (Or was sex to be done with the same precision? I’ve forgotten. But there are two things standard metronomes are no good for, flamenco being the other.)
Yepes was of a similar mold, except the ebony baton was shoved a few more centimeters up his rectum. (Like stiff upper lip, except just a little stiffer.) His harsh criticism of Paco's rendition was born of a snobbish, look-down-your-nose attitude about flamenco which many Spaniards of his day and generation nurtured. Like Segovia, if he was to like it at all flamenco had to be scrubbed, polished, properly attired, and respectful of its "betters", and if it had to belch it must excuse itself from polite company, find an empty wash room, close and lock the door, and turn on both taps to full bore before blasting away. (Did I remember to say that he was a bit anal retentive?) Don’t forget, however, whatever your opinion of his rendition of Aranjuez, that Yepes recorded with Deutsche Grammophon, the most prestigious recording company label for classical music and certainly the finest in the days of vinyl. The Germans were probably per capita the most knowledgeable audience in the world when it came to classical music – very demanding, and demanding of precision.
It was, however, most amusing to see that other despiser of un-sanitized, in the buff flamenco, Segovia, take pot shots at Yepes, as well as that “Inglès,” Julian Bream, sniffing that “one cannot serve two masters” – a reference, if I remember correctly, to Yepes playing that umpteen-string, special made Ramirez and Bream playing both lute and guitar. If I also remember correctly, Segovia didn’t have anything nice to say about any other classical guitarist who hadn’t studied with him, except for those of the previous generation who were already safely dead.
In any event, Maestro Machado’s sense of rhythm was flawless – which was why he was the favored piano accompanist, in direct succession, for La Argentinita, Pilar Lopez and finally José Greco. I remember one rehearsal where José – politely – suggested that Maestro had not hit the beat properly (because Josè had missed that beat a few times). Maestro merely folded his arms and slowly shook his head with chin slightly raised. Argument over. And no guitarist who worked with him ever questioned either his authority or his compás, and that succession went from Carlos Montoya (yes, he actually played in compás in the old days) to Paco de Lucía and Ramón de Algeciras (early 60’s when Paco was 15) and even yours truly (in Maestro’s twilight days – better than not at all), with numerous guitarists in between.
And nothing to do with this discussion, but thinking of the above and the Concierto de Aranjuez made me remember a meal one evening while on the road with José, Nana Lorca (his leading lady and wife at the time) and Maestro. At some point in the conversation José was trying to remember a composer, and he turned to Nana: “Nana, what is that blind composer’s name? The one we had dinner with upstairs at Casa Botín that evening?” She reminded him. “Rodrigo! Yes, Rodrigo!” I asked myself if I would ever get to the place that someone of the status of Joaquin Rodrigo would just be “that blind composer” who I once had that nice dinner with at that famous restaurant. (José was perturbed at me because a year before – without any job offer or other assistance – he had told me to get the music to the Concierto de Aranjuez, and the Concierto para un Gentil Hombre, and learn them. Just in case he hired me again because he liked that to be in the repertoire, reduced to guitar and piano. And of course I hadn’t.)
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