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Escribano -> Review of Tomatito in London (Oct. 8 2003 21:12:30)
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This is what I am sending Estela and if she gets here first she can always copy and paste. I have never done this before so please be gentle. I am sure Estela will edit appropriately.
Published version is here http://www.deflamenco.com/actuaciones/tomatitoahall/indexi.jsp
Tomatito at the Royal Albert Hall, London.
October 6th 2003
Billed as something like "everything Tomatito touches turns to flamenco", I was looking forward to seeing him in the flesh. As a recent convert to the art and a novice guitarist, I was hoping to pick up something from the "king of the gypsies". Anything really, maybe even some of that clichéd duende? With Alegria in support, we appeared to be in for a mix of traditional and contemporary styles.
The Albert Hall is vast; they host tennis tournaments in there. As we find our seats, an usher mutters "quiet tonight". I hoped not.
But he was right; the hall is half-full, or even less. Probably thousands of people in there but looking more like dandruff in an old velvet hatbox. Everything is black or dark red, save for a green and white electric exit sign, competing for attention to my right. This doesn’t auger well.
The stage set is austere, in fact there isn't one, just the ubiquitous flamenco chairs, arranged in a shallow curve. Do they take them on tour with them, what kind of flight cases? There are a few mikes, fold-back monitors and what looks like a mattress in the corner. Four spots shine from behind the stage… more red. I'm cold and so is my guest. I wasn't sure what to expect as I had only seen flamenco in small, intimate venues before. Something about Tomatito's reputation caused me to expect a more showy set. I thought in passing, "where's the drum kit, and 4 by 12 speaker cabinets?".
Alegria shuffled on looking somewhat intimidated by the whole thing, and took a long time to warm up. The audience was sprinkled with Spaniards and their British friends. As they tuned up, a friend calls out ""Viva Jeré!" from over in the stalls, raising a nod of recognition from a guitarist. Others follow with "Viva Jeré" and "Viva Algeciras!". The audience were expectant as the group kick-off a short and rather sombre set of sigurillas, soleá por bulerias and soleá, closing with a bulerias; by which time they are only just getting into the groove.
I was impressed by the difference between the guitar style for accompanying dance and the solo style that Tomatito is known for; much more rasgueado work, very little arpeggio or picado. To keep the compas for the dancers. That’s it’s job, the guitar comes in third after singers and dancers in flamenco puro, which may come as a disappointment to aspiring tomatoes.
Alegria comprises two guitars, a male and female dancer and an extraneous Indian section of violin and tabla (bongos). They looked a little incongruous on their mattress and I am not convinced it worked that well, though it did lend an Eastern aire.
I cannot really comment on the standard of dancing, but it was especially intense during the Seguirallas. Cohen tells a story well with her arms and exaggerated moves to the heavens, angry with God perhaps. She stomps on something as if insect were crawling across the stage, beating her breast. I wonder if that was her man? The male dancer (Arroquero) impressed my guest, who doesn’t like flamenco but was beginning to enjoy this first live performance. She comments that it is just not right in this environment but would care to see more, but in it’s natural surroundings. I was already gasping for a beer and a smoke, so I agreed.
The Bulerias is the usual, lively affair; the palmista dragged up to do a little dance. I adore the swivelling hips as she walks away, looking disdainfully at you over her shoulder; it’s so impertinent.
After the interval - a drink and a cigar - it’s time for Tomatito. To my surprise, the stage is much the same, spots changing to an even colder blue. More monitors indicate more instruments but that’s about it. No flash, no colour; as gloomy as the evening outside.
Tomatito confidently enters from stage left, followed by his group, including the singer La Potatito, whose face I know well from Carlos Saura’s seminal movie, “Flamenco”.
They bow deeply to a thunderous reception and cries of “papa!” behind me but the crowd quickly settles into rapt attention.
I couldn’t really see what make of guitar he was using; the eternal quest of the flamenco guitarist. All I can say is that it appeared to be blanca (cypress back and sides), which would indicate a bright sound with a shorter, sustain for accompanying singing.
He takes his time tuning up, or rather retuning completely, though to what I cannot tell. The group have left the stage for this intro. In his white shirt, trademark long hair, and with cejilla in the first position he starts to play.
Now, I am no expert and have a hard time distinguishing between a lot of palos, but I he doesn’t start with the taranta, as in the programme; he swaps the running order for an alegrias.
I am relieved to see him hit a bum note and miss a barre as he warms up, his left finger up and down the fret board in huge leaps. Interesting to see what appears to be a barre across only five strings, probably leaving the bass string to rest the thumb. Though he only appears to do this for the alegrias.
He pulls an astonishing tremolo, microseconds before a crashing rasgueado, leaving me shaking my head in admiration. I like the hammer on/ pull off (ligado) with his index finger a fret above the cejilla.
It’s a solid warm up and the audience get the idea. After a most beautiful taranta, the man to my right says to his wife “I rather like this chap”. The group comes back to set up cajón, fretless bass and violin. Tomatito takes an age to retune his guitar again, as he does for nearly every piece but he is using all sorts of tunings and he gets it perfect in the end. I’m not partial to the violin in flamenco but I reserve judgement. Sadly it doesn’t pay off as the horsehair flies and the tuning goes back to the dressing room.
They play a stomping bulerias and I found myself spontaneously applauding a staccato flourish of rasgueados. The strings inside the cajón are clearly audible in the mix. Like a snare drum, it beats the heart of flamenco.
The bass is played with a plectrum maybe that’s easier than with the fingers but somehow I doubt it. Amador “Churri” plays it sympathetically with great skill.
Tomatito doesn’t look at his hands, not once. He cocks his head slightly, half closes his eyes and squints into another world. It is clear he is at the centre, driving the group - the compas. He can’t help but make music. If he dropped his guitar onto the stage it would sound fantastic.
It gets into that space in your head that triggers a smile and you want to dance or trip to the bar. The crowd take to this one and roar their approval.
Tangos are up next, Tomatito gets it all rolling, strumming on dampened strings. It’s a more popular beat for the Northern European audience; they start to tap their feet and nod their heads - 4/4 right?. Tomatito knows exactly, and I mean exactly, what he is doing. His arpeggios with golpe are so terse. Launched like missiles, one would not be blamed for ducking.
La Potatito has the most agreeable face and when he sings, he kind of smiles like a wedge of Dutch cheese. He sits quite still, knees apart, softly clapping the compas, sliding one hand out of the other, watching the guitar - sometimes, he calls (the jaleos), sounds like “to you” and “let’s go”. His voice is not soft but doesn’t jar, not sweet but not harsh. It just fits, lifting the piece to its rightful place.
A guy behind me does a kind of syncopated palmas, which is all wrong but sounds right. We want to party but sit on the hard chairs like school children. This venue really is a nonsense for flamenco. Like a ex-Communist party hotel in Moscow I once stayed in. Grumpy waitresses serving green eggs and old ham.
Let’s skip over the tango Argentino, suffice to say the violin and guitar played a flashy descending bowing/picado run to end it and I was glad to see it go, much too café.
The soleá stands out as sublime – sad and lonely amongst all the bustle. Tomatito concentrates intently on the song, for once he is not the boss . The song takes over and we get a glimpse of the cante jondo.
They slip effortlessly into a soleá por bulerias. Great chords, fantastic chords that lesser guitarists would gladly do time for. There is so much music from so few. Where are the rest of them then, in my head?
Tomatito introduces us to his colleagues and El Potito receives a huge ovation,. It is good to see him recognised, he appears taken aback - his lips read "pero si no he cantao", something like "but I didn’t sing much".
The set ends with a Rumba so now we are all the way to South America and back. A re-entrant to the flamenco repertoire, this is a British favourite after so many holidays in the company of the Gypsy Kings. It is not for the purist and it drags on into a jam session, the violin becoming quite annoying.
After an encore of the same, the show ends. Tomatito, El Potito and Alegria tried to bring a little sun into South Kensington on a grey, English autumn evening. They were up against a Victorian edifice to the classical arts with the doors left open. To a degree they succeeded. Tomatito was surprisingly more flamenco than jazzy – an epithet only hinted at by his habit of bending the string rather than sliding up a fret or two like PDL. The man is a powerhouse of rhythmic technique.
Should you leave your snug home for this show? On balance, flamenco performances at this level are rare - you should not be disappointed.
Simon Shearston
with thanks to Melchor of Jerez
Copyright © 2003 http://www.foroflamenco.com
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