A Doctoral Hiatus

One of the more frequent comments I get from people who write to me here at Ravenna Flamenco goes along the lines of, "Oh, how I wish I had more time to play guitar." Believe me--this is one lament I couldn't empathize with more.

Granted, for most of us, finding "practice time" comes down to a question of priorities. How much time do we spend watching TV? (a worthless pursuit--we all know it)--or sleeping? (c'mon, people--that's what espresso is for!).

I don't mean to suggest that eking and extra hour or two out of the day to play guitar is easy. But it is often possible. Sometimes, however, the "priorities" question can be sticky. This is the situation in which I find myself now.

As some of you know, in addition to playing guitar, I'm also a PhD student in English Language and Literature. On the surface, I know this sounds like all fun and games (humor me here), but amidst all the hang gliding and hot-tub parties there is a point where pen must hit paper in a serious way: this is called the doctoral dissertation . . . and at present I'm right smack in the middle of it.

And what does one do in such a position, when the number of hours that need to be spent writing exceed the number of hours available in the day? Enter prioritization. Now I know what you're probably thinking: "So you're saying you're going to stop playing guitar while you write your dissertation?" Well hold on--this would make me a crazy person, no? Of the many things I am, "crazy" is not one (at least I don't think so . . . ).

Since, however, I'm already exceeding the recommended daily dosage of caffeine for humans (by a factor of roughly twelve), I must identify some other place to free up time. As I did for my PhD qualifying exams (in Oct. 08), one source of freeing up practice time will come in the form of taking a hiatus from actively adding to Ravenna Flamenco for a while. As you may have noticed (and as was the case just before that earlier leave of absence), there's been a flurry of activity around here the last month or two: new articles, new video posts, a new metronome website, new blog entries. (Think of this as an appeasement to you all in advance for my pending scarcity.)

Of course, just scaling back my web-writing doesn't yield quite the diss writing time I need. And here's where the priorities really get prickly: I've also decided to temporarily withdraw from playing for flamenco dance classes and for La Peña Flamenca de Seattle. This last withdrawal was probably the most difficult to make, but it ultimately came down to this question: do I want continue playing for a group and just "get by," or is it better to spend my limited time honing my skills at my own pace, and then move back into wider pursuits when it better suits my art?

Put like this, the decision got a lot easier: after all, I got into flamenco to begin with for my own personal fulfillment. Playing for others (or for money) has been a bonus, but that has never changed my original motivation. I am, of course, all in favor of being a "working artist," but--for me at least--that has to happen on my own terms (after all, if it doesn't, then I'm just "working," no?).

Which isn't to say that I won't continue to "work" when it suits me over the summer. I may play the odd wedding. There's also been talk of--if the writing proceeds apace--coming back for part of the Peña show in June. The most important thing for me, however, is that even with this unholy amount of writing yet to do, I'm still building time into my days to play guitar in the way that best suits me as a musician.

This said, I know from my last hiatus that you likely still have a couple of questions:

1. "Will you actually come back to Ravenna Flamenco, or is this a sneaky way of throwing in the website towel?"
   
   Well, my crystal ball is in the shop at the moment, but I don't mind pointing out that I've taken just such a break before and got right back at it when my latest hurdle to über nerd-dom had been cleared.
   
   
2. "What sort of stuff are you planning on doing with Ravenna Flamenco when you get back?"
   
   Good question! Some of this will have to do with you all. Over the last month or two I've been focusing mostly on making the metronomes more accessible. When I get back I would like to spend more time developing guitar tabs. I'm also thinking about putting up a discussion forum, or maybe hosting a public Ravenna Flamenco "Wave." And there are of course a couple dozen article ideas kicking around in my head. But this is where you all come in: What do you want to see more of on Ravenna Flamenco? Let me know--either in a comment on the site, or in response to this blog post (which would conveniently keep the suggestions all in one place).
   
   
3. "So," you ask, in an offhand sort of way, "what's your dissertation about, anyway?"
   
   Here I must demur. You really don't want to know. It's nerdy. If you must press, look at my University of Washington website--but don't come complaining back to me saying that you weren't properly warned!

And there you have it. I shall write to you all again sometime next fall (whereupon, if you wish, you can call me "Doctor Andy"--though keep in mind that no amount of kind words will get you complimentary prescriptions for anything fun from me--alas, I'm not going to be that kind of doctor).

And now: You! Go play!

I'm going to go write . . . then play . . . and then write some more . . . .

~A

Kristos Round IV: A Preshow Beverages Update

That's right, the Zamani Flamenco autumnal hiatus has officially come to a close: this last weekend found us back at our regular performance spot--Kristos Eastlake in Seattle.

Though the venue was familiar to us, night was new: instead of Sunday evening as we had been doing, the show this time around was on a Saturday. This had a couple of implications for us: first is that most people didn't have to be up early (and sober) for "the man" the following day--which meant that we could start (and go) a bit later. The second implication is that whereas on Sundays most of the folks at the show have been people who had come explicitly to see us, for the Saturday show there was also a healthy mix of Kristos regulars and random weekend revelers. Which meant that we got to reach out to (and see the reactions of) folks who had no idea what they were in for.

All of which, finally, turned out to be full of pleasant surprises. An example: Kristos has a loft dining area that looks out over the main restaurant (and our performance space) below. A group of about twenty had reserved this space for their own event, not connected to our show. It didn't look to me like they were there to practice transcendental meditation or anything, so even if they weren't interested in what was going on below, I didn't imagine they would be at all bothered. This was my line of thinking. It was quite a nice surprise, then, to look up toward the loft during the second or third song of the set and see them all lined up along the railing looking on and then cheering when we were done. New flamenco converts? Well, that I don't know--but I am pretty sure they were pleasantly surprised and enjoying the show.

But wait, you ask--what about the "beverages" mention in the title . . . and what on earth is that monstrosity pictured above? I'll answer the second question first: that is a picture of what is easily the most brilliant espresso machine design to date: the Saeco Etienne Luis. I hear it makes mediocre espresso and that you could probably by an Archdukeship in Latvia for what it costs, but still . . . just look at it!

Okay, great, you say, but what does this have to do with flamenco? Which brings us back to the first question: beverages. As some of you (i.e. those of you who read this blog semi-regularly) know, I've been experimenting with the calming/debilitating effects of various beverages before a performance: The whiskey flask, in general, lives in my guitar case. I've also tried the odd glass of wine or a pint of dark liquid goodness before a show. There seems to be strong anecdotal evidence here (real or imagined) for some mild calming effect. If nothing else, these things provide a tasty and welcome diversion.

I have noticed, however, that when I practice at home in the morning over coffee my dexterity, attack, and speed tend to hit a peak right around my third cup. So what about coffee? (Hence the glorious spiky espresso sphere above, natch.) The risk of this, of course, is widespread caffeine-fueled peripheral nervous system revolt--which on some levels might sound wildly imprudent. The final result on the night of the show? It was actually pretty mild: my fingers felt strong and coordinated, and, while perhaps a bit cold (which is pretty much always the case), they were definitely not "stupid."

As for definitive conclusions of this scientifically rigorous inquiry into the influence of pre-show adult beverages? Honestly (as a scientist), I've got to say that the decrease in nervous system rebellion is probably more attributable to the cumulative experience of performing than it is to my consumption habits. I'm sure there are things that can mess one up before a show (i.e. 5 minutes to curtain is probably not a good time to experiment with Spicy Chicken Vindaloo), but as for sure-fire calmers? Though I can't help but be tempted by the possibilities of an "Irish-Coffee-Car-Bomb," for the moment a skeptic I remain.

Now you, good scientist: go play!

~A

On Time & Timing (or, "Wait--What Month Is This?")

Oh my. Has it really been over a month since my last blog post? Do I still have any actual readers out there? (You kind, tolerant, understanding souls, you?)

As we all know, I get these terrible pangs of guilt when I ignore a writing project (at least one I haven't deliberately decided to murder). It's like locking a puppy in the car in the mall parking lot on a hot day and then lingering at the Häagen-Dazs stand, or "accidentally" losing young relatives in the inescapable bookshelves limbo at Ikea. But never fear! I'm here to make amends--or at least excuses!

And there will be a point to all this--I promise! But first, the up-and-comings: As you've no doubt surmised, I've been laying low performance-wise for the last month or two (doctoral dissertations have this way of wreaking havoc on one's practice/performance schedule). But all this low-lying business changes in the weeks to come. My cuadro Zamani Flamenco will be back at its regular spot, Kristos Eastlake, on the 14th of November, and I'll be playing Winterfest at the Seattle Center with La Peña on the 29th. Then on the 12th of December is the big semi-annual Peña show at the Ethic Cultural Theater in Seattle.

Hooray for getting out of the office!!

But wait, you say, wasn't there some question of time (as in not having it for practice)? Indeed there was--and still is, in fact. And the upshot is this: if I'm going to have time to teach literature to college undergrads (or at least keep them from chewing the covers off their books) and otherwise get some writing done, I've decided that I have to find another approach to practice.

The new approach boils down, essentially, to the fact that instead of playing as much as I feel like I need to in a day (usually several hours), I can generally only get an hour in. Which means that I have to prioritize. Do I work on repertoire? Drills? Do I nuance pieces I know, or grind through the really challenging stuff?

What I decided--and it seems to be going well so far--is to concentrate on some essential drills (rasgueado, arpeggios, picado) and then hit the hard stuff (Paco, Vicente Amigo, Tomatito). I've found that my other (i.e. easier) repertoire material is still where I need it (as long as I hit it once a week or so) and that the technical challenge of the hard stuff (and the repetition of the drills) keeps my dexterity and strength up. And, perhaps as important as all else, working on challenging music gets me looking forward to practicing so that when I sit down to play I'm generally focused and task-oriented.

The other thing that having to pare down my practicing has done is make me focus on the quality of how I spend my time. This is where "timing" comes in--and it comes in more and more these days with a metronome (cf. penguin above). Example: I've been working on Vicente Amigo's solea Tio Arango for a month or two. He plays it fairly libre, with lots of push and pull in the tempo. What I discovered when I started playing it more frequently with a metronome is that I was actually rushing through the most challenging passages (and consequently mutilating them), but that when I slowed them down (to tempo, as it were), I could pull them off much cleaner.

This, I realize, in writing it, sounds painfully obvious. Of course it's easier to play hard stuff slower. My point is that before setting "the clock" to it and making myself play this otherwise libre piece in strict time, I didn't even realize I was rushing. For that matter, since there's so much syncopation in this piece (and because the tempo is slow), I've been using the "flamenco compás" metronome (right here at RF, BTW) almost exclusively as a study tool (i.e. versus mixing it up with other compás recordings). Tying this piece down to a rigid tempo makes it feel a bit "square," but it also makes it correct (as in, in compás). I will eventually untether myself from the metronome, but only once I'm sure I can do it in time. In the mean time, the clock keeps me from rushing (and consequently massacring) the passages that are still a bit squirrely.

Which makes for better, more precise, and more effective practice all crammed in to a paltry sixty minutes. (Which, I'm afraid, is going to be the case more often than not until I finish with all this dissertation tomfoolery!)

And now, alas, in keeping with this post's theme of temperance (despite its being fueled by Jameson's best), I'm actually not going to go play--but only because it's late and I'm still not entirely convinced that my wife is categorically opposed to spousicide if the conditions are right.

But you, on the other hand, should definitely go play!

~A

Seattle Flamenco (dot org!)

Soooo. As many of you know, I start to feel guilty when it's been a long time between blog posts. Like several weeks. Or almost a month. And I start to scramble around and come up with excuses as to why I would be so negligent. You've no doubt already noticed that I've clearly plunged into "excuse mode"--but what you might not yet know is that the excuse is a good one!

So what have I been doing, you ask? I've been website building! No, not another flamenco magazine (like Ravenna Flamenco) and not another site dedicated to my own pursuits of flamenco. Rather, this site is one dedicated to everyone that's involved in flamenco in my little geographical niche (and, for all practical purposes, available to anyone who wants to find more out about that niche). It's called SeattleFlamenco.org and it is exactly what it sounds like: an open format non-commercial (i.e. not-for-profit) site that represents (or at least aspires to represent) all of the flamenco in the Seattle area.

Why would I do such a thing? There are several reasons. The first is that many of my fellow flamencos (and myself) have, for some time, been in the habit of complaining that the flamenco "community" around here is a bit disjointed. (And I'm sure Seattle's not alone in this complaint!) I can't guarantee that this will fix that problem, but at least if it doesn't our fragmentation won't be for lack of trying.

Beyond just getting the flamencos on the same page, however, I also wanted us to have a central place where people outside of the various Seattle flamenco circles could look in and discover a bit about what's going on right under their noses (and hopefully come out to support it!). I mean, let's face it: individual groups (mine included) spend a lot of time getting people to their own shows, but not a lot telling people about all the other options out there. Truth be told, it's not directly in their interest to do so. But it's in everyone's interest to stir up excitement about the scene. That's what this site is after.

Finally, there's quite a bit of "because I can" involved in the creation of this site. Mind, I've never built anything like this before (we'll see soon enough if it stands up to the test of traffic!), but I'm (evidently) not the type to let obliviousness stop me. Good idea? Or not? Well, we'll find out.

This, of course, all begs the "how?" question--and, perhaps more importantly, the "and what the hell gives me the right?" question. Fortunately for all of us, these two are answered in the same way: I get around both of them (I hope--we'll see) by making the site user generated. Show and event postings, artist and instructor listings, they're all user modifiable. Which means that even though I'm the one that set the thing in motion, how it eventually takes shape is up to the community as a whole (or at least to whoever decides to participate).

And which also means that aside from making sure the databases don't fall apart, I only have as much say in how the content shapes up as everyone else. Of course, I also play interference for spammers, and potentially referee for disputes, but ultimately the idea is that since this is a community built project, some sort of reliable and communal account of the scene will emerge. We'll see!

I guess the final question is this: will people actually use the site? This is something else we'll have to see. So far, as of two days "post-site-launch," things are looking good: the site has almost three dozen "fans" on Facebook and twenty followers on its Twitter feed. This all equals free publicity, which strikes me as a pretty good reason for anyone to use a site. As I mention above, though, if folks let this one fall flat, the days are over that they can complain that no one ever tried to help!

And now, dear readers, I am going to go play.

I suggest you do the same!

~A

Kristos Round III: Two New Songs, a Full House, and a Broken Castanet

For those of you following along at home, just for the record: yes, this recent spate of shows is why other additions to Ravenna Flamenco have been slow lately. But fear not! I've got more in store in the article/tab/online tools department soon. (Okay, fine: after the Arts in Nature Festival show this Saturday, but soon all the same!)

In the mean time, how about a show rundown? Actually, I think the title and the pic pretty much sums things up. Kristos was all of about standing room only during our first set. It thinned out a bit through the second set, but my suspicion is this had more to do with the advancing hour on a Sunday night than with any artistic transgressions on our end. There's word that we may be remedying this day-of-the-week problem for the next show, by the way. I'll keep you posted.

How, you might be wondering, did this full-house-ness affect my infamous nervous system? (Toque devotees know this is a favorite topic/obsession of mine.) Mercifully, there wasn't an all out neural mutiny. In fact, thanks, I think, to just sitting down and chilling the hell out before going on (cf. the 7/15 post), I think I was calmer for this show than I have been in the past for shows with half as many people.

My hands were still cold (hence the Dickensian urchin gloves for the first four or five songs), but they weren't stupid. As they usually do, they warmed up quite nicely about half-way into the first set. This cold business is still obnoxious, but it's not nearly as obnoxious as a completely non-compliant extremity. I'm still experimenting with my zen/hippie pre-show ablutions, but so far so good.

I'm also starting to tune in to concentration issues. For the last week or so I've been meandering my way through a book called The Natural Classical Guitar by Lee Ryan. There's a lot of interesting stuff in here (a book review could soon follow); among other things, Ryan's gotten me to thinking about where my mind goes when I'm playing. On a certain level, this should be obvious: I should be thinking about the music (though in reality, of course, it doesn't always work that way). But even in "thinking about the music," whether I think ahead a few notes or revel in a passage that just came off well (or cringe at one that didn't), were my mind goes and how long it stays there matters.

Ryan's advice is to "play in the moment"--i.e. to think about the note you're playing now. It turns out this isn't always easy to maintain for long periods, but even staying aware of where your mind is going on a meta-level (nerd-speak warning!) means that when one's thoughts go awry (or away), one can more easily bring them back on track. The idea is that the more you consciously do this, the easier it gets.

I bring this up only because Kristos can be loud: it brings my attention to (and challenges) my concentration. In some ways, the constant din of restaurant noise can be a pain, but it also forces me to be selective in where I let my attention wander. My hope is that learning to tune out crowd noise and crashing dinnerware will also teach me to tune out (or more easily let go of) other aural irritants and concentrate on making good music.

This said, I feel I should point out that the audiences and staff at Kristos have all been great and have all been really supportive in helping us create successful shows. But it's still a busy restaurant and a lot of people out having a good time--and raucous or not, I wouldn't have it any other way. (And, to Kristos's credit, the broken martini glass during the alegría was in perfect compás.)

But wait! What about the title? This blog post has nothing to do with what I said I was going to talk about! An abuse of artistic license? I should say so. Well here be the details: the new songs were a new bulería and Dani's solo arrangement of Zorongo (both of which came off swimmingly); the full house bit we covered; and the broken castanet was all Zanbaka--and it was broken while playing (and yes, they were fiberglass castanets and no, they're not supposed to break--no mercy for props!).

Now go play!

~A

Of Calendars and Cocktails

So I was checking in on some friends' blogs recently . . . which reminded me that I've got a blog of my own that I've been neglecting miserably lately! Well, fear not, intrepid readers, there is news to be had from the Flamenco Northwest and have it you shall.

But first to bring you up to speed: as some of you know (and the rest of you are about to find out), the dancers that make up the other regular two-thirds of my little flamenco group are due back from Spain any week now--two weeks from now, actually.

And terribly excited we all are, of course, to see what new moves they bring back with them. Promising new repertoire or not, however, their absence is not enough to quell the call to perform--or, more specifically, it's not enough to quell the calls I get from folks asking for flamenco performances.

Okay, fine, truth be told: I'm not exactly seeking restraining orders on potential clients. But there have been a couple interesting dates that have crossed my inbox--one of them the day before Dani returns, the other one the day after Rachel gets back. So what's a guy to do? Well, I'm not sure what other guys might do, but I for one set promptly to rifling through my list of contacts with this thought: "Who can I coerce into to putting some shows together with me in the vagabonds' absence?"

Luckily for me, Rachel, Dani and I have been (and will continue to be) strong proponents of collaborating with other musicians and dancers, so a ready roster of potential partners in crime is easily at hand. Building a set from "scratch," however, has been a different process than working a dancer or a singer into an already existing set. And it's been a good learning experience. Rachel Sprague and Marta (said partners in above mentioned crimes) are both talented performers (again, luckily for me), but--of course--they think, dance, sing, and operate in general differently than R & D.

Which means that I've had to rethink my strategies in getting music, arrangements, and set lists together (which is to say, specifically, that bribery with Grape Nehis alone isn't doing the trick any more). Most of what has been challenging, actually, has been in learning to accommodate different styles of communication and in finding out where the sticking points are that keep us all from getting on the same page.

Ultimately, I suspect (I hope) that these kinds of experiences will make me more versatile and flexible as an accompanist. It's a bit frustrating to sit down with dancer "A" and struggle to get through an arrangement of a palo that you can do almost unconsciously with dancer "B." But how very cool would it be to be able to sit down with dancer "C" and be sensitive enough to read his or her cues well enough to move through an improvised arrangement on the fly?

I'm not quite there yet myself, but that kind of spontaneity is starting to take on a clearer shape and significance in my mind. Perhaps ultimately I'm starting to figure out that staying in the "comfort zone" of fixed arrangements and collaborators provides some security, but that artistically that security can also be a trap.

But then again, maybe that's just the Grape Nehi talking. In any case, it's about time for you to go play, no?

~A

Juerga!

I had always thought the Spanish word "juerga" translated more or less to "party" in English. This isn't strictly wrong . . . but, as with most things in flamenco, it's more complicated than that. The venerable D.E. Pohren defines "juerga" as "a flamenco jam session." Robin Totton says it's "a get-together of flamencos among themselves" ( . . . and "also may mean a lively party"--vindication is mine!).

This all jives pretty well with the general impression I've had. It may be from the interwebs, however, that we get the unvarnished truth: according to babylon.com, a juerga is a "binge, spree, period of excessive indulgence . . . A festive binge of drinking and merrymaking." Oh my!

Whatever the truth, I think all of these descriptions effectively sum up the all-night bout of flamenco-steeped mirthery that Savannah Fuentes hosted at her house last Saturday. I knew this night would at least be blog-worthy before I ever stepped foot inside the house: as I was looking for a place to park, I stumbled upon my friend Rachel Sprague--who happened to be standing in the middle of the street, holding her truck's side-view mirror in her hand. ("It just fell off!" claimed she.)

After assuring that Sprague had the situation under control (the mirror "fell off," evidently, while she was trying to park next to--or perhaps in--a rather large oak), I got myself situated and found Savannah's house. I'll spare you the mingling minutia; let it suffice to say that there was plenty of wine (it never did run out) and lots of open space for dancing.

And were there musicians! My god! I expected there to be a few guitar players, perhaps a cajon player or two, some singers. But then the violin player showed up (Sallah--who is awesome). And the oud player (Yousef--also awesome). And the cello player (again: awesome (I am wearing this word out, I know--but it's the only word that fits!)).

To be honest, I was totally intimidated. I remember thinking, holy crap, these guys are going to be awesome and I'm going to feel like a tool, fumbling at my poor guitar with ten thumbs or flippers or something. As it turns out, they were totally awesome (okay fine, I'll find another word)--but they were also all about collaborating. And I think that's finally what made the whole thing really take off: no one was trying to impress anyone, or put on a show; everyone was there just to make music, sing, and dance.

I know, this sounds obvious. Like, why else would a bunch of musicians get together? Unfortunately, musicians tend to be egotistical (I'm no exception) and they generally want to sound good. Which means they (I) don't like to take risks in public. Which means that trying out new musical ideas is generally strained at best.

But behind closed doors (and undoubtedly helped along with no trivial amount of wine), it's easier to set aside the musical inhibitions and try something new. When it's just me and a cellist, say, it can be hard to find a groove. Inspired collaboration can happen, but there would have to be some rare chemistry (and genius) to turn such an outing into an all night party. But when there are musicians and palmistas and dancers all into a tangos or buleria one gets carried on the current of it. The energy draws you in. (Hmmm--this is starting to sound like nudist colony propaganda--but that comes later . . . ). Anyway, enough with the chit-chat. How about some pictures? (Quick--before I use the "a-word" again!):

. . . And then the photographer left. But this was still only 2:00 or 3:00 (I think I finally staggered home around 5:00--and I was not the last to leave). I can definitely see why the word "binge" would come into play here--not only for the "excess," but also for the sheer "carried-awayness" of it.

Lucky for me, the hangover was limited to a little bit of cotton-mouth and a slight ringing in the ears--neither of which kept me from a healthy (if sleepy) dose of playing the next day.

And speaking of playing, isn't that what you should be doing right now?

~A

Dinner Music!

As anyone who has hung around this blog for a while knows, most of the performance I do is as part of an ensemble--and usually with a pair of very loud dancers. During my little "sabbatical" (if only!), however, I had the opportunity to play a bit of solo dinner music during an event at the Veteran's Administration Hospital in Seattle.

The gig was actually very cool, which made things easy from the start. The dinner was in honor of some of the long-term patients at the hospital and was part the VA's "National Salute to Veterans." The impression I got was that it was an opportunity for these folks to break out of their normal routine and get together for a nice catered meal.

And what better final touch to put on a nice dinner than live music? Okay, fine: I may be a bit biased on this count--but luckily for me, the organizers were of the same mind.

As I expected, most of the time I was there for ambiance (a role which I quite enjoy, actually), but any time I started to suspect that people weren't listening to (or enjoying) the music, I would get a round of applause, a request, or someone asking what the name of a particular piece was.

As I have done for stuff like this in the past, I had prepared a set list, but really ended up more following the mood of the room. I had planned a sedate sort of program, for instance, but when shouts for "play something fast" came out, what more is a guy to do than buleria? In any case, there were definitely times when it was nice to have a list for structure: it's no good to sit around twiddling one's thumbs trying to think of what to play next.

All in all, I think the music went over well. People come to stuff like this, after all, expecting to enjoy themselves; as a friend of mine once said, they want the performer (in this case me) to do well. Of course I made the odd mistake, but since I didn't draw attention to it, I don't think that anyone noticed. Or if they did, they certainly didn't care.

On a practical note, you may be wondering: So how does one land gigs like this? (That's what I would want to know, anyway.) I wish I knew a general rule. (Unfortunately, I don't!) In this case, I suspect it was largely thanks to a noticeable web presence. The woman who booked me for this particular event had earlier booked my ensemble (Zamani Flamenco) for an event in May. And that she found through Google.

Of course, I also think that not being a spaz or a lunatic while booking that first gig helped, too. Evidently, the woman who booked me for this gig had been promised music by someone else--someone who evidently dropped the ball at the last minute. Which made me think a bit about all the other stuff beside just playing well that goes into being a working musician. I mean, let's face it: there are lots of people around who can play--many of them better than me. But, particularly for stuff like this, I think that once you're competent, being reliable and easy to get along with goes a long way.

Which isn't to say the music isn't important--that's definitely not what I'm getting at. But becoming a "good" player is something that's more of a process than a final result, no? (I personally don't imagine ever getting to the point where I'm "done" trying to improve my playing.) Being reasonable, however, is an entirely different story.

And speaking of reasonableness, I'm going to reasonably wrap this little missive up and go play.

I suggest you do the same!

~A

Flamenco, Anyone?

Hello, world! I've survived the PhD exams! And am nearly coherent enough to tell about it! Before you ask: no, I'm not quite a doctor yet--I still have to scribble out one of these "dissertation" things. . . . But I am nearer to being a doctor than I've ever been (and may, I'm told, play one on TV sometime soon).

But enough of my pursuit of nerdery! We care little for such things here, no? I have, after all, replaced the "daunting-stack-o'-books" picture with the "infamous-and-ubiquitous-guitars-icon" picture. So: what (you may ask) is new?

Well, as my intrinsically nerdy nature dictates, I feel compelled to tell you in two stages. Here's the first: it would seem that, despite my best efforts, flamenco guitar refused to be "back-seated" during my exams (see below). This is, of course, a good thing. But it also made for an interesting personal experiment centering around this question: what happens to one's (i.e. "my") guitar playing when a really big project muscles its way onto the scene?

The result was something I didn't even realize I was the least bit interested in (cf. "exam panic" below), but, as it turns out, should care a lot about. The good news is that with rare exception, I still managed for the most part to pick up the guitar every day. And most of those days included some species of structured practice. I think there were three factors in particular that helped this to be the case:

First, my guitars are never "put away." I actually don't store them in their cases. Is this potentially harder on the instruments? Yes, potentially. But does it mean that I play them more? Certainly. Since my guitars are always "out," it's easy to pick one up over coffee in the morning (which I regularly do)--or in those little "dead spots" in the day that aren't quite enough time to do something, but are just long enough to feel wasteful. For example: I can revisit a problem spot in a peteneras I've been working on (more on that later) or play through a couple sevillanas in the time it takes water to boil. There's another 8-10 minutes in the time it takes penne to cook (depending on what you consider "al dente").

This is not to say I actually leave the poor things strewn all over my house, willy-nilly. I actually hang them on the walls. I mean, let's face it: guitars are pretty. So why not leave them out? Having them there, staring you down, as it were, is also a good reminder of whether you've been neglectful or not (sort of a Foucauldian micro-politics of power meets musicianship . . . oh no! I can't turn the nerd off!).

Anyway, reason two: I don't watch TV. Don't even own one. They're degenerate, vile devices and should be scorned by right-thinking people. Yes, you're saying (I know you are! I can hear it): but how much time do you spend in front of a computer, mr. no-tv-snob? Arguable way too much; I agree. But let's think about this practically: what is an hour (or six) of mind-numbing television watching more likely to displace? The time I spend stalking my friends on Facebook or the time I spend practicing arpeggio variations? I honestly don't see "Pumping Nylon" winning out on this one.

Finally, reason three: before push came to shove (time-wise, that is), I made some choices about where my musical priorities were best focused. This means I backed off on Ravenna Flamenco and on my involvement in dance classes and La Peña in order to leave myself time to "just play." I know this seems counterintuitive, but in fact I found that the playing I did get in was productive and allowed me to expand my skills and maintain my enthusiasm (rather than just maintain dance repertoire).

Though don't get me wrong: I do love playing for dancers and singers--and in fact can't wait to get back to it (which will happen on the 23rd of March). (The "getting back" to Ravenna Flamenco, you may have noticed, has already begun.)

And this brings me to "part 2" of "what's new." This part aspires to give a quick rundown of all the stuff I should have covered in past blog posts but never got around to (see "exam panic" below). Since this particular post is already getting obnoxiously long, I'll skip right to the details:

• If you haven't been to www.zamaniflamenco.com lately, do check it out. We've posted a new promo video and a photo gallery on the "media" page. Also, dancers Dani and Zánbaka (who are currently cooling their heels in the south of Spain), are keeping us all up to dates on the vagaries of travel and study in Andalucia on the new ZF blog.
  
  
• I recently played solo guitar for a dinner event at the VA in Seattle. Much fun was this; there will be post coming soon on the ins & outs.
  
  
• The Northside Grill, Zamani Flamenco's erstwhile monthly gig, has closed! So no more monthly gig there. The good news, however, is that our summer festival and event calendar is starting to fill out (starting with a private event two days before the dancers are back . . . more on that later).
  
  
• Plans for Ravenna Flamenco: I've gotten a lot of positive feedback on the flamenco metronomes, so I'll be working in getting more of those put together. Next up is solea, then perhaps some tangos. These are, as always, a bit labor intensive, so bear with me!
  
  
• More RF plans: as I mentioned above, I'm working out a Peteneras by Pedro Soler. I'm planning to tab this out for the edification of all of you (it's a great piece--it forces you to play slow!), but I'm finding that transcribing "toque libre" is absolute murder. I may just scrap regular time signatures altogether and let the notes fall where they may. In any case, keep your eyes peeled for a new addition to "tabs."
  

And now, dear reader, I'll spare you further suffering by bringing this marathon blog post to a close--and I promise to limit such abuses in the future. What can I say? It's been a while! In any case, I hope you all are well and am looking forward to diving back into the thick of things.

Now you! Go play!

~A

More Northside Grill!

Three shows at The Northside Grill and still no tainted produce thrown! Woohoo!

This could mean we're doing something right--or maybe just that the increasing cost of organic projectiles is working in our favor. Whatever the case, I'm chalking up round three of Zamani Flamenco at the NSG as a success from the stage-end of things. And for that matter, the audience-end is looking better, too. This month was our best turn-out yet. It wasn't exactly standing-room only, but attendance is definitely moving in the right direction (i.e. up).

For those of you who have been following along, you know that we like to shift our sets and arrangements around in order to keep things interesting (i.e. not play exactly the same songs) from month to month and that we like to bring in guest performers whenever possible. For this show, we not only had Stephanie Hughes back on cante (and singing more numbers than during her fist NSG performance with us in July), but we also had Marta Sivertsen out to dance and help with palmas and jaleo.

I know that from a logistical standpoint said "shifting" must sound like a train wreck just waiting to happen: it's much easier to "nail" a set or a particular piece if you play it the same way every time. (And believe me--train wrecks concern me in a very non-trivial way.) The persistent flux of songs and sets, though, I think brings us closer to the kind of fluidity that draws me (and, I suspect, Dani and Zánbaka) to flamenco to begin with.

Granted, I'm still very much at the low end of this particular learning curve (hence the persistent anxiety about airborne vegetables), but it's fortifying all the same to know that we're all working toward some eventual gestalt (if I may be nerdy for a moment) that moves beyond mere memorization of our (or someone else's) songs. Bringing in new artists and arrangements on short notice--or on the fly--can be stressful, no doubt, but it also means that of all the potential offenses against musical aesthetics we're capable of committing, "staleness" is not going to be one of them.

And speaking of offenses: our next show at The Northside is on the 16th of October. Zánbaka is going to be cooling her heels on a beach in Malaysia (poor thing!), so Dani, Stephanie, Marta and I are working out a whole new diabolical plan for your Thursday night acculturation. Unless you'll also be indulging in what is bound to be an unruly mix of sea turtles, monkeys, and Tiger beer, we'll hope to see you there.

Now go play!

~A

The Northside Grill and Some Ponderings on Participation

The latest installment in the Zamani Flamenco annals: we've finally found a local spot in our neck of the woods where flamenco actually fits in. For anyone out there who hasn't tried to book an apt venue for a flamenco trio, the elation of this announcement might sound a bit overblown, but believe me: taking a flamenco act to the streets (i.e. beyond festivals and "ethnic nights") is a prickly undertaking.

And in the spirit of Toque (helped along by my sherry-fueled late night writing fits), I intend to share this prickliness with you. But wait, you say, back up a bit: Why is this news? Zamani Flamenco has played a gig or two; there have been venues. It's true. And some of those venues have been great. Okay, fine--and some have been simply odd. But whatever, you take the good with the . . . er . . . odd.

Here's the crux of the issue: in many cases, the oddness cited above isn't so much a question of the establishment that hosts us as it is simply us. Take for example The Wayward Coffee House. How could you possibly bring a flamenco show into a place where 90% of the clientèle is plugged into a laptop? Flamenco dance is not exactly easily tune-outable. And don't even think about traditional music venues: flamenco guitar and dance sandwiched in between a DJ and the latest Radiohead knock-off?

You begin, I hope, to appreciate the difficulty here.

One solution, of course, is to make one's own night. Luckily for us, Imad, the owner of The Northside Grill, was fine with us doing just that. And this isn't the only bonus: The Northside is a Moroccan restaurant, so the space is decidedly Mediterranean--a comfy place to be for flamenco. And it's big enough to hold a respectable audience, but not so big that the family at booth #148 is going to wonder what the ruckus is way over in sector 14.

And how, you might ask, did the evening actually go? In short (a rare occurrence for me, I know), I would call it a success. When I say "success," of course, I don't mean that it was perfect. Frankly, I don't even know if that was the goal. But it was lively: the audience was having fun; we were having fun. And this was the goal.

This also meant, of course, that in the spirit of the evening we encountered some audience participation that was perhaps a bit aberrant: wildly out of compás palmas and jaleo I can't even begin to describe. Even here, though, I've got no room for complaint; what's more, discouraging this kind of spontaneity is the furthest thing from my mind. I've seen flamenco acts that are pretty active in shutting down such audience participation--and if you're aiming for a kind of "virtuoso" show, I can see why you would do that--but I also think there's something cathartic in breaking down the "we are the entertainers you are the audience" divisions.

Don't get me wrong--there's no criticism intended here. It's more a question of performance aesthetics. Although I hesitate to make even the most cursory comparisons between my own efforts and the accomplishments of flamenco giants like these, this issue makes me think of one particularly conspicuous difference between Diego del Gastor and Juan Cañizares (on whom I've blogged before). Both are undisputed icons of flamenco guitar, but while the playing of a Cañizares inspires in the audience (or in me, at least) awe at his skill, ability, and musical taste, a flamenco like del Gastor taps into flamenco as a folk tradition, a collaboration of the multitude over time.

Which is not, of course, to overestimate the degree (if any) to which I, an American pursuing flamenco abroad, am able to tap that tradition. I suppose my preferred method of working through the distances of geography and culture (at least for the moment) is to think of all of this more as a pursuit, however elusive, than as a destination. "Getting at" tradition is less important than "going after" it. In this sense, perhaps, both sides of the aesthetic coin come back into play: making flamenco "work" abroad is not only a pursuit of technical ability, but is also a pursuit of the ability to reconnect music and dance with the sense of community from which it springs. It's surprising to me how easy it is to lose sight of this in day to day practice.

True, Greenwood is not widely know for its perfusion of Andalusia or gitano culture, but when you're trying to tap into a folk tradition in what has become, let's face it, an increasingly less folk and more commercial world, I suppose one has to make one's community where one finds it. Is this "flamenco puro"? Probably not. But is it something more than just one guy with a guitar? I hope so.

Well, I can see that I've done it again: a long (and long-winded) digression, speculative third person, multiple uses of the word "aesthetics." A tangent has been taken. I would apologize, but that would be disingenuous (after all, if I were really sorry I would just hit delete right now, no?), and anyway, if you've read this far you must have had some inkling of interest. Or maybe you've just now discovered that you just need to learn how to skim better . . . in either case, you've learned something.

But what, you might ask, does any of this have to do with The Northside Grill? Just this: that it's a fun show where you can clap along if you like, have a paella and a glass of beer, and, folk tradition deities willing, perhaps find some connection to musical roots you never knew you had.

Hmm. That last bit sounds conspicuously like a plug. Indeed it might be: Zamani Flamenco will be back at the The Northside on the 21st of August, at 8:00.

You should come!

And in the mean time, you should go play!

~A

The Northwest Folklife Festival

Hooray! I've finally had a performance at the Seattle Center that wasn't in the food court! Granted this means I had to walk farther for my corn-dog, but they're for purely research purposes only, so no harm done.

But enough about American haute-cuisine, there are show details to be had. And have them you will: This particular engagement was with La Peña Flamenca de Seattle and ran about 30 minutes. We played a fandangos, a bulería, a garrotín, a set of sevillanas, and a rumba. This particular show didn't include the full Peña compliment of dancers, but there were still a good twelve or fifteen of them (in addition to the musicians and singers, that is).

For those of you not in the know, Folklife is a very large and obnoxious affair, featuring hundreds of local and touring music and performance acts and a higher hippie to yuppie ratio than is even legal north of the Ship Canal. The Peña performed on the International Dance stage and was the first in a series of four flamenco acts from the Seattle area. (Incidentally, I've browsed around for some video from the other groups, but with no luck. There is a video of the Seattle Ukulele Society doing a rousing rendition of "I Will Survive," but you won't get the link from me!)

But enough chatter! How about some video? Here is the Fandangos, our opening number:

This was actually my own personal first "falseta" with the Peña, though you have to listen pretty hard to hear it. The other guitarist, Markus, and I were mic'd, but for some some reason that baffles me still, the sound guy never seems to have turned our mics up over about "one." (I don't want to venture any guesses as to why this might have been--and even if I did, those guesses surely wouldn't include any speculations regarding a pre-show visit to the "Hempfest" promo tent.)

Speaking of pre-show rituals, by the way, I had earlier (on this blog) speculated on the potentially deleterious effects of a very deliberate shot of good Irish whiskey before going on stage. Though I didn't bring out the flask until post-show this time around, the Zamani dancers and I did have lunch (and a couple hefeweizens) before strolling over to the Center for Folklife. As I was actually fairly relaxed and able to enjoy myself on stage, I'm beginning to sense a connection. For the moment I don't want to draw any rash conclusions; I will, however, keep you posted on further "tests."

In the meantime, how about another video? This was the last number we did, a rumba:

There were, of course, other dances in between, but in the interest of not creating yet another gratuitously long blog post, I'll let you check those out on your own on the Peña Flamenca de Seattle YouTube channel.

My overall impression of the show as a whole? All in all I am quite happy with how it went: no major train wrecks, no decomposing produce thrown. That counts as good in my book. But this was far from the end of the evening. After Folklife about ten of us wandered back to our regular watering (i.e. beering) hole, The Two Bells. And we made a shocking discovery: through a series of cleverly concealed doors lies the Two Bells' terrace! As in outdoors, center of the city, beer garden-esqe paradise. Zanbaka and I have been coming to this place for months and have only just now discovered this outdoor enclave. In true flamenco form, we quickly took it over (not that there were more than two other people who had made the same discovery). The pitchers flowed, food was had, and right about the time it was getting too dark (there were no lights) and blurry (you get the idea) to see, out comes the guitar and the fiesta was on.

From a guitar player's perspective, here is the strongest argument yet for being solid on lo básico: there's no way, after two (or three or four) beers that I can pull of Almoriama or Aires Choqueros (eh, who am I kidding--I can hardly play those stone sober), but the basic sevillanas, tangos, and bulería rhythms, no sweat. And rhythm is key--at this point, not a soul could have cared less what sort of fancy falsetas I could pull out, but falling out of compás could have brought the whole works to a grinding halt. Granted, I like to think that this particular group was kind enough to let a few gaffs slide (as they might have done), but one doesn't like to test kindness, if you know what I mean.

And speaking of testing kindness, I can see that I have indeed again created a gratuitously long blog post. And you, poor soul, have read the whole thing (or skipped ahead, but whatever). In any case, thanks for your indulgence!

Now stop indulging and go play!

~A

Wayward Flamencos

Zamani Flamenco made--of all the odd things--a brief appearance at The Wayward Coffee House's open mic night the other night (i.e. Sunday night). This was an evening I had spotted during my Greenwood Art Walk perambulations and it struck me as a fine occasion to test out flamenco on some unwitting locals--not to mention on the cafe in question.

Although I suspect we were among the least expected "open mic-ers," this particular evening at the Wayward was a quirky affair all the same--and not by accident I'm sure. There were a couple poetry readers and folk-singer-y singers up before us, but following us was a veritable smörgåsbord of beat-style poetry--complete with bongos and an indoors-sunglasses-wearing muted trumpet player. (Which all made me feel a bit Jack Kerouac-esque. Minus the head full of pills and the ruined liver, that is . . . . Which I guess isn't very much like Kerouac at all.)

Anyway, moving on . . . .

Since the audience (about 20 people is my guess) was largely composed of flamenco "civilians," we opted for a set of Sevillanas. Something gloomy or dramatic would have been fun, but it seemed unwise to test the patience of a highly caffeinated congregation of coffee-house poets with something like a siguiriyas. (I wouldn't want to be responsible for what happens.)

So Sevillanas it was. We had to peel back a bit of throw rug and displace some chess players (really!) to make enough room for the dancers, but it turned out to be a decent space. Rubina's frequent exhortations to "learn how to dance on a postage stamp" served everyone well, methinks. Though "remain vigilant for small semi-ambulatory humanoids" might also have been a good warning: just as we were getting ready to start, a young child crawled out from under the chess table and made a beeline for Daniela's path of travel. As in very nearly got stepped on by a pair of very well nailed flamenco shoes. I'm happy to report, however, that tragedy was narrowly averted and the number went on as planned. The dancers were golden, of course. As I also didn't massively (or even minorly, really) tank any of my falsetas--and as the applause was palpably beyond "courtesy"--I'm counting the outing as a success.

I've since been back to this spot to investigate whether this might be an apt location for a longer flamenco show. And I'm not sure what to think: on a Friday night there is a folk/prog/rock quartet (with bongos--am I sensing a theme here?) and a handful of student-y looking types all intimately involved with their laptops, regaling in the free WiFi. I'm trying to imagine something as imposing as a flamenco dancer (let alone two) in this tableau. It's a strange fit.

And this is one of the perennial oddities of working in a flamenco ensemble: it's hard to know here (as in perhaps most places outside of Spain) just exactly how to place a flamenco group. Despite the affinity many people feel for flamenco (or at last for the concept of flamenco), it's still very much a foreign form. And I don't mean foreign as in "well duh, it comes from Spain," I mean foreign in its rhythms, in its movement and pacing, in its apprehension of musical significance. And in it's aggressiveness. I mean, how could one possibly continue catching up on online episodes of "Lost" with a very loud and imposing subida demanding every ounce of said one's consumer-culture-stooge attention? There's such a peculiar battle between art--and, well, everything else, really--going on here.

And I'm not sure who's winning. But if it's WalMart and Fox, I'm happy to be on the losing team.

There--end of rant.

Now go play!

~A

Juan Cañizares Tells It Like It Is

Despite the little brush I had with the Chair of the Spanish Department over my wine consumption at the reception following Juan del Gastor’s lecture-demo, I nonetheless managed to secure a front-row seat for the Juan Cañizares presentation. And an interesting seat it was: as was fully expected, these two players are about as different from each other as two tocaores flamencos can be. If one can safely say that Juan del Gastor is the quintessential festero and tocaor gitano (and I firmly contend one can), one could just as easily describe Juan Cañizares as the music connoisseur’s guitarist.

I won’t go on and on about how great it was to get to see a virtuoso of this caliber at such close range (did I mention I was in the front row?), but I will share with you some of what I know (or have since learned) about Cañizares’s take on flamenco guitar. Cañizares is currently touring with a small troupe performing his arrangement of Isaac Albéniz’s Iberia suite (which was originally composed for piano). While he didn’t go into it at the UW event, this sort of "extracurricular activity" evidently puts him at odds with some “flamenco purists.”

Cañizares’s response to the claim that classical music (and classical music education) will somehow “taint” flamenco, however, is refreshing (and, particularly for those of us not of Andalusian extraction--i.e. who must approach flamenco from the “outside”--encouraging). Here’s some of what Cañizares had to say on the topic in an interview with esflamenco.com:

The prestige given to ignorance has been very bad for flamenco. Flamenco is a cultured music and it should be seen as such. It can't continue to be associated with nightlife, taverns and partying. It should be taken seriously, professionally. . . . Learning formal music isn't going to make you any less flamenco, to the contrary, it's going to allow you to go further and do things like the Iberia suite. . . . Learning is very important. You can have inspiration but if you are also a professional then you can make more of that inspiration. Doing things without tools is not the same as doing them with tools.

I couldn’t agree more. Since both of these talks, in fact, I’ve been mulling over (and I do mean serious mulling, here) the implications of these two strains of flamenco: the gitano strain of Juan del Gastor and the virtuoso strain of Juan Cañizares. I’m not sure yet what to make of it, but seeing both of these top notch performers in such rapid succession has at least convinced me that these two categories need not be mutually exclusive—that the advent of one does not necessarily portend the demise of the other.

I’m sure there are those out there who will disagree with me—some violently, perhaps. And that’s fine (well, depending on the degree of violence, I suppose), but I like the idea that any form of art needs air—needs to breath—if it’s going to remain vibrant.

But here I am, wandering off on philosophical tangents like some long-haired hippie grad student when I should be sharing music clips! Okay, then—here they are, already. Cañizares’s demo was presented in two sections: the first was a sort of “here are the main palos” presentation. He talked (briefly) about the most common 6/8 forms and played a short demo of each. I’ve included these shorter clips in the first playlist because they give a good impression of Cañizares’s toque:

In the second part of the presentation, Cañizares played three longer pieces with Juan Carlos Pastor (his accompanying guitarist on the Iberia tour). These songs have more of the “modern flamenco” feel for which Cañizares is better known (two, in fact, are off of the Noches de imán y luna album). It is interesting, however (says I), to listen to these in juxtaposition with Caizares’s more traditional toque; even though these clips are in a largely non-traditional style, Cañizares’s “voice,” as with the clips above, is clear throughout:

And there you have it again!

Now back to work!

~A

Up Close & Personal with Juan del Gastor

Imagine, if you can, the unbridled joy felt in the hearts of Seattle flamenco stalwarts at the announcement that the UW would be hosting consecutive “lecture-demos” by Juan del Gastor and, a scant four days later, Juan Cañizares! Hooray for higher education! For all you poor souls out there who were unable to attend, here’s my little narrative—and some audio clips—of the event. And undoubtedly some commentary, but hey—it’s my blog. A second post on Cañizares will be soon to follow.

By any fair account, Juan del Gastor is flamenco gitano. To say that he merely “plays” gypsy style flamenco guitar is, I think, to understate the case. He is the nephew of Diego del Gastor, the famed 60’s icon of Morón de la Frontera and, as far as flamenco gitano is concerned, is a (if not the) definitive authority. The Morón style of flamenco (of which Diego was the de facto patriarch) is characterized by an almost pathological emphasis on compás. This isn’t to say that it has as better sense of “rhythm” than other styles of flamenco (they’re all pretty much pathological when it comes to “staying in compás”), but the Morón style pays more attention to feeling—and transmitting—the compás itself. A player in this style has little use for churning out bar after bar of 64^th note runs. In fact, here’s Juan himself, speaking about speed as it relates to the style of his uncle (I’m not transcribing this because I think the way he tells it is just too good):

I love the fact that he says “no!” six times—and really, how would I even convey in words that other thing he does? (The translator here, by the way, is Juan’s wife, Lucy Edwards—who is, by the looks of it, the model of patience). Anyway, Juan goes on to say that he has nothing against speed in guitar playing, but simply that it’s not what flamenco gitano is about. For those of you into categorizing, you might think of flamenco gitano as a counterpart to the virtuoso strain of flamenco started by Ramon Montoya and Niño Ricardo—and continued by, among others, Juan Cañizares (and of course by the names you already know so well: Paco de Lucia, Tomatito, Vicente Amigo, etc.)

But enough of my idle chatter! Let’s have some clips! Juan played six songs altogether. He’s doing both the playing and the singing here—and if you think that’s easy, I encourage you to try it! The songs speak for themselves, of course, but I should explain that in the last number, the buleria, the guitar stops because Juan, at this point, could no longer stay in his seat: he puts the guitar down, stands up, and starts dancing and doing palmas. He eventually comes down off the stage and, bringing Lucy down with him to dance, finishes the song in the aisle:

And there you have it!

Now go play!

~A

Dance Workshop with Maria "Cha-Cha" Bermudez

No, don't worry--I'm not branching out into dance (believe me, none of us wants that!), but I did get the chance to accompany Maria Bermudez during her three day workshop at the American Dance Institute in Greenwood. For those of you not "in the know," Maria is a vivacious, globe-trotting dancer with the Jerez-based group Sonidos Gitanos. She is also a longtime friend of Rubina Carmona, who occasionally coaxes her out to Seattle to give a dance workshop.

As I'm sure any of the dancers who attended the workshop would corroborate, this was an eye-opening opportunity for all of us. Maria "created" much of the workshop on the spot, so not only did the dancers get to learn some new steps and sequences (fresh from Jerez, as it were), but we all got to watch the process of creating those sequences in action.

Luckily for me, my job as a guitarist was mostly to back up Markus Kolb, who has done this sort of thing before. The workshop was broken up into two ninety-minute sessions each day, with "level 1" in the first block, "level 2" in the second. The routine for each session was built from day to day, so at the end of the workshop we had all covered quite a bit of material. For the level one sessions, we worked primarily on Tangos; for the level two we worked in Rondeña.

As far as the actual playing goes, it was at times a lot like playing for a dance class and at times completely different. As in dance classes, while we worked religiously within palos and compás, there wasn't really any "song" to learn beforehand that provided a musical template to work from. A lot of this kind of playing, I'm coming to find out, is the dancer gesticulating at you and going something like "da-da-di . . . da-da-di . . . di-di . . . di-di-di." Somehow -- bizarrely -- it makes sense, but musical flexibility is an absolute must (as is knowing some stock phrasing in the palo in question).

Unlike dance classes, the whole thing goes really fast. There's no taking an idea home, incubating it, and coming back the next week with some saucy little melody you've worked out in your spare time. Luckily for Markus and I, Maria (like Rubina) is from the "compassionate" school of flamenco, so she didn't scream at us when it took us a few takes to interpret her onomatopoeia.

"Eventually getting it," however, all changed for me when it came to the Rondeña: Markus was familiar with the form, but I, much to my alarm, learned right then and there that Rondeña is played in an alternate tuning: your low 'E' goes to 'D' and your 'G' goes to 'F#'. Oye! "Lost" about sums up how I felt about this on Friday (the first day of the workshop). In fact, so lost was I that I think I actually played palo seco (i.e. rhythm on muted strings) through much of that sequence.

On day two, however, I bucked up, detuned, and dove into the world of goofy Rondeña chords. And here I was lucky (again) that Markus is also of the compassionate school of flamenco: he showed me the six or seven basic chords and I fumbled through them while he did most of the accompaniment legwork. By Sunday I was, if not quite competent, at least not quite so painful to watch (or, I imagine, to listen to).

The moral of this story, I suppose (if we must draw one), is not to be afraid to plunge into the unknown--even if you sound like a truckload of angry housecats while you do it. I find I constantly have to remind myself that flamenco is traditionally a "by ear" form and that often the first I may hear of what someone wants me to play is when he or she hums it at me. There's something redeeming in this. It's good to be able to pick things up off of recordings or sheet music, but the immediacy of having a live person standing there in front of you, I think, tunes you in a bit better to listen to the music in your head as well. That, I suspect, is where the stuff that actually means something comes from. (Though I thoroughly recommend ignoring the voices in your head . . . .)

A.