For many years I have been saying something in my lectures that make people smile or even laugh, but since “humor is a very serious matter”, like they say in Cadiz, I keep saying it, because in my opinion it conveys something I am convinced of: “Flamenco is a musical genre that seems to have been expressly created so it cannot be understood by people who studied in a conservatory”. Of course that is not true, although we can say that flamenco is somehow anti-academic. I do not mean to say that this genre cannot be studied in a music conservatory, as in fact many of the best young flamenco musicians of our days have attended classes in the halls of higher learning of Cordoba, Seville, Murcia and elsewhere. What happens is that flamenco’s parameters of melody, rhythm and harmony defy the most basic principles of Western music in a way that is hard to conceive. When learning how to sing, dance or play flamenco music, the student will always face impossible accents, unexpected guitar tune changes, adornments uncommon in oral-tradition European music and inaccessible elements for musicians with formal academic training, and even for musicians well versed in other popular music styles. In a way, flamenco is a cryptic genre.

I also often point out how baffling it is that musicians with classical training, after having studied five years of music theory, four of harmony, two of counterpoint and two of fugue, are unable to marcar por soleá or por seguiriya, and how such rhythmical patterns are so hard to learn for people with a solid knowledge of musical theory and practice.

It is well-known that flamenco melodies do not fit in a pentagram, due to the quarters of tune that fill its most basic intervals, the notes added to the accords made with the left hand (when the player is right-handed, of course) adding color to the rich harmony of the flamenco guitar, and the devilish rhythm that characterizes flamenco’s musical discourse, to the point that it may almost sound like a free-for-all, even as it is all solidly attuned to the underlying compás.

«When studied in centers of academic music, flamenco risks losing its freshness. (…) The innocence of a pure art, born from the heart and not from the head. Spontaneity, unbridled, without any type of constraints, is an essential asset for this genre’s health and freedom»

I realized a long time ago that flamenco musicians like throwing people off, musically speaking. You may think they are going to do this, but they do that instead, something that is typical of the so-called cierres. Closing on the ten (nowadays substituted by eight and a half, or others) is part of this flamenco rhythm playfulness that bewilders the uninitiated. Likewise, nothing could be further from academic rigour than the freedom in the execution of cantes by flamenco singers, even when performed by the same cantaor, as cantes are always performed in a unique way, not to mention the various versions of particular styles. For example, when Pastora, Tomás, Torres, Marchena, Mairena or Morente sang the style first attributed to La Sarneta, they not only used different lyrics, but also modified the original melody to suit their particular abilities, because “cante must be tweaked”, like they say (“hay que hacerle cositas al cante”). Such parameter can be considered unacademic, a result of the freedom that characterizes flamenco art. While different versions of academic music can hardly be told apart at first glance, in flamenco a version of (say) a malagueña de Chacón may be so different from other malagueñas that we may think they are completely different cantes. This is a result of flamenco’s “freedom of expression”, where constraints are minimal, even as strict parameters are followed when performing the music and its dance.

The danger, however — voiced by aficionados and professionals alike — is that, when studied in centers of academic music, flamenco risks losing its freshness. One essential feature of flamenco is spontaneity, or “what comes out in a moment”, like Manolo Caracol said in an interview by Velázquez-Gaztelu in the TV series Rito y geografía del cante. Improvisation is a cherished treasure, the innocence of a pure art, born from the heart and not from the head. It may sound cliché, but that is how it is. In both academic and flamenco music, spontaneity, unbridled, without any type of constraints, is an essential asset for this genre’s health and freedom.

I want to avoid misunderstandings. What I want to convey can be explained with an example that everyone can grasp. It is something my friend and colleague Manolo Franco said, when he rightfully complained that when he taught at the Conservatorio Superior de Música in Córdoba, he would get students who were able to play La Barrosa, the wonderful alegrías of Paco de Lucía, yet they were unable to accompany cante por alegrías. That is when all alarms go off and we say “Houston, we have a problem”.

A clean, aseptic, sparkling flamenco is not necessarily a bad thing, just like a scruffy and shabby flamenco is not necessarily a good thing (even as some people like and perform it). But the simplicity, naivete if you wish, a certain savagery, the instinctive character — not thoughtful or forced — must prevail, and if innocence is missing, we would have lost one of the most valuable treasures of flamenco’s artistic expression. It is not a matter of letting all instincts loose and throwing ourselves into a wild and barbaric flamenco, that is not what I mean, but I hope that the freshness, the bravery and the roughness of the common people is never lost. Society is hell-bent in taming us, and although flamenco is a sophisticated musical genre, this should never clash with showing ourselves humble, authentic and true, without frills and without people-pleasing concessions. Like the great Pilar López used to say — and also the motto of her disciple Antonio Gades — “ethics before aesthetics”.

Translated by P. Young