Herminia Borja: «Paco said that the artist who loses his fear of the stage should retire»

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A singer with a very long career, the Sevillian Herminia Borja has always lived surrounded by great figures of the flamenco since her earliest childhood. But she could never have imagined that, well into her career, she would end up embarking on a tour with Paco de Lucía in the company of his daughter, TanaIt was at that time when the maestro from Algeciras was preparing to relaunch his sextet with new musicians, and Herminia brought her experience… and also a bit of wit that fit in wonderfully with what the guitarist usually displayed.

–How would you summarise your career in a few words?

–I have been in the profession for 40 years. I started singing in tablaos, then I was with Manuela, with Joaquín Cortés, I sang at the Expo in Seville, with Canales, with Torombo… and with Paco.

–Who was he for you, before working with him?

–The master of masters, the best. I was dying with Sabicas, with Morao the elder, then with Vicente… But everything after Paco. With the guitar he was a god, but as a person he was even better. He didn't believe who he was, he didn't have the ego that artists have today.

–Do you remember how you met him?

–Of course, it was working at Rocío. A lot of people would call me, and one day I was lying in bed with the dress and the flower and everything, tired of singing, when they came to wake me up. “Come up, Paco has come.” And I was half asleep, “What Paco?” “The maestro!” I had an attack. I got up and I was singing to him until twelve, he was sitting in his chair, and he said to me: “But where were you, that I hadn’t heard you before? I want you to know that you are coming on tour with me, through the United States.” Then I told him about my daughter, he listened to La Tana, who at that time was with Joaquín Cortés, and he ended up taking the two of us on a forty-day tour. La Tana continued, but I had signed a four-year contract with Canales, who was with Cortés. Carmen, Carmela, and I didn't want to leave him stranded.

–How did you put together the repertoire?

–It wasn't difficult, everything was easy with Paco. We rehearsed for a week in Madrid, and that was it. I remember that in the ziryab, which was for seguiriya, we didn't always do the same lyrics, they were the ones that came to our heads, and he really liked us to improvise. The seguiriya is always tighter, you don't have to always chew the same lyrics. In the tangos we did do what he said, with lyrics of Camarón or his brother Pepe.

–Were you close at work?

– Paco was always with us, never alone. Even in theatres, when he would start rehearsing with the sponge on the strings a little while before, I would join him and we would start talking, or he would sing a lyric and he would say, “I liked it, why don’t you do it tomorrow?” We were always very close in everything.

«He would have liked to be a gypsy. And I told him: 'but maybe if you were a gypsy you wouldn't have the virtue you have now, God wouldn't have touched you with the magic wand and you wouldn't have that gift'. What he did tell me many times was that he had had a frustration in his life: he would have liked to be a singer, the cante "It drove him crazy"

–Which singers did he like?

–Man, like Camarón, who was his brother, liked all the old ones, just like us.

-You also knew very well Camarón, Right?

–¡Camarón He slept in my bed with me! For me he was José and I had many fights with him, he would come at six or seven in the morning after two days of drinking, and since I had so many children, he had clotheslines hanging in the living room… “What a gypsy house!” he would say. [laughs] It was a friendship of many years, because my ex-husband, Melchor de Santiago, a guitarist who worked with Rocío Jurado, was like a brother to him, they were always partying and they would show up at the house every day.

–And José found his place next to you…

–I said to him, “But José, why do you have to get into bed with me, in your underwear?”, and he said, “I don’t even look at you, my friend! Besides, I’m blind,” and I said, “But why do you have to do this to me, my José? Besides, it gives me a hard time.” loose…” “Yes, my friend, I know you are very hot, but don’t worry, I am going to sleep.” [laughs]

–Did you talk about José with Paco?

–Of course, we talked a lot, I told him all my experiences with him. Paco laughed, he said he was a very good boy, that he had never been malicious, what happened was that he went down that path where they put him… Private parties that were thrown at the time, they gave us the lights of the day, and you know… In fact, I broke up with my ex-husband because I couldn’t stand his life. I liked to work and go home, and be aware of my children.

–The death of Camarón It was a tragedy for Paco, did he talk to you about it?

–No, he never wanted to talk about it. He was his brother, he never wanted to bring that up in conversation.

–He had a very bad time with that accusation that he had kept his money…

–Look, what he did was help his wife, Chispa. He gave them a lot of money. And he had a terrible time, he got depressed and everything, between José's departure and the slander they leveled at him. The creature was devastated.

«I also have many memories with Fernanda and Bernarda, may they rest in peace, but the experiences I had with Paco, those remain with me, they are kept in my heart. (…) Paco was and continues to be the King, master of masters and, as a person, to die for»

–What was it like going on stage with him?

–He was different from everyone else. I had worked with Manuela, for example, who has always been very strict about everything, in the wardrobe, in combing her hair. She is still like that, but with her, as I have known her since we were girls, there is a lot of trust. But with Paco, wow, my legs were shaking, I thought I was going to fall in the corridor on the way to the stage. It was a lot of responsibility, he was Don Paco de Lucía, until we gained that trust that he gave you, and he even played jokes on you. The way Don Paco was was not normal.

–La Tana told me that you played along with her, you asked her to marry you…

–Yes, I would shout at him, “Paco, I want a child of yours” [laughs] And he didn’t flinch, in front of all the children, you can’t imagine how embarrassed he made me feel, he would grab me and give me the room card, “you know, like every night.” And I would say, “you bastard, telling me that in front of the children,” and he would laugh and say, “all the children already know about our affair.” [laughs] Paco was also a friend of my ex-husband, and when he found out that we had broken up and saw that he had gotten married to another woman, ugly as hell, he would say to me, “How could he leave you for that one?”

–Since you mention “children,” what was your relationship with them?

–Wonderful with everyone. He was the one who got us into trouble, he was such a joker. At dinner, he would tell Negri, “Grandma Herminia says you’re out of tune a lot, that I should get you a ticket to Spain, because her ears hurt from having you next to me.” Don’t you imagine Negri, “Grandma, am I out of tune?” And I would say, “Are you going to believe the fat guy, with his hands like clubs?” And Paco would start laughing, because Negri would get really angry, and I would have to tell him: “You, like a good Madrilenian, take everything very seriously, don’t you know the club-handler, who only knows how to stir up trouble?” He would even start to tease my daughter, in the corridors he would say to me, “Are you not ashamed, given your age and how old you are, of the beating your daughter gave you today? She beat you up in the seguiriya.” And I said to her the next day, “Aren’t you ashamed, given how young you are, of the beating your mother gave you?” Negri ended up crying and everything, and I had to swear on Tana’s behalf that I hadn’t said everything. “I never talk about a colleague, my love, and besides, you don’t sing out of tune, sweetheart, Paco just wants to laugh…”

–The truth is that Negri was a very different singer from what he had been before…

–Of course, he sang in the Pitingo style, as I say, and his voice of course sounded different, while ours were more flamenco, more rooted. Even though he sang flamenco, he had his own style, a different vibe. But we were a family and it fit perfectly. After getting to know each other and getting to know each other, we were a family.

–Of all the trips you made, what do you remember especially?

–Twenty thousand anecdotes with Paco. One of them was when we were leaving the hotel for the theater, and there were cameras there that you can’t imagine, journalists, and he decided – his jokes – to hug me by the neck and say “now I’m going to eat your mouth so that your husband rages like a dog.” [laughter] And I wanted to die, I kicked him and laughed, “why are you so mean and evil?” Just like he did it to me, I did it to him, eh? I asked him, “Paco, do you think I got pregnant last night? Come on, marry me and leave the Mexican…” You wouldn’t believe the mess I made.

«Master, it's okay for me to get nervous, but you... And he: I'm shaking, you little girl. And I: But why, after so many years! Because the day an artist loses his fear and nerves before working, he has to retire, because he is no longer an artist.»

–You met Gabriela, right?

–Of course, Gabriela and the girl [Antonia Sánchez], who sometimes we would bring up on stage at the end, we would put a shawl on her, we would paint her… Gabriela was very quiet, she hardly spoke, she was very happy with us, so we loved Paco and the girl. She loved us very much.

–Gabriela was a very peaceful time for him, wasn’t it? Travelling with his family, with a different rhythm…   

–Yes, although I would occasionally tease him. I kept a bottle of whiskey in my dressing room, between the paints, and he knew it. And now I would go to his dressing room and say to him, “Have a shot to calm your nerves.” And he would say, “I don’t drink or anything.” “Yes, you drink, it’s just that you don’t buy anything.” And he would piss himself with laughter. We would drink two or three shots, and then he would look for me before leaving, “Come on, give me some syrup…” [laughs]

–He got very nervous, didn’t he?

–Oh, I said to him: “Master, it’s okay for me to get nervous, but you…” And he said, “I’m shaking, you little bitch.” And I said, “But why, after so many years!” “Because the day an artist loses his fear and nerves before working, he has to retire, because he is no longer an artist.”

–But then he always triumphed.

–It was crazy, everyone standing. Look, the last gala we did abroad, I met up with all the kids to look for colored wigs. I’ve always been a bug, and I went looking for that, I ordered carnations (you can’t imagine how much work it took me to find them in the United States), we bought a very large bouquet. And since when he came out he would play and close his eyes and not see anyone, and we came in so that two seconds before he finished we had to be seated, I dressed up all the kids with wigs, one green, one blonde, one red… I gave Tana a curly, blonde-blonde one, I gave the kids polka dot scarves and colored glasses… And when she opened her eyes and saw the scene, she hid behind the guitar and said to me “this was you, you son of a bitch” [laughs]. She had to do some of her songs, and I told Tana “get up, we’re going to dance a sevillana.” We were scared to death, right? But he saw us and had to change what he was playing to accompany us with sevillanas. Both of us with the shawls, and the fact is that the whole audience stood up, incredible, when Tana and I greeted each other, each one throwing carnations to the audience, and Paco crying when we gave him his bouquet. And Paco crying: “I’ve been playing for years, I’ve brought artists of all colors, and nobody has done something like that to me, you have to see how you are.” Despite the humor, because he was laughing, it touched a nerve. And he said to me “I have to kill you later” [laughs].

–You took part in La Tana’s album, right?

–Of course, it was Paco! He would say, “the monster has to be here, eh?” [laughs]. I was working with Canales at the Teatro Albéniz, for forty days there. Well, on the days I had to rest I had to go to the studio. They would give me a bottle of whiskey and come on, a little glass and get in there in the studio [laughs]. He would make me sing lyrics so he could record me. “Let’s see, write me those little lyrics,” and he would keep them for himself. And Javier Limón would say, “Paco, look what that gypsy girl sings,” and Paco would laugh, “that gypsy girl is enough to get drunk for three days.” Every time he called me, wherever I was, I had to go to Madrid to record with him.

«Paco was always with us, never alone. Even in theatres, when he would start rehearsing with the sponge on the strings a little while before, I would join him and we would start talking, or he would sing a lyric and he would say: I liked it, why don't you do it tomorrow? We were always very united in everything»

–Do you remember any other anecdotes about your fights with him?

–Another time, at an airport, I asked him to buy me a coffee, and he said he didn’t have any money. “You don’t have any money, you bastard? Well, I’ll buy you one.” And I went to buy him one, after he had bought me some food. “But you bring it to the table.” And now I go and, instead of coffee, I bring him a bottle of water and I tell him that it’s the only thing I could buy him, because coffee was very expensive. “You son of a bitch…” [laughs] That’s how we always were. He made me carry the basket of fruit that they put in front of him, made of wicker, very pretty, so I could take it to the hotel. And I said, “Do you want me to carry the basket? You’re crazy! Can’t you carry the guitar and the basket… and what about me with the suitcase?” In the end he took it, but I kept it, and then he called me, “Give me the fruit, it’s the only thing I eat, how can you be such a bitch?” [laughs] Pounding on the door and I wouldn't open it. And La Tana, "What's wrong with you, you're always the same!" In the end we shared it like good brothers, and the children got wet.

–Did they continue to keep in touch?

–Of course, every time he came to Seville he would call me, and it was a party for him. After performing we would go to a private party, just for us. By the way, once his big toe had become swollen, huge, and I told him that I would fix it in three hours. I took a raw potato, unpeeled and without anything, I made a hole in it and I said to him “stick your finger in there all night.” “This one is with grandma’s home remedies,” I said. “Well, try it, you have nothing to lose.” And at the end of the night, all the swelling in his finger had gone away. “Normal, you’re a gypsy, you’re a witch,” he told me. “No, not a witch, I’m a gypsy, I’m not a witch at all” [laughs]. But we would spend the whole night singing for him and dancing for him, in a bar in Seville. cante that La Tana had in Seville East, Bajo Guía, and he closed it for us. He didn't like restaurants, the hustle and bustle. There he was with his family, calm, to laugh, to joke, to lose the formality.

–How did you receive the news of his death?

–I was driving, darling, and I almost crashed. I was coming from Utrera to Seville when they called me and gave me the news, “Paco has died.” I almost killed myself. I had to pull over, I had seven attacks, crying, “this can’t be true, it can’t be true,” until I was able to call my daughter, “make sure of this, Tana, I’m lying here in a ditch.” “Yes, mom, I was going to call you now.” It was a shock for those of us who were with him, we were his family. He was as fit as a fiddle, he was playing with the boy on the beach when he had the heart attack! By the way, later, laughing, I told him in my thoughts, “Come on, you’ve left me owing a gala, Manos Porras.” We never got paid for the last gala. But the experiences we had with him have been a treasure for us.

–Do you remember it very often?

–I always remember Paco, he is one of my best memories. I also have many with Fernanda and Bernarda, may they rest in peace, but the experiences I had with Paco, those remain with me, they are kept in my heart. I thank God for having given me the privilege of having shared not only the stage, but also the friendship.

–Have you ever spoken to Paco’s other guitarists?

–Everyone I have worked with has spoken highly of him. And they know that there will never be another like the master. In addition to those at the top, Tomatito, Vicente… But Paco was and continues to be the King, master of masters and, as a person, to die for. People always ask me about the experiences I have lived with him, wherever I go to work I have to tell the story.

–What do you think attracted you so much to the gypsy world?

–He loved it, he would have liked to be a gypsy. And I told him, “but maybe if you were a gypsy you wouldn't have the virtue you have now, God wouldn't have touched you with the magic wand and you wouldn't have that gift.” What he did tell me many times was that he had had a frustration in his life: he would have liked to be a singer, the cante It drove him crazy.

«With Paco, wow, my legs were shaking, I thought I was going to fall in the hallway on the way to the stage. It was a lot of responsibility, he was Don Paco de Lucía, until we gained that trust that he gave you, and he even played jokes on you. It was not normal what Don Paco was like»

–Has he ever sung with you?

–Yes, and he was not bad at it. He would sing to us the things he did with his brother, or the things of the old people, or some of the things he recorded.

–Have you known Pepe very well?

–Of course, always together with the brother. The brother was conceited, you know? His ego ate him up, the vanity of the artists… And Paco, on the other hand, was humble, he didn’t boast about what he was. But Pepe has also come into my house, he was a friend of my ex and we have continued to get along. When he recorded Marina Heredia, he called me to do the chorus, and I didn’t want to, I’ve been singing for forty years and I don’t want to do chorus! I asked him for a fortune to say no… And he didn’t reply. He’s a beast, too.

–How has your career continued?

–Well, I'm more withdrawn now, I'm very tired and, as I'm now suffering from colon problems, it's very difficult for me to sing. So I'm more isolated, it must be a very good thing, that they pay me very well, for me to go. I'm looking forward to going home, it's been forty years of hard work and many kilometers in the body of cars, trains, airports and airplanes. It's been exhausting. They call me for choirs and I say that I'll sing in front, I'll sing my things. Marina Heredia, Arcángel, Poveda, Estrella Morente, they were children when they came to see me. I sang and they asked me permission to put the old recorders on the table, and I said "come on, record." They all respect me. flamencoYes, some call me oma, others mom, the nanny… They tell me that I am the fountain from which everyone has drunk. How can I work for them now?

–What is your life like today?

–I am very tired after all those years of non-stop work. My body is now asking me to watch soap operas, eat my food, take a nap, go to bed at eleven at night, get up at seven in the morning, drink my coffee, clean my house…

–Do you still live in Triana?

–No, I moved back to Las Tres Mil. I was in Triana for twelve or thirteen years, from there I went to Utrera, I have been in Utrera for ten years. But I am sick now, I had to call the police all the time about this colon thing that makes me sick to death, and they took me to Virgen del Rocío. And my son insisted that I come closer to him, and here I am in Las Tres Mil, where I grew up. I was born on Calle Procurador, but I grew up here and in Polígono San Pablo, with Remedios, with Carmelilla, with the Amadors… We all grew up there together, next to each other. Each one went in one direction, and I ended up here.

–There is a lot of art there, by the way.

–And what you can’t imagine. I go to buy bread, and there’s a seven or eight-year-old boy playing with his bicycle, he stops, starts singing, and the rhythm he has is not normal, it’s enough to make you crash. I sit on a step to listen to him. Six or seven-year-old children singing bulería, soleá, fandango, it’s hard to believe. They don’t play football or anything, that’s the game here in Las Tres Mil: singing. ♦

→  See here the installments of the series THE CHOSEN ONES, by Alejandro Luque, about Paco de Lucía's collaborators.