Antonio Sánchez: «Paco was not the only creator, but being anti-Pakistan is being an idiot»

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Son of Antonio, the only male of the Lucia family who did not dedicate himself to music, Antonio Sanchez (Madrid, 1984) feels the responsibility of his surname every time he goes on stage. He grew up surrounded by guitars, cultivating admiration for guys who appeared on television and toured the world reaping applause, without suspecting that one day he too would embark on one of those tours alongside a genius he simply called “tito”.

–As a guitarist, what does it mean to be born into a family like the Sánchez family?

–In my case, everything flows very normally. Mine, being such an important family of guitarists, has never ceased to be a humble and hard-working family. Ever since I can remember, I remember my uncles away from home, and it was an event to meet up for a meal together on the weekend when they came to see my grandparents, may they rest in peace. I am from Aluche, and my grandmother Luzía was close to me. That made me see them from a very young age, and little by little, gaining a bit of intelligence, I began to know what they did. My character helped me to get in easily, I was a docile child and my father encouraged me to play the guitar without obligation. And as I grew up and learned, I had more respect for Ramón, Paco and Pepe. They even scared me a little, because I realized very soon that they were important people. And my father had not been a musician, which made everything less normal.

–But your father had a very normal relationship with them, right?

–Yes, when Paco was in Mexico they would call each other at a specific time every day, and I thought “you’ll see that he’s going to tell me to say hello to uncle Paco.” And sure enough: “Antoñitooo, come, say hello to uncle Paco.” And I was totally embarrassed, I didn’t even know what to say to him. He would stand up and say to me: “Hey, kid, how are you? Are you okay? Why are you so shy? You’re studying, right? Come on, a kiss.” And for me it was a mix of respect and joy: “Wow, I’ve spoken to uncle Paco.” The same with Ramón and Pepe. It was really nice to understand through them where I’m from.

–What did your father do?

–My father was a hotel manager. He was involved in tourism from a very young age, when my grandfather demanded that all his children earn their living. My father did not go into music, but at the age of 12 he was a bellboy at the Hotel Cristina. He would pack his bag at five in the morning and walk to work at dawn. And he never stopped doing so until he retired. Once in Madrid, he took some English and hospitality courses, and very quickly he got an offer at the Hotel Fénix, one of the best there was, and then he became the manager of the Hotel Alcalá. There he had a very nice flamenco experience, because in the late 80s and early 90s the Flamenco Summit was held, the festivals flamencos most important exhibitions ever held in Spain, and all the artists who came to Madrid stayed at my father's hotel. There was a very nice dialogue with the artists, and he met a lot of people there.

–Was your first mentor your grandfather?

–I can't tell you, being from a family of artists I don't remember who was the first to teach me. I have been told that my grandfather picked me up from kindergarten and taught me to read and write with Rubio notebooks, and he also changed my position on the guitar: I'm left-handed, but he changed my position. That's what my cousins tell me, although I don't remember. Then my father made me listen to flamencoHe realized that I liked it and little by little he encouraged me without me realizing it. As for playing, between Ramón and my cousin José Mari. My father had the most direct contact with Ramón, he came a lot and we went to see him a lot, so he was the one who taught me the first falsettas of Niño Ricardo and to get a little involved with the guitar. He would put it on for me and leave, leaving me alone, to my tune, repeating it, and then he would come and I would say, “I’ve got it!” It makes me emotional to remember it.

«Paco is a pillar that must be studied. I respect anyone who wants to give their opinion. You can be non-Pakist, you can say that he wasn't the only one, that others also created other things, but being anti-Pakist is being an idiot. Saying "bah!" to Paco's work, believing that it's not that big of a deal... I don't even notice, they don't know what they're missing.»

–Once you are free, who do you start hanging out with?

–I went to live with my father in the centre of Madrid, and he always met up with Manolete, the dancer, may he rest in peace, at Bar de Pedro. I always went there to be with them, and one day my father said to him: “Manolete, take the boy to school one day, to Amor de Dios. Take him away, that I learn a little bit.” And Manolete told me that I would go every day at five, and between that and the fact that I sat down and watched what the dance was like, quietly, without bothering, doing what I could in my own way, I started to get the hang of it. I was also struck by meeting people in the hallways, Riqueni for example, or people my age like Juan Habichuela’s grandchildren, the Carmona children, Enrique Morente’s nephews, people my age. I fit in, and suddenly they offered me a day at the tablao, to go to some class… Without realizing it, things came out for me. I was there all day, I would put a sheet of paper down and study, and I met people. Without making myself visible, but letting myself be seen.

–Did the tablao school help you?

–I was offered the chance to replace a great friend of mine who is a guitarist, Manuel Cazás. He is three or four years older than me, he was my neighbour and he worked in a tablao called Las Tablas, in the Plaza de España. I went there and back with him, and I was learning everything, until one day when I couldn’t go he said to the owners: “Why don’t you ask Antoñito to replace me, give him a try?” That’s how it was, very nice. And then it was just adding, adding, adding… I started with the roots of dance.

–Did your uncles or your grandfather give you any advice?

–Many… But they were simple at the same time: study hard, do all the work they offer you, to learn. Take it seriously. But all of that without any prepared talk, everything natural. Study, put in the hours, there is no other way. It was easy to understand.

–At what point did the possibility of joining Paco arise?

–The call came in 2010, in February. I was at home and Niño Josele called me offering to replace him at some galas. Josele had released an album and had commitments. That was at midnight and I thought it was a joke, especially since it was Josele, who has such a nice sense of humor. “Yes, it’s true,” he told me, and laughed again. “I’ve already spoken to your uncle and he told me to call you. Come in a few days and I’ll give you the things you have to play with Paco, this is in two or three months.” That’s how the contact was. Then I went on stage without rehearsing, directly in Croatia. I had already seen everything I had to do on YouTube, I just had to play on top of it, and Josele helped me by giving me complicated second voices. I saw it coming, I knew it was going to be like that. I knew he wasn’t going to do a rehearsal for me. It’s a different league. I studied harder than ever, but Paco never had any tension with me, nor did he call me for anything. It was all based on mutual trust.

–Have you already played at a high level with other people?

–Not at Paco's level, but at the level that all the rest of us are at, yes. I had spent a year at the Tablao El Cordobés, where top artists from all over Andalusia performed, whom I would never have met otherwise. When Paco called me, I was very strong in my hands. And I had previously toured with a lot of people, even though they weren't anyone renowned. I spent a year in Japan, at the tablao El Cordobés. Flamenco which is now called Garlochí. I played in all the fields, I was already working professionally as one of them. But going with Paco is a big leap. I am a nephew, I have that advantage, a hundred more guitarists could have gone ahead of me, but it just so happened that they called me. I didn't expect it, but it was something I had always dreamed of. I play for Paco. When I was 12, when I didn't have any idea how to put my hands, I would take things out listening to the music in the background and in front of a mirror, and I imagined that I was playing in the sextet. When Josele called me, that memory came to me.

«I'm a nephew, I have that advantage, there could have been a hundred more guitarists ahead of me, but it just so happened that they called me. I didn't expect it, but it was something I had always dreamed of. I play for Paco»

–What were your favorite Paco albums?

–I have many, for me they are all favorites. The first one that hooked me was the Live… One summer night with the sextet, which is from 84, the year I was born, and it had a sound that I loved. And then when I started playing, when I was starting to study and the guitar still didn't sound good to me, the Live in America. Those two albums left their mark on me. Later, a little older, when I started Sirocco It really threw me off. It made me enjoy and it made me suffer. I thought, I'm a guitarist, but do I have to reach this level?

–What other guitarists have you listened to?

–When I was very young I listened to Manolo, bullfighting. To Niño Miguel, Tomatito and Vicente. I love their first albums, and the ones from now too. I don't listen to just one album, I like to put on a record and, if I don't like it, suffer listening to it, to say "let's see when the ole comes to me." I've realized that years ago I only listened to my favorite albums, and that's no use. There are many good albums that you have to listen to and understand, and get the most out of the one you least expect.

–If someone asked you how Paco made the difference, what would you say?

–I would refer you to the first impression you have when listening to him. That is the one that counts. What did you feel when listening to him? Sirocco? He creates many very different things without losing his personality. All those who are a bit of a genius are personal, Manolo had his formula to sound like him, and Tomate, and Vicente, let's not even mention it. But in Paco the composition is much more convoluted, he turns around a lot, he develops a lot. good things, for example, there is a brutal change in composition, there is a different way of playing. In the endings you realize that it is him, in the moments of silence that the guitar breathes. And there is not a single lick in that album, well, there are two! He comes from making a dizzying album, and the next one… Each of his albums are like movies, cult movies. Like when you repeat yourself The Godfather again and again. The disc Luzia It is, for me, a work with a lot of sadness inside, with a lot of pain transmitted, starting with that bulería in A minor, that seguiriya dedicated to his mother, and how he ends up remembering Camarón...

–Were you near him during that recording?

–Yes, I knew him a lot, and he had that state of mind, I saw what he expressed on the record. He went through a stage of his life with that sensitivity to record. Then I think about Zyriab, in the 90s, when Paco comes from recording Sirocco, which is technically crazy, but it continues on that path but in a different way, more sophisticated. There is Chick Corea, there are other melodies, dizzying, but in another film. I think he started recording films from AlmoraimaThe above, within the genius, is very similar. The fabulous guitar…, The elf flamenco..., within genius, everything sounds the same…

Antonio Sánchez, with Farruquito and Israel Fernández. 'Caudal'. Opening gala of the XXIII Biennial of Flamenco from Seville. La Maestranza Theatre. Photo archive of the Biennial. Photo @Laura León

«What did you feel when listening to 'Siroco'? He creates many very different things without losing his personality. All those who are a bit of a genius are personal, Manolo had his formula to sound like him, and Tomate, and Vicente, let's not even mention it. But in Paco's composition it is much more convoluted, it turns around a lot, it develops a lot»

–Maybe Source and flow marks the first significant change…

– Yes, sorry, but it reminds me a lot of the previous ones. It was what needed to be expressed. But in Almoraima change is faced, Franco dies, the dictatorship leaves, and everything sounds like political change. It is the change of times. At the time of the Barcelona Olympics and Expo 92, there were TV ads with clips from Almoraima that fit him like a glove. Paco is a genius because he captures the moments, not because he takes the bait faster than anyone else. He expresses what he feels like no one else, and he makes you see it, and he leaves it for the world to see.

–When you went on stage with him that first time in Croatia, had you never played with him before, not even in a familiar environment?

–Yes, I studied with him at the time of LuziaHe came to live at my grandparents' house when they died. I was already playing a little, I was 14 years old, and my father asked him to play some music for me. I went up to see him and I spent about six months seeing him twice a week, after lunch. Then I went home, he came and went, but when he returned to Spain he came to Aluche. He would take me out of the neighborhood too, he would say “come with me, I'm going to record with Cañizares.” And I would go, and then I would come back with him in a taxi. He had some very nice details and I gained confidence with him. Paco was shy, a very private person, he liked to be alone. That's why when I was with him, even if it was watching TV, he would say to me “how lucky I am.”

–What else did they talk about?

–He once told me about Diego del Morao, “that kid, how his strumming sounds, no one else sounds like that, look, look,” and he would play me the falseta. He was like a child then, being such a mature and intelligent person. He had a childish quality to him that was great.

–And he praised other colleagues without any problem, right?

–Nothing, nothing, he had the will to help. If he saw a person with a small problem, some insecurity, not understanding something that he did understand, he would let whoever it was know his opinion.

–Did he talk to you about the guitarists he liked?

–He said that Cepero played to sing with a rhythm and a strumming that was mind-blowing. About Diego del Morao too. And about Josemi, that kid played two notes in the air and got an ole from you.

«Each of her albums are like movies, cult movies. Like when you repeat 'The Godfather' over and over again. For me, the album 'Luzía' is a work with a lot of sadness inside, with a lot of pain transmitted, starting with that bulería in A minor, that seguiriya dedicated to her mother, and how she ends up remembering Camarón... »

–Did you ever play football with him?

–Yes, we were in Brazil for a week when a concert was cancelled, and we went down to Rio de Janeiro every afternoon to play. We bet our dinners.

–When you are next to him on stage, do you discover a different Paco in any way?

–Honestly, no. If there’s anything different about him, it’s because I realise how professional he is. You’re with Paco in a tracksuit, sitting on the sofa, playing with the guitar. When you’re a metre and a half away from Paco, who’s standing with his foot like a metronome, who rarely looks at you and when he does look at you, he pierces you with his gaze, you realise that he’s a special person who cares a lot about doing his job well. And you also discover that he’s human, that he made his little mistakes when playing, little mistakes that nobody sees, a slur, a fret that nobody sees on the fret next to him, you see that up above, nobody notices it down below. And you see his faces: he just makes a mistake, he realises, “I’ve already made a mistake”. He suffered a lot to achieve perfection.

–Did you connect well with the group, Serrano, Piraña, Farru, Alain…?

–Yes, it’s a group of people my age, I fit in perfectly with them. I remember it like it was yesterday, it’s all very special. You’re playing with very important people and very simple at the same time. Good musicians are all simple, they go out to dinner after the concert, tell a few jokes, we all go back to the hotel together… Always united, so that no one is left alone along the way. A family.

–Have the days of partying already passed?

–Our tours were nothing like the sextet tours of yesteryear, which lasted almost a whole year. Our maximum was two months without stopping, intense but no comparison to those. A couple of months in America and back home, a week in Europe and back home, a single concert and back home… And everywhere it was impressive how it was received, there was a lot of admiration everywhere.

–She was with him in the studio, editing Andalusian song. How was the experience?

–I was there every day, yes, from morning to night, watching how he mixed, if he liked something or removed something, if it was in tune… He was demanding, but also a relaxed person who got to the point, he knew where the fault was. He didn’t strike me as an obsessive person, but intelligent and clear. And constant: he didn’t leave the studio for six or seven hours, focused on his work.

«He said that Paco Cepero played to sing with a rhythm and a strumming that was mind-blowing. About Diego del Morao too. And about Josemi, that kid played two notes in the air and got an ole from you»

–How did you find out about his death?

–Yes, of course. It was hard, a shock for everyone. We had to digest that and accept that it was true, which took us several weeks. Ten years have passed and it seems like it was yesterday. I think that in his life he marked a period of good, and his loss has also marked a period of bad, because the flamenco He's been left a bit of an orphan. There are a lot of very strong people coming out, but those of my generation were always waiting for Paco's album, we were counting the days until it came out, and now we miss him.

–Have you ever noticed anti-Pakistanism, people who refuse to acknowledge your merits and even end up denying them?

–Yes, of course. I have read them and I have heard them from afar, they have told me, maybe they don’t say it in front of me, out of respect… But I don’t care, worse for them, because Paco is a pillar that must be studied. Everyone must be studied, I respect whoever wants to give their opinion, you can not be a Pakistani, you can say that he was not the only one, that others also created other things but being anti-Pakistan is being an idiot. Saying “bah!” in front of Paco’s work, believing that it is not that big a deal… They don’t even notice, they don’t know what they are missing.

–How many times do you remember it?

–I think of him every day, I think of him at any moment. Not just because of the music: seeing him, his face, feeling it as if I were saying hello to him, nothing more. What I would like is to meet him, give him two kisses and ask him how he is. That's all.

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