Pepe Pereira: «Paco had a lack of musical self-esteem»

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Although Pepe Pereira He has played with all kinds of music stars, he will never forget his time at the flamenco with Paco de Lucía and Camarón. The first one integrated him into his group just before the incorporation of Carles Benavent on bass, while the one from La Isla counted on him for the recording of The legend of time. It was a completely new world for him, but discovering it with such great and daring artists was a very stimulating experience. He also went on international tours with Paco, which revealed to him the human side of a guitar genius.

–How did you get started in music?

–I started playing bass when I was 14 or 15, and when I was 17 I was already in contact with the world of jazz. I had a fairly advanced theoretical knowledge, I went to a school called Clara, which was a meeting point and a place where we began to train as instrumentalists. There I met Jorge Pardo (how can we not mention him?), at a time when we all learned by hitting each other and touching each other's clothes. The lack of information and technology was fertile ground for all of us to try to gather, with each other, some knowledge. Everything that arrived back then came from the Berklee school in the United States, and we lived in an almost obscurantist environment: imagine the training you had to do to obtain a music book, an object that I won't say was forbidden, but almost... Anything imported in paper was a potentially suspicious package [laughs]. Well, Jorge did have the privileged position of an insider. He didn't teach a lesson, but he did have knowledge that he made available to those of us who were interested in it. On the other hand, from the first minute I understood that, if I wanted to be a musician, I had to earn a living in a context that was even more marginal than today.

–And your entry into the flamenco?

–My first foray into commercial music was flirting with the flamenco or the pseudoflamenco. The first artist I worked with, around 78, was Felipe Campuzano, with whom I recorded an album and toured. Campuzano ended up as a piano professor at the Conservatory of Cadiz, but by that time he was already a very well-known musician, having released titles such as the famous AchilipuThe fact is that Felipe had a small house in Tirso de Molina, he invited me and that was the first contact I had with the palos of the flamenco. I learned to distinguish a bulería from a sevillana. Also, the album I recorded was specifically the one Sevilla, there was a seguiriya, a martinete… Meanwhile, I continued with some jazz groups, we were constantly messing around. And it was in that compatibility that the opportunity arose to join the group Dolores, with Jorge and his brother Jesús and José Antonio Galicia. Pedro-Ruy Blas, who was one of the founders, was no longer there, and shortly after Rubem Dantas joined.

–What was Dolores like?

–We were a kind of spoiled children, a luxury group within the Polygram company, which was part of the recording network to which Paco belonged, Camarón, etc. We were always there, and when the studio was empty we would rehearse. Sometimes we even had access to record certain songs. It was a bargain. That's where the corridor and staircase crossings of Alameda and Camarón starting recording of the legend of time, and at the same time Paco was also recording his stuff. And we were door to door with everyone.

–What was the reason for Dolores’ privileged position at Polydor studios?

–The contact was Pedro-Ruy Blas, who started a career as a commercial singer although he was always closely linked to the world of jazz. I think that was the element that allowed the group to enter and remain there. The world of recording was so busy at that time that most of the companies had their studios and a portfolio of artists swarming around that is unimaginable today. And they liked having an alternative group, that concept of “prestige”, in quotation marks, that as a record label you can get a band capable of playing all the songs. palos.

–Did you ever live with the Dolores?

–Yes, well, in a place they called the chalet, a shack that was in PeñaIt was big and had a garage for rehearsals. Many musicians passed through there, Pedro-Ruy Blas lived there, Jorge Pardo was there for a while, Jesús, his brother, and Quique Santana, a great bassist who recorded the album with Pedro. Dolores. I don't know if Rubem ever lived there... Maybe in Pedro-Ruy Blas's house in Ibiza.

–When did you meet Rubem?

–Well, as soon as he arrived in Spain, he landed with just what he was wearing, the poor man, and we helped him a lot, we fed him, he had a hard time. There was a drummer whose name I don't remember, he rehearsed with him in a little room he had in his house. And I saw him in bad shape, typical of a person who emigrates, with very difficult beginnings. Until he arrived in Dolores, he suffered hardships.

–Did you get to know Pedro-Ruy Blas a lot?

–Yes, when I entered Dolores he was still there. A person with a strong character, he argued a lot with Jorge, with Jesus too, who in turn argued a lot, I'm sure that like brothers they love each other a lot, but one pulling the other's cart and the other pulling the one... [laughs]

«At some point I felt that there was a certain naivety in what he was proposing, a hint of stage fright, so to speak. I don't know if he, within his power, didn't fully understand the absolute, overwhelming personality he had with his instrument. There was a lack of musical self-esteem in him.»

–Jesús Pardo told me that when they went on tour, he was in a very zen period…

–Yes, that was the situation. Jorge said that we had to do this or that, and Jesús was more casual, if my mind tells me to do it I will do it, and if not, I won’t… I think he simply wasn’t interested.

–What was Pedro-Ruy Blas’s relationship with Paco?

–As far as I know, I know that they loved each other very much.

–And how did you join the project? the legend of time, which was already covered by Alameda?

–I don't understand very well, I think Alameda was going his own way, and when the possibility of translating what was happening there on stage was raised, for some reason this didn't interest Alameda. He recorded and disappeared. Ricardo Pachón contacted us and that's when we got into the fabulous adventure of living with Camarón, with what that experience meant for everyone.

–Before Campuzano and Camarón, the flamenco occupied any place in your musical hobbies?

–Not at all. Look, I remember perfectly the first gala I did in my life. It was with a group that played half rumba and half copla called Los Dos Españoles. I have never considered myself a musician. flamenco, but a musician accidentally incorporated into the flamenco, although I have never understood or assimilated that world. And I am not only referring to the musical landscape, but also to the country people. But somehow, it was there: Los Dos Españoles, Dolores, Paco…

–In Dolores the flamenco Yes, it is already a fundamental reference, isn't it?

–Our most important influence was Weather Report, but perhaps because of the fact of being wall to wall with the flamenco, it seems that the Phrygian scale was in full swing there [laughs], and we ended up doing things that had to do not with the flamenco, but with the Spanish air. There was that exchange because it was in the air.

–And with Camarón they already fall squarely into the pot.

–Yes, I will never forget when Ricardo Pachón hosted us in his house in Umbrete. He had a studio apart from the house, and that is where we did the rehearsals. We arrived with a budget, we spent about 15 days eating the stew that José, the friend of Camarón, and we ended up eating mortadella sandwiches [laughs]. But onward, hehe-haha… Total change of life, instead of rehearsing in the morning, things started to take shape at one or two in the morning, when I would appear Camarón there and I was comfortable and engaged in the task. I will never forget, either, when, with our throats already hot and drunk, we began to hear two voices coming out of the same mouth: I don't know if you have ever seen anything like that.

–I know there is a technique of this type that some Tibetan monks practice to emit two tones at once. Bela Fleck & The Flecktones had one on their tour…

–Yes, that is a conscious way, but in Camarón There was no technique. There was a throat so absolutely open, unleashed, doped, to understand each other, with such harmonic quantity, that you begin to hear a second voice coming out of that throat. It is a totally physical phenomenon that he was not aware of. That came out spontaneously, it was the lemon pear. It was an incredible experience for everyone, also for Camarón, who was always respectful and quite aware of what he had embarked on. Even though living together was sometimes a little difficult…

"Instead of rehearsing in the morning, things would start to take shape at one or two in the morning, when I would show up Camarón "I was there and I was comfortable and engaged in the task. I will never forget, either, when, with our throats already hot and drunk, we began to hear two voices coming out of the same mouth."

–What do you mean?

–I was beginning to see what my code of conduct accepted regarding the concept of not education, but civility. It's a bit delicate to talk about it, but... For example, I had never seen anyone spit on the floor of a house before. Things like that shocked me. But I remember when Raimundito Amador and Rafalito came, and they were great. And well, the culmination of all this was the famous concert at the Plaza de Toros in Barcelona, opening for Weather Report, Stanley Clark and Jeff Beck. Sharing dressing rooms with these people, talking to them... They were our source of inspiration and we must have looked like fools, but that also raised questions, eh? Don't think that we were opening for nothing, there were also some questions on their part. Something was going on there. The fact is that the chapter was closed there. Camarón, when we got back we contacted Paco, who had already done another tour before with musicians from Dolores, he had played with Pedro-Ruy Blas and Álvaro Yébenes. But he wanted to repeat it and I think it was in the autumn of 79 when I finally met him.

–How was the first contact?

–He invited me to his house in Mirasierra, he was of course already married to Casilda, and we spent the afternoons rehearsing, trying to understand all this. Everything was very correct on his part, there I was able to get to know the person a little, in addition to the exuberance of his playing. He was very respectful and eager to exchange, and also to fuck. He was an absolute friend.cante, any idea you proposed he would say: “Hey, do you mind if I take that thing you just made?” He contributed, but he drank at the same time, eh? He had that ability and he used it wisely. His reference was Sabicas, of course, he respected him a lot. He had also already made the Manuel de Falla album and he talked about the difficulty, how much it had cost him everything. I remember many things about that shy character, who broke out in cold sweats just thinking about having to go on tour, because he didn’t feel like it one bit. This idea of “yes, I’m going and then I’ll have a great time because I’m doing my thing” [laughs], but every time he was in the dressing room he was a picture. He always had that problem, he said “I shit myself…”

–Did your nerves ever leave you?

–I think it was shyness more than anything else. At some point I felt that there was a certain naivety in what he was proposing, a hint of stage fright, so to speak. I don’t know if he, within his power, didn’t fully understand the absolute, overwhelming personality he had with his instrument. There was a lack of musical self-esteem in him. There was also the character who guided him, his brother Ramón de Algeciras…

–What was it like?

–A character of those who made me try to get away from this over time, I don't mind saying it. He seemed to me a person, apart from having a strong and controlling influence, sometimes even suffocating, who exuded the misunderstood humor, the joke of the payo, I don't know if you understand me. He was a professional in that and I, at many times, have thought that today he would probably be in a social court denounced for bullying. That's all I can say. It was the lack of respect, calling you derogatory names, throwing in your face what you earned and what you didn't earn... For me it was a bit like being a puppet in front of someone who had been with Paco for years and saw that spurious elements were creeping in. I suffered that situation, which I found very unpleasant. Paco, who was absolutely respectful and at least knew how to navigate, could laugh at the occasional joke, but he was the exception within the family.

–How did that tour start?

–It was just Rubem and me, because Jorge was doing his military service. I was also about to be called up and Paco helped me, through Casilda’s father, General Varela, I was given an extension and I was able to do the next tour, which was in South America. This was in the spring of 80. That was the famous tour of the incorporation of the cajon and all that stuff about the Embassy…

–Do you say “roll” because there is some myth about it?

–No, no, it is strictly true. Not as elaborate as Rubem tells it, who is a genius and a figure until the grave… As they say in the jargon flamencoIs a chanelator born, and he has always known how to sell his product very well. I don't want to take away his merit, God forbid, but his career is 60 percent marketing and 40 percent musician.

–So, the story of the drawer…

–…Yes, it happened at a reception for the Spanish ambassador in Lima. There was a musician playing the cajón, we both approached, Rubem was very interested, “how cool, where can I buy one?” And the next day, he went for the cajón. He spent a few days playing with it, seeing how to get the sound out of it, then we went to Venezuela, and there he took out the weapon [laughs], apart from the conga and the bongo. And here in Spain the gypsy world said, “how?” The millions of manufacturers began to emerge.cantedrawers of this country. It could have had no significance at all, and yet…

«Paco was an innovator and a groundbreaker, he knew how to take advantage of that condition of beingcante, he knew how to suck and take advantage of everything. But I don't think that in the last stage before breaking up with the traditional group much happened. Chick Corea came along, who was the one who refreshed, but Paco was busy changing dancers, he brought in a reliable guitarist who gave him a good time, but not much else happened. That's how I understand it at least"

–Going back to your first contacts, was it difficult for you to get into Paco’s music?

–Not much, because it was all very light, I only played a Colombian with him, we did rumbas, tangos… They were palos friendly, they did not have the complexity of the bulería, for example. I never played a bulería with Paco. What we did did not have a commitment to knowledge so deep as to understand the pellizcos of things and everything that entails flamenco.

–Did you know Álvaro Yébenes and what he had done before you?

–I knew Álvaro, but no, I had never spoken to him, only later I saw something that had been posted about him on Youtube. In fact, my previous partner in Dolores, Toni Aguilar, was the one who recorded Paco’s album about Manuel de Falla. When we finished this tour there were no more extensions of the military service, and that’s when the great figure of Carles Benavent emerged, who revolutionised everything with a resource, the pick technique. I don’t know if you’ve heard any concerts by Música Urbana, the group he belonged to with Joan Albert Amargós. It was such a virtuoso group, such a Mahavishnu Orchestra, with so much flourish… And that ability to understand the concept of phrases, the incorporation of unisons in the falsetas, was a great advantage for him and it was revolutionary. I understand that everything exploded a bit there.

–Do you mean that the phases of Yébenes, Aguilar and you were still of searching that crystallized with Benavent?

–Yes, yes. Before there was neither time –the periods I did with Paco for rehearsals were very few–, nor that commitment to dig. The before and after for me was the understanding of phrasing, of vertigo and of understanding the palos of the flamenco through the virtuosity of Carles.

–While traveling on tour, did a different Paco appear to you?

–They were long tours, the one in America was three months, because the times dictated it: paying a ticket there is not the same today as it was 40 years ago. It forced you to have many days of doing nothing, going to the beach, visiting this place… I will never forget in my life in Rio de Janeiro when they hit us. palo Both of us, Paco and me [laughs]. We went to Copacabana and I don’t know what happened, Rubem and Jorge left on their own. We decided to walk back to the hotel, and shortly after leaving we were approached by some transvestites, “handsome, I don’t know what…”. They were like two prostitutes, and the first thing they did was grab your bag. While one of them was doing it, the other one grabbed your wallet and took it from you. Straight away. They robbed us in the stupidest way. Two minutes later, I checked and said “fuck, my wallet!” And Paco, “fuck, mine!” [laughs] They were fucking professionals. They stole 100 dollars from me, which at that time was a lot of money. Back then, every two or three concerts the manager paid you, basically so he wouldn’t have to go with all the money on him. There were no contracts or anything.

–Any other anecdotes you remember?

–In Mexico we also had two experiences… We were going to Guadalajara in a van, on a highway. The driver made a strange overtaking, and don’t tell me how or why, we passed a truck and after a while we saw that the truck wanted to push us off the road. As I can tell you. Today it is still the same: life in Mexico is worthless. You go to the other neighborhood and it is so wide.

–Heart-stopping.

–I also remember that Jorge and Rubem hooked up with two girls, and they had a car accident. They ended up at the police station and, although it wasn't their fault, they had to pay a bribe to get them released. It's that clear. But there was something more serious…

–More serious?

–Yes, in Monterrey, we had to catch a flight that left very early, around eight in the morning, and at six o’clock we were in the lobby opening the hotel buffet, there was no one there. Rubem and I went downstairs, drowsy, and we saw a fat guy, making a scene with a very exuberant chick, with two other guys behind him. They went straight into the dining room. Rubem stared at him and said: “Fuck the fat guy.” We had breakfast and, before finishing, the guy came out before us, went to Rubem and asked him: “Who are you calling fat guy?” Before I knew it, one of the guys with him threw me to the ground and pointed a gun at me: “If you move, I’ll fry you.” And Rubem ran ahead of the famous fat guy [laughs] all over the dining room, they couldn’t even catch him. Until the receptionists arrived and the guy left. He was a deputy in the Mexican House of Representatives. I remember that I leaked a little urine.

«You see a flamenco guitar score and you go crazy with the imprint and the technique used. But this one said “you have to sign”, and signing meant that I was on board. He was paid for his right of pernada as a co-author. Was it legal, or was it not legal? Who knows. It was a business of crooks: there was a protocol to follow, someone had to do it, and in that process, while you look the other way, I put the muffin in your coffee»

–What kind of audience did you find on the tour?

–In both Europe and America, people were super excited about Paco. But Paco, as I said, didn't like playing. I don't think he enjoyed it. He had his days like everyone else, but this was a constant in his spirit.

–How were your next experiences in the flamenco?

–Well, playing with Paco gives you a halo of repetition of the play. I have played with Enrique Morente, with Enrique de Melchor… After entering the military I spent three years with Lola Flores and her whole family, Carmen, Antoñito, Lolita… I have played with everyone except Rosario. Sometimes I went to play in Valencia and arrived at the barracks at eight in the morning [laughs]. Then I have done tours with El Fary, things that have to do with copla… And with Antonio Carmona. They called me when they were making Ketama, and then I tell you that I thought: “This is it.” Circumstances have led me to the roll of the copla. flamenco, but I didn't like the country people: the rudeness, the bad manners, the misunderstood jokes... I've had many experiences with gypsies, I've already told you that I've been eating and sleeping with the Flores family, respectful people that I can't even tell you about, and with Manolito Soler, who was also on tour with Paco. But that's another thing...

–A friend who was very tired after a radio program said, “I like radio programs more and more.” flamenco“Yes, but on disk.” Did this happen to you?

–Of course. The flamenco It's like jazz, it's a way of life. You can't get away from it, you either get carried away by it or you're a dead man. And I ran away from it like the plague. A musician who has done many things with Jorge, Tomás San Miguel, formed a group in the 80s and we toured Europe with Gerardo Núñez and Juan Manuel Cañizares, and they are lovely people, beautiful people and respect… But suddenly this new generation emerged and you asked yourself “where did these guys come from?” All this left its mark on me, but in my life as a bassist I have dedicated myself to commercial music, I have toured with Miguel Bosé, with Victor Manuel and Ana Belén, with Sergio Dalma for many years… And since 2013 I have dedicated myself to composition, I make incidental music for dance, I am involved in free music, I use the computer to make electronic music. I continue playing at home, but I liked other things.

-The flamenco: either you are a member of it, or…

–I mean, like jazz. I've done Clamores and Café Central to the point of boredom. But I tend to get tired a lot, I'm interested in fluttering, seeing where trends of any kind are going, free jazz, pop... I'm very Martian and I try to stay mentally fresh. But from the first moment I understood that if you want to make a living you have to show off to people, and that's it. But I still listen to the flamencoI even have a daughter who has a degree in Spanish dance.

–How do you see the evolution of the bass? flamenco?

–There is a Benavent school that everyone follows, but there is not much more. There is a lack of a rupture, mainly due to the palette used. There is an attachment to certain colours that remains unchanged, and little concern for breaking the moulds, little interest in a break like the one Rosalía has made with the classical voice and the sampler. Perhaps the same rigidity of the palos It is a black hole, it has such power that it tends to trap light and there comes a time when there is no more space, it is all mass. Be careful with this.

–Were you aware that Paco revolutionized that inertia album after album?

–Yes, I haven't followed it exhaustively, not to the point of doing an analysis. There was an evolution, the artist's own. This also happens in jazz: look, I have a theory, and it is that apart from Miles Davis, who is the one who invented everything, everything that happens today... When you have an artist with so much personality in his sound, in the way of phrasing... You listen to Chick Corea, to speak to someone who has been attracted to jazz... flamenco, or a guitarist like Pat Metheny, and there comes a time when you've heard one, you've heard it all. They have such a personality that they end up trapped in their own aesthetics, and they have nothing left to say. What are you telling me, if you've already told me everything? It's going around in circles, and that prevents them from evolving. Paco was an innovator and a groundbreaker, he knew how to take advantage of that condition of beingcante, he knew how to suck it up and take advantage of everything. But I don't think that much happened in the last stage before breaking up with the traditional group. Chick Corea came along, who was the one who refreshed, but Paco was busy changing dancers, he brought in a reliable guitarist who would give him a good time, but not much else happened. That's how I understand it at least.

–They say that at that time he became even more gypsy, especially as a result of the conflict with his family. Camarón...

–Of course, you want to be in tune with your origins, but that's taking things down a notch. Think of it as a bit like what happened to Camarón with the legend of time, who said to him “where is the gypsy going with this?” Without fully understanding what he was doing, because Pachón was not fully aware of it, it turned out well. But turning back never produces great things.

«He is a person who died young. And at the same time, mind you, I didn't feel sorry for him, except for the person. I thought it was logical. It's a bit of a consequence of excess. (…) The truth is that in the flamenco You move in a breeding ground that seems that if you don't get up to your neck in something, you are not flamenco, that you are not comfortable. And if you don't fit in, you are spat out by the system.

–Regarding copyright conflicts, do you know the details of what Paco suffered with his own songs?

–More or less. The famous maestro Torregrosa was a Polydor announcer. The announcer was a figure in the golden age of music, he was in charge of coordinating the recordings and writing all the scores, he was an arranger… And the one who wrote also had copyright. Paco did not know how to write music, and even less with the technique of flamenco, which is fucking awesome. You see a flamenco guitar score and you go crazy with the imprint and the technique used. But this one said “you have to sign”, and signing meant that I was on board. He was paid for his right of pernada as a co-author. Was it legal, wasn’t it legal? Who knows. Here everyone has had their war with this type of character. It was a business of scoundrels: there was a protocol to follow, someone had to do it, and in that process, while you look the other way, I put the muffin in your coffee.

–How do you remember Paco at parties, off stage?

–That dark cloud that was the presence of his brother conditioned him, he felt controlled in some way. And the other one let him, “yes, yes, you have fun, but warm up because tomorrow you have to go out to play.” A Jiminy Cricket. Paco smoked a lot of tobacco, drank his whiskey and that was it. Of course there was a life behind the concerts, how could there not be, but he lived it with a certain discretion. And then there were Jorge and Rubem, what can I tell you about the two figures [laughs]. They signed up for a bombing. But I can't say much more.

–Do you remember other conversations with Paco?

–That idea that I was telling you before, “I just want to be at home playing the guitar, and I have no other choice but to go on tour and go out in front of the public.” And with that he got upset, but to say I have to go to the toilet. He has been tormented by that responsibility that all extraordinary beings have, to know what they have and to meet expectations. If years later he had told me “I couldn’t,” I wouldn’t have been surprised in the least. And yes, we did talk about the subject of family, about his wife…

–What did you think when you received the news of his death?

–I was obviously surprised, he is a person who died young. And at the same time, look, I didn't feel sorry, apart from for the person. I thought it was logical. It is a bit the consequence of excess, of that state of anxiety that he has not fully controlled... That is where the person who has been closest to him would have to delve into, what a trail his internal struggle has left, the life he has led. We could all have a stroke tomorrow, I am 66 years old and I see many colleagues who are dying, because this life takes its toll on you. Then there are the old people in the village who drink a litre of wine every day for lunch and die at 90, but genetics and other things come into play. The truth is that in the flamenco You move in a breeding ground that seems like if you don't get up to your neck in something it seems like you're not flamenco, that you are not comfortable. And if you don't fit in, you are spat out by the system.

–I haven’t asked you: was there a formal farewell to the group?

–I think it was Berry who told me that there was no more extension of the military service, and at the same time I think they already had it clear that they would change the person, I don't know if it was the chicken or the egg that came first. But there was no clear trigger.

–Did you and Paco ever talk again?

–Yes, we greeted each other when he did his first tour with John McLaughin and I think Larry Coryell, in the old Sports Hall. We saw each other and greeted each other. There was a concert in London, on the European tour, and that day I didn’t know where to go, because we had McLaughin and Jack Bruce, the bassist of Cream, who was playing with him at the time, in the front row. And you see Mr. Pereira playing there with Paco, and seeing the faces of both of them. Then they came into the dressing room and greeted us. That was something to write home about. And I remember Peter Erskine as being especially nice, affable, communicative. Years later, the guy remembered when we coincided at a concert in Turkey, and then in France with Tomás San Miguel’s group. I also remember a Bill Evans trio, which came with a guitarist who has since passed away, called Chuck Loeb…

–Of course, I have listened a lot to an album of yours called Lists.

–I’ll tell you something to help you understand how these people live, what they have in their heads. On that tour, Chuck met a mutual friend of the gang that we were hanging around with there. Her name was Carmen Cuesta, they got married and she has been his wife all her life. They started coming every year to see her family. He had the habit of doing a small concert on those occasions, and at one of them there were, I don’t know, Jesús Pardo, Jorge Pardo, Carlos Carli and I, who were so nervous: imagine accompanying that guy, giving half of what they put in front of you on the bill, that you look at him and think, what is this? Well, Chuck comes to the break and comes out looking upset, and I thought: if he heard all the crap we played, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to kill us. And the guy says: “Damn, I missed two notes.” How can I tell you? I tried to tell him that improvising is a technique, but it is also a risk, and the one who takes risks can fail. “Chick never fails.” And of course, you see that these people are traumatized because they are not number 1 or 2 or 3, maybe they are number 5. This innate instinct of competitiveness. But what do you want, to live off of music, or for music to live off of you, because it doesn't let you do anything else? Well, the break ends, the guy goes up to get some air, I go to the bar with Carlos Carli, and suddenly we see Cifu, the one from Jazz among friends, with Pat Metheny. Holy shit! They sit in the front row, Carlos and I, scared, thinking “what the hell is this guy missing!”, and Chuck doesn’t notice. He gets on stage without realizing it, hangs up his guitar and suddenly sees the other guy, and he turns white and gets nervous like I’ve never seen anyone else. I’m not saying he started to make mistakes, it was something else. Human beings assign ourselves our position, that irrational aspect of “how am I going to have the nerve to let go of the churro here when that other guy, for me, lets it go much better than me”. Then you fall with the whole team.

–Paco was sweating cold when he came to Seville, for example, and saw the stalls full of guitarists…

–Of course, raise crows and they will take your eyes out. You have created what you have created, which is really amazing, but my friend, you have dwarfs. Because if you do half-scratch, another one comes along who does ultra-half-scratch, and runs over you with two balls. You are now entering the realm of… I have a way of understanding music as a summary, not as a show of technique or as an exuberant staging of how many notes I am capable of putting in and how. Music is absolutely swallowed up by technique. I listen to Riqueni accompanying and my balls fall to the floor, how can you have this pleasure with the guitar? Is he a virtuoso? No. Sometimes, the feeling of how you caress a chord and how you understand the space you are occupying, there are so many things, it is so complex… Taste ends up trapping you above virtuosity. Virtuoism, if you have it, you have to give it in dribs and drabs. But now there is a lot of access to schools, and brutal competition. And you can't see the forest for the trees. ♦

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