A few days ago, during a conversation, a friend expoflamenco I was wondering why art fans jondo We're so repetitive with anniversaries. And in a way, they're right, because it's one thing to highlight certain round dates—25, 50, 100...—and another to highlight any other date, like "today marks 11 years since artist so-and-so's debut at their hometown fair." You know what I mean?
However, and without diminishing my friend's opinion, I believe it's a way we have of bringing people back to life, and with them the art they left us. It's important to keep in mind that the etymology of the word "remember" includes the word "heart." It's formed from the Latin words "remember" and "heart."re” (prefix that leads us to “again”, “once again”) and “cordare"which comes from the root “cordis” (heart).
Therefore, these continuous reviews on certain dates are not a mental exercise but an emotional one. For example, on the radio, “we re-remember” For a certain artist, what we intend is to feel again, to return in some way to the agitation of pulses that have so much to do with memory.
Summer is very prone to various speculations, so your apologies are accepted. But let it be clear from the aforementioned the meaning that I, at least, give to the commemoration of these and other anniversaries. The truth is, I like to celebrate the births of people or certain vitally important events; not so much their deaths. But our society is very much about obituaries. Without going any further, this happened recently: a flamenco singer who was barely a factor in his city passed away and was elevated higher than the clouds. I'm reminded of another one who, during his lifetime, received awards from every town except his own, which will be posthumous. That's how it is, and I'm afraid we're not going to change that.
Be that as it may, today is one of those days when important anniversaries intersect, and since we're here, we'll take advantage of the opportunity to light our candles in memory. On July 2nd of different years, three enormous figures passed away physically—though not completely—from us: Tomás Pavón (1952); Camarón de la Isla (1992) and Paco Toronjo (1998). As fans, we can't resist the desire to be "moved again" by the beat of their works. And if it's been a while since we happened to absorb the flamenco truth of Tomás, the magic of José, and the boundless emotion of Paco, it's a perfect excuse to return to them, at least for today. And that's what truly matters.
For all these reasons, I invite you to remember this podcast from the Caminos series that we dedicated to these three great geniuses on this very special July 2nd:
