I couldn't help myself. I had seen it a couple of months ago in Torres Macarena throwing a party on stage. And I went to the smell of the age that comes from Sanlúcar passing through Jerez. To the warmth of the dance without pretense, spontaneous, natural, jondo and scoundrel, new and traditional. Abel Harana He's got me hooked. It's hard to imagine a critic can't have his own tastes. He's not the only one, but he is one of the most distinctive dancers on the roster these days. And he appears on only a few posters, which is unfair and demonstrates the little bit of nothing that programmers and politicians channel, focusing only on the media, on the same ones, forgetting about top-tier artists who demand their well-deserved stage with their heels. Abel is one of them, who triumphs wherever he goes. As happened in The Well of Sorrows, from where he left on shoulders with a bag of oles for the memory and the patio revolutionized by flamenco.
He went down the stairs of the dressing room, playing tonás, picking up his duchesses and alternating the cante with the dance, to then give the bars puntillados on the wood to the cante split from El Galli and honey crystals Cristina TovarThe three of them sang enough to pinch him. Thus began the romance that captivated the audience, who enjoyed the ceremony of a flamenco party half a meter from their chests. Enough to tear their shirts off.
"It didn't matter what he did. He put the stamp of grace on everything. It came out of him without meaning to, like someone blinking or breathing. Because Abel Harana is flamenco From the heel to the fringe, pure, without artifice, with knowledge and plenty of rhythm.
No matter what she did, she put the stamp of grace on everything. It came out of her without her wanting to, like someone blinking or breathing. Because it was flamenco From the heel to the fringe, pure, without artifice, with knowledge and plenty of rhythm. She doesn't seek a composed figure; it comes naturally, and she has her own gestures, like the way she releases her fingers as if sprinkling salt, the way she gathers her jacket and places her hands on either side of her waist, emphasizing her hips, those strong but not stretched features of raising her arms, The precision of feet that now gallop like horses, now engage in clean tapping that does not seek ostentation.Yes, he has the technique, but under the yoke of art and sensitivity. He doesn't think about the dance. The dance thinks about him. And he lets himself be carried away like a moan flows, like a tear rolls, like sea foam slides. He dances to the cante and to the touch, which crosses him on the proscenium. Because he is above all an amateur. And how he sings! He gets carried away with the airs of Sanlúcar, Lebrija, Utrera and Jerez, and is capable of making the thirds his own like the patás. That's how he twisted us in the soleá por bulerías, where El Galli stole the guitar from Ruben Romero, who accompanied him luxuriously, to play him and then the palatial one went up on stage Jose Angel Carmona to accompany the cante from El Galli. A letter was even made to finish off the painting. This is Los Palacios, gentlemen. This is the Peña The Well of Sorrows.
Cristina also sang malagueñas and abandolaos, swaying the thirds with caresses and laments. Rubén left his thumb on the alzapúas and bordoneos of a solo por bulerías. Abel danced solemnly por taranto and excelled in the change to tangos, embroidering the silences, dancing with a smooth and rounded touch the playful swaying of the games of time, which he tamed at will later por alegrías. And there was no shortage of the finale por bulerías—he joined in Anabel de Vico– already unleashed and at the climax of the big mess created by the Sanluqueño who shone in Los Palacios with a very personal aplomb in his dance.
Credits
Abel Harana dance recital
Flamenco Gathering at The Well of Sorrows, Los Palacios, Seville
March 29th 2025
Dance: Abel Harana
Cante: El Galli and Cristina Tovar
Guitar: Ruben Romero
