La Provincial Federation of Seville of Flamenco Entities wanted to celebrate the centenary of the birth of Francisco Moreno Galvan, the Moorish Renaissance man from the calm, olive-grove-filled lands of the countryside. To this end, he has organized a series of recitals, which, by the way, we miss the fact that they are not accompanied by a brief biographical account of the painter-poet-designer-shaman from Puebla de Cazalla.
The circuit arrived at noon, like the magazine of the Sevillian poets, in the Peña Flamenco Cultural El Gallo de Morón de la Frontera, which was all about borders. Up next, the book presentation Echoes of the People, Jose Francisco Lopez. Verses on the invisible border of lyric poetry and the very young Leo Gamero accompanying the Aragonese soleá, the poems took on flamenco form. The audience was enthralled and cheered the final recitation, dedicated to Morón.
And then. Another border of the flamenco. But not that of Morón, but that of Jerez. With the borders holding hands, the minutes passed and the circle of inspiration and the spirits narrowed. The borders united, wrapped together, hand in hand, with the flamenco by flag. San Miguel neighborhood in the voice of Luis Moneo and at the touch of his son Juan ManuelA measured and warm recital, worth listening to. flamenco without microphones or cables in between has its charm.
"Midday between borders and between flamencos. That from Morón to Jerez there are not so many kilometers. That the flamenco "It shortens the distance, especially when it remembers characters like Moreno Galván."
It began with tientos to warm up and ended with lively tangos. The alegrías of Cádiz had the aftertaste of the Moneo, that “La Parzuela, in front of Calle Sol… is not Babylon.” The finale was a half-step dance by Rafael de Paula, who “is a bullfighter even when he’s walking.” He continued with a soleá, starting with Alcalá, where “I wanted to climb to the castle” and ending with Triana, “which was so poorly paid to me, having been my companion with you for a hundred years.” In between were the “sweet melon field” and the “I threw firewood in your corral, to see if you loved me…”, because “your love and my love…” is already known. The thing continued with seguiriyas, cante a gypsy that Luis knows like the back of his hand, it's in his blood. "Let the bells not toll..." and the one from the Pacote family with the echo of Saint Michael on their lips, handing out ducas, black sorrows and shattering, into a thousand pieces, the cante and time. And fandangos… In a corner they remembered the Ortega. In the other, of the Paquera, which is why we heard things from Jerez. "Neither guard nor sentinel...", "whether your mother wants it or not...", "in my hands, but in my mouth, I wouldn't," and "I bear it with honor, I am from Jerez, gentlemen..." with echoes of Gloria.
The thing ended –although it didn't end until the moon rose next to the walls of the Castle– with bulerías, where Luis Moneo He rocks, like few others, with the shortcomings of his people.
Midday between borders and between flamencos. That from Morón to Jerez there are not so many kilometers. That the flamenco It shortens the distances, especially when it remembers characters like Moreno Galván.
