John of John He's admirably crazy. He's one of those brilliant, eclectic flamenco dancers, touched by... flamencoThe poison reaches his very marrow. He knows what he's dancing, he doesn't imitate, he doesn't care about posing, it comes naturally to him because his eyes and the blessed flesh of that lean, upright body have absorbed it, sometimes broken, other times hieratic, sometimes round or cropped, powerful, furious, full of courage and overflowing with duende and rhythm.
He gave a short but intense recital. He skimped on the finale, which the audience of the Peña Flamenca Torres Macarena He's used to it. He arrived, he swept us away, he left us wanting more, and he left just as we were savoring the moment. He built his performance gradually, the scoundrel. My bones still ache from his ground-planting and the way he raised his arms, those tiny, almost subtle, calls. His wheelbarrows and the precision of his feet, that way he grabbed his jacket, the way he swayed, lost his balance or his verticality with a touch of sway, the dreamlike turns and the double-time maneuvers he executed flawlessly or left in silence, without the clownish showmanship of those who only seek applause, with the discerning eye of those who know the ropes and can distinguish between talent. Juan de Juan jolted me to tears with electric shocks of profound insight and genius.
The guitar of Paco Iglesias He brought elegance and flamenco flair to the painting. Juan brought a top-notch backdrop. John Joseph Amador –"The Mule," they say ironically–, as the supreme authority of cante To dance, he curled the drawn-out wails that reign in his Adam's apple, at the will of the one who commands, tightening in the high notes and thickening the low ones where no one can equal him. And El GalliHe, who also didn't stutter, was even more infected by the wild springs and sang in a state of excellence, with piercing cries that went straight to the chest, stirring hearts. They were torn apart by Juan. Iglesias lulled them with the brilliance of six rivers of crystalline silver, clean, heartfelt, joyful and at times, sorrowful.
"Flatterer, flirtatious, flamenco And young man. With his slightly disheveled touch. He pulled a transition to the seguiriya out of his pocket and danced to the daggers of the cante"Opening himself up completely, showing just the tip of how to stand when the thirds are thrown. He went down the steps, carrying the lament of the seguiriya to the floor, all the way to the dressing room."
The guitar began with a delicate touch, playing malagueñas and abandolaos, painting the breeze with colors between the Macarena walls. To the rhythm of cantiñas, the alegrías and romeras entered. Juan de Juan threw himself onto the platform and the good times continued. Charming, spicy, flamenco And young man. With his slightly disheveled air, as if he didn't care about the figures. But he knew them all. He pulled a transition to the seguiriya out of his pocket and danced to the daggers of the canteOpening himself up completely, showing just the tip of how to stand when the thirds are thrown. He descended the steps, carrying the lament of the seguiriya to the floor, all the way to the dressing room.
The tangos with which the Garlic Piñás opened the second half were a riot of substance and knowledge, of rhythm and taste. Then came the soleá, and Juan de Juan from Morón demonstrated how to move the stage, what the steps are called, how time stands still, with silences weighing more than a foot-stomping, more striking when lifting his eyelashes or slowly moving his arms than with a string of heel taps tattooing his feet on the stage. He finished it off with bulerías, as it should be. And here and there in his dance he remembered The Girl Amparo, Pepe Rios, Barrull, The Andorran o The Güito...among many others. Because their steps are a constant tribute to the masters, filtered through the vision of someone head over heels in love, who lives, sleeps, and dreams with dance. And it shows. How I love that they remember Lebrija, Utrera, and Morón! They stained their throats with the sounds of the countryside, evoking the echoes of Gaspar...placing the accent mark where the people of Lebrija invented it when they were putting the bulería into a ballad, and that's where things stood after a more than deserved ovation, although he finished it off, leaving us all wanting more. Finish it, Juan! Because then we critics tell all. Or almost all.
Credits
Juan de Juan's dance recital
Peña Torres Macarena, Seville
February 12th 2026
Dance: Juan de Juan
CanteJuan José Amador and David El Galli
Guitar: Paco Iglesias
