Since not long ago, Rocio Marquez (Huelva, 1985) disappears from the stage in August. It is a time dedicated to rest, creation, and preparation for what is to come. What comes next, in September, is the debut on the stage of Vertical anthem, his most recent album, published at the end of last spring and in which, self-produced and accompanied by the guitarist Pedro Rojas Ogáyar (Torres, Jaén, 1984), classically trained and with a broad range of practice that allows him to move easily between the most classical and the most experimental, have composed a collection of songs that address grief and the intimacy of the pain it produces. It was conceived when they were both experiencing loss: Rojas Ogáyar, that of his father; Márquez, that of Nuria, an older cousin, who taught him to sing fandangos and with whom he shared adventures and lessons.
After a long career on stage since his debut at the age of nine in the Peña Flamenca From Huelva, and with ten albums of his own under his belt (as well as countless collaborations), Márquez takes a further step in his need to seek creative freedom based on what he knows best: flamencoOn September 17th, he will present it in Vic, as part of the Mercado de Música Viva. It will then be performed on stages in Brussels, Cádiz, Córdoba, and Granada, among others.
– A year and a bit before the publication of 'Himno vertical' we met in Madrid and then I He said: I have several projects. I decide the projects based on how the situation is for me. body." He also told me that he was working on vertical poetry. What was it that was it placed in his body to go down that path instead of other projects?
– Yes, I was also researching the fandango based on something we did for Arco [the Madrid Contemporary Art Fair] related to Remedios Malvárez's film. It took me a long time to decide, because the fandango is the first melody I learned, and it has a strong connection to the land, to my family, to Nuria. I would start singing fandangos and I couldn't find myself, so I thought, "This isn't the way, I have to find another way." In the end, it was through polyphony. I don't know if that will give me something for another project, but I'm already starting to try it out with other projects. palos. When I met with Pedro [Rojas Ogáyar], we started talking about lullabies and the children we weren't going to have. Not being a mother can also be told from many angles. We had that idea on the table, but when we improvised, the book I had as an anchor was Vertical poetryI improvised with that and, by looking for rhyme and meter in those free verses, it ended up being what it is now.
– How did you meet Rojas Ogáyar?
– At a tribute to Saramago at the Lope de Vega, organized by Rafael Villalobos in 2022. We knew each other from greeting each other, but we'd never shared the stage. We didn't play together that time either, but we were both interested in what the other was doing. And we'd been meaning to meet for a while, to have coffee, no pressure, but to be interested in a possible encounter when the time was right. What Villalobos did was like a sign. Well, as an anecdote, the first meeting we had, in a very special café in Seville, went on so long that we lost track of time and started receiving calls from our partners, thinking something had happened to us… Then, last summer, we started working: in June we saw each other, by August everything was ready, and in September we started recording. It was very quick; normally my creative processes are slower.
"I feel like 'Himno Vertical' comes from a different place than I've used before to create. The connection with those who are no longer with us is very strong. Pedro was grieving for his father, and I was grieving for mine, and that brought us together in improvisation. It's like a clean, healing, and calming path."
– However, some time ago I mentioned this interest in vertical poetry…
– True. I'd say the process was quick, but I'd been working on that book for two years. I carried it in my purse, read it in my spare time, and gave it to people close to me because it was revolutionizing me inside. But you have to give things time, let them happen, because they sink in, and eventually, what's meant to come out is what's meant to come out. Then, when I finally met Pedro, we were both in Seville and saw each other three times a week, from 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. There's a lot to it.
– Did the intensity of the creative process have anything to do with the way you both work?
– Yes. We're very much into going the extra mile and not waiting too long. Besides, this project is very intimate; it's just the two of us. When several people are involved, it's much more complex; you have to juggle schedules and all that.
– What were those first improvisations like?
– Very long, over half an hour each track. We decided to listen to them only once together to avoid memorizing them. I improvised music while reading verses from Vertical poetry, which is free verse. Then, by repeating and condensing them, my flamenco structure asked me for rhyme, we were structuring in palos, and that's where new lyrics were born. There are beautiful things that improvisation gives you. In some cases, I would repeat a phrase for twenty minutes, like the End, pain, end, which connects with a fandango that Nuria sang and that was one of the first that I sang in a peña flamenca.
– In March they made a presentation of Vertical anthem live, naked and very intimate, in Santander, at the Botín Center, where they respected the structure of the topics quite a bit, although was extended in time compared to the recording. However, since then they have been preparing a stage version of the album to take it to larger and more public spaces more numerous from September onwards. In a conversation, Pedro Rojas-Ogáyar told us who feels that each presentation is going to be a unique concert. How are you preparing for that? stage version?
– I feel that Vertical Anthem It's very much alive, it needs to go 25.000 times. I also have the same feeling as Pedro. The Santander concert helped us clarify the structure and test the spaces in which the film can begin to expand, letting the improvisation flow, which will be what defines the concerts. We could also have gone back to the beginning, which is to let each concert be a grand improvisation, but we chose to maintain the structure of the songs.
– On the album there are malagueñas, fandangos, bulerías, soleá, seguiriya, guajira, tangos… Was there a predefined idea of the palos that I wanted to play? Why compose in these structures and not in others?
– It's very nice, because what happens to me is that when I listened to Pedro play, each piece of music took me to a place, to a palo, and Pedro followed me. Afterwards, everything becomes more defined and fine-tuned. But, for example, the seguiriya, ArdeIt came out exactly like that from the start. Then there were also times when Pedro would improvise in 4x4 time and he'd take me along to play guajiras, and we thought it was a perfect fit. It just came about. It didn't come from a mental source; it was all very experimental.
"You know when you've been accompanied. There's no need to name it or explain it too much. The beauty of sharing it is recognizing how lucky you are not to have been alone. But also, if you open yourself to the magical and beautiful, you open yourself to the pain. They go hand in hand."
– The lyrics of all the songs that appear on the album have a thematic coherence around the grief and loss, and the personal process that occurs when it happens. It also has a structure that could even be said to be chronological of that duel. But the second cut, the fandango titled Appearance, seems to revolve around heartbreak…
– Nuria sang those lyrics and they are one of the first fandangos that I sang in the Peña Flamenca from Huelva. It starts there and then develops in another direction, going somewhere else. It ends with the lyrics Finish, pity ends, from Cartagena… I think it's an interesting example of the things that improvisation gives you, because suddenly that phrase resonated with me and, I don't know, in the first improvisation I was able to spend twenty-something minutes hooked on it. It's over, it's over. The middle part of the song focuses on romantic love. It revolves more around learning to love, and this implies that along the way, we sometimes suffer because we identify love with things that aren't love, things that are attachments. Perhaps what I called love was attachment, and letting go of it and transforming it into something more peaceful has cost me a lot of suffering, and that connects with the ending.
– This idea of placing flamenco lyrics on other palos It is also in Malaga, Absence, which takes verses from the proclamation of the Niño de las Moras.
– There are popular lyrics that have an overwhelming force. That lyric, Oh, my daddy, that I got lost and my espadrilles broke and I got stuck in a piece of glass, It tells what it feels like when you're in the dark night of the soul, but it's said in such a beautiful, poetic way, yet so popular, so relatable... In the improvisations, I tried not to set limits on what was right or wrong. It's true that I used a filter to try to round out the lyrics, with the help of the poet Carmen Camacho, and if anything had gotten in the way, I would have left it out, but in the end, everything falls into place. Something very magical happened with this album.
– This relates to the dictations. Three of them are collected on the disc, forming the backbone of the collection. themes, and after the release of the album he has reflected a lot on the idea of authorship, on Whether creation is conscious or not. What has been your experience?
– I am convinced that the letters are dictated to me, not from other worlds, but from within, as the first one says Dictation. I feel that Vertical anthem It comes from a different place than I've used before to create. The connection with those who are no longer with us is very strong. Pedro was grieving for his father, and I was grieving for mine, and that brought us together in improvisation. It's like a clean, healing, and calming path. You know when you've been accompanied. There's no need to name it or explain it too much. The beauty of telling it is recognizing how lucky you are to not have been alone. But also, if you open yourself to the magical and beautiful, you open yourself to the pain. They go hand in hand. ♦
