Music is a skill. So said the Japanese educator Shinichi suzuki (1898-1998), who He revolutionized music education when he postulated, among other things, that artistic abilities are not innate, one is not born with them, it is something learned and therefore cultivable in all children, just as with the mother tongue.Although in the field of music it is most natural to think that certain skills are inherited between parents and children, although not always.
The large Tomatito He called me a few years ago to ask me to write something for "El Niño's" album, and I gladly did so, titling it the same as this article. I loved that album and José Besides being a very good kid, he's an exceptional musician and teacher. Father and son are the best example of what I'm trying to say here: when a flamenco guitar reigns in a house, it passes from parents to children quite naturally. Which isn't to say that even if there's no hint of music in a home, the greatest genius of all time can't emerge from it. At the flamenco There is a lot of emphasis on the themes of blood, heritage, race, and consanguinity. And while that's true, it's not that big of a deal. Would it be necessary? dieguito as it should be if that house of the Moraos Wouldn't it be a temple of the guitar? Surely not. From the fourth month of pregnancy, as hearing develops, a baby is able to perceive sounds. And if your father is the great Moraíto ChicoWell, there's nothing more to say, you're almost guaranteed to become a guitarist. And that's why, thank goodness, it happened. Not because it's in their blood, but because of the air they breathe, the cooking pots, and that smell of wine that permeates the streets of Jerez.
How many musical parents haven't had musical children? Probably most. If we exclude, of course, all those who try to live off a surname even though they're nowhere near as good as they seem. We wish! I've written about this before in this column: Johann Sebastian Bach He had twenty children, and only five became professional musicians. And yet that house must have been a veritable cathedral of music. And their children and great-great-grandchildren—if music weren't a skill, as Suzuki said, today there would be an army of musicians filling orchestras around the world, and we would be talking about "The Bachs." No. Talent may be divine, but an aptitude for music is human; it's acquired over the years, just like an athlete's. We can't intervene in the divine. gades He was the son of a bricklayer who, disabled in the war, ended up as a doorman in a building in Entrevías. And look how that lad turned out.
"If the music playing at home is the music of Camarón Much better than Bad Bunny. Better Manolo Sanlúcar than Keith Richards. Better Marchena than Carreras. And if it comes straight from the mother and/or father, all the better. Home practice is more nourishing than academic study in the early years; later on, it's the teachers who train future teachers.
In my case, I don't have any professional musicians in my family, although music has always been the dominant force at home.My father's classical music, my mother's folk songs, and my brothers' rock and pop. Music has always been our favorite form of expression. I won a song contest at school when I was seven. I have your love de Formula V a cappella, I sang My lemon y Black is Black.until we bought a single from the BeatlesThat changed our lives. flamenco He arrived in Madrid, already a twelve-year-old, via a rumba, a concert of Paco de Lucía at sixteen, and, above all, in Vienna, where I had to go to the flamenco to pay for my studies. Let's just say I was lucky enough to be surrounded by the best, where I learned the most. But it wasn't inherited, or anything like that. A Bedouin of the flamenco In all rules.
In Spanish we have sayings that allude to what we are talking about: like father, like son, like son, like son, like son. palo such a splinter… And it's true. There is nothing better for a child destined to be a musician than to have a family of musicians.From the very first moment, he will be predisposed, having walked hand in hand with his parents, siblings, or grandparents the first few meters of a long and winding marathon, for that is what music is. And to be flamenco The same applies. Don't look for racial or geographical shortcuts—though those play a part—but the main one, more than blood or homeland, lies in the day-to-day grind; step by step, you make your way. It's been proven, don't overthink it.
No one should feel discouraged, as many try to do with racial and identity-based comments, from starting, when they are able, on that path of learning about flamencoBeing Homo sapiens, he will be able to achieve it. To stand out among the thousands already dedicated to the art of jondo, must be touched by the divine finger. It will belong to the chosen few, the fewest, the court of flamenco, which is increasingly nourished by ethnic diversity and origins of the most varied kinds.
The transmission of art day by day is fundamental, essential. That is the flamenco And that's where you have to suck it up. If the music playing at home is the music of Camarón Much better than Bad Bunny, Manolo Sanlúcar better than Keith Richards, Marchena better than Carreras, although, I insist, if it comes straight from the mother and/or father, all the better. There's no doubt that home practice is more nourishing than academic study in the early years; later on, it's the teachers who train future teachers, but starting your day with a rhythmic "good morning" is the best feeling. Friendships and the neighborhood also play a big role. Sometimes growing up immersed in the genre you want to cultivate means that everyday life translates into greater benefits for your musical development. That makes a huge difference. Sometimes, by sheer chance, your neighbor is a phenomenal singer, musician, or dancer, and they grow fond of you because they see you always paying attention to what they're doing, showing the way to someone who doesn't have that talent in their own home but has been lucky enough to find it right next door. It's a well-known fact that if you go shopping one day and instead of turning left, you turn right, it can change your life forever. It happened to me; it was in December 1981. Instead of getting off at San Bernardo, my metro stop, I got off one stop earlier, at Bilbao, and ran into my brother Mauricio Sotelo. He encouraged me to go with him to Vienna, and in twenty days I found myself at the Westbahnhof. What a change that change of season was for me! It's amazing what fate has in store for me. Thank God.
