The year was 1993. Enrique Morente And I, your servant, were good friends. I had the good fortune and honor of being at his side almost daily during those years, until in February 1994, another giant called me, Antonio gades, to help him in the making of the music for Fuenteovejuna. It's not that I stopped seeing Enrique, it's that working with Gades completely absorbed my time and, as I told him once in the hospital, when he had only a few days left to live and we were talking about doing El Quijote: If you tell me to come…
I remember when I suggested to Enrique to make a box of ten CDs as an encyclopedia of cantes, with the concept, unexplored until then, of choosing the appropriate guitarist for each cante according to his criteria, that is, an anthology with a singer and multiple guitarists, contrary to what he had done Perico the one with the mole in its mythical Hispavox Anthology of the year 1954. Enrique thought it was a good idea, we did the math and, giving us a year to prepare and record all the canteYes, the cost was around thirty million pesetas. Enrique suggested going to the AIE to ask for help, and that's where we went, to Velázquez Street in Madrid, where we were received by its president, Luis CobosAfter presenting the idea to him, and after hearing him boast about having a thousand kilos of undistributed banknotes, pending identification, it seems he didn't like the proposal, since, with a smile and kind words, he gave us the Charlot kick. Enrique hadn't recorded yet. Omega And in the cultural world, it wasn't so well regarded. Deaf people! That Anthology project was fading away, but before throwing in the towel, we took it to the then director of the Festival. Flamenco which was financed by Caja Madrid, Alexander Reyes, but nothing. Between the fact that it wasn't cheap and the oven wasn't up to scratch, it all came to nothing. Fortunately, soon after Carmen Linares recorded his wonderful Anthology of the Cante of woman under the direction of my cousin Gamboa with that same concept, a singer and multiple guitarists.
Enrique and I went to the bulls in Las VentasThe teacher always invited me. I remember when Joselito He was locked up with six bulls. That was a joy. I paid more attention to the comments from the stands than to the ring, to be honest. I had no idea about the art of the bullfighter, about the most cultured festival in the world, as he defined it. Federico Garcia LorcaThose afternoons ended at daybreak. Hence my habit of wearing sunglasses when I went out at night with Morente. They called him "Sunglasses" for a reason. the night watchman of GranadaI enjoyed myself like a dwarf by his side, he always taught me something, he was a master in the most literal sense of the word, of art and of life. I was a sea of doubts about flamenco And he clarified every question I asked. I think he liked the way my questions were always musicological in nature. His creative intelligence was also fertile in all aspects of life. In addition to his innate generosity, he was the least self-serving and most generous person I've ever met.
One day, he called me on my home phone—cell phones didn't exist yet—and told me: we're going to start a record label, so anyone who wants to be able to record albums. I was thrilled with the idea. At the time, I was managing the prestigious classical music label. Deutsche Grammophone, the yellow label, as it was known in the industry. I was learning a lot about that cultural sector, and creating a label from scratch with the great maestro Morente seemed like it would be a great experience. First of all, we had to find a name. Enrique had everything well thought out: “Probetic Discs”Poor things, I corrected him. No, he said, Probeticos, in Granada. Okay. I went to register it with the Ministry of Industry, and with that piece of paper, we set out on our way. The logo was designed, and off we went.
«Rafael recorded his masterful version of the beautiful Holy Week march composed by Font de Anta,'Bitterness'. When it was over, Enrique showed up at the studio. He listened to the entire album and was delighted. Before starting the mastering, Rafael told Morente that he had recorded the aforementioned march, which the Granada maestro listened to with rapture. Getting up from his chair, he said to Juanmi, "Give me a vocal mic, I'm going to record a voice over it."
And what album are we going to record? One of yours, right? Nanai, we're going to launch the label with an album by Rafael Riqueni. It's a lovely idea, you'll see. And we went into the studio. Musigram, at that time Enrique's main studio, at the technical controls the great Juanmi Cobos, who left us too soon, and Rafael, who was in top form at the time, although the terrible news of his father's death arrived during the recording. The brilliant Sevillian guitarist recorded selected pieces by the greats of flamenco guitar: Sabicas, Ricardo, Escudero, an album of classical flamenco music that he titled, of course, Teachers. A gem.
I remember that they came to the studio to put the palmas in the joys nothing less than Tony Maya and, who a little later would be my companion, the great Enrique PantojaI remember Riqueni made them repeat the take twenty times and nothing, he just didn't like how it turned out. When they finished the several-hour session, they put their hands up, and I, who in their eyes must have looked like a producer—Enrique couldn't attend the sessions—gave them what I had, a thousand duros.
On the last day, Rafael recorded his masterful version of the beautiful Holy Week march composed by Font de Anta, Bitterness. When it was over, Enrique appeared in the studio. He listened to the entire album and was delighted. Before starting the mastering, Rafael told Morente that he had recorded the aforementioned march, which the Granada maestro listened to with rapture. Getting up from his chair, he said to Juanmi: "Give me a vocal mic, I'm going to record a voice over it." We looked at each other in surprise. This was a concert guitar album. Are you going to add a voice? And he replied: one, or more than one if necessary.
He got into the fish tank and began to sing a saeta lyric over the music of Font de Anta: "All mothers have sorrow and bitterness, but yours is the greatest." We cried with emotion. Applause. We listened to the take and Enrique said: "Save it, but I'm going to record another one." But that one's perfect! I told him (I was very daring back then), and he added another voice. And another. And so on, until six tracks were recorded. Rafael added some guitar details to support the vocals. In the end, it was just Enrique, Juanmi, and me. Back then, automated mixing boards didn't exist yet, and mixing was done raw, on the fly. We each sat at the board with two tracks while Enrique, with his eyes and eyebrows, indicated the volume of each one. In the end, the result was that genius that can be heard on what ended up being the label's first album.
February 94 arrived, and I received the call from Gades. The first person I called was Enrique, to tell him that Antonio had called me and that I couldn't continue with Discos Probeticos. He very curtly replied, "Well, okay." And then he hung up. I was stunned. I couldn't believe it. Five minutes later, the phone rang. "Faustino," that's what he called me. Just kidding, man. I'm really happy for you. Gades is a phenomenon, and from what I can see, he's also very clever about counting on you. And that's when another chapter of my flamenco life began. The things.
