Evening falls in Seville. The conversation continues with the finger of Pepe de Lucia sliding back and forth across the screen of his cell phone. Familiar faces follow one another without interruption. “Here we are with Antonio Gades when he made the film Carmen. The one we form with Carmen"Look, Felipe González, a good politician. And look, Jennifer López. Carlos Vives too... Every photo is a story. Here we are, Menotti, Paco, and me in Argentina. One of the best coaches of all time. Here, with Moles, who built the metro here in Seville, my friend. Here's Rubén Blades..."
– Out of the flamencoWas there anything Paco liked? The salsa?
– Salsa, well… But Paco liked copla. Paco loved Marifé de Triana. Marifé has been a symbol in my house.
– In fact, his latest album is dedicated to copla…
– Look, I had a shirt by Claudio Lugli, from Modena, made of natural silk with some silver details, right? And right here next to the bullring in Seville, there was a bar that served bull's tail, El Tenorio, and Antonio, the owner, set up a private room for Paco, Alejandro [Sanz], Carmina Ordóñez's husband at the time, Julián Contreras, and me here… I played a very bad joke on Alejandro, I threw a ball of bread at his chest, and he returned the joke by throwing a piece of bull's tail at my shirt. Obviously, it was my fault; luckily, I lived nearby, and I went home to change. Paco laughed and said to Alejandro, "Why are you doing that? He threw a loaf of bread at you? If you only knew how much bread Pepe threw!" I even showed it to Fran, Carmina Ordóñez's son, who told me all the bullfighters: "Stop teaching that to the kid, he's driving us crazy with the bread balls!"
– You're known for shooting breadcrumbs with unerring aim. Aren't you exaggerating?
– Exactly, I'll hit you from any distance. You've probably heard what happened in Naples. Rubén's on one corner, and I'm on this corner, making a little ball like this, put it! And Rubén throws a piece of bread. I grab another roll and throw it to him. And Manolito Soler another. And people got infected, throwing bread, napkins, everyone hiding, shooting... The restaurant by weight. There, the sense of humor radiates through your skin. The Italians from Naples like laughter and fun, just like us.
– There is a fundamental figure who joins your family as one more, and that is Camarón...
– Yes, he always came to Algeciras wearing a suit and boots, in the middle of August! I would ask him if he didn't have anything cooler, and he would say, "Shall I wear a swimsuit?" What he said with that sweet, syrupy mouth, no one has ever said. He came to rehearse with me and would have liked to compose, but he couldn't finish the lyrics. He wrote I saw a star shine/ All full of corals, it was beautiful, I didn't realize how metaphorical it was and I suggested: I saw a star shine/ in the middle of the salt marshes… He had a very special affection and love for me.
– What is your first memory of him?
– I lived on Doctor Castelo Street. I was already married. I made a terrible mistake getting married so young, in church. I had my son, who was a professor of criminal law and died two years ago… Anyway, one day Chico, the Bambino fan, called me: “I have a young man living here at my house, Pepe, who works at Torres Bermejas. If you want to come, I’ll introduce you.”
– And it was, of course.
– We met in Cascorro, and when I arrived with Rafael from Huelva, a singer who was a friend of mine, I found a young man dressed in blue, with very pretty hair, very pretty, very pretty. I said “hello.” I was also very shy, but seeing him impressed me. “My name is Pepe.” “My name is José, like yours.” “Chico told me about you and wanted to meet you. Have you done anything?” “Yes, I've recorded with Sabicas and Antonio Arenas, but nothing happened.” “Shall we have a coffee?” I took him to a bar in Cascorro and made him sing soleá, after which I ran home, told my father and my brother Paco. Rebolo was also with us, may he rest in peace. The next day they went to hear him at Torres Bermejas. And that's when my father signed him up with Phillips, where he worked as an advisor. flamencoThat's where the records of Art and majesty, those of the first period of Camarón… Did you know Camarón He called Paco “Alberto” after his godfather. He said, “Ole, Albertoooooooooo…”
– But Paco said his first realization was one early morning, at a party in Jerez. Was that before your meeting in Cascorro?
– That was true, it was long before. Paco was dating Casilda, and it turns out that José, who was making a living with Rancapino at Venta de Vargas, said to Diego Carrasco: “Let's go see the girls from Parrilla, they're very pretty, just woken up.” And they went, and nothing happened. But I was the one who ran off to find my father. What strikes me about Paco is that he never mentioned me. Casilda often told him off, “Name your brother, you name all the singers except your brother Pepe.” He was the kind of person who kept his guard up. If he had said, “My brother Pepe is the best singer right now,” he'd be somewhere else. But he never said it.
– But he took you with him, didn't he? You were his chosen one.
– No, my mother took me. She was the one who asked him to. I left the tablao earning a lot of money; I earned 50.000 or 60.000 pesetas a day from the fiestas. I had made my life there, but it was my mother who told him, “Take your brother Pepe with you, son.” And my mother was in charge there, because Paco would die with her.
«Mark Knopfler said, “When I heard Paco play, I realized I didn't know how to play guitar.” Keith Richards said there are many guitar legends, but above them all is Paco. And Eric Clapton wrote him a fax proposing they do something together, and Paco said, “What am I going to do with this guy?” Not out of indifference, but out of shyness.»
– I'm sure he took you with pleasure, because you were very important in his career, not to mention your fundamental role in the sextet.
– I wasn't doing it my way, I was doing it with the group. And when we argued in a town in Germany—I don't remember the name, but we had a really big fight—he said, "You're in Madrid now." That's never been mentioned in an interview. It was the last time we performed together. The day before, in Dortmund, we'd been having fun, laughing our heads off. But then Casilda had told Paco she wished him all the best in the world, but that he shouldn't come home, and this sentimental issue threw him off balance. I had a run-in with him, and I asked him if he was going to beat me up, like Al Di Meola.
– Did he hit Al Di Meola?
Yes, he closed a room, and Al Di Meola said, "No, Paco, no more, please." And then I asked him that, and I started repeating, "Paco, Paco, Paco, Paco," which was what my mother said as she lay dying, repeating his name. And that's when she told me, "You're in Madrid now." And who made Paco's grave? Me. Thirteen months stuck in the cemetery.
– But, may I know what happened to Al Di Meola?
– I don't know, he was one of those repulsive, repulsive guys, who at some point get fed up with him, and Paco ended up giving him a hard time.
– When I spoke to Al Di Meola, he spoke of Paco with extreme affection; he must have forgotten that incident. How long did it take you to reconcile with Paco?
– We were together watching Malú at Starlite, drinking champagne. But he didn't say he was with me! He said, "My niece is like her father, she has the same strength, she sings like her father." That was the first time my brother said anything about me in his entire life. He guarded his fame. He didn't want me to have fame! As a frustrated singer, he had… Don't you remember him looking at me in the I just want to walk and laughing?
– Are you referring to Saura's film? He watches it with affection and admiration.
– A lot. But he wasn't able to say anything. The only one who was nice to me in that fight was Rubén, who went to the dressing room to tell Paco: "You're brothers, Pepe has two sons, you can't just throw him around like that." But Ramón told me: "No, no, don't get dressed, you're not going to work." If Ramón wasn't there, I'd get dressed, go out to work, and Paco would completely forget about it.
– Ramón, did he mediate between you?
– Ramón would even scold his own shadow.
– No matter how many sibling fights you had, you must have also had some very good years, traveling the world, achieving success, right? Weren't there many more good times than bad?
– Look, when we did the first tour, when I got Paco to join the tour Spanish Dancer Greco's trip to Denver opened up a whole new world for me, because I no longer cried in fear in the rooms. Fourteen months later, we returned on the Vulcania, from New York to Boston, Boston to Gibraltar. And then Greco did another tour, but he didn't fight with Greco to take me. He took Cancanilla and Barrilito, but not me...
– They say Ramón didn't dare incorporate unusual instruments like the bass or the flute. How do you remember the creation of the sextet?
– The flute was one of the first, with the group Dolores… I knew Pedro-Ruy Blas a lot, he played on my album WalkingTito Duarte and him played percussion. Dolores came on bass, and I came on. It was a blast on stage. When I played "Ababalua!" and "Buana Buana!" the crowd went crazy... The gypsies from the Camargue told me not to sing. Good Good, and Paco would say, "Well, now he's going to sing it twice." And Juan Ramírez would form the line, because he was afraid of flying and traveled thousands of miles in the sound truck.
"What strikes me about Paco is that he never mentioned me. Casilda often told him off, 'Name your brother, you're naming all the singers except your brother Pepe.' He was one of those people who guard their own interests. If he had said, 'My brother Pepe is the one who sings the best right now,' I'd be somewhere else. But he never said it."
– Who did you get along with best in the group?
– At first, with Soler. He was a very discreet, very normal, very unassuming person, with a great rhythm. He did a very masculine, short dance, because Paco didn't need Antonio the Dancer spinning around the stage. He needed something to change his perception of the stage.
– How was Soler’s departure from the sextet?
– In Costa Rica, he got very sick because he had a heart problem. He called me into his room, he was crying. I went down to his room, and he told me he wasn't crying anymore, that he was leaving. And it was because someone, I won't say who, had left him alone in the hospital. Someone had gone out for a walk and left him alone. I don't do that. I stay with him in the hospital. That abandonment was what made him leave. And later, the person I got along best with was Cañizares.
– What did Cañizares have?
- Comprehension.
– How did you experience the changes in the sextet?
– It was on the fly. The sextet starts with the album I just want to walkThe best memory I have of the sextet is of my brother, Rubem Dantas, and Cañizares. Make it big.
– Does that mean that with the others, it’s average?
– If, when we had the argument, they had said, “Paco, Paco, calm down, that was a silly thing, it’s okay…” But they didn’t do that because they weren’t interested in Ramón. In Ramón’s eyes, many people have remained silent.
– Were you disappointed that Ramón didn’t intercede on your behalf?
– He didn't do anything. He was always jealous of Paco, and that's always implicit in a person. And then jealousy that someone would take Paco's affection away from him… People can turn on me, but that's how it was. Ramón was the one who ruled the roost in the sextet; Paco had a lot of respect for him, even fear. A lot of fear.
And the new sextet, the one from the final stage, how did you see it?
– That broke everything. Paco wasn't happy.
– Do you believe?
– Can you see his face? It wasn't the same.
– Why do you think it didn’t work, what was missing?
– Something was missing from him, and he took that to the grave.
– We mentioned Tomatito earlier. How did he get along with Paco?
– Thick as thieves. I think he's the one he's gotten along with best.
– Better than with Vicente?
– Forty thousand times. We met Vicente when he was a little boy, in Córdoba, but I always say that Paco, CamarónTomato and I were the A-Team. Tomato was like family to me. He lived with me and took my children, Malú and José, to and from school. And in Algeciras, he also stayed with me. The bad thing was that he was very fond of fighting cocks, and he always brought one that kept us awake at night.
"He was always jealous of Paco, and that's always implicit in a person. And then jealousy that someone would take Paco's affection away from him... People can turn on me, but that's how it was. Ramón was the one who ruled the roost in the sextet. Paco had a lot of respect for him, even fear. A lot of fear."
– We have also talked about Alejandro Sanz, who is not a musician flamenco You had tremendous chemistry with Paco. What do you think was the reason for that?
Paco met Alejandro in his later years, but he became passionate about him. One Christmas while he was at my house, he went to Alejandro's, and Alejandro greatly admired Paco. I met Alejandro at El Rinconcillo, when he was very young, almost a child. He often came to see Ramoncito, my nephew, and would pass by my patio. Some time later, I ran into Miguel Ángel Arenas, and he said to me: "Pepe, there's a very talented kid whose album I've recorded. His father is from Algeciras. I wonder if you can do something to meet him." What I didn't imagine was that his father was Jesule, with whom we had done many youth galas. The first time I saw him perform was in Plaza Torres in Algeciras. I ran into Paco Pizarro there and said to him: "That kid is going to go far." And yes, he started to take off like a rocket. Look [shows a photo of a tape with the legend 'Sanz 97'], I have this at home, the master of the recording of The daisy said no y Broken heart. He always came to bring me fried fish, and once I threw him a party at my house, with people from all over Spain coming. "It's yours, do whatever you want with it, even if you want to destroy it." I think that's what you should say when you offer your house to a friend. Malú and he would have pie fights, and the next day they'd leave my garden covered in ants and candy... [laughs]
– You also had a very good relationship with great musicians like Chick Corea. Did you get to talk to him regularly?
– Chick Corea was from the Church of Scientology. We performed with him once for a Japanese audience. It was pouring with rain, and the Japanese were holding their own. We've shared the stage with the best. I've seen Sonny Rollins playing at a festival with Paco, and Miles Davies. I couldn't believe their playing.
– He also played with Santana in a concert…
– Well, that was like Raimundo Amador playing. Santana would play four chords where Paco would go rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr… Mark Knopfler said: “When I heard Paco play, I realized I didn’t know how to play the guitar.” Keith Richards said there are many guitar legends, but above them all is Paco. And Eric Clapton, when he lost his son who fell off a skyscraper, wrote him a fax proposing they do something together, and Paco would say, “What am I going to do with this guy?” Not because he didn’t want to, but out of shyness.
– Do you think Javier Limón contributed anything to Paco’s music?
– There were so many people who benefited from Paco… Yes, I was Javier Limón's mentor, and I'm proud of that. His son recently mentioned it in an interview, Javier started in the flamenco With Pepe, he would come to my house, and I would teach him how to sing. I'd never experienced that before, and I did with him; we had some great times. I've been with him in Boston with his wife, Eva, who is a heaven to me. And with them, I met someone who gave me a son... It's just the way life goes.
– But Paco was the one who opened the doors to new technology for you, right?
– Ask the guy from Dobletronic in Madrid, and he'll kill you, because he was the first to bring Pro Tools and all that. Ask around who Jesús from Dobletronic was.
– What was Paco like in the studio?
– I had it clear, in the studio it was all in one go. Once in a soleá, when we were recording My father's prideThere was that change they call the macho, and I couldn't get it right... He lived in Mirasierra, got up to leave, and I said to him: "Wait a minute, Paco, I'll do it just one more time." And I got it right! So I was able to finish and drive him to Mirasierra.
– Do you know why Paco chose Cuba as his place of residence at the end of his life?
– We went to Cuba a lot, with Cubana de Aviación, the planes were leaking badly! And Paco was banned from Miami for that. I think he thought he'd live differently, at kilometer zero in Havana, where Raúl Castro, Maradona, and García Márquez lived, whom I ran into once leaving Dos Gardenias. I was there recording in Silvio Rodríguez's studio with Miguel Ángel Arenas, and he said to me: "Man, Don Lucía, where's Paco?" "On the other side of the Gulf, in Cancún." "Then give him my regards." Paco expected something else, but they sent him to a small town. He lost a suitcase with his computer, Leo Brouwer didn't pay much attention to him... And that's when he started to get overwhelmed.
– How did you find out about Paco’s death?
– I was in bed and around four in the morning the phone rang. It was my son: “Good night, Dad.” I told him immediately that it wasn’t the time to call, “You’re going to give me bad news, aren’t you?” “Tito Paco has died.” Something strange happened to me, my eyes widened. they unblocked, it's not a saying, and it took some time for them to return to their place. I went to Casilda's house, where all the families were gathered, and from there to the National Auditorium. I have photos of my brother's corpse that I'll never post, but he's my brother and I can take any photos I want. There are photos of Mandela dead! Then I got in my car, picked up my friend José [Rodríguez] in Andújar, who made guitars for Paco, and we went to Algeciras. I was stumbling around; it was a shock for me.
"In a town in Germany, we had a really big fight, and he said, 'You're back in Madrid now.' That's never been mentioned in an interview. It was the last time we performed together. The day before, in Dortmund, we'd been goofing around, laughing our heads off. But then Casilda had told Paco she wished him all the best in the world, but that he shouldn't come home, and this sentimental issue threw him off balance. I had a run-in with him, and I asked him if he was going to beat me up, like Al Di Meola."
– Would you have ever suspected that he could leave so soon?
– To Paco, like to Camarón, tobacco killed him. I remember when we were recording Pony of rage and honeyPaco stopped the car on Calle Feria and said to me, "Get out and buy four packs of cigarettes." "I won't buy you four, I'll buy you two." And he replied, "Buy four or I'll throw you out of the car." "But Paco, the car is mine!" He was smoking the large cigarettes they sell in Gibraltar, which are only for serious smokers.
– Can't a body also suffer from so many years of traveling and performing?
– The tours were killers. Many sleepless nights, waking up very early and leaving for another place after only a few hours of rest… I remember one time, after performing at Carnegie Hall in New York, we had to catch a plane to Caracas the next day, but the person picking us up was late… That bus raced through New York to get to the airport on time, land in Caracas, and, as soon as we arrived, a matinee and a concert that same night at the Teresa Carreño.
– And yet, Paco was diving and playing soccer…
– Yes, I wonder how he got down to the bottom smoking so much. In Cozumel he showed me how the fish came within range because they were close to the submarine cable, which was warm from the current. And he had bigger lungs than me. I also remember that in Punta Allen he said to me, “I’ll introduce you to the sharks,” and I replied, “Whenever you want.” He didn’t have a boat; he liked long canoes. We watched the tarpon around the boat until a shark appeared. I got up. “Where are you going?” Paco said. “Didn’t you say you’re going to introduce me?” “No, Pelleja!” I jumped in, and the shark went under. And he said, “Pepe, Pepe! What are you doing?” [laughs] The sharks have surrounded us many times. Once I was alone, and the boatman was sleeping, when they came for me. I yelled “Manolo!” – that’s his name – so the whole Caribbean heard it. Manolo told me not to worry, that he was paying attention, but he was afraid of having a belly full of little spots from sleeping face down.
– Well, you've always had a reputation for being reckless... I once read an interview in which Paco said he even stood up to a man who was pointing a gun at him.
– That was in Lima, Peru. We were leaving the bar at the Crillón Hotel. A guy called us "gachupines." I responded. He pulled out a gun and I said, "Let's see if he has the balls to shoot." "Yeah, I'm going to shoot you at point-blank range," he said, putting the gun to my chest. He didn't shoot because Paco took his hand away. Someone slapped him, I don't know if it was Paco or someone who was nearby. In some places, they'll shoot you in no time, but I'm not afraid of anything. It's just my misfortune. The only thing I'm afraid of is love."
– You have almost won the Latin Grammy with the album Pepito and Paquito.
– Someone powerful told me that if you're not American, they won't give it to you. That I should settle for the Tiffany medal. The awards there are held by José Iturbe, whom Paco and I used to see when we worked with Greco in Hollywood, Plácido Domingo… There's no room for him. flamenco.
– Is it true that you want to create a guitar school in your name?
– They've put one up in Algeciras, but I want to put one up in Portugal, on the border. In Montinho, where my mother was born. I want to buy the house where she was born, and I have all of Paco's trophies, because he gave them to me. At a Seville Biennial, he came to my house and said: I'll take the guitars, but I'll leave the trophies with you, because they're objects, and I don't want those. He gave away the prizes because he said they were nothing! ♦
