The dance of Adela Campallo It caught me off guard. It left my flesh in tatters, covered in scratches and bruises. And on top of that, it was one of the longest and loudest applauses I've ever experienced in Torres Macarena, carried away in the ruffles of her dress a basketful of oles and the words from my mouth. And now what do I say, if I have happily squandered a handful of shared compliments? Adela came to discover me, she left me speechless. Because any attempt to sketch her image falls short and reveals the clumsiness of my pen, making it a limiting offense to describe her with a handful of words. Her dance must be experienced, let it pierce you and shake you, let it ravage you from within with the black lament of the seguiriya and the piercing soleá to relieve you later with a revelry of bulerías. Adela created the revolution. She shook the pillars of peña already the fans. It woke them up from their lethargy to announce that she is still here and that she is, probably, the flamenco dancer of Seville.
His brother's guitar John Campallo He was partly to blame, because he played to frame his fingers, making the audience boil, who lived a binge of depth and sensitivity with the symphony of pellizcos he has in his hands. That was the last straw. If he usually plays well, that night the muses took over and he gave in to inspiration, peeling off his fingertips and even the lining of his heart. From what they've been dragging along. What does anyone know!
He opened the guitar's cry. Juan merged with the curves of the cypress and spoke alone with her, in the naked intimacy of a stage, looking into the Bajañí woman's eyes, tickling her with his touches the hidden trills that no one finds. He knows the corners of music that await the caresses that lift it. And he gave us the unprecedented dialogue between a noble soul and his guitar.
"You have to experience her dance, let it move you and thrill you, let it ravage you from within with the dark lament of the seguiriya and the piercing soleá, then soothe you with a revelry of bulerías. Adela created the revolution."
The trio of complaints was drawn by the bronzes of Jonathan Reyes, the gentle rockeries of Antonio Amador and the terroirs of hurtful crystals of David El Galli, completely devoted to Adela's feet, they grew with the strings of Campallo and its bells, overflowing with joy at lending their voices to the dancer's waist.
Juan pulled out of his sleeve an introduction to alegrías that put garlands of colors to the beat. And he left it to serve so that they could walk through Cádiz and Antonio could flirt with the mirabrás, Jonathan could spurt salt and El Galli could remember Sanlúcar with The Mirris and he even included in the amalgam a couple of fandangos by Lucena whose transitional tones Campallo copied to the sonanta without his hearing trembling.
The scent of cloves and cinnamon wafted up Jonathan's throat. Campallo's bass drums lined up for the seguiriya. From the dressing room, the image of Adela emerged like an invocation of the Virgin who, to the inner voice of "I want less pace," seemed Esperanza in silence to climb the timbers of the temple of flamenco from Seville. The hairs were standing on end and he hadn't even gathered his clothes. He walked with poise and grace until to break the flamenco boards with that divine face, her hips, an exquisite arm movement, strength in her feet and powerful markings with quintals of trapíoThe seguiriya's tears hurt; they sank deep into my bones, giving me the creeps to see the faces of the ducas Adela had painted at the dance. The singers wept with her, chewing on the envites, screaming at such a display of poise. Real dancing also hurts. Adela hurt my left side and left me halfway peña crying, literally. As he said: "It's about transmitting." I handed over the spoon.
Through tarantos and abandolaos he continued cante waiting for the dancer. She performed the soleá with bulería in the finale. And I was already melting and bruised, hoarse from shouting oles at her and with my heart aching in my chest because there was no more room for sorrow or joy. She strutted solemnly, played with the tempos, made it elegant, heartfelt, and personal. Unique. She erected a monument to Sevillian dance according to Adela, traditional and fresh, with flourishes uniquely hers, with ten thousand different nuances that bore her name. She danced to cante Now the guitar, her sorrows, and the beautiful things in life. She didn't think about the dance. The dance thought about her, and the duende emerged.
"I was already melting and bruised, hoarse from shouting cheers, and with a heavy heart clinging to my chest because there was no more room for sorrow or joy. She strutted solemnly, played with the rhythms, made it elegant, heartfelt, and personal. Unique. She erected a monument to Sevillian dance according to Adela, traditional and fresh, with flourishes uniquely her own."
The feet were defined and firm. The perfect pose. What a way to move the steering wheels and kick two feet! She was disfigured within elegance when the cante She twisted and outlined the drawings, tracing the edges of her movements. She made it clear. From the heel to the shoulders, from the neck to the bangs... Flamenco like no other, distinct, spontaneous, sweet, racial, she felt... Adela Campallo, only Adela.
And she ended with bulerías, shaking her ass without obscenities, feminine and playful, cheerful and sensual. Full of resources that flowed from her with the natural ease of someone who has it in her veins. She didn't imitate anyone and drank from everything to change the course of the rivers. The end of the party was long in coming. They didn't dare to come up after that. But her friends Juan Thomas de la Molia, Agueda Saavedra, Mercedes of Cordoba y Carmen Ledesma They left their resistance in their chairs and accompanied her to celebrate the triumph that was sealed with one of the longest applauses I remember in this peña. It was no wonder.
Credits
Dance recital by Adela Campallo
Peña Flamenca Torres Macarena, Seville
3th October 2025
Dance: Adela Campallo
Cante: Jonathan Reyes, Antonio Amador and David El Galli
Guitar: Juan Campallo
