It is The Pele and then the rest of the singers. He plays in another league. He went down to Seville to the blessed woods of Torres Macarena "because you also have to be in the peñaYes, they are the ones who add water and wheat to the flamenco "All year round." He blasted through an hour and a quarter of inspiration, taste, and sensitivity. He gave his all. "It's not all about the money." This Menuo gypsy buckled down and caressed, hurt, and hit. pellizcosy mouthfuls forming a ritual of transmission that shook like a deep explosion. The filigree guitar and resounding pulsation of Seve child He carried him better than in his arms all night. Between the two they put the peña face down, chillingly endorsing a performance that is difficult to surpass. Whoever can, tie it.
The guitar silenced the noise and the Moreno He entrusted himself to Undibé from the stairs, weaving with his throat braided with sweet melismas the first laments of the night. While The moon lets out a sigh, the fans began to embrace him with cheers, with the same warmth that El Pele warmed his Adam's apple in Seville. And here the courtship began. And the glory. The goblin was led by the hand, and the magic began.
He masterfully brought down the bass lines, ruminating on the thirds of two pairs of malagueñas, evoking the trinity in different versions –among which he chewed the Chaconian– linking them together one after another, eating the basting threads at the end and fastening them with abandolaos with fandangos from Lucena and the drone from Puente Genil.
He dedicated the soleá to the dancer Carmen Ledesma, present there, and all the greats flamencothat Seville has damaged, erecting a monument to it palo which already bears his name. It doesn't matter if he remembered Alcalá and Bag, Joaquín from La Paula, La Andonda, Paquirri, from the Triana del Zurraque or the apolá of The Portuguese Because they all arrived in the sack whose imprint tastes and smells like the fragrance that reaches Córdoba. In short, that was, in capital letters, El Pele's soleá. Sensitive, original, imbued with old-fashioned palates, yet modern and fresh every time he opened his mouth. Superb. Out of this world. Pa delivers the spoon with the brave attacks from above and the tonal descents that dug up the stumbles of the repelucos, using that enviable range of register that pushes from the chest to its throat to delight the respectable playing with the cante as he pleased. He flayed himself, transfiguring himself in the chair, pierced by the little black knife that marks the heart of gypsies. And when he saw the photo behind him, he remembered a little lyric from that unrepeatable duo. Lole and Manuel.
"There's El Pele and then the rest of the singers. He plays in another league. He went down to Seville to the blessed batons of Torres Macarena 'because you also have to be in the peñaYes, they are the ones who add water and wheat to the flamenco throughout the year.' He blasted through an hour and a quarter of a recital full of inspiration, taste and sensitivity.
The crowd was already going wild, and he finished it off with a cantiñas salad, in which he played in and out of time with absolute mastery of the rhythm. Pele was in over his head. He sprayed a splash of foam as he entered Sanlúcar and let loose in Cádiz.
He complained without ostentation, crying the seguiriya, loud, he suffered... He perfumed himself with cloves and cinnamon the walls of the sunny peña, which welcomed the fat duca within its walls, safe from the dark torments of the flamencos. Chewed the cante. He looked at himself Mairena, rocked the cabal of The planet and stitched the wound with the change of the special days of Santiago and Santa AnaWhat a review!
He closed the show with fandangos, with a surprise included, when they started to raffle off the thirds between El Pele and his young friend David Carrasco, a huge Huelva fan who fired the first blows from the dressing room door and spilled the flavor of Huelva to celebrate on the boards of Torres Macarena who is going to be a father. There were moments of flamenco flair and poise that rounded out a recital I'll keep wrapped in brown paper in my bag of special moments.
El Pele is unique, highly individual, a singer of instinct and inspiration. He's all about transmitting. He's over seventy years old, and his backpack is full, his left hand is overflowing, and his throat is full of talent. He is one of the few creators left in the flamencoWhat he did there, neither he nor anyone else knows. But it will remain tattooed forever in the collection of scratches that my flesh carries.
Credits
Recital by El Pele
Peña Flamenca Torres Macarena, Seville
18th September 2025
Cante: The Pele
Guitar: Niño Seve
