The meeting is at the Café de Levante in Cádiz, a few days after Ernestina Van de Noort received the International Prize of Flamenco , the director of the Netherlands BiennialA key date on the calendar jondo world championship, which in its tenth edition, under the motto Old Roots – New Trails Like its previous editions, it opted for a great stylistic variety of flamenco current, emphasizing dialogue and innovation. But to reach these twenty years, there was a long history that the creator wanted to share with ExpoFlamenco.
– How did you get to flamenco?
– It wasn't a single moment, but rather several moments accumulated between 1985 and 1992, during which I fell in love with a musical culture unlike anything I had ever known. It was the final year of my French and English translation studies, and I went on holiday with a friend, hitchhiking to Andalusia. I had already seen the Carmen Saura's work had touched my sense of rhythm, of beat – a word I was of course unfamiliar with at the time – of which I understood nothing, the body language that fascinated me as an amateur and practitionercante of jazz ballet and folklore. In the south we discovered the festivals flamencoIt was summertime. It was 86, there was no internet, not even cultural magazines to find out about: you depended on word of mouth to find out where the festivals were.
– What did he experience in them?
– In these summer festivals, without knowing anything, I laid the foundation for my 'flamenco grammar' in the middle of the season CamarónUpon finishing my initial studies, I had also fallen in love with the Spanish language. For me, the soaring sounds of Spanish, which seemed like an exotic language, were like twelve-beat rhythmic blocks. In the hallway of the translation academy, one could hear the staccato of Spanish syntax and wanted to decipher it in the same way that I wanted to delve into the enigmas of rhythms flamencoSuddenly, after all these years studying French, which is a very analytical, geometric, classical dialectic, discovering the Baroque, which is another way of thinking, going around in circles ad infinitum… Spain was like It fits like a glove [It fits me like a glove].
– But did she dare to learn to dance?
Yes, I went to study in Seville with Andrés Marín's father. I arrived on Letamendi Street with a dancer who accompanied me every day because, it was said, it was a dangerous area. I still remember the prostitutes leaning against the doorways. I also remember Andrés's father with a cane, in a tiny, dark studio with a tiled floor, marking the rhythms for a beautiful teenage girl from the neighborhood. When his lesson ended, he would tell me, "Now it's your turn, do it." That was the kind of education he gave. flamenco Back then, they'd show you a step and you'd just repeat it. There wasn't much instruction. The teachers would demonstrate the footwork and you had to copy it. During my last year of French, I was doing a teaching placement in Brussels. One day, near the Gare du Midi, I heard some footwork. It immediately transported me back to what I'd heard at the summer festivals in Andalusia. I even remember the address: 10 Rue du Metal. There, two immigrants from Seville gave Sevillanas and Alegrías classes to the local children on Saturday mornings. And in the evenings, they sang at a Spanish restaurant. I signed up right away. I bought a wooden square and started practicing at home, driving the neighbors crazy.
– You once told me that you didn't go to Matilde's or Galván's academies because they didn't admit foreigners. Was that true?
– That's at least what they told me at Mateo Gago's language school, where they helped me find a language academy. There wasn't any of the infrastructure that exists now, with its huge network of schools. In my day, it often happened that someone among us would leave in tears. Andrés Marín, one of the first to teach in the Netherlands, was a strict teacher, a product of his time, naturally, and he didn't understand how impenetrable the flamenco He was our mentor back then. He taught us to listen to the melodies of the footwork and would get angry if we went out of time. Over time, he and the students adjusted, getting closer to his style. Now Andrés is a great friend and a flamenco dancer whom I deeply admire for his uncompromising search for a new vocabulary. flamenco“Time passes/ we are getting old,” as Pablo Milanés sings.
– Did you think about quitting?
– Yes, I threw my shoes in a corner several times. I have a love-hate relationship with them. flamenco Ever since I discovered it. I ended up studying Spanish Philology at the University of Amsterdam, after my studies in French and English. During my third year, with an Erasmus scholarship, I went to Madrid. In the mornings I would walk towards Amor de Dios, and in the afternoons, with my bag containing my shoes and my sweaty skirt, I would go down Atocha Street to catch the train to the University of Alcalá de Henares to study Saint Teresa of Ávila, Quevedo, Cervantes…
– It was tough, I imagine.
– It was a disillusioned reality, my first steps at Amor de Dios in the late 80s. I shared in the suffering of the foreigners, knowing that even if you danced well, it was always "to be a foreigner." With the teacher who was already pushing everyone to their limits at nine in the morning, the competitive and secretive atmosphere in the dressing rooms (when you asked one of the Japanese dancers about a step, she'd turn her back on you, laughing under her breath). Until one day I woke up and said to myself: "Enough. I want to enjoy dancing." I went to dance salsa to free myself. flamenco It was sacred to me. In those early years, I respected it so much that it frightened me. And I lost the desire to dance it. Now everything has changed, with new teaching methods and new generations of flamenco dancers with much more empathy; those who are starting out are in a year where it took me five years to get to.
– Who do you especially remember from those early festivals?
– I've heard Camarón In the Écija bullring, he said he couldn't sing because of a stomach ache and gave the stage to José Mercé. Later, I saw him at the Palacio de Deportes in Madrid, surrounded by Gypsy women from the capital, in the back rows. I've seen them all! Fosforito, José Menese, Agujetas, Chocolate! So many! But above all, Bernarda and Fernanda de Utrera. Also their faithful sidekicks, their guitarists; the names that resonate with me are Enrique de Melchor, Kiki Paredes… And then there are many I didn't know yet, like my future musical hero, Diego Carrasco, or Manuel Moreno Junquera, 'Moraíto,' who 25 years later became a very dear friend, and to whom I dedicated the documentary. El cante well it hurts, which I made with cameraman Martijn van Beenen.
– But that would be later, wouldn't it? What's the first festival you remember?
– The first festival I experienced was the Potaje de Utrera. I remember the intoxicating atmosphere, the moment of sharing tables with the stew and wine, and, for the first time, hearing the "olés," that is, knowing that you could participate as a listener in a performanceAnd trying to decipher the codes, to know when those "olés" were shouted. It was like absorbing all that energy, and I also remember the surprise at the end of the party—and me, with my Dutch eyes, thinking they were dancing badly! Now that's what I love most, those moments of improvisation where only mutual understanding matters, enjoying the music together, creating in the moment—they are true democratic acts. After finishing my Spanish degree, all I wanted was to escape the Netherlands, where life revolves around strict schedules, and settle in Spain. To embark on another Amor de Dios course, but this time being more sensible in choosing my teachers, and knowing that bulería is the style that suits me best. I wasn't disappointed, and I managed to enjoy myself. I attended Faustino Núñez's lecture, whom I had met on my first trip to Cuba in 1989, on his thesis about the "goings and returns." I remember happy afternoons at the National Library in Madrid, summarizing books about the back-and-forth between the Old and New Worlds, the discovery of the Americas, Eurocentrism, and the reciprocal exchange between Spain and Cuba. It just so happened that the Cuba en el festival arrived in Madrid. FlamencoOrganized by Santiago Auserón, and before they became world stars, all those forgotten musicians came, like Compay Segundo. I discovered son, Afro-Cuban music with Las Muñequitos de Matanzas, and I danced with NG La Banda, who revolutionized Cuban music with the timba that I had witnessed at the last carnivals of '89 on the Malecón in Havana.
- And then…?
– I had to return to Amsterdam. Spain was suffering the aftereffects of '92. There was no work for foreigners anymore. I worked for a few years as a subtitler for art and music documentaries on television and for independent producers. A poorly paid and undervalued profession. The best subtitles are the ones you don't see. I was very unhappy. Until one day Jan Wolff, director of a contemporary music venue, Ysbreker [Icebreaker], asked me to organize a Cuban Music Festival for him. It seemed like a godsend. His trust changed my life. I didn't know I had it in me [I didn't know I had it]. With the festival, I proposed to show that Cuba was more than Buena Vista Social Club. It turned out to be a template for what the Biennial of Flamenco, to show the diversity of the genre, to undo prevailing stereotypes: the flamenco Beyond the 'tambourine'. I organized a second festival, QBA-Música, with Keyla Orozco, a composer and daughter of the musicologist Danilo Orozco, and I traveled to Cuba frequently as a performer and assistant director for documentaries. It was there that I met the jazz pianist Ramón Valle, with whom I lived for seven years. Do you know him?
– Of course. I discovered him with a really good album, Levitating.
Suddenly, I found myself living with 'the new face of Cuban Jazz,' a huge musical promise, but without a piano at home, without concerts in Amsterdam—it was unbearable to see such untapped potential—and I ended up doing what I knew would be the end of our relationship: becoming his manager. The relationship imploded, and so did my musical world. I had managed to boost his international career and had built a life around it that I was beginning to enjoy. This was between 1998 and 2005. When it all fell apart, I had to invent another professional life, since everything I dreamed of and that smelled of Cuba was too painful, and dancing was impossible. I changed course and started as a journalist. . I began writing about world music for various newspapers and magazines. And I decided to return to my first musical love: flamencoAnd to enrich the Dutch cultural landscape with a Biennial, a 'State of the Arts' of FlamencoIn other words, the Biennial was born as a work of mourning in 2006, a counterattack against pain.
And of course, jazz was going to have its place, especially from 2017 onwards, when a new generation of musicians and groups began to emerge from Madrid's vibrant scene. Jazz flamenco It has since become a strong pillar of our programming. We started with UHF. Flamencowith Pablo Martín Caminero, then Alfonso Aroca, Antonio Lizana and the pianist Daniel García Diego, for me the greatest voice of this generation that defends that jazz and the flamenco They are brothers. Free improvisation with rhythmic codes fascinates me.
– What idea of the flamenco What was there in the Netherlands then?
– After the boom flamenco In the eighties until the mid-nineties, during which I participated as an amateur, and where the greats of the time like Carmen Linares, José Mercé, Carmen Cortés, Gerardo Núñez, El Guïto, etc., performed, theater programming began to repeat itself with shows full of "lots of polka dots and lots of passion," while creators, the then 'enfants terribles' like Israel Galván, Andrés Marín, and Belén Maya, went unnoticed with their works marking a new era. I remember the first time I saw Galván—I think it was with the Zapatos Rojos At the Seville Biennial, I was left with the feeling of wanting to leave the theater the whole time. The next day, it started to work in my head: what did I just see? That's the true power of art: it has to touch, rub, and challenge. To unsettle. I was very clear about this when I decided to found the Biennial: to showcase the new developments of artists who take risks to innovate within the genre they were born into, breaking free from the constraints of flamenco with a vital and urgent need.
The Biennial had to be a free European platform, a sanctuary for restless creators and artists. I was a pioneer with the pioneers in 2006, who, pushing the boundaries of the genre, included other dances, other musics in the flamencoThe artistic profile from its beginnings has been to move the public with a cutting edge Flamenco [innovation] that springs from deep roots. The best example is Rocío Molina, who made her debut at the 2011 Netherlands Biennial at the Rotterdam Municipal Theatre with Old gold. His guajira (a palo (My favorite because of the Cuban connection) with Rafael El Cabeza still resonates with me. And he hasn't missed a single Biennial.
At the same time, we wanted to establish a platform in the Netherlands for the cante jondoAnd without dance, which is a 'revolutionary' proposal, because theaters always demand dance. For me, the key is to create musical dialogues, to foster encounters. I don't like the word "fusion" at all. That's how the idea of going a step further and contributing to the development of the genre from my own platform was born. I started holding auditions and looking for ideas for my own creations and co-productions with festivals or Dutch ensembles. The first was Maghreb Flamenco [2008], where I invited Niño Josele to interact with a singer from Morocco, from the Middle Atlas Mountains, Cherifa Kersit. The second was Qasida in 2011, a dialogue jondo between Persian music and poetry and the flamenco With the voices of vocalist Mohammad Motamedi and Rosario la Tremendita. The arabesques and improvisations of cante Persian –tahrir–, one of the eastern influences of flamenco In the Middle Ages, this creation was combined with the melismas of flamenco, in the 21st century. We revived it at the 2025 Biennial.
– What was the festival's first venue?
– I founded the festival at the Muziekgebouw aan het IJ, literally the House of Music, a building overlooking Amsterdam's inner harbor, which houses a 725-seat hall for contemporary classical music, and the BIMhuis, an internationally renowned jazz hall, which seats 375 when full and standing. It's my favorite hall because of its intimacy, and also one of the… flamencos. There we celebrate guitar recitals and cante jondoThis building opened in 2006, the year I founded the Biennial, and for 15 years it was the only global music festival within a classical program. Over time, we've expanded to eight cities, but the headquarters are in Amsterdam. The first festival was held in Amsterdam and Utrecht. Then, for the second, I sought a partnership with Rotterdam because the Codarts Conservatory had a guitar department. flamenco which Paco directed Peña until retirement. Now that's over, mismanagement [Mismanagement] caused it to collapse, but there are rumors that they are trying to recover. And then the following year, The Hague and Utrecht joined in… That's why we've put Flamenco Biennial Netherlands, because for the Dutch funds that support us it is very important that we are not only in the big cities of the west, but also in the provinces, which is hard work to do on a promotional level, if you want to change the way the public looks at the flamenco.
– What support did you have at the beginning, and how has it changed?
– That has been a success from the very beginning. We have convinced public and private funds in the Netherlands with our concept, demonstrating the strength of flamenco From its roots—its direct and visceral expression—and its innovative power to renew itself. It's important to know that these funds tend to support festivals with a more traditional approach. I was one of the first to receive this substantial funding because we presented a very strong case for our application. The mission, aside from what I've already mentioned about the three pillars, was... helicopter view [aerial view] of wanting to show that the flamenco is a serious performing artIt's a serious performance art, just like classical music. I didn't want this to be considered world music or folklore. For me, it's an art worthy of being programmed in classical or jazz concert halls. Audiences from those genres came, but I've had to win them over: a little more each year, trying to pique their interest and stimulate their curiosity. Because if I go to a Berlioz concert there, or an Arvo Pärt concert, and then I see an announcement that there's a Biennial of FlamencoThe idea is that people say to themselves, "If the Biennial is in this room, there must be quality." I've always been extremely demanding in that regard.
“I remember the first time I saw Galván, I was left with the feeling of wanting to leave the theater the whole time. The next day it started to work in my head: what did I just see? That's the true power of art: it has to touch, rub, stir. Unsettle. I was very clear about this when I decided to found the Biennial: to showcase the new developments of artists who take risks to innovate within the genre they were born into, breaking free from the constraints of…” flamenco with a vital and urgent need"
– Does the Biennial already have a typical spectator?
– We started, of course, with the grassroots, the fans. But in these twenty years, we have indeed won over a new audience. People from serious theaters, apart from the two I mentioned, we're also in municipal dance theaters, where contemporary dance festivals are held; we attract that audience as well. However, in my opinion, after twenty years, this growth of a curious audience is going too slowly. But yes, it's a classic type of audience, interested, who also have the money to pay for the tickets, which are expensive, purchasing power… It's a bit of an elite, too, I think. And this is a problem I see now: I need to win over young people. But when young people see the word “Holland”flamenco“They say, ‘Oh, no.’ Prejudice still lingers. This has been a mission from the very beginning: to dismantle the stereotypes about flamencoAnd to this day they haunt me. Sometimes I still receive emails with "flamengo" spelled with a "g," like the bird ["flamingo" in English]. It's proof that those prejudices and stereotypes carry a lot of weight.
– What do you think about when you program?
– When I put together a new edition —especially at the beginning, not so much anymore— I always ask myself: do I remove the word flamencoI consider the Biennial as a music and dance festival centered around flamencoI have been using it since 2006 flamenco As a vehicle, as an instrument for creating a music and dance festival that integrates dances from other cultures and other musical styles. It would be incredible to have to drop the name to attract people, but to this day, especially young people, think it's not hip hop. This is somewhat of a frustration for me right now. I say: look, we've been around for twenty years, the public should know by now that what I program is very appealing to young people. For example, Niño de Elche is also programmed at The Guess Who, the Rewire Festival, with a very eclectic program—trance, hip hop, everything… Since you pay one ticket for the whole day, you can see whatever you want, so the venues are always full. They come to Elche and they love it. But I'm thinking about how I can make it more interesting. We have to do a thorough analysis of how to do it and how to reach them. And the dilemma is also that we need the box office revenue, we need the tickets, but young people won't come if it costs more than twenty euros. Another factor. In short: yes, the type of audience at my festival is partly fans —old and new— but also an audience that is very interested in new forms.
– And after twenty years, have any Dutch artists emerged who have grown up with the festival?
– Yes, of course. The Biennial has aimed from its inception to be a platform for fostering talent in the Netherlands at both the professional and amateur levels. And I also love taking artists out of their comfort zone. There's the guitarist Tino van der Sman, whom I've supported to this day, who at the last Biennial in 2025 made his debut as a composer in a co-production with a wind ensemble, the Netherlands Blazers Ensemble [NBE]. Winds FlamencosThe show, featuring David Lagos as singer and Úrsula López as dancer, includes a tour of fourteen cities across the country. Incidentally, in 2013 we began our first collaboration with the NBE, with Carmen Linares as a guest artist.
There are other gifted guitarists in the Netherlands whom I always book. As for dance, I always try to encourage young talent as well. When there are proposals—especially from this new generation that has enormous talent—we work together and develop the applications together, and we program them in a side program. There are canteDutch dancer. This biennial also features many expats, dancers from other countries. A very talented Greek dancer, Claudia Karapanou, who has run a school in Rotterdam for ten years, whom I've already put in touch with a very famous Bulgarian vibraphonist in the Netherlands, Tatiana Koleva, who has her own group exploring Balkan rhythms and flamencoYes, I'm interested in finding talent and helping them explore other fields. But not everyone can or wants to, so we have to choose wisely. But yes, we definitely need to be a platform for Dutch talent to spread its wings.
– Is there anything at the Biennial that never fails?
– That's a tough question! Because the answer also disappoints me a little, in the sense that, if I put the program online, the concerts that sell out first are the most obvious ones: Farruquito, Manuela Carrasco, El Pele… I've barely lifted a finger to fill the Teatro Real. For Andrés Marín or Luz Arcas (who debuted at the 2025 FBN) to sell out, I'd have to move every brick in the street. The role of the press is important. For example, in 2006 we closed with Galván and Terremoto, then with The Golden AgeOn the first day of the festival, Belén Maya's show was sold out, while Galván had only sold 75 tickets out of a capacity of 725. But then there was an article in the newspaper—newspapers still had power back then—and it was the front page of the cultural supplement. And it was packed. In the early years, when what I was doing was completely new, it was almost like shock therapy in the Netherlands, in the newspaper's words. VolkskrantWe always had tremendous support from the press: spreads Four-page spreads, interviews, television. Everything contributed. Now there's much more diversity, and newspapers no longer have influence; everything is done through social media and artists with followers. The promotional landscape has changed.
One thing that never fails is tradition: traditional dancing. But also, as I am a big fan of canteI've always programmed cante And guitar, or just guitar, without dancing. Now, what never fails are the recitals of canteIn the small venue, if they're famous names. And if you build something, like I did with Yeray when he didn't yet have a name: I proposed three gigs in quality venues, with a radio concert and a bit of TV appearances. And it sold out. Another great satisfaction was the sold out of Niño de Elche, while in 2016, on his first visit, only fifty people had attended.
– And is there anything that doesn't fit?
– The artistic profile of the Biennial of Flamenco Since 2006, the Netherlands has been committed to showcasing creators who take risks to innovate within the genre. I made a very radical statement when I launched this Biennial, one that I believe, with all due modesty, no one had done before. With radical artists. This concept doesn't include the Ballets of Andalusia, the Ballet of Madrid, the big galas, etc. I don't mean to offend anyone, but it simply doesn't fit. However much I appreciate that work. It might fit in another program, but I want to dedicate the spaces I have to creators, to artists. What resonates with me are creators who take risks. Like with Galván and Marín in my early years, I'm now doing it with Luz Arcas. I love her investigative, anthropological approach to dance. But I have to fight for it: the venue wasn't full because she's an unknown name; it carries its own risks. Sara Jiménez and Yinka [Esi Graves]. For me, it's important to give a platform to new generations who continue searching to renew the flamencoThe question is difficult because I don't want to offend anyone. For example, I was offered the Afanador ballet. I almost accepted. But no. I preferred El Pele and Manuela Carrasco to a ballet to open the 10th edition.
– Any standout moments from these twenty years of the Biennial?
– It's an impossible question to answer! The creation with Mohamed Motamedi and Rosario la Tremendita. We went to a residency at the Morgenland Festival Osnabrück in Germany, and, after so much creative sweat, with me translating between an Iranian and a Spanish woman, neither of whom speaks English, searching for poetry books in Farsi and Spanish… The first night at the Bimhuis was magic. Another glorious moment: the first Biennial. I was afraid that the flamencoAnd after the performance, they went to the Red Light District, because the venue is right next door. And after Galván's huge success, being at the bar and seeing them stay because they were enjoying themselves was... Seeing the audience bewildered but knowing they'd seen something intriguing: that confirms for me that the flamenco It's not just aesthetics, it's emotion. It's cathartic. The same thing happened in 2023 with the creation The Queen of Metal by Vanesa Aibar & Enric Monfort, an immersive experience that captivated the audience with its percussive dialogue.
– And bad moments?
– I feel bad when I program a carefully crafted project, an original creation, and people don't come because it's too experimental or outside their comfort zone. When a carefully crafted project doesn't work, it hurts, because I don't like wasting quality. I remember a beautiful project with a Russian cellist and Mediterranean musicians, in a venue outside the city center where many third-generation immigrant families live. I thought it was time for something more classical, but it didn't work. A wasted gem.
One of the first accolades was a review he wrote in 2011 titled: “The Flamenco Biennial sets the bar very high. Sanctuary of flamenco “Innovative.” Exactly what we aspire to be. I don’t want to lower the bar to attract a larger audience with easy galas. I’ve chosen the difficult path. Since 2017, we’ve received four years of structural support from the National Fund for the Performing Arts and the Amsterdam Arts Fund for the innovative work with which, according to their criteria, we enrich the Dutch cultural landscape through our creations and co-productions. We’re now in our third multi-year grant period, which provides stability, allows us to maintain a minimum team, and saves us the time of applying for funding each year. But to stage a three-week Biennial in eight cities, we need the support of many more funds. And above all, sponsorships and private benefactors, since the grant system in the Netherlands is declining to an appalling level and patronage is severely underdeveloped.
Fortunately, since 2008 we have had the collaboration and recognition of INAEM and the Cervantes Institute. Otherwise, Spanish contributions are limited and inconsistent; due to regulatory changes, AC/E or the SGAE Foundation are not always able to contribute. Often, you depend on the whim of the local councilor for Culture.
– And the Board?
– The Andalusian Institute of Flamenco And the Regional Government hasn't had an international grant model since 2008. I find it surreal that there's no support for disseminating the flamenco throughout the world, and at the same time, the global dissemination of this music should be formally celebrated by Andalusian institutions. It would be very necessary to resume this path and dedicate resources to the internationalization of the flamenco, which we have lacked since the flamenco It was recognized as a World Heritage Site. It's absurd.
– Any artists you'd like to book that you haven't been able to book yet?
– I was determined to have El Pele with Vicente Amigo, the album Canto What they created seems to me a gem, timeless, classic. “An irreplaceable couple because of the perfect fit between cante "And touch, that exciting dialogue that is established as an ideal objective for practitioners of such difficult disciplines," according to Ángel Álvarez Caballero, critic of El PaísThen there's Silvia Perez Cruz, who has always fallen short. And Rodrigo Cuevas. Raúl Refree and Rosalía unplugged. In 2017 she was at our festival alongside Alfredo Lagos and Diego Carrasco, absorbing everything…
– And if you could resurrect any artist, bring them back from the afterlife, who would you invite?
– Paco. Alone. A crazy project I would have attempted if life had allowed it: Michael Jackson with Farruquito, Leonard Cohen with Morente. Or Morente with Cheb Khaled revisited. When I started in 2006, I said, “I want Morente for the third biennial,” but he passed away. Also Agujetas with Moraíto. That, and a reunion of the different Gypsy dynasties of Jerez, with Manuel Soto Sordera, El Torta, with Morao on guitar, and with Mono de Jerez and Bo. In 2017, I wanted to revive the Songhai project with Ketama and the Malian kora player Toumani Diabaté. Everything was done and ready for the premiere at the Muziekgebouw, but Toumani had to fulfill diplomatic duties in his country, and it was canceled. And then he passed away… Come to Madrid It's the soundtrack to my flamenco-loving adolescence. ♦
