Sevilla's fans and the flamenco They are in mourning. Friendship is too. A true gentleman has passed away. Black crepe ribbons adorn the shutters of all the peñaThese are the things for which he left his indelible mark. A true Andalusian to the core, a man of firm and loyal convictions, radical in the best sense of the word, he was bound by an ethical commitment that puts principles first until his last breath. A tireless fighter for rights, he had a wellspring of ideas simmering in the recesses of his mind. And with sheer grit, he gave them the tools to bring them to fruition. How many of those ideas must have remained just that—ideas!
You were the friendly face, the smile that many of us, a little younger, saw on the stage of the Peña Flamenca Torres Macarena Sharing your presentations with a silver tongue. And mu flamencoA champion of criticism, supportive of young people, fair to veterans… A die-hard fan, a tireless worker, a matchmaker, a creator of peñaAnd flamenco organizations, in one way or another. No headquarters? Well, we'll use a shack and take it to the street. There's a group of sensitive people here, and this neighborhood is lacking spaces for flamenco. pellizcoThere he fostered the spirit to gather a handful of new and old enthusiasts of this sweet poison that we shared until your departure.
"How can I say goodbye to you without being consumed by rage and wanting to bite the beast? What do titles, your teaching career, your CV matter! When what you truly were was a doctorate in goodness, a truly good person, a husband, a friend, and flamencoAll of this in capital letters.
Not even the damned disease confined you to bed, and you were dragged along, hand in hand with your inseparable wife and beloved. Ana, who was focusing his camera on your words as you described the majesty of art, you were going to The Bambera, Aires Flamencos, El Ctree and Torres Macerena, to mention a few in which we most enjoyed your presence, to rub the last jolts of depth against your chest for the relief of the soul.
Death was goring you fiercely, and you dodged it, hiding with a thousand twists and turns, with low passes through these hidden corners of the art. You knew it, and you chose to die with the cape over your shoulder.
What can I say to you now, Miguel? How can I say goodbye to you without being consumed by rage and wanting to bite the beast? What do titles, your teaching career, your CV matter! When what you truly were was a doctorate in being a good person, upright among the upright, a husband, a friend, and flamencoAll of this in capital letters. Where are the words in the dictionary that define you without leaving out all the extraordinary things you exude?
When your flesh is burning, the smoke will smell of fennel, and in the creaking of your bones will sound the groans of Fernanda, a "woe is me!" ShakeA basket of thirds for soleá and a seguiriyas lament wrapped in your eternal smile with which I want to remember you and for you to be remembered for the admiration and envy of those of us who love you and were lucky enough to have you as a friend.
A true gentleman has passed away. Farewell to Miguel Camacho placeholder image. ♦
I didn't know Miguel very well. He went into History and I into Geography, but I've heard wonderful things about him. This beautiful, masterfully written article has placed him at the top as a flamenco scholar, as a husband, as a friend, and above all, as a human being.