One of the musical backgrounds or universes that I have, and I think that many people have, is that of sevillanas. I remember in the seventies, when I was in my early youth, that The loading of the cattle / raises a dust storm… de The Pilgrims of Puebla, and then others like, of course, The daisy dreams / of being a rosemary… or one that brings me to a special place and time, Don't tell me your sorrows / tell me your joys, / because I don't tell anyone / my sorrows, Friends of GinesI was a Language and Literature teacher at the institute of Mérida, I was collaborating with a few minutes of good news on a radio program on the city's radio station and I titled my section, precisely, Don't tell me your sorrows and we would tune in to the lyrics indicated. In short, and the fairs, the gatherings, the parties with that special aroma of dancing and gathering and lyrics like "I married a dwarf...", "The pines of the preserve dream...", and when the boom of those sevillanas of Singers of Hispalis. In short, experiences, music, and lyrics that, like those of goodbye, like those of a friend who leaves and something dies in the soul, perhaps the best for me, or the ones that speak to me the most. I say, music and lyrics stay with you forever. And how can I forget the film? sevillanas, Carlos Saura, which I still like more than the emblematic one Flamenco, which is saying something.
Here is the quote from Friends of Gines:
Well, to this poetic and musical world of sevillanas he dedicates Feliciano Pérez-Vera book sevillanas, which has a kind of long subtitle that says and explains:
"A genre born from popular sentiment, enriched by its history, lyrics and performers, which continues to inspire with its universal passion." The author is from Fennel, town of Huelva, and is a lawyer, writer, and composer himself. As stated on the back cover, with a close style and full of personal experiences, he takes us through the creative and historical process, to the evolution of sevillanas, which represents at the same time a tribute to the fundamental figures among the flamenco, the copla and the sevillanas themselves. His love for this genre, more folkloric than proper, is undoubtedly evident. flamenco for us, except when played by a flamenco and with the most codes flamencothat folkloric, like Grapefruit, Camarón, etc., which appear in the aforementioned film alongside groups of sevillanas. The author does believe that it is a cante flamenco Nowadays, because "it is flamencoized in a way that makes one think that it is a palo of the flamenco, and many consider it so" (p. 32).
Of the movie sevillanas, let's listen to Toronjo with his profound interpretation of the biblical sevillanas:
The outline of his personal journey through his life in relation to sevillanas is interesting, as it is full of details and anecdotes, sometimes of intense anthropological and social value. The book's other function, its analysis, although always personal rather than doctoral or academic, covers aspects such as meter based on the seguidilla sevillana, its evolution in the 20th century, great performers, relevant lyrics, and more.
He found his golden age in the eighties and does not hesitate to criticize some eras, performers, record companies and composers who, he says, "have ruined the genre with poor quality, vulgarity and themes that do not connect with the people who have to make them their own, because the vocation of the copla is to be of the people", and to do so he reminds us of the famous verses of Manuel Machado. It gives a historical review from the sevillanas recorded by The Girl of the Combs in 1920, those of Lorca to the little argentinian at the beginning of the thirties and establishes the writer as the initiator of the Sevillian rociera Juan Francisco Muñoz y Pavón.
It finds a gap in the 1940s and 1950s and a resurgence in the 1960s with its popularization thanks to the discography. Very interesting is the distinction between the cultured sevillana, by the author, by studio, written, with sheet music, versus the popular, soulful sevillana, passed on by word of mouth, less elaborate, simple, concise, like the famous I married a dwarf…
He tells us what he thinks a good sevillana should be like, combining musical training with feeling, with musicality, fun, innovative, and not monotonous. Spontaneity and grace, he adds. He defends and vindicates Manuel Pareja Obregón García as the father of the sevillanas already Rafael de Leon like a nobleman who clings to the music of the common people and wins them over. And he always criticizes the soap opera sevillanas, as he calls them, those of poor literary quality, those without grace, as well as the overabundance of performers and songs from a few decades.
In short, a valuable book for its direct experiences, the grace of some anecdotes, its documentary and anthropological value, and the courage of its opinions. It is full of lyrics in the chapters preceding a great selection of lyrics written by the author himself, a first-rate anthology where we will find sevillanas as famous as Something dies in the soul, The heartbreak o Call whenever you want, among others. Lyrics we've heard and perhaps danced happily to, and therefore, their author should feel satisfied and rewarded, for he has achieved that Manuel Machado-esque aspiration of feeling that no one knows the author of his songs anymore, and the people sing them. I myself didn't know this, and now I'm going to put on these sevillanas to remember other moments in my life. For example, The heartbreak, sung by The Rocieros.
→ Feliciano Pérez-Vera, sevillanas, Almuzara, Córdoba, 2025.
