Journey to Utrera, the Cradle of Flamenco
Nicholas Burman travels to Spain’s oldest surviving flamenco festival in search of the roots of an art born in the fairs, bars, weddings, and homes of Andalusians.
It’s a surprisingly cool July afternoon in Andalusia. I am in Utrera, Seville, feeling a little scruffy amongst the suited and heeled attendees of Potaje Gitano (‘Gypsy Stew’), self-proclaimed as Spain’s oldest surviving flamenco festival. Out of the quietness of the siesta, groups of families and friends enter the city’s Salesian school with cooler boxes and bags of food and wine. The school’s large and rather severe playground has been transformed into a seated venue (with a food truck and bar, luckily for the unprepared such as myself) for the few thousand attendees.
Pat Moore
This annual festival’s name is a reference to gitano cuisine, a type of stew, and thus a dedication to the Roma community’s central role in the development of one of Europe’s most renowned folk cultures (although not all the performers are gitano). The event, which was revived in the face of declining attendance rates in the early 2000s, is organised by the local branch of Seville’s Catholic Brotherhood of Gitanos, and profit goes to community projects. Upon the stage, there is a wagon with a red dharmachakra, or cartwheel, an international symbol of Romani people.
Starting at 9pm and stretching well into the early hours, Potaje Gitano 2024 featured artists such as the award-winning Arcángel, who began singing in 1987, and Esperanza Fernández, whose voice truly hurts, and who has been performing since she was sixteen.
This year’s event was dedicated to Los Morancos, a Seville-born comedy duo formed of César and Jorge Cadaval, known for incorporating both flamenco culture and drag in their act. The event also performs a political function, insofar as the organizers and local dignitaries such as the mayor take advantage of the occasion to make speeches.
The precision, ferocity, and feeling of flamenco dancing is instantly engrossing.
Tomás Fernández Soto, often referred to as Tomás de Perrate, is the artist that has drawn me to the event. He comes from a notable Utreran flamenco family; a statue of his father, José Fernandez Granados, sits in the garden of the ruins of the city’s medieval castle. Well-versed in the flamenco tradition, he is also part of its avant garde. In his recent album with Catalan musician Raül Refree, Tres Golpes (‘three hits’), Perrate forges a new path by digging deep into flamenco’s origins, especially by investigating its African influences. It is an idiosyncratic approach that incorporates elements from Latin American folk and stylish experimentation.
Flamenco is not solely a music genre. It is an entire culture, born in the fairs, bars, weddings and homes of Andalusians. While both Roma and payo (non-Roma) Andalusians have been vital in the culture’s development, it is inarguable that flamenco would not exist if it were not for the fact that Roma have been professional musicians dating back to their origins in the Punjab and the Persian Empire. Flamenco is the result of the particular combination between this heritage, other Iberian communities, and the specificities of life in the south of the peninsula.
Bogdan Sonjachnyj
A single origin point will never be found. We can only attempt to trace a flamenco prehistory: the ballads (romanceros) native to Spain; Andalusian folk music; and the culture surrounding Murcia’s mining communities. Many speculate that other key influences include the cultural impact of the Caliphate of Córdoba, and the fact that Cádiz was so prominent in the transatlantic slave trade, via which African and South American influences were imported.
Like all folk music, there are standard melodies and lyrics (or letras) which are the bedrock from which all performers draw. But there aren’t songs exactly, but cantes, combinations of nonlinear letras and melodies and rhythms which performers and groups will utilize and improvise around. There are many different types of styles, or palos, within flamenco, such as soleá and tango, and on top of that there are regional variants. The diagram that depicts the relationship of all the different types of flamenco palos demonstrates just how complex this musical language is.
As well as the music, there are the subtle standards of dresses and outfits. The performers at Potaje Gitano wear more subdued formal attire than what one is likely to find at flamenco tablaos, where onlookers will witness the more flamboyant and colorful traje de flamenca, the type of outfits, often with a bold polka dot pattern, heavily associated with Seville’s April Fair.
The precision, ferocity, and feeling of flamenco dancing are instantly engrossing. The dancers’ feet and hands act as additional percussive elements within the performance, their body intersects with the music in a way that makes the body a significant part of the music, rather than an adornment to it. The control and confidence of flamenco dancing is partly what lends it its eroticism.
Duende is a special state of flamenco grace.
Dancer and choreographer Antonia Mercé said flamenco dancing technique is “invisible for the spectator, forgotten in these moments by the artist herself” and “runs beneath her art like a stream of water.” Flamenco is indeed full of many ‘invisible’ elements. The most renowned of these is the duende. Flamencologist Anselmo Gonzalez Climent describes duende as “a special state of flamenco grace.” It refers to the potential of a flamenco artist born with charisma, of those moments during a flamenco performance which transcends the usual spectacle.
Alfonso de Tomas
Utrera is within the “cradle” where flamenco was born. It’s a town where two-story houses with breezy interior patios are guarded by iron fences wrought into spiraling, naturalistic patterns – reminiscent, incidentally, of the shapes that the hands and arms of flamenco dancers make. It is the home of numerous greats from the culture’s long history. Amongst them are Bernarda y Fernanda de Utrera, whose rendition of ‘Se Nos Rompio El Amor’ Pedro Almodóvar placed in his 1993 film Kika. Another Utreran favorite is Bambino, whose television appearances from the 1970s remain electric.
Given the lack of written records made directly by those in the Roma community, much of what we know about their history is based on depictions of and writing about them. Of course, many of those depictions will exist on a scale of stereotyping, depending on the historical context.
The first written document that demonstrates the presence of Roma on the Iberian Peninsula is dated 12th January 1425. Signed by Alfonso V, it provided three months of safe conduct for “our beloved and devoted” Don Juan of Little Egypt (heads of Roma troops often referred to themselves as “Dons” or “Counts”) to travel through the Kingdom of Aragón. Little Egypt was the name given at the time to Syria, Cyprus and the eastern Mediterranean. Over time, the Spanish egipto became gitano; this nomenclature has led to people wrongly thinking that Roma are of African heritage.
Christian solidarity didn’t last long. The Roma arrived in the tumult of the reconquista. Following the surrender of Granada in 1492, concerns about religious purity turned into a violent racial puritanism, and the forced Christian converts from the Jewish and Arab populations were expelled from the country. When the Roma made it to the south they typically found themselves taking over the work that these communities had undertaken, such as blacksmithing, breeding horses, and farm labouring, although very often, out of Spanish fear of the gitanos as a racialized other, their right to work in various industries was often curtailed.
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In a study of Romani representation in Madrid’s Prado collection, Sarah Carmona explains that up until the 16th century Romani figures were used to represent “hermeneutic and prophetic gifts.” (Musicians and Soldiers, from circa 1625, by the French artist Valentin de Boulogne, is one example of a depiction of Roma as professional musicians in Europe.) From Caravaggio onwards, these same figures “turned into an incarnation of vice, theft and alienating exteriority.” Later, gitanos would be heavily romanticized. One example of such romantic representation is 1884’s Baile por bulerías by José García Ramos.
The community isn’t always othered. Spain’s great modernist poet García Lorca, well known for his collection Gypsy Ballads, wrote that the gitanos were the exemplary Andalusian. Regardless, throughout history, the Roma’s traditional nomadic habits came into conflict with the growing primacy of property rights, and various laws forced them into sedentary lifestyles. Racial discrimination - both informal and through legal mechanisms - soon followed. Gitanos have faced many harsh and discriminatory laws and actions in the intervening centuries. This includes contemporary phenomena such as an increase in anti-Roma discrimination on social networks.
By force and by choice, Roma people have often been involved in Spanish military campaigns. Towards the end of the Eighty Years’ War, numerous gitano families became vital in a campaign in Flanders. The Spanish word for Flemish is flamencos. Bernard Leblon argues that Roma families who were given special rights by the King as thanks for their involvement in Flanders were nicknamed the flamencos. According to Leblon (whose essential Gypsies and Flamenco informs this article), families involved in the development of flamenco in the late 1800s have records proving their ancestors’ involvement in the Flemish campaign.
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Flamenco as we recognize it today likely started with vocalists singing solo, or perhaps alongside traditional instruments such as the violin and tambourine. The guitar, which today feels so essential, was a 19th-century addition. The culture developed through fairs (gitanos were famous for breeding the horses which would be sold at these), and later the cafés cantantes, the tablaos, and then the festivals, such as Potaje Gitano. Dancer Cristina Hoyos performed at the Opera Garnier in Paris in 1990 and UNESCO declared the tradition Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity in 2010.
Attending the Potaje Gitano festival alone feels a little like crashing a very large wedding party.
It’s family and community-oriented. Each ticket comes assigned to a table at which about eight people sit. This benefits families and friend groups who purchase tickets together; they share the food and wine amongst each other, often stand en masse to applaud as the performers initiate a fin de fiesta, which is when the performers leave the stage simultaneously, usually while performing a bulería (another one of the palos).
In its formality and the prominence of the Catholic Church, Seville feels much more conservative when compared to, for example, liberal Barcelona. However, despite the religiosity of the region, Andalusia is not entirely dominated by Christian orthodoxy. Indeed, my arrival in Seville coincided with the city’s Pride celebrations. The Cadaval brothers, to whom this event is in homage, became famous across the Spanish-speaking world in the 2000s for their parody song and gay anthem ‘Marica tú’ (the brothers were reclaiming marica, a derogatory term for gay men).
Flamenco is non-discriminatory when it comes to age or body shape. This is partially due to the fact that technique in flamenco doesn’t rely on athleticism. A dancer can hold a pose and make one single movement – it is the rhythm, intention, and intensity of an act that makes the impact. In combining formality with fluidity, flamenco dancing pairs the styles of the cooler north with the warm south.
Performers being older actually benefits performances. Age offers gravitas. For singers especially, voices mature like aged whisky - take, for example, Capullo de Jerez, whose performance at Potaje Gitano was infused with his 55 years of professionally performing flamenco. Not only in the control and power of his voice, but through the charisma of a true performer, and how imperceptible ties sublimely united the group.
Flamenco music has had something of a renaissance in recent years. It’s been combined with reggaeton and pop by a new generation of Spanish artists. C. Tangana and Rosalía are two of the most prominent, and, due to claims against the latter as having a somewhat parasitic relationship with the culture, sometimes problematic names from this generation.
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What makes flamenco a folk tradition which is living, not merely being preserved, is its ability, such as is the case with Tomás de Perrate, for example, to be deeply rooted to a heritage and an origin, but malleable enough to produce expressive sounds and emotions which resonate today. Authenticity is a dangerous word, but the best flamenco feels authentic. Not because it is old or traditional, but because it often feels like a true expression, and expresses the otherwise inexpressible.
Despite its rootedness in southern Spain, flamenco rarely feels parochial. Text in Seville’s Museum of Flamenco Dance describes the music as “born in Andalusia and [a] citizen of the world.” Given its connectedness with African and South American cultural forms, it could be no other way.
While it has indeed been widely celebrated and enjoyed around the world, it succeeds partly because of how each performer brings something unique to the stage. As Capullo de Jerez said in a 2022 interview: “Neither I nor anyone else is the best, what we do is different. That is more important than being better or worse. I am one way and I sing one way. As long as I live I will not hear my style from another musician.” Festivals such as Potaje Gitano give attendees an opportunity to celebrate these one-offs, and the culture that produces them.
Manuela Carpio and Manuel Torres finish the evening with a dance duet, with Carpio also signing, backed with a guitarist and six men playing palmas, the syncopated clapping. The Andalusian scheduling beats me, and I don’t manage to stay until the very end, and instead join the trickle of attendees who, at around 2am, call it an early night. I return to my pensión through Utrera’s old town while waitresses close restaurant shutters.
Where to go
The Guia Flamenco website offers comprehensive listings of flamenco events both in Spain and abroad. The Museum of Flamenco Dance is open all year round and is based in Sevilla’s old town.
Note on language: Based on recommendations by numerous Roma groups available publicly, I use the term Roma when writing in English. I sometimes use the Spanish gitano (for simplicity's sake I restrict myself to the masculine version of the word, though of course gitana is also available); this is mostly when I am drawing from a Spanish language source and want to retain the original context.