Sat. night I went to a flamenco club, the Upsetter, and was stunned to my core over the energy generated by this music-singing-dancing-clapping-ole-ing event. The club was very small, the stage just a raised platform a mere 3 feet from the first members of the audience. We sat on tiny tiny stools which barely provided enough space for even my small butt, and perched precariously so, we awaited the artistes. Only half-hour late, one young man carefully tuned his guitar, the other joven cleared his throat, and then just began. The singing is more wailing, in true gypsy fashion, and the guitar work is fast and flawless. And so emotional that you can´t take your eyes off these men, displaying their feelings for all of us to witness.
Then up strode the young woman dressed all in red, and the men faded away, just disappeared under the force of her power. Slim, tiny boned, she could slam her heavy-shoes into the floor like a bullet shot. Her footwork did sound almost violent, as did her dancing, quick turns towards then away from whoever was causing this dramatic and emotional reaction in her.
The evening ended as it began, abruptly, with the trio simply walking off stage and out of the club. We lingered, the music was still floating around the room, and I wanted more. Outside, at 12:30 am it was the shank of the evening for Granada - looking more like noon than midnight, people still flooded the streets, restaurants were full, cafes bustling, and taxis were ferrying people from one spot to another. I lingered for awhile in a plaza, enjoying the still-warm evening before flagging down a cab and returning to my room across the river.
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