[continued from yesterday's entry]
The previous happening has gone unmentioned until now because I haven't been able to figure out how to wrap words around it in a way that might do it justice.
My neighbor Esperanza stopped by, mentioning she'd be meeting some friends at a club in a neighboring district to watch a singer of traditional music, asking if I wanted to come along. Count me in, said I. Expecting something folkloric, in the vein of a soulful person with a guitar. Colorful in a low-key, flamenco-flavored, from-the-heart way.
Came the evening of the performance, I joined Esperanza and a 30-something friend of hers (both in attractive dresses, Esperanza showing an unnerving amount of cleavage). The route Esperanza took to the club brought us through so many narrow, crowded streets, making so many illogical twists and turns, that I don't think I could find my way back there if someone put a gun to my head. The club turned out to be an old, lovely, high-ceilinged space on a small cobblestone thoroughfare. Filled with tables, every one packed with people. We hooked up with friends of Esperanza's, I found myself sharing a long table with nine women, ranging in age from mid-30s through late-50s. Them and me. I suspect they didn't realize Esperanza would be dragging a male along -- an American male, no less, the American part of that something that attracts dubious attention these days, in light of certain world events. Took them a while to warm up to my humble, pointy-booted self.
The performer showed. Not folkloric. Not, as it turned out, low-key. An extravagant late-30s male, looking like an updated Spanish version of a lounge singer -- wearing black pants & suit jacket w/ ruffled blue shirt, no tie. Hair in something of a pompador, long sideburns angling sharply down each cheek. An upright piano sat against one wall, the singer set up a microphone stand near it while his accompanist -- a bald, older, rumpled-looking gent -- set up shop at the keyboard. The women at my table knew the singer, they waved and called out until he came over, kissed cheeks, exchanged hellos. Esperanza introduced me, mentioning my nationality, he responded by loudly chiding me re: the current U.S. government while we shook hands (the first time that has happened to me in all my time here). The moment passed, he moved off. It occurred to me then, while looking around the club, that I was the lone American in attendance, perhaps the lone furriner. A joint full of Spaniards of all ages -- loud, happy, ready for entertainment.
The entertainment -- a program of coplas, a style of song originally from Andalucía, considered the source of Spanish popular song -- got going around 10:30, the singer calling it a 'show' (his accent changing it to 'cho'), specifically mentioning the States in his use of the word, a strange passing reference/homage after my moment with him. The pattern: a rambling intro., the singer expounding about the song (or whatever came to mind) for 5, 6, 7 minutes; the pianist then pounded out the tune's opening bars, the singer launched into the number, the audience often singing along with chorus or important lines. He did not have my idea of a great voice, but he clearly had the spirit of the music, belting out verse after verse, the songs generally lasting 4 or 5 minutes, sometimes longer.
The singer was into it. The crowd was into it. The piano player was into it. A genuine scene -- rowdy, communal, high-energy. Me in the middle of it all, on full intake mode, absorbing everything, beyond happy/content. I must not have had the conventional appearance of someone enjoying themselves -- Esperanza kept leaning across the table, poking my arm, asking me if I liked it. Sí, I answered every time, meaning it.
All applause had to stop at midnight or the club's upstairs neighbor would call the cops (I am not making that up). From that point on, everyone held up their hands at the end of a song, waving them silently in appreciation -- not as gratifying for audience or performer, and the show came to a halt soon after.
[continued in next entry]
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Madrid, late yesterday afternoon -- around the city center:
Madrid, te quiero.
rws 6:33 AM [+]
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