Flamenco Reborn: Son de la Frontera

Reviewers might be given to hyperbole when discussing Son de la Frontera, but it's for good reason. The show opened acoustically -- no mics, no instruments, just five guys in black suits and black shirts standing before a teeming, sold-out concert hall. Singer Moi de Morón, an unassuming man, opened his mouth and let out an ungodly wail -- a lament so deep, so gruff, so ancient that it sent shivers through the crowd. A peppering of "ole"s burst from the flamenco aficionados in the audience, as if against their will: they sounded as if they'd been struck in the gut. When Moi was done singing, dancer Pepe Torres, whose grandfather was the noted Gypsy dancer Joselero, stepped forward and began to knock his shoes against the board below him. It was the first of many breathtaking dance (or baile) sessions -- and just a taste of what was to come.

Photo: Heather Sarantis

Flamenco as it has been exported is often a monotone thing: relentless guitar strumming, the inevitable woman in the ruffled dress clicking her castanets. In the hands of Son de la Frontera, it became what it could be, what it originally was: a music so unexpected, so vertiginous that the entire theater sat on the edge of their seats for the duration of the show. By the end, even novices were shouting "ole!" and giving spontaneous standing ovations midway through a song, simply to recognize an outstanding solo. At one point, Torres took such a long baile solo that the audience broke in with rapturous applause and ovations three times before it ended. He strode off the stage, leaving the crowd in a frenzy, and the band wisely kicked into a well-mannered bulería that gave the audience a chance to cool down and collect themselves.

Son de la Frontera come out of the pueblo flamenco tradition, what some might call flamenco puro. Their inspiration (and grand-uncle to two members of the band) Diego del Gastor disdained concert halls and refused to travel, forcing flamenco aficcionados to come to Morón to hear him and study with him. He played mainly in bars and parties where the guests would keep time with palmas (handclaps) and get up to dance as they felt inspired. Son de la Frontera recreated the aura, immediacy and informality of a small session in a way almost no band could. The band's evident rapport -- both personal and musical -- translated from the stage to the crowd, and the 750-capacity facility felt impossibly intimate.

Photo: Heather Sarantis

Musically, they are not purists: co-founder Raul Rodriguez plays a tres guitar given to his mother Martirio by Compay Segundo during a trip to Cuba. The tres in a flamenco context takes on multiple personae, sounding very Arab, even oud-like, in one song and then sparkling like Cuban son the next. Rodriguez's fingers even took a sideways slide a few times and out of that instrument came the unearthly sound of a sitar -- a subtle nod to the presumed Indian origin of Europe's gypsies.

The show ended with a hilarious dance by Manuel Flores, whose playful moves echoed spontaneous pueblo dances done by drunk uncles, and a guest appearance by Juan del Gastor, Diego's nephew. Again the group left their microphones behind, performing with nothing between themselves and the audience, while del Gastor sang with the drama and humor of a true veteran. When the lights went up, the crowd let out a mighty exhalation and went out, very reluctantly, into the night.

Further Listening
"Cal" Son de la Frontera