In the mid-15th century, when the “reconquest” of Muslim Spain appeared to be entering its final stages, significant developments took place in southwestern Andalusia’s urban population patterns. One of Seville’s extramural districts, or ‘arrabales’, Triana, which lay beyond the city walls and across the River Gualalquivir, grew substantially, and three similar new arrabales developed at Jerez de la Frontera and Cádiz. They were San Miguel and Santiago in Jerez, and Santa Maria in Cadiz. Centuries later, long after they had been granted the status of barrios, these three districts and Triana itself, were Andalusia’s most important centres of Gypsy population and culture.

The Gypsies developed an interest in some of those traditions which were losing their channels of transmission but not their popular appeal

It seems highly probable, then, that when the Andalusian Gypsies gave up nomadism at some unknown period during the 16th or 17th centuries, they decided to settle down in these new urban areas, as well as in Triana. They probably had no real choice: the walled cities were off-limits at night to potentially dangerous minorities, who were thus firmly invited to keep to the districts outside the walls. Significantly too, scattered evidence clearly points to cultural exchanges and transfers between some of the minorities whose place in society was unsettled at that time: professional minstrels (juglares), the descendants of African slaves, servants who were adrift after losing their Muslim master, and, later, the Muslims who had officially converted to Christianity (moriscos).

The Gypsies developed an interest in some of those traditions which were losing their channels of transmission but not their popular appeal, and which, in this way, entered into the fabric of what later emerged as ‘flamenco’. Eventually, it would seem, the Gypsies managed simultaneously to retain their own identity, outline the other minorities and relay part of their cultures to us.

A short walk in Jerez today can take one along the remains and memories of its walls. Starting from the Alcázar and the nor-west side of Arenal, one follows these streets: Calles Agustín, Larga, Por-vera, Ancha, Muro, Ronda del Caracol, Puerta de Tora, and then back to the Alcázar. The arrabal of San Miguel developed on the south side of the walled city, looking out towards the River Guadalete and to the east and south. The arrabal of Santiago grew on the other side, north of the city, with direct access to the fertile lands which fan out between Rota and Lebrija. Santiago is centred on Calles Merced, Nueva, Cantarreria, Taxdirt (formerly De la Sangre) and Marqués de Cádez, while San Miguel extends west of the Plaza San Miguel and includes Calles Empedrada, Alamos, Sol and Corredera. San Miguel is often referred to by the Gypsies who live there as the ‘Plazuela’ (or small square), which is a plazuela of the mind.

San Miguel is often referred to by the Gypsies who live there as the ‘Plazuela’ (or small square), which is a plazuela of the mind.

Plazueleros: Loco Mateo, Serneta, Agujetas padre, Chacón

An interesting aspect of this geography is the uneven distribution and peculiar characteristics of cante in each of the two barrios, in terms of song-forms, great figures and creative artists. Manuel Molina, who left no fewer than five siguiriyas, nearly all monumental, came from San Miguel. So, too, did El Loco Mateo, who reoriented the siguiriya; Diego El Marrurro, who created the most poignant cante of all; and Joaquin La Serna, who suggested the need for a return to austerity and haughtiness. Merced La Serneta, a creator all in a class of her own who refounded the tradition of the soleá by centring it on emotion, also came from San Miguel. Though she lived most of her life in Utrera she retained links with San Miguel and returned there at times. Antonio Chacon, although not a Gypsy, was also born in San Miguel. His creative talents took other directions, but he recorded a number of songs by others artists from his old barrio: La Serneta, Manuel Molina, and El Marrurro. These names by no means make up a full list. Among the great cantaores who made recordings, and in some cases left their mark on some cantes, are Manuel Torre, Agujetas padre, his son Manuel, Rubichi and Tio Juane. Juanito Mojama, too, hailed from San Miguel, but his father came from Santiago.

San Miguel’s cumulative achievement leans towards the forceful expression of naked grief

San Miguel’s cumulative achievement leans towards the forceful expression of naked grief – cante which tends to move towards paroxums – though with a note of frequent revolt or occasional haughtiness. There are, of course, exceptions: we are dealing with a cradle of individualists. La Serneta always stands apart: her genius sprang from her femininity and would have borne fruit anywhere. But the urgency of emotion in the songs she left probably comes from San Miguel.

Santiago’s achievement is substantially different. It came to prominence slightly later with Paco La Luz, whose main siguiriya is a model of classicism in the evolution of this songform. It was continued discreetly by Jose de Paula, whose talent for concentrating on absolute essentials and saying no more cannot be matched. But Santiago’s legacy also takes on a rich collective dimension with simultaneously, a network of families, a cluster of cantes and a galaxy of great singers: Antonio Frijones, Juanichi El Manijero and El Gloria among the creators; Borrico, Terremoto, Sernita, the Pableras and the Sorderas among the talents of yesterday; and those of today: Jose Merce, Fernando de la Morena, Luis El Zambo and others. Santiago’s collective achievement is less singular and less vehement than that of San Miguel, but its distinction lies elsewhere. In Santiago, grief is simultaneously vented and controlled, and discipline reins in paroxysms. At the same time, while San Miguel offers a succession of individualists, Santiago deploys dynasties which nurture certain forms in which cante itself remains a family heirloom and a communal heritage.

In Santiago, grief is simultaneously vented and controlled

Santiagueros: Sordera, Borrico, El Gloria, Sernita

In festive cante (cante festero), comparable differences can be briefly mentioned. While Santiago fires off apparently inexhaustible salvoes of bulerias, San Miguel seems to lean towards the more austere bulerias por solea (or ‘pa’ escuchar). In Santiago, too, the bulerias, it seems, have even replaced those two ancient pillars of Gypsy weddings, the sung romances (or corridos) and the alboreas.

Of course it would be a mistake to seek explanations for all artistic developments, but when it comes to the distinctions between the cante from these two barrios, one does not have to look very far. San Miguel remained hemmed in by urban perspectives – those of the forge and the butcher’s trade – which were probably as confined and confining as those of Triana. But Santiago enjoyed very different prospects and took full advantage of them. At some point in the 19th century, quite possibly earlier, great landowners of the Jerez area began year after year to hire work teams of Gypsies, the ‘gañanias’, organised around families or even a street. These were run by trusted Gypsy foremen, the ‘manijeros’, and would work on the great estates for long periods. This meant months of hard work rewarded by meagre pay and Spartan living conditions in the great buildings on the cortijo, but such a life was two steps above the precariousness and frequent near-starvation of urban life. In the evening and in the bad weather, the work teams would fall back on cante, without guitars but with a little baile thrown in at times; and such sharing of communal values continued in the barrio itself, thanks to its particular habitat. Such cante was restricted to the siguiriyas, soleares, and bulerias, with a few occasional tonas: these are the songs the Gypsies sang between themselves.

In the evening and in the bad weather, the work teams would fall back on cante

Mechanisation brought this to an end during the 1960’s, but by then the Santiago Gypsies had undergone a change. They had been left free to cultivate their own –‘lo suyo’– and had become largely integrated in local society. It would even seem that no memories survive among them of persecutions suffered in earlier periods.

[This article originally appeared in the magazine Flamenco International. This last paragraph and the section on sources were brought up to date in November 2007]

Pierre Lefranc

[Sources : the information summarised above derives from work that I have in progress and from : my book Le Cante Jondo/ El Cante Jondo […] (Nice and Seville, 1998, 2000, 2001) ; Ladero Quesada, Andalucía a fines de la Edad Media (Cádiz, 1999) ; Pasqualino, Dire le Chant […] (Paris, 1998) ; the memories of La Piriñaca and of Borrico as published by Ortiz Nuevo (1977, 1984) ; Álvarez Caballero, Gitanos, Payos, y Flamencos, […], Madrid, 1988 ; de La Plata in Historia del Flamenco, i.185-95 ; the relevant videos in Rito y Geografía […] ; and the section on Jerez in Un Voyage andalou, mentioned in my list of films. On Mojama, see Ramón Soler Díaz in Candil, 127 (2000), to whom I am also indebted for some details not yet in print. On the gañanías, see Estela Zatania, Flamencos de Gañanía […], Sevilla, 2007.]

Pierre Lefrancwas Professor of English Literature at several universities in France, North America and Africa. His interest in flamenco began in 1955 and approximately two hours of recordings made by him between 1961 and 1964 are included in the Tartessos « Historia del Flamenco ». He is the author of the book El Cante Jondo published in French (Facultad de Letras de Niza, 1988) and Spanish (Universidad de Sevilla, 2000, 2001).