Diego del Gastor, the Gypsy flamenco guitarist of Morón de la Frontera, died thirty years ago on July 7th, 1973.
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Even before his death, there was serious controversy about his stature as an artist. It has intensified in recent years. The debate is inextricably linked to the fact that many non-Spaniards thought very highly of the man and his playing, and his reputation became greater outside of Spain than within it. The question of Diego del Gastor's stature as a guitarist
Photo by Steve Kahn Juan Serrano came to the new world as the protégé of the popular folksinger Theodore Bikel, and managed to carve out a career. And the flamboyant French Gypsy guitarist Manitas de Plata was widely, if incorrectly, hailed in America as a brilliant flamenco player and technical wizard, enjoying huge financial and popular success. His reputation outside Spain acquired such a powerful mystique that some Americans and other non-Spaniards journeyed to Morón to seek him out But the case of Diego del Gastor was quite different. He was not flamboyant, not a virtuoso, and had no intention of becoming a concert soloist, or even famous. He made his living as an accompanist, working with singers who happened to come to Morón or joining them in nearby towns. Nonetheless, his reputation outside of Spain acquired such a powerful mystique that some Americans and other non-Spaniards journeyed to Morón de la Frontera to seek him out. In large measure, though not completely, this was due to the writing of Don Pohren, an outstanding flamencologist whose first book, The Art of Flamenco, was published in 1962. At a time when there was very little reliable information on the topic, Pohren offered perceptive insight and deeply-researched analysis. He also spoke very highly of this virtually unknown player who had an almost magical ability to transmit the vast emotional range of flamenco – its grief and pain, its joy and affirmation – though the guitar. Even before Pohren's book was widely known, I and some other American aficionados had learned of Diego del Gastor's playing from two young U.S. players, Chris Carnes and David Serva, who had studied seriously with him. Soon, more non-Spaniards joined those who were already living in Morón. A few years later, Pohren bought the Finca Espartero, a sort of hacienda just outside of the town, and opened it to paying guests as new way to experience serious flamenco. Soon a steady stream of visitors was coming from around the world to hear flamenco in Morón, including the playing of Diego del Gastor. It was assumed that one was hugely privileged to have
The tendency among these non-Spaniards was to take the general claim of Diego's great artistry at face value. It was assumed that one was hugely privileged to have found this place, and this man, and this magical music. And that someday, this would be the stuff of legend, and there would be universal confirmation of the importance of this special moment in the story of flamenco. However, great love stories are rarely as simple as that. A few complications are always in order. For one thing, Diego del Gastor had never faced one acid test that guitarists normally had to pass in order to attain full recognition from the flamenco world at large. He had never devoted his life to going where the major professional action was. In his youth, he hadn't joined the traveling shows that brought flamenco to stages and even bullrings around Spain (well, he had, briefly, accompanying the very important singer Manuel Vallejo, but he had not liked the restrictions on his playing, and he soon left). Later, he did not work at the tablaos or flamenco nightclubs that supported so many professionals. And he never hooked up with one singer to do a circuit of performances that could guarantee a steady income. In fact, he chose to stay home. Not literally, of course – flamenco guitar was always his profession, and he sometimes went into Seville or to various smaller nearby towns to accompany singers. Still, many flamenco artists never saw him at work, and had no way to appraise his playing except by hearsay. When offered a rare chance to make a serious recording In other ways, too, he refused to do what was expected. He didn't wait in for hours in dingy promoters' offices, hoping for work, as so many giants of flamenco have done. He didn't pay obeisance to other artists who might help to guarantee his reputation. He refused to accompany singers when he didn't like their art – including Antonio Mairena, widely regarded as the greatest singer of his era. And when offered a rare chance to make a serious recording for a prestigious Spanish label, he decided against it. In short, he did only what he wanted to do, and he willingly paid the price by living in near-poverty for much of his life. Diego del Gastor simply wanted to make a living by accompanying great singers. In this, he succeeded. Today we are left with an interesting, perhaps He frequently accompanied Manolito de la Maria, the supreme maestro of the great form of soleares called the soleá de Alcalá. He frequently accompanied Juan Talega, who was the living embodiment of the deepest Gypsy forms of siguiriyas and soleáres, as well as the profound unaccompanied martinetes. He frequently accompanied La Fernanda de Utrera, Spain's greatest living cantaora of the last half-century, and the quintessence of the great soleá de la Sarneta. He frequently accompanied his brother-in-law Joselero de Morón, a noted interpreter of soleáres, tangos and bulerías. He frequently accompanied Fernandillo de Morón, a remarkable interpreter of festive Bulerías. He sometimes accompanied el Perrate de Utrera, a master of serious song, and La Perrata de Utrera, a repository of serious flamenco and great Bulerías, and Juan El Lebrijano, one of a handful of superb Gypsy singers of a wide range of flamenco, and Anzonini, a master of dance and song. He also accompanied dozens, perhaps hundreds of other singers over the years, including Spain's greatest living singer, El Chocolate.
And yet today, we are left with an interesting, perhaps surprising question: Was he any good? Even before the death of Diego del Gastor, and certainly since, there has been a reaction – even a backlash – against the assumption that he has a valid claim to greatness. In 1965, I asked the guitarist Pepe Martinez, famed both as a concert artist and as an accompanist, about Diego. “Some primitive who lives in the mountains”, was the reply. It was dismissive, but understandable. After all, Pepe Martinez was a direct disciple of Ramón Montoya, the Gypsy virtuoso from Madrid who virtually founded the flamenco guitar as an instrument in its own right, and was revered both as an accompanist and as pioneering occasional soloist. Enormously compelling for some, but The aesthetic of Ramón's great artistry lay in his search for sweetness, for a kind of beauty that a classical musician would readily grasp. He was at his greatest exploring the lyrical sweep of the gorgeous tarantas, the captivating liquid trickle of the granadinas, the tonal majesty of his great instrumental rondeña – all of which are played in a free rhythm, rather than in the strict metrical form called compás that defines most flamenco forms. And this same quest for a refined beauty and elegance also permeated Ramón's great work in flamenco's more grave and cutting rhythmic forms, like the soleá and sigiuiriya. In addition, Ramón Montoya's domination of the guitar depended on a wide variety of techniques, many borrowed from classical guitar. Notably, he made full use of the lovely tremolo as well as the flowing arpeggio techniques for the right hand. And, like a classical musician, he made full use of the entire fingerboard, to extract a relatively full melodic range from the instrument. While his music was beautiful at its best, it was sometimes merely pretty – not necessarily a virtue for those flamenco styles derive their power from a raw, almost primitive earthiness. Diego del Gastor took a very different approach. Influenced by a countervailing style fostered by the Jerez guitarist Javier Molina, and also influenced by an earlier Morón guitarist named Pepe Naranjo, he sought a different sound, direct and enormously compelling for some, but apparently off-base or misguided to others. Technically, although Diego ultimately learned some classical guitar and sometimes employed its techniques, his finest playing emphasized the older-sounding, and seemingly simpler thumb runs in the bass strings. This, along with strong picado or rapidly plucked runs and his strong rendition of the characteristic flamenco “roll” or rasgueado strum for chords, formed the backbone of his art. And, interestingly, Diego chose not to play most of the flamenco repertoire at all. In fact, he devoted his entire artist life to just three of flamenco's more than fifty forms. He worked at his siguiriyas, his soleares and his bulerías. For each, he developed an immediately recognizable – and infuriatingly hard to replicate – sound and underlying rhythmic pulse within the inviolable compás. This is what is generally treasured in flamenco circles as the propio sello – the player's own unmistakable stamp. Diego concentrated his full power As a professional, of course, he had to accompany virtually everything at one time or another. And he spent some time on other forms, inventing some remarkable music for the alegrías, tangos, tarantas and granadinas. But he controlled his own creative life to an astonishing degree, and he gravitated to artists who shared his view about the supremacy of these forms. He concentrated his full power on the three forms he truly loved.
It would seem that there is not much left. But something indeed is left: the challenge of doing justice to flamenco's most demanding styles by playing exactly the right notes and chords in exactly the right way. Did Diego del Gastor do that? I happen to think he did. But as a born outsider, I always find it difficult to trust my own judgment about flamenco artists.
Photo by Steve Kahn Still, for whatever it's worth, I think that Diego del Gastor's soleá is the best I've ever heard. After 40 years, I still love to try and play it – in addition to the great soleares of Nino Ricardo and Melchor de Marchena. And I think that Diego del Gastor's siguiriyas is almost as good as Melchor's, and even better than Ricardo's and Paco de Lucía's and Perico del Lunar's. And I think that Diego del Gastor's bulerías are utterly unique, and probably even incomparable — although I also love those of Sabicas and Morao and Paco Cepero and Paco de Lucía, among many others. Guitar for guitar's sake has never been highly valued in Spain Of course, these observations are largely guitar-centered. And even if they were correct, they would not really answer the question at hand. In fact, guitar for guitar's sake has never been highly valued in Spain. It's all very nice if a guitarist can play engaging material in a convincing way, but in flamenco circles a player's reputation really rests on his ability to properly accompany serious singers. I found it unnerving to learn that a number of knowledgeable artists felt that Diego was not a good accompanist. The general tenor of this criticism relates to something that was evident enough. The perfect accompanist, according to many aficionados and artists, should be all but invisible. He is there only to support the singer, and that means never calling attention to himself. He should only play his falsetas or melodic riffs when it's clear that the singer is resting, gathering his resources for the next verse. He should never do anything that might be interpreted as intruding on the concentration of the singer. The falsetas should always be brief, illuminating the performance without commanding serious attention or distracting the audience or the singer. Well, I heard Diego accompany a lot of singers. And the only time he fully fit this traditional mold was when the singer was inexperienced or untalented. When the singer was a full-fledged master, as was usually the case, Diego del Gastor could be assertive in an unusual way. Here he felt free to violate the general rule; he clearly believed that by giving his all, he could induce a great singer to reach deeper within himself or herself. It was always clear that there were two exceptional artists at work, not just one. There was a dialogue, an interchange, a series of challenges and conflicts and glorious resolutions. Part two.
Journalist Brook Zern who has written for Fortune magazine is |
