Not “copper” (cobre), but old gold. Not only on this
recording, but much of Ricardo Pachón’s archives.
And this record is worth its weight in gold. Even the accompanying booklet.
In the booklet, as on the record cover, it says (the text is unsigned,
so going by the style we have to attribute it to Pachón as well)
that these are the singer’s last recordings. In actual fact, as
previously pointed out in this magazine, that’s not true. The record
was made in 1999, and “Mis 70 Años con el Cante”, the
last recording by Chocolate, was made two years later. This then is not
the last recording, but his posthumous work, since it has now been released
for the first time. The definitive swansong of Antonio Núñez
“Chocolate”, from both art and life.
The booklet also rehashes our singer’s supposed inability to sing
in rhythm. It’s odd this should be cited by the very editor of the
work. Ricardo Pachón, as mentioned, is a fundamental piece of the
history of this art, a man to whom we all owe so much. Responsible in
everything he touches such as the dynamic moments of contemporary flamenco
we find in “Nuevo Día”, “Veneno”, “Le
Leyenda del Tiempo”, “Blues de la Frontera”, “Soy
Gitano”, etc.
Chocolate:
‘Cobre Viejo’. Guitar: Diego Amaya. Producer: Ricardo
Pachón. Flamenco Vivo/Nuevos Medios
1. Debla (tonás)
2. El sol sale más temprano (fandangos)
3. Cobre viejo (seguiriyas)
4. Es peligroso beber (malagueñas)
5. Los Caganchos (soleá)
6. Yo no le temo a la muerte (fandangos)
7. Pregonao me tienes (seguiriyas)
8. He visto raso llover (soleá)
9. Pobre de los mineritos (tarantos)
10. Despedida (recitado).
The fact is, we are attending the last death throes of the overvalued
aesthetic of one metronymic dimension, of flamenco, of music, in detriment
of another. In another era, the precise opposite happened, and one can
only assume that in time the pancake will again flip. In another time,
it was the sweet, sentimental, well-tuned voice that was the definitive
ideal. We’re talking about the nineteen-twenties and thirties of
Pepe Marchena, Pepe Pinto, La Niña de la Puebla, Manuel Vallejo,
Canalejas de Puerto Real and Juanito Valderrama, with their stylized melodies.
In that sense, the historical perspective serves us well so we may understand
the relative value of absolutes. We all know, you and I, that the most
important thing is not the preconditions of style or the artist’s
race, birthplace or sexual orientation. But that requires an exercise
in humility which the so-called “cabales” do not tend to have,
nor the experts, critics, producers, etc. That humility tends to be the
domain of the general public, which merely seeks physical and emotional
pleasure, leaving intellecual matters for the intellectuals. And you all
know: none of us here are intelligentsia, just pleasure-seekers.
So let’s jump in and enjoy. A path straight to the barebones, to
the marrow. First up, Tomás Pavón’s debla from Triana,
accomplished without safety-net. The fandango road also leads to the center,
to the heart. A style, contrary to rampant flamencology, he was always
fond of and felt indebted to. The form that gave him popularity. A cante
that gave him everything. The postwar fandangos, living on the edge amidst
alcohol, prostitution, hunger, fatigue, death… What a grim panorama!
What abused flesh! The most brilliant voice of the nineteen-sixties, when
he was accompanied by Niño Ricardo and Melchor de Marchena. The
voice turned inward. Flamenco singing as a way of life, and of fighting
with death. In nineteen-forties Seville, strangely vacant, the bizarre
atmosphere of hunger and drink, poor little rich boys looking for whores,
and for flamenco. Dead men, women alone, children like old men. The rage
that was always with our singer, and his voice, despite the hard knocks
and the patina of time. In Chocolate’s art there are no small and
great cantes, and if there were, his fandangos would be right up there,
the first and best.
Seguiriyas: a man weeping, surprised by tragedy. A weeping man. The
voice breaks and then swells with rage, and then fades away impotent.
After two closing cantes, attributed to Curro Dulce, a break is needed
in that “Cobre Viejo”.
The malagueña of Mellizo (whose centennial came and went nearly
unnoticed) is our hankie for wiping the tears. The solemn guitar of Diego
Amaya from Jerez. Beautiful, subtle, stylized, with a literary content
that is both direct and exquisite. Soleá por bulería and
fandangos “a capella” to round it off, going into a new series
of styles from the heyday of the Alameda de Hercules. The intensity of
the recording is such, that a second emotional break becomes necessary.
Because after the cigarette break, it’s another round of seguiriyas:
Tomás Pavón’s “Reniego”. The silences.
The melody broken, like a heart. The guitar, full-bodied. And make no
mistake, the soleá is enough to break every one of you. Cante that
comes from contemplation, from contention, the litany of suffering, stoic
resignation. Rustic singing. Cantes of men tamed by the knife and the
pickaxe. Songs of resignation, of the person who puts his suffering on
the table and addresses it. Songs of the passage of time, of layers of
pain. Songs that tell of the certainty that the world cannot be comprehended
by humans. That truth. The man prepares his fandangos, alegrías,
tangos… Life prepares seguiriyas. The serenity of time in soleá.
The record is edited as if it were live, with the singer’s comments
and his dialogue with the producer, the guitarist and other personnel
in the studio. In this way we can appreciate the human dimension, which
is also part of his artistic profile, his personality. Not copper, but
old gold. Still sounding fresh.
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