Flamenco is a living art embedded in a tradition of song and dance that goes back into the ancient past of its birthplace in southern Spain, in Andalucia. Highly creative, breathtakingly dynamic, flamenco, in common with all art forms, is no more or less than an expression of its practitioners at any one moment in time, all striving to express their passion, their cry of joy and anguish, in a remarkable coming together of singer, dancer and guitarist.

Over the past decades, flamenco has made great strides in expression, virtuosity, and sheer artistry. Great artists, singers like Camerón de la Isla, guitarists like Paco de Lucía, dancers like Mario Maya or Cristina Hoyos, have taken the art of flamenco to the very edge, pushing back frontiers of expressive performance, yet all the while remaining steadfastly within the tradition of style and form.

Flamenco in its essence has therefore retained its integrity. And, even though its derivation can be clearly perceived from the musical tradition of its native Andalucía and even further a field, for instance, from the rest of Spain and across the Atlantic to the Caribbean and the Americas, flamenco can be clearly distinguished as an art form in its own right. We can t
herefore feel the swaying tropical warmth of Cuba in the lilting rhythm of guajiras, and hear the melismatic Arabic cadences in a malagueñas from the Andalucian region of Malaga yet, for all that we are firmly within the flamenco tradition.

That tradition is therefore like a path, proceeding we are not quite sure where, but always leaving its dust on the soles of those who walk it. Paco de Lucia’s insuperable skills, even his musical imagination, give voice to his undeniable debt to such as the great guitarists of the first half of the 2Oth century, Ramón Montoya, then Nino Ricardo and finally Sabicas

The origins of flamenco go back into the mists of time - to the Phoenicians, native Iberians, Romans, Visigoths, Moors, Jews and finally to the Gypsies. Flamenco has emerged out of all these influences, undoubtedly greater as a whole than its defining influences. One of the first actual records of flamenco dates to the singer, Tio Luis de la Juliana, who attracted attention towards the end of the 18th century. That Tio Luis was then considered a ‘flamenco’ suggests that this extraordinary art had been in existence for some time. One suspects that his singing was mainly confined to the community among which he was living, but that as his reputation spread, people from outside would come and listen. It would hardly have been a performance in the sense that we now know it: much more an intimate affair within a small group of aficionados. It is quite likely too that Tio Luis would have sung a palo seco, or unaccompanied, except for the tapping out of rhythm with a stick, so as to accentuate the nuances of syncopation and expression.

Although the guitar was then widely used in accompanying folk music playing, it came to flamenco relatively late in the day, perhaps in the early 19th century. Meanwhile, flamenco guitar playing has changed beyond recognition, from a rudimentary striking of the strings to the blazing virtuosity expected of guitarists today. Even though flamenco has never exclusively been the province of Gypsies, but also of payos, non-Gypsies, the evidence is that it emerged primarily from within Andalucian Gypsy society, in particular in the style of. Both the dancing, el baile, and the guitar-playing that we now associate with flamenco, came in the wake of the singing, el cante, which has always been considered by flamenco practitioners and aficionados as the essence of flamenco. It is through el cante that the flamenco pours out his feelings, his laments, his joys, his observations of life around him or her.

The combining of el baile and guitar accompaniment into the form of flamenco came naturally, for sure. Both elements were there, in the heart of Andalucia. The dazzling footwork of the dancer - the zapateado - and the sinuous, seductive movement of arm and hands were integral to the dancing tradition in Andalucia, which was already prized in Roman times. The guitar, too, as an instrument for playing ‘classical music’ and for accompanying folk dances and ballads, has had a long tradition in Spain, where it was preferred to the lute, which was the instrument of choice elsewhere in Europe during the Renaissance. Today, flamenco without the guitar would be unimaginable, as one Spanish commentator put it, "like eating soup with your fingers". The dance too has become essential to the flamenco that the public expects and enjoys, with its displays of passion, hauteur and extraordinary rhythmic versatility.

Flamenco became sufficiently popular during the first half of the 9th century for it to be staged, rather than performed solely in private homes. Silvero Franconetti, whose Italian father had settled in Sevilla, was himself an able flamenco singer. In 1845 he established one of the first cafes cantantes, which were then followed by a succession of others in different cities in Spain, including Madrid and Barcelona. Flamenco was now attracting the attention not just of Spaniards from outside Andalucia, but also of foreigners from all over the world. Composers such as Verdi and Bizet, among others, incorporated flamenco elements into their operas, as in La Traviata and Carmen. Painters such as the North American, William Sargent, came to Spain and depicted a vibrant Juerga or flamenco fiesta.

By the beginning of the 20th century, flamenco was being performed in theatres around the world and was changing fast from the intimate, almost private affair that had marked its origins. Instead of the traditional image of flamenco as a dialogue between singer and guitarist, it had transformed into fiery dancing, with women in colourful polka-dot dresses, passionately moving across the stage. Flamenco, in the form of dancing, had become the veritable symbol of Spain itself.

With its growing popularity and the need to fill large theatres, flamenco was in same danger of pandering to the more glittering, superficial elements in its make-up and of playing down the deeper, darker side that in particular was associated with el cante. As one who has spent his entire professional life performing flamenco, it is my firm belief that both aspects are crucial and that it is through balancing all the extraordinary abilities of flamenco performers, whether singers, dancers or guitarists, that one can bring about a complete and truly satisfying flamenco experience. In fact, my realisation that flamenco was in danger of ‘losing out’ because of excessive commercialisation led me to create my own flamenco company in which I tried to display the extraordinary range of styles, emotions and sheer creativity that goes with the art of flamenco. The response of the audience since I began some 30 years ago suggests that I have been largely successful in my seeking of a form of show that would bring out the ‘truth’ of flamenco. Increasingly, the way that I have pursued has become the mode, with more and more flamenco artists realising that sincere expression makes the greatest impact.

As Bizet showed in Carmen and more recently de Falla in El Amor Brujo, flamenco lends itself to theatrical expression and drama. In the 1980s Mario Maya created powerful flamenco drama for portraying the life and suffering of gypsies in Spain. The film director, Carlos Saura, has also used fiamenco as a vehicle of drama in his Carmen and Blood Wedding. I have also been involved in directing and choreographing, as well as performing flamenco dramas. Together with the film director Jamil Dehlavi, and writer Peter Bunyard, I produced Passover for BBC2, which has since been shown around the world. Set around my home city, Córdoba, during Semana Santa, Holy Week, the drama is drawn up as a modern passion play involving crucifixion and sacrifice. The singing of Saeta and the processions of penitents, including the legionnaires from North Africa, provide an evocative backcloth to a flamenco Last Supper scene involving a group of gypsies, who have been shoeing horses on a bull ranch just outside the city.

Musa Gitana was an ambitious venture in which I set out to bring to life some of the paintings of the great Córdoba artist, Julio Romero de Torres. This staged drama, which had an initial two-month run at Sadler’s Wells theatre in London, before going to Edinburgh, touched on the creative striving of the artist to achieve perfection yet coming up against the limitations and frustration of artistic endeavour. Written in collaboration with Peter Bunyard, the philosophic aspect of the drama was played out through a drama of love and death, involving jealousy and passion, and against all that a purity of ‘being’ as represented through the beauty of flamenco dance.

Fifteen years ago, as a result of a commission, I composed Misa Flamenca, a Flamenco Mass, in which I used the contrast between the jagged cadences of El Cante and the smoother, less syncopated liturgical singing of a choir, to create a dynamic celebration of Christ’s Passion. Misa Flamenca has become a regular part of the repertoire with performances still being called for around the world. It was recorded with the choir of St Martin-in-the Fields, London, in 1991.