Sony International
2000
Estopa
About This Album
There's really nothing like a live flamenco performance. Conceivably, you could compare it to jazz, which also has a tendency to split open an old familiar melody and pull out something you never in a million years would have expected to find lurking there inside, but if, and only if, there were a lot of extra folks milling around -- someone keeping time on a hollow box, singers and dancers wearing extravagant polka dots and fringe and high-heeled tap shoes, and others who might be singers or dancers or musicians, or maybe just people clapping out tightly syncopated rhythms and shouting ¡Olé! as they wait for a bus. As your eyes adjust to the dim light, you start picking out a certain swarthy, probably familial resemblance, and watching for the subtle cues, or llamadas, tossed from dancer to musician to singer so that they all know, even if you still have no idea, that the pretty young things are fixing to pick the hearts they've trampled back up off of the floor, fold their fans, silence their castanets, and listen to their grandma or grandpa show them the true fury of a lover spurned. It's like finding yourself in the middle of a bullfight except that nobody actually gets killed.
Track List (try tracks 1,2,5,6,7,11 and 12)

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