No music is more quintessentially Spanish than flamenco, the triptych of song, dance and guitar music whose heart lies in Andalusia. Its origins (even that of its name) are still matters of debate but though it is a folk art it appears to date no further back than the sixteenth century. The evolution of the virtuoso guitar-solo element has been substantially a twentieth-century phenomenon, born of the development of classic guitar technique after Francisco Tarrega; prior to that the guitar played only a supporting role. The music is in both the usual major and minor keys and in various modes, of which the phrygian is predominant—to a degree unequalled in other national folk music. Within the frameworks of various forms such as soleares, tientos, alegrias and the Latin-American-influenced guajiras, the guitarists are free to improvise their own variations; these tend to 'crystallize' over a period of time and some of the best become 'classics', copied in tribute by other players. In recent decades some players (Paco de Lucia is archetypical) have tried to develop flamenco beyond its traditional territory, absorbing external influences such as jazz—with which, in its use of traditional grounds and its element of improvisation, it has something in common—and bossa nova, but Paco Pena has remained loyal to flamenco puro and both he and it have duly prospered. The 'why' of it is clear in his high-voltage recital, ''Azahara'', and the 'what' is amiably described in Paul Magnussen's annotation. Strongly recommended for the warm-blooded listener.
The badge of flamenco is its personal expression of intense emotion; the cantor who sings of finding or losing of love, or laments the death of the family cow, may with no less sincerity declare the strength of his religious belief. The use of guitars and other popular elements in church services has been with us for some time, as has the 'guitar Mass' in the USA, and the flamenco Mass (one was recorded in the 1960s), is occasionally celebrated in Spain, though in a much less formalized way than Paco Pena's Missa flamenca. It opens with a call to prayer, redolent in function and vocal inflection of that of a muezzin from the minaret of a mosque, and proceeds through the customary sections of the Mass with a setting of the Lord's Prayer interposed before the Agnus Dei, all expressed in traditional flamenco forms. At full stretch flamenco is a 'tripod' whose legs are singing, playing and dancing; all three elements are present in this Mass, though the last is only audible—in the recent performance in the Royal Festival Hall it was electrifyingly visible. This is often far-removed from the familiar, awed solemnity of the Mass, but who could doubt its validity and joy? Only the most desiccated, dyed-in-the-wool traditionalist could fail to be moved by it.
Flamenco per se has not crossed the Atlantic but it has common ground with South American music, especially that of Argentina, viz the elements of solitude and wistful melancholy. Their compatibility is shown in the coming together of Paco Pena and Eduardo Falu, Argentina's most distinguished singer-guitarist-composer, whose warmly expressive baritone voice is to be heard in three items. The music is more South-American than Spanish Spanish—it is Paco Pena who adapts the more, and in one item (the Vals criollo of Antonio Lauro) they hold out a friendly hand to Venezuela. File it under 'Pleasant listening'.'