Chapter 5 third chapter

Chapter 3 I tear my heart apart Sing verse 9 baile (dance) It is not a few country songs and wild songs, one corner of which is left behind and gaudy.Flamenco, it holds its head up noblely, and looks down even more proudly with a cold face.Although it is popular at the bottom, it is a field that gentlemen and ladies like to talk about.For example, the Japanese are very interested in it, and there are clubs for learning flamenco everywhere.It is an area of ​​international attention, and many experts have made a career out of figuring it out, and there are countless tomes of books. In fact, no matter who writes it, there are such things.But its characteristic is that it resembles magic, and it can lead those who describe it astray without knowing it.Because I was attracted by it, I eagerly went to the book to find the answer, but after reading a batch of famous works, I still felt that when facing it, all the great writers of Andalusia seemed to be unable to break through a veil , I can’t tell the truth about flamenco.

——While writing, they drew a picture of a woman in black with her shoulders shrugged and knocking on the floor.In Albacin, Granada, a family of gypsies living in cave dwellings is a theater troupe.The thin-faced woman turned her skirt and stepped on hard heels to make crisp raindrops.But is flamenco a folk dance? I myself even gave up hope before I took up the pen.I haven't even seen a show for tourists in the caves of Albacin.But I can't give up on this topic, not that I don't have bad premonitions; I stroked the keyboard, and I felt inexplicable for a while, as if Gang Daur (singer) had already exhausted his voice before the opening.

Its shadow in the distance is ambiguous black. Flamenco, what's the matter with you?People are fascinated by you, but you put on airs and look serious.Generally speaking, it may be regarded as a song, or as a song and dance performance.But that is obviously not accurate.Some people classify it as an invisible culture; but except for Spain, this category is not found in the art of all Europe.From the beginning, I held heresy and critical thinking. I felt that it had a complicated origin, maybe it originated from some kind of religious ceremony. I cannot say, but I feel myself chasing its shadow.

It is not easy to describe this shadow.The information about it seems to have been deliberately disturbed, and the experience of it is indescribable.I have lamented this many times - obviously, words cannot deal with this kind of feeling. The first time I encountered it was in Japan. That time a professor entertained me to go to Hakone.In the hotel in Xiaoyongyuan, the guests who killed the time were full of voices, and the tables were full of lively conversations.Suddenly, I saw a black woman at the table dancing solo for the dinner guests.The professor told me it was Spanish dance.I didn't think I was enthralled, but I didn't know it was a flamenco at the time.That woman is not beautiful and she is middle-aged, but her thin and slender posture with stiff shoulders and thin arms is as attractive as a magnet.

Xiaoyongyuan is a famous hotel, and even the chef of the Chinese restaurant is hired from Diaoyutai, Beijing.The guests were colorful, and one of them got up and left the table, hugging his female companion, and twisting the "Dansi" which is rare in Japan.Most of the guests were drinking and talking, passing by to watch the Spanish dancing. Coincidentally, the empty space where they performed was right next to our table.Originally, I had many things to discuss with the professor, and originally I wanted to take a break; but she became the whole memory of that night and Hakone. Her black dress was very close to me, and I kept looking at her slashed face and her drooping eyelids.When she was dancing fiercely and sometimes approaching me, she was breathing rapidly, and a breath was coming.Maybe because she was dancing for a group of animal rich people, I thought I smelled the anger she was suppressing.But that dance just happened to be deadpan or serious, so it was easy for her to disguise herself.And I was overwhelmed by this look, or attracted - I felt a powerful charm.The slashed outline of her face is full of vicissitudes, which is contrary to her slender figure.I vaguely remember a group of men playing accompaniment a few steps away; maybe there was an orchestra there, and the accompaniment was with guitars or something, I can't remember.Maybe with accompaniment?But I didn't hear it.

She flicked her black dress, tapped the heels of her boots, and danced right in front of my desk.Not only was there no smile, she looked stern.There was no charm in that dance, not even feminine tenderness.I can't tell whether it's because I haven't seen such a woman, or I haven't seen such a dance.There is a touch of quiet loneliness in her dance, but it is a pity that she is squeezed out by the weekend nights in luxury restaurants. This is how I first came into contact with flamenco.Although it came one after another with the colorful Japan, I failed to pay attention to it carefully-but a little taste and a little impression sneaked into my memory.Recalling at this moment, the sealed impressions were gently revived, and the details of that night in Hakone emerged one after another.

That was a dance impression.Is a mature, dancing, lonely, rejected female figure.The more you immerse yourself in the memory, the more realistic the dance in the black skirt becomes.It gives people a devastating impact on the concept of dance that fills the mind, and negates the old theory about dance in an instant.Maybe, I think only modern dance is somewhat similar to it, but modern dance is far inferior to it. It is black and stands above everything else, without the gut-wrenching essence of modern dance. Sometimes the dance steps are very close to me, and the vibration of Da Da Da is transmitted to my heart.Black, middle-aged, slender, stern—the charm is special.That dance is not tap, but richer tap.Obviously wearing hard-soled shoes, when they hit the floor, the light and crisp rhythm is so dense that people can imagine.

But, as much as I loved the exotic taps and the way the dance was danced, I came to understand more and more that it wasn't the dance that attracted me but the dancer. Later, in 2003, I saw a real big flamenco in Madrid, and it was amazing.Although it was an extremely delicate flamenco stage play, and I had already done a lot of work on flamenco at that time; but I would say that it gave me—less than the impression of Hakone. Delicate actors are devalued.Because their slim figures not only lack a trace of charm, but also lack a kind of shock-like power.Physical perfection is a prerequisite; but after this condition, it seems that the Spaniards prefer the age of the dancers.Perhaps, it is to combine the beauty and desolation of women?I have no idea.Anyway, the female signal it emits is unique.If she is counted as a female, she is a witch, who first seduces people's souls, and then warns and rejects people.I admit that I have never met such a woman, she gives people a deafening feeling.But she doesn't give people a chance, such as revealing the outline of a smile, showing the texture of her cheeks-so no one can judge, she is unpredictable.

In this way, in a moment of rest in Japan, which is foreign to her and to me, I witnessed a flamenco performance.The solo Spanish woman is so dark and rough that you don't doubt that she belongs to the underworld.Her face was full of knife wounds, with sharp edges and corners, and her expression was indifferent.She first attracts with the magnetism of magic, and then denies with noble texture.In front of her dance, the vast costumed diners are like vulgar and gluttonous animals. The whole room is enjoying it, and it serves in it—but the black dress flickers fiercely, only it is arrogant, only it is supreme.

Oh, Hakone that night! ... Later, my friend asked me about the details of that time, but I forgot whether there was any music accompaniment, and I couldn't remember whether she had a dance partner.I don't know the title of the dance, and I don't even remember the general name of flamenco. I only remember that night, in a trance, I fell into the hallucination of looking up.An inexplicable trace of reverence still seems to hang on his face so far.In this way, I brought back an impression of Spain from the ancient places of interest in Japan.I said this with apologies to Hakone, but the Japanese were very pleased with what they heard.At that time, although I didn't even know its name, I remembered it and regarded it as the flamenco I understood.

This is my first encounter with it. Chapter 3 I tear my heart apart Sing verse 10 cante (song) (1) The concept of flamenco, and the impression of the black dress, was broken in Cordoba, Spain. It is early winter in November.The weather is getting colder and colder. As a traveler, we must hurry up.But in this ancient Muslim capital of civilization, I always feel that there is something that has not been finished. We are living our last few days in Córdoba with some melancholy. Surrounding the Cordoba Cathedral, which has become the main cathedral of Catholicism today but is called La Mezquita (Mosque), people are really reluctant to leave.But if it costs six and a half euros to enter the gate of a mosque, it really makes Muslims feel too much.So we took a walk outside the mottled yellow stone wall and admired this miraculous building from the outside.This is the depths of Andalusia, if you can't see flamenco here, there are not many opportunities left.Flamenco, in its hometown, in the romantic Andalusia, will not have such a stern face when it is humiliated to serve people in Japan! I couldn't stop thinking about the woman in the black dress. Ask about flamenco when you see anyone.The big men who were killing time in the cafe looked at us, with sneers on their faces, and replied with ill-intention: "Japones (Japanese)? Flamenco? Go to Granada! Go behind Albacin, go to the gypsy cave in the Holy Mountain! Flamenco is there, specially for Japanese performances. Coaches can I will pick you up at the hotel, and it only costs 3,500 pesetas per person!" I gritted my teeth bitterly. Not only did they treat us as Japanese again, but the ridicule of the Japanese was also unreasonable.I know what they mean by caves, that place is mentioned over and over in shitty TV shows.The special guest who is doing commentary is like a brothel owner, chatting in front of a fancy cave.How did they know that under their feet was Albacin, who was rebelled by the Moors.The desolate hillside along the winding road is Sacromonte (Sacromonte), which is famous for attracting Japanese customers today.At least we don't want to spend that money, and secondly we need to understand this weird culture.However, we have searched everywhere and can't find any information. Who knows where is the flamenco that we can confide in? At the foot of the Red Palace in Granada, along the intersection of the Darro River, if you look carefully, you can find small notes posted by Japanese students-instructing compatriots on the path to Sagolo Monde, and even the price.Reading those familiar characters, I whispered in my heart: Even if I give up reading it, I will never go to that kind of deceptive cave! So thanks to the Tourist Office of Córdoba.We said, don't introduce us to cave dwellings.We want to find a Bainia and communicate with the people there.A peña is a private flamenco gathering, somewhat like a small guild.It is said that they do not do commercial performances, and peña is only for their own people to socialize and entertain. The guy at the tourist bureau seemed to see through our minds.We were already leaving disappointed, but he took out a small notebook. Spain's tourism information reception is very developed.Especially in some big cities, if you ask where there are anti-government demonstrations, they can answer you.The Cordoba Tourism Bureau is naturally more familiar with the city because of the special nature of the city. Now it is like Alibaba's concierge in retrospect.Maybe it’s because he’s too expert to listen to what we Bainia and Bainia said, or because he was a college student and lived on free monuments, art exhibitions, concerts, and parks; he flipped through the records and said: Don't worry, don't worry, flamenco...there's one!It's a commemoration of the broadcasting world in this town, free, on weekends, at-- On the weekend night, we got to that broadcast venue early. I was the first to occupy the first row of seats.There are still two hours before the start time, and almost no one has arrived, only a few service personnel are busy. Small venue, much like a big conference room.Plain and simple, just rows of folding chairs.There is no curtain, no stereo, no stage, no microphone, and no coquettish host.But before the opening, it was full of people. Sitting in the first row and looking back, I couldn't help but be proud of seeing the full house of spectators.Fortunately, our stupid birds flew first and occupied a good seat early.The Spaniard looked at us with a smile in his eyes, as if he said knowingly: Our flamenco is of course first-class.Look, before the news came out, the Japanese who knew the goods had already arrived. They all agree that the Japanese are appreciators of Spanish charm.No matter how I explain it, no one believes that Chinese people like flamenco, even if I arrive two hours early to reserve a seat.But their faces were friendly, and they were satisfied that someone could find it. I suppressed my expression and analyzed the venue here.For the convenience of taking pictures, it is better to sit back.We moved to the fifth row while there were still vacant seats, tried to sit as comfortably as possible, and waited for the start of the flamenco. So the concept of flamenco was broken in Córdoba. It wasn't the thin, stern black-clothed woman with downcast eyes and low eyebrows in memory, but this time, it was two men who casually walked up to the two folding chairs in front of her. The tall one is a handsome man with long curly hair holding a guitar.The guy was indeed handsome, and he was tuning the guitar in his hand.It is understandable that he can't resist the self-combing style.Pretty or not, look at your guitar for a while, I think. I have a hunch: the woman in the black dress will not appear. The impression of Hakone is cracked.The flamenco in front of me is completely different.Thanks to the rush to make up lessons, I managed to understand some major principles—the so-called modern flamenco generally consists of three parts: cante, toque, and baile.That is; singing, piano, and dancing.It's not that the three are indispensable, but "song" comes first. The big curly-haired guitarist starts tuning.It was only later that I realized: this kind of guitarist is no small matter.In flamenco, his accompaniment is called toque; the person who told me emphasized: "Duogai" is not just an accompaniment, toque is a part of flamenco.I thought to myself that since it is a musical instrument, why is it not only an accompaniment?Can't understand.The guitar sounded a series of complex chords under his extremely long fingers, and the people in the venue applauded.No wonder he's so sharp, I thought.Not only is the man a handsome man, but the character is not just a helper in the first place. The other one was unremarkable, the usual old man in a cafe flipping through newspapers with a cup in his hand.He wasn't dressed like the guitarist, with a coat unbuttoned.His expression was a little cramped, and he seemed a little nervous before sitting down.If I didn’t realize later that this is the famous Cantaor (singer), if I didn’t feel the core of flamenco later, it wasn’t the stomping and whirling of the narrow sleeves of the unsmiling long skirt, but a lonely voice screaming - I can't believe it: he, a random guy, is the protagonist of the flamenco. The opening is also extremely simple. The old man just put down his cup and glanced at his companion. A hoarse low voice sounded like this.There was no accompaniment at first, and the voice was not that of a singer at all.There is nothing graceful, much less rounded, and nothing compellingly masculine.After babbling a few lines, the guitar started chasing it.The singer suddenly showed his true colors and suddenly raised his voice. That heart-piercing cry frightened the atmosphere in the audience.My heart was tensed by him.He hurriedly asked about the lyrics, and he only had one or two words. Ah, you are dead... Mother!you are dead If it were in another place, maybe singing like this would make people think it wrong.But the strange thing is that his lyrics hit people's hearts.I felt a strong sadness rising in my chest.I couldn't suppress it, and I found that everyone in the audience was the same, they were attracted by the blunt cry, and gradually fell into mourning.The song is so weird, it's almost like a spell.I tried my best to distinguish and refuted in my heart.If you casually bring up the topic of death in Beijing, people will laugh at you to death.And here is Córdoba, and the floating atmosphere of this room encourages the singing of words that are ashamed to speak elsewhere.I suddenly thought of the ancient songs on the Mongolian grasslands, which cannot be sung in Beijing; only black old felt bags and cow dung fire can be used to revive and lively. Chapter 3 I tear my heart apart Sing verse 11 cante (song) (2) i no longer... like your mother... An incredible feeling seized me.It's not a song, I think he's talking.This man is not singing a song, he is just looking for an opportunity to talk to himself here.A verse was quietly sung, and the clank of the guitar rose loudly.Sure enough, it is not only an accompaniment, but the intention of the guitar is obvious; it also needs to be sung and said - the guitarist's ten fingers are dancing like a wheel at high speed, and the crackling metal sound forms a stream.Not a crossover or an interlude, but a long guitar narration.I have never seen a guitar with such rich playing methods, it has almost unlimited languages ​​and possibilities.It turns out that this is "Duo Gai", and people applaud as if they woke up.I was inexplicably excited by the infection, and clapped my hands desperately.At this moment, "Gangdai" suddenly started again, and a shredded roar stood out, suppressing the enthusiastic toque. I beg the Lord to give me death He - but not to me This is a gathering in Córdoba, where partners in the same industry find a way to commemorate their past.They really found a good way. In such singing, everything is commemorated.The chest has been completely opened, the mind has been released, no one can stop it, just let it pour down like a raging current. After singing smoothly, the retired singer put his hands on his chest.This hand of his is not a gesture, but an expression.Following the sung word, the five fingers slid, fell, and poured out their endless thoughts one by one.At the most intense point, the five fingers trembled violently; the song followed the hand that drew a wheel shape on the chest, falling step by step, falling three times, until the mood was completely dumped, and the roar was also incisively and vividly. Later I noticed that more flamenco singers don't use this kind of intense gesture of rubbing their breasts.They usually put their hands together slightly, and follow the chants, hitting lightly broken beats with their hands-the gesture of tapping the beat point is probably the basic posture of flamenco on stage today. Song by song, time passed.I realized that all the songs were mournful and even had pain as their theme.Including those who sang about love, they all sang about the misfortune or premature death of love.In other words, Mongolia's inductive methods are all "Ga Xiudao" (gaxiudao, bitter song).Listening to it while meditating in this way, I realized that I had encountered a kind of strange music, and I don't know where it had reached its completeness, which made the music unusual. Follow the path of Kartuha until you reach the pine forest I turned around and shouted: Mom!  … A retired old man with trembling eyelids, he is already in a state of ecstasy.Sitting on a folding chair, he sang frankly and poured out his heart alone.The guitar chases him, sometimes in an adagio, sometimes like a shower.His mouth shape and pronunciation are exaggerated beyond the ordinary, but people are convincingly and step by step moved with him.This is actually in Europe! ... I felt in a trance, constantly having hallucinations of falling into the deep snow and solitary lamp in the hinterland of Mongolia.But his song not only captured me, everyone in the audience seemed to be enchanted, slowly shaking with the song.The woman of the Hakone night gradually faded, and now a new impression was rising.Although I confirmed it for a long time later, I already hold a new point of view: it is not dance, not piano, only "Gangdai" is the protagonist of flamenco, and the core of flamenco is an elegy. There are hardly any lyrics.Both the singer and the audience don't care about rhetoric, and the vocabulary of flamenco is unimaginably simple.It is better to say that there is only such a cavity of sorrow and resentment. On this occasion, other themes disappear, and people only talk about sorrow and resentment.The singer rubbed her chest with her palms to make it easier for them to spit out. black bull... you eat grass... is for death... As if this pain is too old, it has exhausted the cry and sigh of generation after generation.I searched for comparison in a panic; but the "gaxiu" (gaxiu, suffering) spoken by the Mongols is restrained, roughly following the rhythm of bixing confrontation.The encirclement singing of those moonlit nights followed the old tunes with alliteration and syllable confrontation.Unlike it, it is blunt vernacular.Compared to it, I pondered and weighed it: "Gaxiu" is short-lived compared to it. Nagang Daur's serious expression made me realize that he was following a tune.Who taught you how to sing, what kind of "Gangdai" are you singing, what else did your father or grandpa say when they taught you? Any shouting, as long as it becomes a song, must abide by the rules, improve the rhythm, tune, and singing... Looking at the ordinary old man in front of me, I am indulging my thoughts.Just then, another person came onto the stage.According to the introduction, this person is the younger brother of the singer.The younger brother looked at the guitar with a smile, but didn't speak yet. have no idea.Maybe, the Uyghur Dolan singing is closer to it? Suddenly the audience became excited: it turned out that this time, both brothers sang.Two waves of fierce echoes and soul-stirring shouts climbed up. Pena, pena... (pain, pain...) The younger brother's voice was like chewing in his mouth, and he spit it out louder and louder.As soon as he opened his mouth, I felt that what I was hearing was the deepest part of flamenco.A word trembled in his mouth, struggling and jumping, and when he rushed out, he already had the power to capture the whole audience.My brother has already taken the lead and successfully conquered the audience, so he must sing like this.I think the audience understood the subtext, and the stormy applause suddenly rolled up. grandepena... (great pain...) Brother's voice chased after him.There was a slight shyness on his face.His expression made me feel that he was the head of the family or circle.It must have been imparted to him early on, beginning in childhood.It is a flamenco rule to utter words like tearing your heart apart, the master or the old man taught him. The two voices rushed away, feeling a sense of danger.They hit the roof, turned into echoes, and returned to pinch people's eardrums, oppressing the audience's bewildered train of thought.The turbulent guitar is like a thousand horses galloping.Listening to this, people believed: "Gangdai" is like this, and Flamenco is like this, because it is so painful, so it is so frank.I found myself clenching my fists and my palms were sweating.It has never happened before: I have forgotten myself, I am wrapped up in it.In the roar, both voices were split, and it was impossible to tell whether they were singing or crying. Exactly what kind of suffering have you experienced? —I almost wanted to cry out. Chapter 3 tearing my heart apart sing verse 12 jondo (deep) In this way, I got rid of the wrong flamenco image that was in my head.A new image, replaced by that of the captivating cante, made me pay attention to this kind of flamenco-song. Flamenco has many classifications and terms.To my alarm, it is also called cantejondo (deep song).It has been noticed by many people. For example, Garcia Lorca, who has been talked about many times, included a "Deep Song" in his collection of poems.I have seen at least two influential Chinese poets write about Lorca, and one of them even learned Spanish in order to translate his essence. In Spain, García Lorca became too famous to comprehend the poet's influence.Indeed, both the official and the private sector are happy to recognize him.You will find his name again and again, whether it is on billboards in theaters or in thin travel books.He is an uncontroversial figure.This surprised me. In order to understand the disappearance of Andalus, I searched all over Andalusia, and unexpectedly I also ran into Lorca.I have been to his home in Granada's vega (wetland, plain), and I have also pondered over his "deep songs" that rewrite flamenco.To be honest, if I didn't have the shadow of Flamenco and Moore in my heart, I wouldn't join the discussion on Lorca, but Lorca has worked hard on this. It is clear at a glance that in the farmhouse of Vega in Granada, he is of course close to Flamenco.However, whether the vega filled with Moore gave him any other imprints and what kind of dialogues he had with those flamenco families, it is impossible to get to the bottom of it.I gradually got closer to a feeling: Lorca is not only a successful flamenco collector, but he probably belongs to a kind of flamenco "circle". I always feel that it is not fame that makes those people accept him .He's a peña, that's why. It is said that his merit lies in the collection of an important collection of flamenco lyrics.But I didn't read it.Sadly, I can only read the Chinese translation, and when I find something I like, I will consult an expert and compare it with the original text.It would be too bad if all the flamenco he collected were mixed in his "Deep Song Collection", and it would be extremely troublesome to screen out. However, researchers often say that "Shen Ge Ji" is his creation.Of course, rewriting is also creation.I just want to say that his deep songs are different in his works and incomparable with his other creations.It may be too much to say: "Deep Song" far exceeds his other poems, and only "Deep Song" gave García Lorca soul and status. But these modified deep songs are far from the same language as the original flamenco deep songs.A craftsman's skill has pulled them from the "deep" abyss of folk art to the shallow water of poetry.No matter what kind of applause you have received—the deliberate coloring and the artistic conception scene you have created cannot compare with the natural language of flamenco and cannot compare with the crystallization of folk inheritance. I'm not picky, even I love García • Lorca for my sake.But as a reader, it feels like reading; he is probably a native of Bania, not to mention having outstanding talents.It should be said that he has a few "deep songs" that describe the real flamenco cantejondo very realistically; but to say that these few poems are the vivid and proficient flamenco is out of bounds. For example, the popular "Song of the Packman" most reveals the author's deliberation, but does not reach the language of flamenco. "Jacanegra,lunaroja" (horse black, moon red), it is precisely this extremely simple color design that exposes the poet's carving traces.Not only black and red coloring, but also night scenes, mountain roads, and packers driving horses—the poet's picture design is very obvious, although his pen is concise: Jacanegra, lunagrande, yaceitunasenmialforja The little black horse, the big full moon, and the olives are in my bag Needless to say, Lorca's short sentences write seductive night walks, but such sentences are not the language of Flamenco.What makes this poem so popular is that it inherits the old sense of flamenco tragedy in Córdoba—and that tragedy is unfathomable, and it doesn’t really have to be expressed in black and red! I mean, although it's a good poem, it's not exactly flamenco.It cannot replace the ancient, simple, and magical power of flamenco.The imitation or rewriting of Flamenco's "Deep Song" is the most shining part in García Lorca's works.In other words, as the son of Andalusia, as a resident of the old land of Andalus, he sucked the nourishment of the underlying tradition and achieved poetic success.However, it would be a mistake to think that only his talents made him, and it is precisely this son who appears weaker - for the great Andalusian mother. How to simplify to reach the language realm of flamenco? No, it is not a question of simplicity and heat.A complete flamenco language is impossible to pursue.Because it is not for performance and publication at all, but just for suffering. Pain doesn't have to be expressed in an obvious way, and even rubbing one's chest and screaming doesn't have to be inappropriate.The way Japanese experience it is different from that of Chinese, they love the "sabi" of flamenco. What they hear is not only sadness but also pain.It's hard to tell what they mean by "sabi".But in the monotonous timbre of "Duogai" and in the long-lasting hoarse voice of "Gangdai", there is indeed the "Sabi" captured by the Japanese.This kind of thinking is superior to others, so it has also won the attention of Europe, including Spain.What they gave back to the Japanese was their feelings for "Samurai" (samurai) and "gaixia" (artist, gexia).Samurai and geisha, as well as a kind of "sabi" in that beautiful cultural essence, make the Japanese in the farthest east approach the flamenco at the westernmost end of the east.However, I don't know whether "sabi", which has a Buddhist flavor, can accurately describe flamenco.I think there should be a better concept, which will be less empty, but simple and straightforward. The understanding of "sabi" brought back good feelings, which made this terroir slightly open to Japan.So the Japanese believe that "sabi" is a code word leading to understanding.I disagree on this point; I feel intuitively—not a question of cultural language, but a question of historical suffering. There was a voice, there was a spirit, and it was the highest art when it had no intention of being art.Flamenco's peña, since it has a long history, it must have evolved all the way.I suspect that it used to be: when elves were not recognized as art and commodity, it was the home of discrimination, the cave where blood was licked, and the place where people cried out to God. Peña is its vestiges, retaining its precept against outsiders. The only basis for such a judgment is its rare theme of suffering.Compared with the Mongolian bitter song (gaxiudao), it is too heavy, and the melody of the bitter song is more complete than it.Although it is only two sentences that go round and round, they still contain the beginning, succession, and transition, and the words used have also been selected.And flamenco, although it also vaguely has a double-sentence style, it is not bound by the format.It sings of straight things - visions, desires.Its melody is the trembling of the throat and chest, the sound of roaring - this is very similar to the singing of Daolang in Xinjiang.However, the art of Dolan is religious, and everyone sits in a Dail (circle) to call and praise Allah. Pena, pena... Diosmio pain... pain... my lord Tengoyounagrandepena I have a huge pain... I was dumbfounded.Can a song be sung like this? I just didn't walk away yawning like some people do.They clapped their hands and clapped together, congratulating each other knowingly in order to sing a flower note that slides rapidly.Showing off their skills, they spend a festival-like time with the flowing guitar duo and the dense rain of Bailey's heels.But they are crying out for suffering, and the strange thing is that the audience has no objection, and they all feel the same, lamenting the painful reality with them.Possibly, this is the most difficult music to dissect in the world... I always want to touch its heart and understand its cry.I always feel that it is reminding people: don't be careless, don't leave, and listen for a while longer.I asked people for advice, and the Spaniard shook his head and said: Shenge is like that. "Deep song", where is it deep? It does not resort to artistic means, it only spits out its full of grievances.Lorca is in Granada, has he had any collisions with these?What personal experience has he had?The experts were not paying attention.This is often the case in the world: the poet is dead and harmless, so people talk about him to show humanity and elegance.The unanimous praise of García Lorca may also be due to this.No one would say: García Lorca's most important contribution is not that he is a good poet and playwright, nor that he collected and copied some folk songs; Poetic genre, once again repeating the flamenco cry of suffering. This repetition, perhaps, is a big deal. Chapter 3 tearing my heart apart sing verse 13 pena (circle) Later we heard flamenco a few more times; each time we felt something, and we got that hallucination more or less.But no matter which one can replace the impression of Cordoba.Experts pointed out that last time you saw baile, this time you saw cante.Later, you will also meet real pena. We inquired about Pena. People tell us: Baínia is a kind of internal gathering of flamenco artists for self-entertainment and communication.Generally, irrelevant people cannot enter pena; however, if you are lucky, once they open the door to accept you, then you can see flamenco that is completely different from commercial performances. Pena is everywhere, and they often have a sign on the door.However, it should be noted that the current situation of flamenco is the same as other things. It is difficult to distinguish the true from the false. It was really hard to get in.Before going to Granada, a friend patted his chest and said to introduce it to us.So I thought it would be discussed in some banya, but it didn't come to fruition until the end.This leads to Cadiz.One evening, while walking along the seashore, I suddenly saw a house with a small blue sign nailed to the door, which said pena. There was a long knock on the door, but no answer. There is a lot of research on flamenco.How many books with an official flavor say: Its origin is not easy to investigate.但可能它与印度的一脉；也就是与吉普赛人的艺术有着关系。但别的著作却反驳：为什么遍及欧洲的吉普赛人都没有这种东西，唯独西班牙﹑而且唯独安达卢西亚的吉普赛人才有弗拉门戈呢？可见源头不在吉普赛，而在安达卢西亚。吉普赛人是到了安达卢西亚以后才濡染风习，学会并发展了弗拉门戈的。如下的观点大概是公允的：“安达卢西亚和吉普赛，是载着弗拉门戈的两个车轮。”但是把吉普赛人说成弗拉门戈起源的观点，总使我觉得含有政治目的——若是德国荷兰起源说立不住脚，那就印度起源、哪怕中国起源也没关系。反正别让这块西班牙的招牌，又刨根刨到见鬼的阿拉伯那儿去。 这样的心理，潜伏在西班牙的弗拉门戈研究的水底。“吉普赛”、“印度”，都是一种中性暧昧的说法。它可以在弗拉门戈的东方特质上虚晃一枪，然后再甩开纠缠不已的阿拉伯文化。吉普赛至少还算基督徒，印度至少不是穆斯林——如是煞费苦心的观点，遮掩不住西班牙的官方学术，面对八百年安达卢斯穆斯林文明时的，那种深刻的自卑。 于是我开始想象。 我所做的，只是一个以想象为主、兼顾其它的下里巴人考证。 被我东拉西扯当做根据的，有一些因素就不多赘述了：比如弗拉门戈歌手演唱时的耸肩膀﹑拖长调。须知，前者的味道和维吾尔人的音乐表演如出一辙；后者则与蒙古草原的歌曲处理非常近似。再如家族性、小圈子，还有它的咏叹歌与北亚游牧民族在唱法上的相似，等等。 弗拉门戈一语的词源，也不容易弄清楚。 学者们使劲把这个词说成一个天外来物，甚至猜它是一种鸟叫的拟音。我总觉得这种考证不怀好意。因为传统会留下古老的印迹，其中称谓就是一个深印。究明这个词的含义不该太难，难的无非是不能断言。里奥斯?鲁易斯（M.RiosRuis）著《弗拉门戈入门》记录了明快的解释可能：弗拉门戈一词与阿拉伯语felamengu，即“流浪者”一词的读音接近。日本人永川玲二新著《安达卢西亚风土记》支持这个倾向，把这个词解释成“逃奴”：“弗拉门戈一词，与阿拉伯语逃亡奴隶一词的发音近似。” 阿拉伯语动词“逃亡”的词根far-，确实可能派生出许多这一类词汇。但是，如同在其他领域一样，阿拉伯人对地中海以北没有主张文化著作权的兴趣。所以对这一阿拉伯语词的判断，得不到他们的权威认识。虽然这个词汇提示着——弗拉门戈可能与摩尔人在西班牙的悲剧有关；但就一种可能性而言，猜测只能到此为止。 当我听说，最初的弗拉门戈，是一种只在家庭内部﹑或者处于半地下状态的艺术——我便留意，不轻易放弃自己的预感。 为什么只在家族内部？为什么处于半地下状态？难道它传到吉普赛人手里以后，不就是为了公开和演出么？还有那主题，究竟什么样的人，才需要这样一种几乎绝对的“苦歌”（gaxiudao）？ ... 还有神秘的pena，它究竟是怎么回事呢？拜尼亚不是演出团体，拜尼亚是一个内部的圈子。什么是内部的圈子？它的封闭习惯，会是因为伤痛得不愿示人么。我感到深深的兴趣。以表演弗拉门戈著名的多是一些家族，也许这暗示着它的某种血统纠葛。这种内部传统吸引着我，我直觉这不是为了给艺术保密。pena，它会不会就是“半地下时代”的现代版呢？或者多少继承了那时秘密圈子的遗风？拜尼亚的原型，古代的拜尼亚，它究竟是什么呢？ 一种隐瞒自己排斥外界的、少数族众的圈子？如宗教组织、如秘密团体一样？ 在圈子里举行着秘密的仪礼？或者这圈子干脆就是为了闭门大哭嘶吼而设立？ ... 抑或都不是；它就是要诱人烦恼走火入魔，它就是要隐去真事取笑后人？或者它完全没有那么神秘，它不过是吉普赛的吉他手和刚达斡尔们一起喝喝咖啡、度过轻松时光的聚会而已？我提醒自己：愈是对它的重大内涵留意，就愈是要注意它的完全相反的一面。或许不过如此：吉普赛人来到西班牙，创造了弗拉门戈。它异色异香，专门演给外人观看。Pena只是区区一种行规，并无什么神秘可言…… ——这样写过，我就不用为夸张自己的感觉而不安了。我把多数者的通说告诉读者，留下一点疑问自己暗中咀嚼。 只是一种旧式的行规么？还是一种隐秘的仪式？ 无论如何，摩尔人的音乐，包括吉他——曾把西班牙领上了一个高高的音乐台阶。先是奢华的装饰和绚丽的色彩，是女奴造成的诗歌风习，是科尔多瓦的巅峰感觉。后来，它消失得无影无踪，你走遍安达卢西亚几省，也找不到当年杏花如雪、女奴踏花吟诗的一丝痕迹了。如今在安达卢西亚能遇见的，只是“弗拉门戈”。它在莫名其妙地、空若无人地嘶吼。一句句地叠唱，单调得如同招魂。 Pena，pena……Diosmio痛苦……痛苦……我的主啊 Tengoyounagrandepena我有一个巨大的痛苦…… 虽然我不过只是猜测，并没有什么特别的证据；但我想，弗拉门戈的摩尔起源，将会被证明不是一种无稽之谈。逻辑还引导我进一步推测——它的圈子与摩尔人内部结构的关系、它的歌词与特殊念辞的关系。考据它的细部将很费事，但推翻它的逻辑同样困难。我想，虽然还不能逐一实证，但提示已经足够醒目。 这些提示人人皆知；只是，人们大都喜欢遵循旧说，而不去反省自己的思路——过去是迫于恐怖的压力，今天还是迫于恐怖的压力——不过程度有所差别而已。 本来只打算写写对弗拉门戈的感受，结果却陷入了对它源头的纠缠。都是由于它那古怪的魅力，它揪扯着人不由自主。说实话我真是被它迷住了，甚至幻想——没准儿从这里出发，能探究到歌的某种本质。