Homenaje a Juan del Gastor

The first time I met Juan del Gastor was at Carl’s home in Berkeley. This must have been in 2003 or 2004. I had booked a private lesson with him to learn Flamenco guitar. My flamenco mentor, Kenny, had really played him up, and told me that this was the guy to learn from, so I had high expectations.

I did not speak any Spanish, and Juan did not speak any English, so we got off to a great start. Each of us mumbled something in our own respective languages, but he said something that made a big impression on me. He said something that included the words sangre (blood) and mismo (the same). And then he put his arm next to mine. And I understood right away what he meant.

You see, Juan is authentic gypsy. Gypsies defined flamenco over the years of nomadic life: the gitano in canté gitano – flamenco –  means ‘gypsy’. And the gypsies’ origin is in India, where I am from as well. When he put his arm next to mine, our arms looked the same. And that is what he was saying – we are of the same blood. We are the same.

Juan’s real name is Juan Gomez Amaya. He is known as Juan del Gastor because of his uncle, the flamenco legend Diego del Gastor (1908-1973). After Diego died on July 7, 1973, his guitar legacy was carried on by the four sobrinos (nephews) – Diego de Morón, Austin Ríos Amaya, and the brothers Paco and Juan del Gastor.

Over the years, I learnt a lot from Juan. He taught me many of Diego’s falsetas. Every time he came to the US, there would be some sort of event, a fiesta, or a music program, and I would take lessons from him. But every time, it was a remembrance of Diego, and Juan was the man who would deliver Diego’s legacy. I recall thinking that living always in Diego’s long shadow must have been tough for Juan. On the one hand, being associated with the legend had brought him a lot of good things he would not have got otherwise – a following in the US, some fame, and probably a lot more money than he would have made selling fish in Sevilla. But any time anyone said anything about Juan, it was always as Diego’s this, Diego’s that ….

At the end of 2006, Kenny stopped coming down to the South Bay for his lessons and story sessions (more about that in a future blog). And my flamenco guitar playing started unravelling. I did travel to Sevilla in 2007, for the Fería de Abril, and took many lessons from Juan during that trip. I also met his wife Luci, who took me to various peñas unknown to the tourists, for some authentic gypsy flamenco. But my involvement kept reducing, and in 2010, I stopped playing the guitar completely, focusing on Argentine Tango instead. I could do tango at night, after my family activities were done.

And so, I did not meet Juan any more for many years.

Recently, as you may know from another blog post of mine, I turned 50. It so happened that the very next day, Juan, along with a bunch of others, including Kenny, were doing a show at La Peña in Berkeley. So of course I had to go. I felt very lucky that the timing was so good. At the concert, I met Luci and we chatted a bit, remembering old times. But Juan and Kenny were in the room at the back where the artists were, and I could not talk to them.

Of course there was the photo of Diego in the corner, as usual, since this was all in his memory. But I felt this time, something was different. Juan’s singing was different, and at some point in the middle, I noticed something that stood out: he was playing a falseta that was clearly all his own. This was definitely not Diego – not a single note of his in this falseta. I spoke to Luci about it afterwards, I told her the falseta was really pretty, and so different – she told me that Juan gets nervous on stage, and sometimes he just plays anything. She couldn’t really recall anything different or special. I will likely never know what it was, but I felt a strange elation nevertheless. Diego’s shadow was long, but not infinite, and Juan had stepped outside it. And it was beautiful.

Here are some memories of Juan over the years.

Diego’s Homenaje at the Thirsty Bear in 2005 – Juan playing guitar:

Juan dancing with Luci at the homenaje:

And some canté:

With Juan in 2006. I’m looking sheepish because I had a tough lesson.

The famous Spanish band Son de la Frontera performed at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts in early 2007. After the concert, we all went to Carl’s house in Berkeley and partied through the night until it was time for them to go to the airport in the morning and take their flight back to Madrid. Here’s Juan playing the guitar.

Another shot from that same fiesta:

Juan with my youngest son – for some reason the latter was quite apprehensive of Juan. Probably from the energetic way he played the guitar.

Juan in his home in Sevilla, when I visited there in 2007.

 

And finally, Juan at the concert at La Peña on July 8, 2018. You can see Kenny too, under the ‘L’. It was a fabulous concert – I hope there are many many more!

En una Milonga, hay que Bailar, no hay que Practicar and other El Flaco Dany Memories

In February 2010, Almirante and I visited Buenos Aires, Argentina, and Montevideo and Colonia in Uruguay. He had been there before and I was fascinated by the tango stories. I had just started dancing tango and wanted to see what it was really like.

In Buenos Aires, we stayed very close to Salon Canning, which is well known for its tango milongas, so we went there a few times. On one of those occasions, I met an Argentinian guy who spent some time talking to me. He pointed out to me an old man, sitting at a nearby table. He told me, this is El Flaco Dany – he is a famous milonguero. I was sufficiently awed by the man that I took a few photos to take back with me as memories.

Fast forward 7 years, and to my surprise one day, I saw a Facebook post that said El Flaco Dany was coming to teach workshops at Gustavo and Jesica’s in San Mateo! Needless to say, I signed up for and did these workshops, and got to know this wonderful man. The world is indeed a small place!

 

I’m eternally grateful to the Argentinian man I met at Salon Canning. He was a serious tanguero. While he was chatting with me, Almirante was having a conversation with a Brazilian couple who was also sitting at our table. The lady told Almirante how she had been trying some steps she learnt in class in the milonga. She encouraged him to try it too. Immediately the Argentinian guy stiffened significantly, leaned forward and told her: “En una milonga, hay que bailar, ¡no hay que practicar!” – in a milonga, you must dance, not practice!

My Podcast on Argentine Tango

Some time ago, I did a podcast on my experiences with Argentine Tango dancing. Tina Baumgartner interviewed me and put it up. The link is here: http://avariedlife.com/passion-for-tango/