I nearly went home before anything even started. The whole thing began because a guitarist in Cádiz mentioned a peña […]
The Thursday Night That Nearly Didn’t Happen Outside Jerez Read More »
The first serious flamenco teacher I ever had watched me for about three minutes. Then she said, very calmly, “Stop.”
The First Time a Teacher Told Me to Stop Dancing Read More »
There’s a moment that happens in flamenco that people who’ve only watched it on holiday rarely notice. It isn’t the
The Night I Realised Flamenco Isn’t a Dance Read More »
There’s a particular light in Andalucía in spring that makes everything look like it’s about to start singing. It’s not
Flamenco in Spring: Following the Compás Across Andalucía Read More »
Palmas is the fastest way to find out if you’re in flamenco, or just nearby making noise. No one warns
Palmas, Compás, and the Silent Terror of Clapping Wrong Read More »
Last night in Triana the guitarist stopped. No warning, just silence. The kind that hits you in the ribs. Two
When the Guitar Stops and the Palmas Speak Read More »
After the fall (ice pack, bruised pride) and those June detours—Sitges on a Thursday, Lindy hop in Valencia, the “what
First Night Back (no grand return, just shoes and tape) Read More »
I didn’t even fall in some dramatic way, nothing worth retelling in the studio. Just pavement cracked like old skin
The Fall, the Ice Pack, and the Stage That Didn’t Care Read More »
People keep asking for a glossary. I always say, “Google it,” then feel bad and end up scribbling stuff on
Flamenco Terms I Actually Use (And Some I Don’t But You’ll Hear Anyway) Read More »
You don’t find real flamenco on posters.You hear it before you see it — drifting down alleyways in Jerez or
Hidden Tablaos & Street Juerga: Flamenco Off the Beaten Path Read More »