Striking a Chord - The Pain in Spain
So now for musical moment number 3/4? I'm not really sure - I've sort of lost track.
Aaron and I were visiting his sister, who is also one of my best
friends, Sarah, in Spain. She took us to a Flamenco show in Seville.
I know that most people picture, as I did prior to the show, a
cheese-ball stereotypical performance with a man and woman marching
back and forth with roses in their teeth, but I was not prepared for
what slammed into me that night. (By the way, the rose in the teeth
is in fact the tango – wrong preconception). Again, it is hard to
put into words what came over me, but I will do my best. Everything
began with a man coming out and playing the Spanish guitar. His
finger picking was faster than my eyes could keep up with (Stop giggling Sarah). Then out
comes this deliciously dramatic woman, dressed in black and red, her
eyes full of passion and sadness. She is followed by, I will admit, a
bit of a ridiculously flamboyant man, who is supposed to be in love
with her. I gave in though, and bought the romance. It was impossible
not to – their bodies so intermingled, sweat dripping, shoes
stomping, hands flaring. I feel like I am writing a romance novel
right now. SO maybe I did get a bit of the, let's just say,
“romantic” vibe from this performance, but it went beyond that. I
wanted to stand up and shout, and cry, and sing, and dance all at
once. It ends tragically. The woman leaves the man, but the intensity
of their passion is palpable*, and I ate it up.
*To my dear friend who detests this word, I apologize. I tried to find something else, but I kept landing on this one.
Comments