Tuesday, May 13, 2008
For decades, though, Spain had had an ambivalent relationship with flamenco due mostly to anti-Gypsy prejudice and its association with low culture. "Laws were eventually passed closing the bars at 12:30 a.m.," Pohren says. Franco's Guardia Civil, the loyal police troops recognized by their shiny "Mickey Mouse" hats, made certain that the streets were safe from the spontaneous revelry associated with flamenco. "Flamenco was too scandalous for the church and the government was making commercial ties to the states," Pohren says. "Spain's inefficiency was embarrassing. Could a country be competent if a goodly share of the working population didn't make it to work the next day or arrived sloshed?"
Pohren and other flamenco writers reverently refer to those years before the sanctions as the "epoca dorada" or golden age of the music. Pohren is convinced that modernization has spoiled not only the country, but more importantly its music. He recounts a vacation taken in a small fishing village called Torremolinos 30 years ago. A place now part of the expensive resort hotel studded section of the Costa del Sol. "I hitchhiked south. The traffic was such then that it took us a full week to cover the 400 miles."
Over the years Pohren married, his daughter was born, and he managed to finish his university studies in Madrid and along the way learn enough flamenco guitar to earn a modest living.
"Our savings were just about gone. I heard of a job opportunity for an accountant at an air base. I went there and applied and they grabbed me as their previous accountant had had a nervous breakdown trying to cope with the work. I stuck that job out three years. The only period of regimented work in my lifetime," Pohren says proudly.
"During that period from 1960 to 1963, I did a great deal of research for my books and actually wrote the first one, 'The Art of Flamenco,' mostly while working as an accountant. The book was first published in 1962 and widely regarded as the "bible" on the music, found a ready audience among growing numbers of flamenco fans in the U.K., Germany and the U.S. The book was quickly followed by "Lives and Legends of Flamenco," an opinionated and lively history including intimate sketches of the many flamenco performers he had met in his travels.
Finally Pohren left his day job and accepted an offer to open a private flamenco club in a cellar in Madrid's calle Echegaray. The club, near where Suristan now attracts large crowds to hear flamenco, failed after a year. Pohren packed up and headed back to Andalusia where his adventures began.
A remote two-story ranch house, called a finca, became available and he saw an opportunity to continue his pursuit of the flamenco life. His third book, "A Way Of Life," is a memoir of life on the ranch which gradually became the nexus for enthusiasts from around the world. Pohren assiduously collected flamenco characters from the surrounding villages who mixed with clients from New York, San Francisco and other points on the globe in an atmosphere that was part old-world flamenco fiesta and part cosmopolitan cocktail party. "We were dedicated to offering pure flamenco. Commercial flamenco is banal and insincere -- it's good business, but not authentic folk art," Pohren says.
"The scene appealed to professional people, lawyers, doctors, scientists. We had two judges over the years. We had lonely divorcees, writers, poets, music buffs and so forth. The finca brightened Moron de la Frontera's normally quiet existence."
Word of the finca along with the popularity of his first book quickly made the country inn a destination for die-hard flamenco fans and the fashion-conscious folk music crowd alike. Pohren had brought the world to a small town outside Seville with mixed results. Ironically, the town that would pay him tribute 30 years later, viewed the sudden popularity of the old finca and the influx of exotic tourists with suspicion. "The town was absolutely sure of one thing, the finca was slated to be a cabaret featuring prostitution and flamenco," Pohren says.
"There was also the indirect activity caused by the finca being in operation," Pohren says. "Many aficionados came in search of the flamenco way of life and stayed in town. After a time, it became a hippie stopover in the hash route from Marrakech to Europe." An affable and prodigious drinker, Pohren is heroically nonconformist about most things except drugs.
Pohren presided over the nonstop flamenco partying, which occasionally spilled over into the otherwise quiet town, like an unflappable scientist watching an experiment go berserk.
"On one occasion a dance teacher from Paris came with her students -- 10 girls. The town was still living in the dark ages then, town folk dressed somberly and any act slightly out of the ordinary caused eyebrows to rise," Pohren says. "The French girls were unconcerned about that and wore miniskirts and halters. Young men followed them around in the streets in silent wonderment."
For the local guitarists and singers it was free drink and food and cash at the end of the night. The Gypsy performers, who often died penniless despite having made a small fortune in their lifetimes, welcomed collecting their first regular paycheck.
"The flamenco juerga, or jam session is the only vehicle for true flamenco expression," Pohren says. "We hired artists from out of town such as Manolito de Maria, Monolo Heredia, Juan Talega, El Farruco, all great artists in their own right."
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