Song of the Outcasts: An Introduction to Flamenco (review)

Abstract

Song of the Outcasts: An Introduction to Flamenco. By Robin Totton. Portland, OR: Amadeus Press, 2003. [224 p. ISBN 1-57467-080-8. $19.95.] Illustralions, index, bibliography, discography, compact dise. To my knowledge there are only a handful of musical styles that can arouse feelings as deep and enthusiastic as flamenco. (The only possible rival is opera, have to admit.) pity the innocent and vulnerable music-lover who might dare express a public opinion, especially in writing, about a cantaor (singer), a tocaor (player), a recording or a book. There will always be someone alarmingly fanatical with radically different views who is ready for a verbal assault. Visit the numerous forums and discussion lists on the Internet and see the vehement and heated arguments on, say, a particular guitarist, his use of the capodaster, his unique rasgueado (strumming), his inimitable falsetas (interludes). Classicalmusic lovers could only wish their music was this important. Granted: moderation is the forte of flamenco enthusiasts-and perhaps it shouldn't be. Robin Totton's Song of The Outcasts: An Introduction to Flamenco is actually a judicious, balanced overview of flamenco, its styles, history, and practitioners. And although its author is very passionate about his subject matter, facts and opinions are blurred or mystified, but rather presented with clarity and concision (in only 224 pages). Totton defines himself as an explainer by trade (p. 12), and explain he does. The challenge, though, is to explain verbally an form that defines itself around the notion of ineffability. Flamenco (and only flamenco, of course) thrives on the idea that it is beyond words. Concepts such as the popular (and by many accounts cliched) duende, as well as aire, rajo, desgarro and many others are nonquantifiable characteristics and therefore cannot be defined precisely. Even strictly musical terms seem to have different or even contradictory meanings. Consider, for example, compas or palo; whereas most writers agree on the basic meaning of these terms (12-beat measure and song form, respectively), these are only rough definitions of their many possible connotations. Attempting to define compas-and, by extension, believe, referring to flamenco in general-Totton writes: I am aware of how inadequate the words are to convey what happens, and perhaps you don't even need to know, in order to enjoy flamenco song and dance. Flamenco culture, he believes, is not based on reason but [is] one in which emotion and instinct dominate in life and are and fulfilled in art (p. 23). Andalusians, he adds, . . are instinctual and emotional first, and rational only after. They are characterized by spontaneous emotion, uninhibitedly expressed (p. 24). Such words would certainly make Totton appear to be a romantic traveler describing an exotic Other-and his personal story (from Oxford to flamenco-drenched Jerez de la Frontera) would doubtlessly support this supposition. This is the case at all, however: Totton, the explainer, genuinely struggles with the elusiveness of his subject matter and the inadequacy of words to explicate it. Admittedly, the need to explain is his main motivation for writing. The fact, however, that, until recently, there were many flamenco handbooks in English did help his endeavor. Each language, one could argue, has its own way of breaking in a subject. Writers build on what has been said before, even ii it is to dismantle earlier arguments. Serious flamenco commentators in English, thus, do have the benefit of a previous writing tradition. Neither do those in Spanish, one might add, since so much flamenco writing has traditionally been impressionistic rather than systematic. Flamenco, moreover, suffers from a chickenand-egg syndrome: the music is discussed and systematized because it is believed to be ineffable or elusive; and it keeps being elusive, because it is discussed and systematized. …