"A bolero is sung with the same tragedy as a soleá"

Diego el Cigala weeps once more. And he wants to make people weep. The echo of his voice is the medium between flamenco and bolero, types of music which he considers to have the same feeling, “music of the soul”. ‘Dos lágrimas’(Two Tears) is moreover an album which was born free. The Madrilenian cantaor has chosen each and every one of the eleven songs on the disc, which runs from latin tradition to Spanish copla, with ‘Caruso’ in between. He has chosen the musicians, an encounter between the old Cuban guard and emerging flamencos. And he has chosen a distribution formula, an alternative option through which during one month, the Spanish daily newspaper with the largest circulation is selling it exclusively at newsstands. By the way, the first edition of one hundred thousand copies sold out in one day. Now freed up from the ties of the record industry, he feels like the owner of his work. And he therefore passes judgment: “In my art and in my hunger, I’m in charge”.
When ‘Picasso en mis ojos’ was released, you said you felt the need for a flamenco album. Now was the need to go back to the bolero?

Yes. Now I felt the need to go back to those Afro-Cuban and latin sounds which I really like because they have the same feeling as flamenco. Afro-Cuban music and flamenco are very deep-rooted types of music, very truthful, music of the soul. And I felt the need to get back to it after the four and a half years I’ve spent on stages with ‘Lágrimas negras’. After Bebo Valdés, getting together with Jumitus, with Guillermo Rubalcaba, with Changuito, with the late Tata Güines, may he rest in peace, making ‘Dos lágrimas’ was child’s play. But much nastier.

The prior experience now made the way easier...

Child’s play. It was now about singing songs I like and which I could see for myself. I’ve gotten drunk on each and every one of these eleven songs. There have been times very late at night when I’ve shed a tear. If it’s made me cry, it’s going to make people cry. If it doesn’t touch me, people aren’t going to be touched. It’s as simple as that.

Did you seek those songs or did they just come along?

They came along. ‘Dos gardenias’ and ‘Bravo’ used to be sung by bailaor Faíco, may he rest in peace, por bulerías. And by Bambino, too. I’ve listened to those two songs since I was a kid. I heard ‘Compasión’ at Jorge Perugorría’s house in Havana, and I took the record from him. I took it away. And I already had two others for the sack, which were ‘Si te contara’ and ‘Compasión’. The funniest thing about it is that ‘Dos gardenias’ has always been heard in Machín’s voice, in chachachá, but taking it to the limit of guaguancó in terms of a rumbón, as we’ve done here, seems really heavy-duty to me. And they’re songs I’ve listened to all my life. My mother used to sing ‘Dos gardenias’, ‘Bravo’ too... It’s happened to me on this album like it happened to me on ‘Lágrimas negras’ with the songs I put on it: ‘Inolvidable’, ‘Corazón loco’ and ‘La bien pagá’. But in this case, I’ve put on all the songs. I didn’t look for them, because if I’d sought them, with that restlessness, it wouldn’t have come. I was in Italy and I heard ‘Caruso’ in the voice of Luciano Pavarotti. But it reached me even better when Jumitus made me listen to the version by Ana Belén and Lucio Dalla in Spanish. That’s where I said: “I want it for Christmas!”. But with a bandoneon, Richard Galliano’s, to take it to the Argentinean tango, but without losing the original melody.

And did the musicians also come along?

Yeah, above all, the thing is that I wanted a gypsy piano and a Cuban piano. But the gypsy pianist - Jumitus - knows the musical field of Afro-Cuban and latin music really well because he’s performed it a great deal with his uncle Moncho. I wanted to have a gypsy and a purebred eighty-year-old man. I identify Guillermo Rubalcaba a lot with Bebo; he’s from that old guard who have that touch on piano which is vintage like rum from genuine wood. I wanted that touch. When I went looking for him in Berlin and I was at the theater with Javier Bardem, I saw a man come out and sing. I wondered who he was... And it was Reinaldo Creagh, at the age of 91, with a cane, singing ‘Dos gardenias’ and I say “I’m flipping out”. For the sack! I went to him straight away, asked him if he wanted to record, and he came here to Cata Studios. The guy, who had never sung ‘Compromiso’ before, although he did know the song, got into the booth, put on his headphones once, and boom! One take and that was it. It happened to me with him and with Richard Galliano. They performed just once. Galliano came, the translator told him it was ‘Caruso’. He grabbed the bandoneon. Tian tian tian. And when I asked about him, I was told he’d already left. Ha ha ha ha. And the technician told me: “But listen to it”. That’s called a musical miracle.

And the vocals?

I’m really happy because I’ve done what I felt like; I did it the way I wanted to, with the patience I had to have. And above all, sung really nastily, really elaborate. I sang the album once and once it was already mixed and mastered, I sang it again. Álvaro, the technician, fainted. He asked me what was wrong with it. “Do you like it? Yeah. Well, I don’t. Out”. But do you know the positive thing I got out of that? That when you know a work and you reinterpret it is when you make the most of it. When I listened to the album, I knew what it needed and what it didn’t need. I already knew where to stick in the feeling and where I was going to let it slide, which is what I did. I kicked everybody out of the studio, I stayed there alone with Álvaro and I sang it in a single night. My voice was really good and since the only thing I had to do was sing, since it was all already done, it was something to enjoy. And if you enjoy yourself... What I like about ‘Dos lágrimas’ is that you can touch the musicians; the listener who hears it can feel the piano here, the contrabass here, the percussion here, the vocals which are in the middle the whole time. So if I’m touched and cry, people are touched and cry. If that doesn’t happen...

And the lyrics have been carefully selected, haven’t they?

All of them touch a nerve in me. I don’t think there are any lyrics more dramatic than those of ‘Bravo’. I even changed the lyrics. Instead of “to desire that you’re not even calm when you’re dead”, I say “to desire that you’re calm on my return”. It sounded to me like a really heavy-duty message and I wouldn’t ever want to be like that; so hateful, so brutal. I don’t think there’s a single song on this album that leaves you indifferent. What I like about ‘Dos lágrimas’ is that you don’t pass any songs. You can’t do zapping; not at all. You skim it completely; it’s forty-five minutes long and it goes by fast. What did turn out to be hard was how to place the songs. I really didn’t know how to do it and together with Jumi, we began to put it in order. There has to be a Cuban song here, a couplet here, then ‘Bravo’, ‘Dos gardenias’ there leading up to the fourth song, bam! Then ‘Compromiso’, ‘El día que nací yo’, bam!...

The key to this encounter is that to take the bolero to flamenco, you haven’t used rhythms, as is usual, but rather echo, vocals...

I didn’t want that. If I want that, I sit down and make a flamenco album on which I have to sing por soleá, por seguiriyas, por alegrías, like the next album is going to be. What I did want to do was to give flamenco flavor to the vocals, those quejíos and those turns, but respecting the bolero. It’s not just because, but rather because you have to sing a bolero with the same tragedy as you sing with por soleá. You have to have the same feeling. And it has to be very nice, from the lyrics to the melody. And I put myself in the shoes of a flamenco when I’m singing bolero, I don’t put myself in the shoes of a bolero singer. Of what I am. But I’m going to respect the rules of the bolero; the melody, the time, but being Cigala... who is a flamenco cantaor.

There are people who say that Cigala has gone to the bolero. No sir, I’m a flamenco by the grace of God and I live with flamenco from when I get up until I go to bed. I’m not just a flamenco when I’m up on stage. It’s a way of life. And I think that way all day long. I think that’s what has pushed this project. It’s taken us four and a half years to make ‘Dos lágrimas’ and if it’d had to take eight years, I wouldn’t have minded. But I thought it was the time and the place.

When I made ‘Lágrimas negras’ I didn’t know what a danzón was, I didn’t know what a clave was, what a guaguancó was, I didn’t know what a chachachá was. I did it all by intuition. As Bebo used to say (he imitates his accent): “Sing like the gypsy you are, and I’ll play like the Cuban I am”. We let ourselves go with the flow of that intuition. But today, I now know how a clave goes... Since you already know it, you already play with it, since you know where a danzón is, where a chachachá is. What we do is measure it in the time of tangos. Sabú always takes it to that time when he’s on box drum. And it’s the little detail which provides a contrast. Jumitus is playing the piano and he often stresses por tangos with melodies from there, from the other side of the water.

The live show has been rolling since last summer, hasn’t it?

Yeah, and what I like most about it is that if you like the album, you’ll like the live show more, which is where I really let loose. The other day, we were at the Palau de la Música in Barcelona. The headline was: “Cigala wins two ears” (as in bullfighting). But not like José Tomás; me without blood, just with sweat. Ha ha ha. Coming out the other day at the Palau de la Música, doing a concert lasting two hours and twenty minutes, selling the group at the back, which has never been sold... and not singing a single song off ‘Lágrimas negras’, was great. Not one. People ate up ‘Dos lágrimas’ and then I spent forty minutes singing with a solo guitar. The thing is I also want to show that to people. The entire group at the back, Diego del Morao here. And now I’m going to sing por soleá, por fandango, por bulerías... People perceive the real Cigala. There are people who are really nice and when you’re up on stage they shout to you: “Diego, I want to hear you sing por bulerías!”. And there I go.

We really took a risk that day because it was a presentation of ‘Dos lágrimas’ in Barcelona, the place was jam-packed in anticipation... But it’s really great that you can sing ‘Dos lágrimas’ and then you can stick to what you like the most and want to do most, which is to sing with a guitar. And how that man played, amazing! What a pity that shortly he’s going to be playing solo. ‘Dos lágrimas’ is really exciting live. You listen to the album and say that it’s really well-recorded, but the same repertoire appears live but it’s not the same. Jumitus is there on piano live, Diego joins the “you’re no longer at my side, love”, sketching things here and there. And then the mark of inspiration comes. And the thing is that they’re all musicians of live shows, of inspiration. Jumitus never plays a note for you the same way twice, although he respects the melody where it comes from. And I never sing the same way twice. I’d like to, but I don’t know how.

‘Dos lágrimas’ has been launched exclusively with a newspaper, with self-production and doing without the great industry. How does this change affect your career?

I’m really glad this wager is with the daily newspaper ‘El País’ because I think it’s a way to change the record industry, to open up a monopoly to other fields. Young people don’t have twenty euros for a record and if they do, there are other priorities. An album like the one which has been released with seventy-three pages, Juan Cruz’s interview, a dedication by Paco de Lucía, Calamaro, with photos... a deluxe album for ten euros seems to me like a way to avoid piracy. And it could have been done years ago. If the decision we’ve made had been made time ago by the record companies, it wouldn’t have reached the point where it is now. It also means me being free; in my art and in my hunger, I’m in charge. And anyone coming up behind can get moving!

María de la O and flamenco copla

“The hardest song for me to do on the album, ladies and gentlemen, is called ‘María de la O’. I didn’t know how to do it... so many versions of it have been done. Moreover, we had to sing the lyrics from third person, not sing them like María de la O or from second person. It had to be arranged. Everyone told me to throw in the towel. I said no. We looked at it with rhythm, without rhythm, ad libitum, we didn’t know any more. And one day at four o’clock in the morning, I got it. I reached the point where I hated María de la O. Mania de la O! I got to the studio and I went aaaahhhh... “Oh, this sounds so bad. I’m leaving”. The technicians, the people there would say: “Diego, try it a little bit”. But I couldn’t. Work on something else, percussion, basses... whatever you want. Until one night that magic came to me. Moreover, what I like is that magic comes out when nobody sees it, when you’re there alone with a technician. And I told him: “Don’t give an opinion, don’t say anything, I don’t want an olé, I don’t want anything. Rec-play. Play-rec. Let’s record”. I did a couple of takes and I kept the first one. This was the challenge of the album. Besides, how long has it been since a copla’s been heard in a man’s voice? Since Miguel de Molina. The copla has been sung by the greats, Concha Márquez Piquer, Lola Sevilla, Juanita Reina, all those geniuses. But there’s nobody singing ‘Dos cruces’ in a man’s voice today. The couplet has been lost, except for the copla greats. It’s been forgotten as a style not a little, but rather quite a bit. Since I saw it as flamenco, I wanted to do a version of ‘Dos cruces’ which sounded flamenco. What I want is for the reviews of ‘Dos lágrimas’ to say: “It’s Cigala-style”.

Silvia Calado. Madrid, June 2008

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