Casa Anselma - Flamenco in Seville

SEVILLE
At 3:00am I arrive back at our hotel room in Seville.  I am turning in early.  Thousands of Saturday night revelers are still out clubbing, sitting and talking at bars, walking the streets on wobbly legs.  But I have had a wonderful evening and am ready for bed.

When we checked-in that afternoon I had asked the concierge at our small hotel where we could see the “real” flamenco.  He pulled out a brochure on one of the tourist “shows.”  I pressed, however, and eventually between my guide book, a 2005 blog and his phone calls to a friend, I settled on Casa Anselma.  The blog warned me not to expect anything before 11:30, so I left my warm bed and lovely family at 11:15pm to walk across downtown and over the Guadalquivir River to Triana – the notorious Gypsy, working-class part of town where the guide book tells us the fun is a little more unpredictable.

Casa Anselma (after the metal shutters are raised)

It is cold out.  The address is 49 Calle Pages del Corro.  I find 51.  I cross a street and find 47, so  49 must be the yellow building on the corner with the metal shutters down.  As I turn back to look at it I notice a few people out on the sidewalk in front.  I count; there are 15 people in two's and three's.  It is 11:25.  By 11:45 there are 50 people. Two young men arrive.  They are part of a large party.  They each hold a highball glass and are in an intense, nose to nose conversation – each trying to impress on the other in their slurred earnestness with their position.  The man with the cravat gesticulates for added emphasis and spills a dash on the sidewalk without noticing.

The steel shutter on the side door rises with a rattle.  From inside the building steps a small, elderly woman with reddish hair, a sharp nose, a straight mouth.  She holds herself erect and certainly must be Anselma.  The 75 people now gathered on the sidewalk all move up to crowd around Anselma in the doorway.  She looks us over and soon to whom she waves.  A group of six people move forward.  She exchanges kisses with each of them and they pass into the club.  We can now see inside.  There are rows of simple wooden chairs and on the far side of the large room is a bar.  It is low lit with memorabilia on the walls.  Soon several groups  have been welcomed into the club.  The rest of us wait outside.  There is a general banter back and forth between Anselma and the crowd.

Anselma, our host (6 year old photo)

10 minutes go by and 50 or so people have been let in.  Anselma has instructed the “not-chosen” to go around to the other side to wait at the “front” door.  I take my cue and get in the “other” line.  I’m sixth.  But another few minutes go by and I return to the main door wondering if maybe I’m missing my chance to get in.  There is Anselma still bantering with folks and a letting a few more in.  “Will I be left out?” I worry.  Another woman from the “loser” line comes back around and convinces Anselma she really is a long lost friend and slips in with her partner.  Now I pluck up my courage and say in my fluent sign language: “I’m only one, and I’ve been waiting here so patiently….etc., etc.”  Anselma looks me in the eye and tells the remaining crowd to go over to the other door and wait.  She then lowers the steel curtain back down.

Returning to the loser line I am now at the back.  There must be 20 people in front of me.  I brood.  Everyone else is relaxed and chatting with one another.  Finally at 12:00 the main door opens and there is Anselma.  She greets people as they file in.  She shows each of them exactly where to sit on the remaining chairs.  I reach the front of the line.  All the chairs have been taken.  All that remains is standing room around the bar.  Except that there are eight prominent seats vacant in the second row.  I helpfully point to those seats thinking maybe Anselma hadn’t noticed them.  She shakes her head and points me toward the bar.

Casa Anselma - this is the stage

At the bar I order a tap beer for2 Euro – a very reasonable price in a club.  There is no cover charge.  Anselma's only revenue it seems is the bar tab.  But as I look around the room it appears the tab will be significant.  There are two waitresses moving expertly around the room.  Everyone has a drink.  In front of some of the chairs are small coffee tables, but most people are holding their drinks.  The crowd ranges from early teens – a group of girl friends – to white haired men and women.  Most are between 30 and 50.  I have found a nice metal column supporting the roof near the bar.  I lean up against and have a good view of the room.  The standing room is quickly filling up and I see that outside the door there are a clump of people waiting to get in.

Now two men with guitars are moving to the “stage” area.  The stage itself is about 5’ x 6’.  Tiny.  Behind it are three empty chairs.  Behind them are a final row of audience chairs, so the stage is surrounded by people.  One man on stage reminds me of a mechanic at Cummins.  He is middle aged with short cropped white hair and tunes his guitar.  The other guitarist is younger, 30’s?, and handsome.  A third man now walks through the crowd to sit between them on a wooden box the size of a wine crate, which he is carrying.  A fourth man sits on a chair.  He turns out to be the lead clapper.  He claps all night and sings.  The room is loud with peoples’ conversations, laughter, calls for drinks.  Anselma is showing up all around the room.  Now she is on her cell phone.  Now she is talking to customers. 

Drummer's drum

At 12:15 the guitars start and the man sitting on the box turns out to be the drummer. By beating on his box he sounds like a full drum set.  The crowd calms some, the older guitar player sings a soulful song with four or five repeated verses with growing intensity.  He is a tenor straining with an emotion style of singing.  Many in the crowd are clapping in a three on, one off beat with the 4 bar song.  And they know right when to start up and when to stop.  Clearly this is not an amateur clapping crowd.  I observe and try to figure out how to join them.  When the song ends there is rousing applause.

Anselma + band - r-l: guitar, drums, clapper, guitar (can't see)

Anselma appears at the “stage” and rearranges a few chairs.  She motions for a man who is sitting on a white cardboard box near her to take an empty seat in the front row.  He does.  This leaves the white box open.  The crowd is watching.  Anselma motions toward the bar, or is it toward me?  I look behind me.  Then I see everyone looking at me!  Anselma is pointing at me.  She points at the box.  My moment has come.  Anselma herself has offered me a box to sit on at Casa Anselma.  So I step up into the front row right next to the Cummins guitarist and sit down.  I’m a little flushed with this brush with fame.  Then I see that Anselma is pointing at me again.  Her motioning leads me to understand that I am too tall on my box and am blocking the view of one of her preferred customers.  So now she motions for me to move my box over in a corner where I won’t block anyone.  Now, I don’t want to argue with Anselma, and I am clearly the center of quite commotion now, but I also want to have a good view of the stage.  I decide to negotiate.  I point to my bar pole and indicate I will take my box back there and sit where I had been standing.  Anselma seems to accept this arrangement.  I make myself comfortable on my box and take a sip of beer.

Couple dancing on "stage"

As the next song begins, a man and woman from the front row stand up.  They take center stage and hold a stylized pose with their arms raised.  They stand just inches apart. Their rehearsed moves tie to the music.  As a verse ends with a flourish they finish with a flourish turning with raised heads and flipped hands.  The crowd is very pleased and many are clapping the special clap.  The mood is ebullient.  People are talking.  iPhones are snapping photos.  Drinks are being ordered and served.  It is a wonderful scene.  With each song now a new couple stands.  Clearly Anselma has orchestrated it telling each when they are to perform.  These must be regulars.  The first two couples are older.  Then middle aged.  Then a pair of young women performs beautifully.

At 12:45 there's a flurry of activity at the door, and 12 young women arrive.  These were the women for whom Anselma had been saving the chairs.  They thread their way to their special seats and order drinks.

At some point Anselma sings a song.  The crowd is now 150 strong with a thick mob standing around the bar and around the corner out of sight of the stage.  The noise of talking is continuous but people don't mind.  During some songs couples around me and around the room are dancing.  Mid-song Anselma calls one of them forward to the stage to be featured.  Next the box drummer stands and sings a long, emotional ballad which is well received.  Many people sing along with his chorus. During a song Anselma calls up individual dancers for each verse.

It feels like a party of friends having fun, singing, dancing, sharing a love for their music and all hosted by Anselma.

At 2:00 the two guitarists, lead clapper and drummer all stand and face the wall behind where they had been sitting.  Upon it I now see a shrine to the Virgin Mary.  They sing a heartfelt, long, unison chorus to “Maria.”  People sing along and clap, and talk with each other, take photos, order drinks.

There is a final general applause and I see that the party is breaking up.  The musicians start to chat with the audience.  Everyone mingles to greet each other.  Anselma is moving through the crowd.  Jackets and scarves are put on and people slowly move toward the door.  I wander around to look more closely at the wall-to-wall memorabilia.  There are hundreds of photos of Anselma with various people – important looking people, dancers, and many men in bull fighters outfits. There are dozens of unfolded hand fans of various sizes and decoration, clearly from the days when she danced herself.  There are dozens of photos of bull fights and matador spears.  I get the feeling that, at least for Anselma, bull fighting and Flamenco are closely tied.

Fifteen minutes have gone by and still the room is crowded.  I notice that half the crowd has moved toward or out the door and the other has moved to the bar to order another drink.  I move outside into the cold, fresh air.  No one is in a hurry.  Many are standing and chatting on the sidewalk.  I begin to retrace my steps back to our hotel.  As I do I pass dozens of groups of people – five middle aged women walking home in a ricochet of laughter and conversation, a group of young men and women, two couples looking tipsy.  I pass a McDonald’s express and there is a line of 20 people waiting to place orders.  I pass a bar with ten tables occupied by people eating late night tapas and having drinks.  The garbage trucks are out as well.  A man in his green uniform is sweeping Victoria Plaza with a large broom.


Peter