The rest of the evening didn’t have even this slim theatrical pretext. Individual numbers gave the company members a chance to show their stuff. A guitar solo by Miguel Pérez made lavish embellishments on a popular song. Ogalla, accompanied by Pérez, Iglesias, Gago, and singer Emilio Florido, performed an “Alegrías,” a dance of complex rhythms and changing speeds in a tight body space. In “Soleá por bulerías,” Jiménez was big, moody, almost out-of-control, with flamboyant flourishes and feminine serpentines exaggerated to macho proportions. The two men did a brief duet in side-by-side unison, their contrasting personalities reinforced.
In her long “Soleá,” Barrio built up crescendos of intensity that suddenly broke off. Then she’d begin again in a new key, as if, right to the end, she kept having to find other ways to continue the story before it overwhelmed her. Arching back with agonizing slowness, stamping proudly, vibrating with supersonic heel beats, she trod a circle, bending and splaying toward the center but never occupying it. At last she came up out of the vortex to face the audience, a hero, a survivor, a star.
For the concluding ensemble number, “Esta noche no es mi día,” the dancers and musicians placed a ring of red roses on the floor in honor of their recently deceased colleague, singer Antonio Vizarraga. The closing piece on a flamenco show can be festive, even comic, as the company members call on one another to step out and brag. This finale was somber, and the company gathered in a clapping circle at the end, lifting their arms together in a final gesture of tribute and prayer.
