On that balmy night, the penultimate of last year, I decided the moment for a show had arrived. What’s on? Between ballet, purple haze electronica and standing in a huge crowd on the Royal Mile waiting to have my elfin safely candle lit for a procession down the hill, we opted for something different.
Advertised as an eclectic night of flamenco, bossa-nova, transatlantic Scottish folk and rumba, it sounded exotic.
The venue: Leith Depot, new to me. Let’s go. We took the bus, but the procession (by this stage around 50 folk deeply moving at sleeping snails pace, had thwarted traffic so we missed the first act Portuguesey folk and Brazilian brilliance. Aiai
Leith Depot: what a nice surprise, what a venue! Ground floor: a simple pub with the atmosphere of a small country inn you might have found in the western isles or deep in the green of Ireland, before the glam and TV. Bluegrass playing in the corner, guy behind the bar chatting about the comings and goings, chairs from buses and old kitchens, a homely feel. We were tempted to just chill down there, but instead followed our destiny and ascended to the actual venue, above. A teeny space, like a sitting room but longer, with a small stage at the end, the room filled almost to capacity “welcome” said Danielo Olivera, the organiser. “You’ll find a couple of stools up there” we squinted into the sea of legs and tables, and beers, and jackets, and committed.
Intimate indeed, but not suffocating; the sound balance carefully crafted for the acoustics to be just right.
Daniel Martinez
plays guitar, flamenco style. He sits, relaxed on a simple chair, as if at home in front of a log fire. He plucks, it shimmers in response, with raptures of exotic Spanish soul. This was just tuning up. Gabriela Pousa, the sole dancer, takes to the stage: thick high heels, a dress down to her ankles, alight with every shade of red, her stride ominous, confident. Daniel plays one note, then a thousand others, in a mind-boggling series of hypnotic melody; connections between cords and picking, flying across the frets at a speed impossible to catch nor comprehend.
Gabriela watching on, stern, unruffled, wound like a spring; the rhythm ascending, somehow Daniel could keep a beat while hitting every note known to man, with the heel of his picking hand, thump-dum-thump. Her feet could resist no more, responding to his rhythm, thwacked the floor, slowly at first, then, then… like a dam released, water surging forth, her body swung into motion, twisting and flowing like a miraculous explosion of movement – how in time with the symphony of sound behind her, bending like a tree in a storm, then a second later aloft like a swan, then stomping as a bull, her eyebrows fierce over eyes so bursting with intensity. I was pinned to my perch yet lifted, unaware of my surroundings. Completely spellbound.
A voice from the back, a wailing, slow clapping, and walking through the spaces between us, Danielo emerged, bringing the third and final part of this trio with soaring songs of pain and joy, and love, and life, and God knows what he was singing and it didn’t matter, and he stomped onto the stage and stood in front of Gabriela and displayed the vocal equivalent of a dazzling peacock – up and down the scales – what voice! What melody and power! Each of them, alone incredible, together a fusion of perfection. As if guitars were made for this alone, bodies evolved for this potential, to portray life in all its passion and vibrance, to elicit such spirit, soul and wonder.
It felt like a privilege to be part of this, in such a tiny venue, when these virtual super-powers that seemed capable of commanding entire stadiums. Such skills, worthy of great acclaim. I felt special to be one of a couple dozen souls to witness such a moment.
Sitting now, toying with the cajon, he barely needed giving thanks to his mother, a beaming sun-ray of a lady who clearly understood his verse. He continued, pouring passion on the fire of poetry and, as if drawn by a power he couldn’t resist he leapt up, danced alongside her, the mike long forgotten or hurled to the ground, he soared again, and we too with him, lifted right through the roof beyond our little room and daily troubles. If there was a flying carpet of a show, this was it.