Miguel “El Funi”

Interview and text by Javier Primo
English Translation and editing, Nina Menendez

- Funi is a unique species: a singer, a dancer, a true artist, a genuine survivor of the kind of flamenco that thrived in the privacy of the home and at family gatherings and festivities.

“I started singing and dancing as a child at family parties and at my grandparents’ house…”

-Wait, explain about your family…

“My grandmother who was Pinini’s daughter wasn’t a professional artist but she was an incredible singer. And then there was my aunt María Peña and my uncle Benito who were my grandmother’s brother and sister. They were incredible singers too. Flamenco singing is a family thing which is why cante gitano-andaluz is so varied. Each family has their own style, their own way of interpreting the rhythm. That’s why there are so many different melodic and rhythmic styles in flamenco. Each Gypsy clan has at least one or two professional artists but then there are also several members of every Gypsy family that are not professionals but are spectacular singers and dancers.”

-The flamenco artists of today are a whole new breed.

“Yeah, it used to be where there was a festival, it was incredible, we would stay up all night singing until at least 10am the next morning… There was spontaneity, none of us were the same as the rest, we each had our own style. Now everyone sounds the same. People get bored of all the repetition. Everything has changed. Almost everything is artificial now…”

-That’s just how things are…

"I accept evoution but you can’t lose sight of the essence. If we lose the essence, we’re just eating leftovers, no? It’s like a bottle of perfume when the essential oil evaporates and it loses its scent. You can’t mess with a solea or a seguiriya or a verse of tona or martinete. Those forms are off limits. I had the great fortune to hear so many true geniuses of flamenco who, due to the circumstances of the historical period they lived through, had to make tremendous sacrifices in terms of career and they didn’t earn anything from their singing. We can’t just ignore their legacy. It wouldn’t be right. They laid the foundation and we should cherish that legacy and learn from it. Of course we each have our own approach, our own vocal quality, our own way of feeling the music. The problem is that nowadays they are misleading people when they give them something else and tell them that its flamenco. I don’t mean to say that I am holier than thou or that I’m better than anyone else. No. What I mean is that one has to give respect where respect is due. I think things are getting out of hand. Even with dance. Now they want to mix modern dance with pure flamenco dance. All these theatrical pieces, one after another. That’s not what it’s about. And if nobody speaks out clearly about this, clearly and without malice toward anyone, but just with the intention of defending the art form, then the whole thing will just go to hell in a handbasket. It would be great if we could make today’s youth aware of this. They’re the future after all. We could help them understand the essence of the cantes and what arte and duende are.”

- I realize that something is lost in the transcription of Funi’s words. I can just imagine your reaction: here comes that tired discourse on purity! But Funi really feels this and is compelled to speak out… And he does it with such elegance, with exquisite poise and respect. He doesn’t raise his voice as he tries to explain his views on an art that he cares about very deeply. And he is worried...

-I think we need to demystify this discussion a bit. Shouldn’t people just listen to flamenco and enjoy it as they do other styles of music and genres?

“What you have to realize is that flamenco is not just another genre. All other forms of music are written down, but cante gitano-andaluz cannot be transcribed onto sheet music. There are many incredible forms of music in the world but none of them have this characteristic of being impossible to write down. Why is that so? Because the rhythm is more important than the singing or the dancing or the guitar playing. If you don’t understand the compás, it doesn’t matter how good a voice you have, you won’t make any sense. First you have to understand the rhythm, like a house, the foundation comes first because if they aren’t solid, the house will fall down. Flamenco is very unique. That’s why it is so intense and depends so much on the moment and who is in the room. Cante hondo is not a genre. Cante is hondo when the singer makes it hondo. It’s like a good movie script with bad actors. It ruins the movie. Or a mediocre script with great actors who’s participation makes it a major film. You see? So, who makes the cante? The interpreter. The one singing gives the cante its strength, its flavor, the singer is the one who makes you get goose bumps. That’s the way I see it.”

A flamenco artist is almost like an explorer…

“Yes, of course, because flamenco is very extensive and very musical. But if you study the artists of the past will see that each memorable artist adds something, but without losing the essence. You add your own personality and your own way of expressing it which is what has always been done. That’s why good flamenco is never the same. I don’t rehearse. I just go to the festival and the guitarist asks me “Funi, what are you going to sing?” “Well, I don’t know, let’s just get on stage. Ok, now play solea to start. Now siguiriyas, now romance,” etc. There’s something that hapepns when I get on stage. I light up and I am transformed. People tell me that in everyday life I’m one person and on stage I am transformed. I guess that must be true. I can’t really tell.”

You have to be really sure of yourself to pull that off, no?

Of course! If you ask me, it’s all a matter of having a strong sense of rhythm. Those of us who do can allow ourselves that luxury. Someone like Dieguito Carrasco is a perfect example. He is the first to admit that he isn’t a singer. He’s totally rhythmic. He plays with the rhythm and can do whatever he wants. He is incrediblely secure. But he also defends the essence of flamenco because he grew up with it. He saw a lot of great flamenco growing up right in his family and that’s the key. In flamenco you have to be a professional and a fan at the same time. That’s something that has been lost. Artists now a days are not really flamenco fans. When we were young, after performing at a festival we wouldn’t just go home to bed. We would go out for drinks and talk about flamenco and then we would start singing. Nowadays they finish performing and jump in their cars and go home and they aren’t interested in anything else.”

Miguel, talk to us about your youth.

“My father thought it was strange that I wanted to be a professional artist. He was a better dancer than me but he wasn’t a professional. I actually do a lot of his moves. My family says that I dance better than he did but I don’t think so. It’s just that I became a professional and so I have worked on my dancing more. Anyway my father thought it was very weird that I wanted to be a professional flamenco artist. The Gypsies didn’t like the idea of their kids being performers since they thought that was for eccentrics. You know what I mean? And if you were a woman, forget it. The Gypsies really looked down on that. I was a butcher and I also worked in the slaughterhouse just like the rest of my family. This has been our family profession for generations going back to my great grandfather. We are all butchers. I’ve worn a white scarf since I was 14 and I’ve never taken it off since. Always white.”

So that’s the origin of your white scarf…

“Yes. I worked in the slaughterhouse with my white scarf beginning at age 14.”

And why do they call you Funi?

“It’s a nickname… it comes from my family… The Funis. People are sometimes so crude its maddening. At one of Seville’s Bienals several years ago I sang at the Hotel Triana stage and I was explaining about the Funi family and the Pininis which were one and the same because my grandmother was a Pinini and my grandfather was a Funi and my grandmother was my grandfather’s first cousin. My grandfather’s name was Juan Peña Peña and my grandmother’s name was Fernanda Peña Vargas. It was the same family. Well, at the Bienal I began explaining this and people started to laugh. Incredible! What ignorance! It makes you wonder what kind of audience this is. My God! We’re related to Manuel Torre: his wife, the dancer Antonia la Bamba, was my maternal greatgrandmother’s cousin. And we’re also related to the Soto of the Pinini, the Soto of Manuel Torre and the Soto of the Sorderas. Manuel Torre’s son, Tomas was sent by his mother to Lebrija to become a butcher. My uncle told me that when he was very young he would tag along when they would go out drinking and that when they had had a few drinks and were feeling relaxed, Tomas would start singing and he was incredible. I heard him once at El Lebrijano’s father’s house. Both Mairena and Perrate were there. Tomas sang the siguiriya verse “los siete dolores” that Mairena later recorded! You should have heard him sing that night! And Mairena said to him “Tomás, no one knows your father’s singing like you do” And he answers “no, I don’t sing like my father, I sing like my mother La Gamba who sang even better than my father did!” Then he sang a Taranto por bulerias and danced with one hand in his pocket. Oh my god! I even remember the words: “I’m like the little tree, growing in the field: precious wood on the inside but on the outside just debis”. It was amazing. I saw a lot of things like that growing up. My aunts, La Fernanda y La Bernarda, were the first professional artists in the family. I’m related to them on both my mother’s and my father’s sides of the family. They started working professionally at a relatively old age. They were raised well and my grandfather, who made a lot of money, didn’t want them to be artists. Later on, with the war going on and everyone depending on him for sustainence, he went broke. After them their cousin Pepa de Utrera became a professional artist and later Ines Suarez, their niece did, and here in Lebrija, I did as well”

You’ve always lived in Lebrija, right?

“Yes, I’ve had great opportunities but I’ve always been very rooted here in Lebrija and have not wanted to leave. I travel but I always come back here!”

Have you felt misunderstood and underacknowledged?

"No, not misunderstood. I’ll explain. I’ve never had a manager or anything but every time someone discerning has seen me sing and dance they have recognized me right away. The first really good opportunity I had was when Manolo Caracol invited me to Madrid. There was a tribute to him in the Potaje de Utrera 34 years ago. At the end of the night, Caracol went out with Fernanda, Melchor de Marchena and some very important people. At around 4 or 5 in the morning Caracol says to my aunt Fernanda (he imitates Caracol’s hoarse voice) “Fernanda, I want some potato stew”. Fernanda didn’t know where she could go to cook for him at that hour of the night. “Well just take me somewhere where we can get a drink”. So she took him to her nephew Tati’s bar in downtown Utrera. There were around 15 of us there in that tiny narrow bar. He was wearing a beautiful white suit. He was with my cousin Pedro Bacán. He took him everywhere he went from the time Pedro was a child. And Caracol says, “nephew, play for me”. And Pedro picks up the guitar and begins playing and Caracol sang solea por bulerias and then fandango and everybody was weepeing. Then Caracol says to me (he imitates his voice again) “Funi, nephew, sing a little for me”. I got up, put my hands up in the air, and started singing. Then he jumped up and knocked over the table! “Get his name” he says to Melchor. “He’s coming to work at Los Canasteros.” He offered me $1800 pesetas a day and said that I would earn $10,000 in six months. “You’ll get to Madrid and everything will fall into place, you’ll have all the women you want, parties all the time and you can spend three days a week in Lebrija”. I was in Seville at the time shacked up with a girlfriend and hanging out with other aritsts. I don’t know how he got the girl’s phone number but one day the phone rings and he tells me I am already on the bill in Madrid. I pick up the phone and (he imitates his voice) “Hey, Funi, my nephew. It’s Caracol. What’s up? You’re name is on the bill but you’re not here.” “No, uncle, I have a contract here in Seville.” So two weeks later he calls again, and so on, until finally he tells me “Look nephew, I’m going tell you something. When you have the balls to come to Madrid, let me know and we’ll book you.” He was after me for a year and a half and I never went. So there!

Do you regret it?

"No, I don’t regret it but if one could play the same cards twice… All the best artsits were in Madrid and I would have… I don’t know, maybe I could have made a lot of money but who knows? Maybe things would have gone badly…

But you have toured internationally…

I was in New York twice with David Serva but I didn’t like it there. All the skyscrapers… There was a Mexican bullfighter who offered me a lot of work there. Now, I really like California. The weather is more like Andalucia and I know a lot of people there from back in the 60’s in the Moron days when a lot of people from there came to listen to Diego del Gastor. It was incredible, they all wanted to meet Diego and hear him play. I was always there with Diego in Moron. He wanted me to be at all the fiestas. He liked me and the way I danced and sang.”