As Olivia and I wandered down the narrow alleyway towards La Carboneria, euros jingling in one pocket, hand stuffed in the other to shelter it from the cold––I felt a familiar sense of tingly excitement that one only derives en route to seeing a live performance.
La Carboneria is a bar open seven days a week that offers free live flamenco performances every night.
Aside from the expectation that you purchase a drink in support of the local art (we learned the hard way two days prior that the bar's cash only) the one other rule is that photography and videotaping of the art is strictly prohibited. Hence why I'll be describing the show itself with just my words.
Seeing as flamenco is stamped a "must-see" activity in Seville (and all of Spain really), I got to work researching which shows were most authentic as soon as we arrived to the city.
Most tourists end up seeing some of the bigger performances in well-known formal theaters such as La Casa de Flamenco or Tablao Alvarez Quintero, but I wanted something intimate, raw, and if possible, cheap. Coming in as one of the top three flamenco spots to visit according to several travel sites, La Carboneria ticked all of those boxes.
La Carboneria is tucked away from the touristy strips of Seville which differentiates it from the other well-known flamenco theaters that require advance tickets and specified seats. The bar opens at 7 pm and closes at 1 am, but since it's located in what resembles a back yard patio accessible through an open gated pathway––one might never even know whether it's operational or closed down. Unlike the first time we tried to visit and were turned away for lack of paper money, there wasn't as long of a line to get into La Carboneria on this particular Tuesday evening. Nevertheless, when we pushed our way inside, the room was clearly filled to the brim with local and foreign flamenco enthusiasts of all ages.
Olivia ordered us a € 12 jug of sangria to share while she had the busy bartender's attention upon entering. With our liter of fruit-filled red wine and a couple glasses, we headed towards the elevated right side of the room to find a table in the corner.
Seating in La Carboneria resembles that of a small beer garden: long wooden tables covered in empty glasses and spilled crisps and benches topped with talkative shoulder-to-shoulder patrons. The aged white walls are decorated with event posters and Spanish art, clearly dirtied and scuffed by years of folks shuffling in and around the space. We had just sat down and poured our first glasses of sangria when the smoky room suddenly went dark and a red light shone down on the small center stage below. Audible chatter quickly fell to silence.
Strumming of a fast-paced guitar began accompanied by loud Spanish shouts and claps from the player. A woman dressed in a long traditional black dress with ruffles attached to the skirt then slowly crept through the crowd towards the stage. Her black hair was secured in a slick low bun accented by her thick golden hoops and bright red lipstick. She was arguably the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. As she silently strutted into the room she began to twist her arms, carefully contorting and unraveling each ligament of her upper body from shoulder to fingertip.
When she finally reached the stage, the music picked up in pace. Suddenly her arm movements became matched by her frantically tapping feet. She began to clap, turn, jump, bend, and twist her body in ways that gave me chills from the start. One particular move that she frequently performed was a sort of full rotation of her upper half whilst keeping her head and neck unmoved, like an owl but faster. Folks in the crowd roared with "Olé"s and applause when songs reached clear crescendos, but would hush each other when the music died to a quiet lull so as to appreciate the melodies' soft segments.
The same flamenco dancer performed around three of these dances every 30 minutes about four or five times in total which seemed impossible due to the physical exertion she put into each presentation. Sweat slowly became more and more visible on her collarbone and her eyebrows increasingly furrowed as she danced faster and harder with each guitar chord. I couldn't get over the sense of pure mesmerization I felt from watching her. As if I had been allowed into a private viewing of this woman's deepest emotions shown through ripples of her body matched with passionate strums of the guitar and the powerful rhythmic sound of palms slapping together.
While she used castanets for some performances (the tiny percussion clackers played between fingers and thumb), for others she merely relied on ferocious snapping and claps. Both styles were equally powerful in pacing and rhythm.
We only stayed for two or three performances—we wouldve stayed longer but with only a few euros left in cash, we simply couldn’t milk the final drops of our sangria any longer. La Carboneria remains one of favorite trip memories thus far, and I would highly recommend it to anyone interested in watching a worthwhile live flamenco show. I’ve always been a huge proponent of live local art, I find it’s the best way to get to know a place, whether it be Cornish, Boston, or some city halfway across the world. With any luck, we’ll find a similar experience in Lisbon where we can witness some traditional fado (a customary Portuguese music genre)!
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