Times - Flamenco Clive

           

How fast is your Flamenco?

By Kent Barker

Did I mention that I’m a keen, if rather indifferent, tennis player?  Unless the courts are snowbound or iced over, I turn out most Monday mornings with a group of fellow retirees or layabouts.  It’s a good way to start the week and, as we’re all of a similar standard, we manage long(ish) rallies.

Occasionally in summer I play with another group on a Friday evening.  This has the advantage of a post-match visit to the pub, but it’s notable how different the games are.  At the end of the week we have three big hitters.  Anything coming towards them gets walloped and, if it comes back at all, travels with such a speed and spin that it’s impossible to return. But about half the time they hit it into the net or out of court.  This results in extremely short points.  Either they win outright or lose immediately.  It helps us get to the bar faster, but isn’t always the most enjoyable type of play.

Anyway, the point of all this is that I’ve known one of the ‘hard hitters’ for years.  He’s a quiet, affable country solicitor mostly distinguished for his habit of ordering Bacardi and Coke when the rest of us are supping real ale. (We’ve taken to asking for those little cocktail umbrellas to accompany his concoction – which he generally accepts with good grace.)

But Clive has, for years, harboured a deep and dark secret, far removed from his conventional lawyery image.  I first found out about it a year or so ago, but thought it best to say nothing.  Slowly, though, he became more open about his habit.  At parties (doubtless after a few of those awful drinks) it would come out and he’d let us see just what he had been up to in all those hours of solitude at home.

The sad truth is that Clive is a truly exceptional … Flamenco guitarist!  That’s right, a practitioner and aficionado of that distinctive Andalusian music, pretentiously dubbed by UNESCO as ‘Masterpieces of the oral and intangible heritage of humanity’. But how on earth had this village boy from Benenden, son of a local doctor, destined for a dusty career at law, taken up such an unusual - not to say unfashionable - instrument?

Moving the paper umbrella to one side and sipping his cocktail, Clive explains that, as a boy of five, he was forced to endure desperately dull guitar lessons when he’d have much preferred to be outside playing football.  But the last five minutes of each lesson were enlivened when the elderly teacher tried his hand at a limited Flamenco repertoire. 

It was enough to fuel the fire and awaken a life-long passion.  Later, as a solicitor’s clerk, most of his meagre earnings were spent on lessons from a brilliant exponent and teacher, John Paul Lee.  After finding one of his LPs remaindered on a record-shop rack, Clive tracked him down and persuaded Lee to take him on,

Many trips to Spain and Morocco followed where our Benenden boy found he could communicate with native players and visiting gypsies through his guitar playing rather than any known spoken language.

From the hours of solitary practice at home Clive developed a technique which enabled him to play at lightning speed. What he needed, though, was to record his work.  But in these days of on-line, digital music, record companies and recording contracts are all but impossible to find.  An old friend who co-owns a label was impressed by the playing.  But his partner felt it wasn’t sufficiently ‘alternative’.  Then a stroke of luck put him in touch with Hasmick Promotions who normally specialise in re-releases.  They thought that Clive was worth a punt and put him in the studio.  The resulting CD, Flamenco Guitar Music (well, I suppose it IS what it says on the box!), is released this week.

So now, after half a century, just as most people are retiring, Clive is embarking on a new career.  But how to promote this departure?  Over one of those disgusting Bacardi and Cokes, he asked my advice.  Now, anyone less qualified to consult on music, guitars or Flamenco would be hard to find.  But I was struck by his gentle boast that he played unusually fast.  OK, I said, put your money where your mouth is.  Challenge all-comers to a Flamenco guitar speed contest.  Give a prize to anyone who can play faster then you.

Hmm, he mused, what sort of prize?  Well how about a copy of the new CD?  That shouldn't cost you too much!

So it was decided and the challenge is out there.  If you think you can play faster Flamenco than a superannuated solicitor, take him on!  I look forward to hearing the result after (probably loosing) the next Friday evening tennis game.