Chano Domínguez Sexteto at Barcelona Jazz Festival

Chano Domínguez Sexteto: "Por Paco"
Paral·lel 62
56 Festival de Jazz de Barcelona
Barcelona, Spain
November 26, 2024

It was a night of tributes, remembrances and celebrations at Barcelona's Paral·lel 62. In the framework of the "De Cajón!" series—a branch of the Barcelona Jazz Festival focusing on flamenco-rooted music—Chano Dominguez and his sextet presented "Por Paco," a passionate homage to Paco de Lucia, marking ten years since the fabulous guitarist's passing. The evening also celebrated the 30th anniversary of 10 De Paco (Nuevos Medios, 1994), a collaborative album that quickly became a cornerstone of flamenco jazz, featuring—between others—four of the concert's members performing a first-ever tribute to the compositions of the visionary guitarist and his brothers, all hailing from Algeciras, Cádiz, the same land that birthed Domínguez. Curiously, no guitar appeared either on that early yet justified tribute album or during this concert, whose repertoire was based almost entirely on that record. Lastly, and no less relevant although not mentioned on that night, it should be noted that Domínguez is currently embarking on his project "Chano 45," a series of concerts with which he celebrates his forty-five years dedicating body and soul to music.

While de Lucía might be, in Spain, more closely associated with flamenco, whether orthodox or nuevo, his legacy extends far beyond. He was a brilliant innovator who, without formal musical training and playing by ear, daringly mixed the familiar musical teachings of his childhood with jazz and other genres. His jazz journey included the successful The Guitar Trio (both the group and the album; Verve, 1996) and collaborations with artists like Chick Corea on Touchstone (Warner Bros. Records, 1982) and Wynton Marsalis on Vitoria Suite (EmArcy, 2010). Domínguez, in turn, began his musical path closer to progressive rock and fusion, eventually weaving an unprecedented alliance between jazz piano and flamenco. His contribution to jazz flamenco (in his case, better to call it that, rather than the other way around) is fundamental and unparalleled, and his status as a first-order jazz musician is demonstrated by a good part of his impressive discography and numerous collaborations. Notable among these was his long association with Wynton Marsalis' Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra after establishing himself in the United States in the early '90s.

As an introduction, Domínguez spoke about de Lucía and his immense art, hoping to do justice to his legacy. He also dedicated the concert to recently deceased Catalan guitarist Jordi Bonell, with whom he had shared performances, recordings, and teaching duties at Barcelona's prestigious Taller de Músics music school. Bonell, another lover of jazz fusions, was one of the founding members of the jazz-rock group Secta Sònica in the '70s, later joining the locally legendary band Música Urbana.

The concert opened with "Monasterio de Sal," a colombiana (one of flamenco's palos [styles]) composed by de Lucía in Colombia, inspired by the famous Salt Cathedral in Zipaquirá. Domínguez approached the piece solo, delivering a reading that began with lyrical content and evolved into an uninhibited dancing joy, marked by its suggestive refrain. Then, the sextet was joined by an unexpected guest, flutist Luis Delgado, for "Sólo Quiero Caminar," a piece with unmistakable Corea influences. The woodwind player oscillated between Joe Farrell and Madrid saxophonist Jorge Pardo's mode, the latter being the great absentee of the night concerning the group that recorded 10 de Paco. Chonchi Heredia's cante started with bravery, in a manner that evoked another deceased giant's long shadow, the deeply mourned Camarón de la Isla, though with a softer timbre and less extreme approach than the singer from, again, Cádiz. The sextet navigated incredibly complex rhythmic breaks while Domínguez heated the atmosphere up, masterfully guiding the piece into stimulating harmonic territories.

The temperature rose further with "Chiquito," a soleá that flooded the stage with deep red tones after a measured piano introduction, and immersed the audience in a profoundly ethnic, almost tribal atmosphere. The original composition was reduced to its rhythmic skeleton, to allow dancer Daniel Navarro, a classically trained bailaor and collaborator of Domínguez since 2007, to dominate the performance. He conquered the audience from the first moment with his impressive presence, decisive movements, startling gestures and an explosive zapateado that shook the stage like a concentrated earthquake. With the entire group focused on percussive tasks, Navarro interspersed fiery solo interventions, each one rewarded by the audience with enthusiastic applause. But the piece gave rise to much more: they were also excellent speeches by Domínguez and bassist Javier Colina, intriguing false endings and complex cross-rhythms woven between Chonchi's clapping, Juan Pablo Dominguez's cajón (Chano's son) and Navarro's steely shoes. Perhaps, the high point of an evening that, as we will see, seemed too short.

The night's most accessible piece, "Río Ancho"—according to Domínguez, de Lucía's most recognized song outside Spain—featured a funky intro shared by Colina and Domínguez. Then the pianist delivered a solo flight of sensual harmonic freedom before the ensemble shifted into an accelerated Caribbean mode. "Canción de Amor" followed, a love ballad bathed in impressionist airs, which Domínguez dedicated to his partner Isabel. It was performed only by the rhythmic trio, with drummer Guillermo McGill watering down the atmosphere with his brushwork. At the same time, Colina gave new reasons to corroborate that he is the most worthy heir of Charlie Haden in the Iberian Peninsula. He and Domínguez concluded with juicy, improvised runs in a short-lived but magnetic piece ending. The entire sextet then performed a bulería dedicated to Paquito D'Rivera, who was present at the venue and would perform at the festival the following day. Colina strummed the strings of his instrument as if he were holding a Spanish guitar instead of a double bass, with Chonchi putting all her effort into passionate flamenco singing and an unexpected vocalese.

And that looked like the end of the show, or so the members of that extraordinary sextet seemed to suggest. After an initial exit at just under an hour and with the public somehow confused, the band returned for three encores, ardently requested. This new concert's phase opened with "Playa del Carmen"—one of de Lucía's most amiable fusion pieces—featuring Domínguez channeling McCoy Tyner through a massive rhythmic-harmonic crescendo, with Colina at his most Latin. It followed an initially majestic "Zyriab," which again showcased Delgado, who delivered crisp solo interludes that suspended unexpected harmonic colors in the thick musical atmosphere, followed by another sublime piano solo and a few more doses of the dancer's categorical genius. And, as a true ending, a Thelonious Monk-inspired number, between "Bemsha Swing" and "Well You Needn't"—both featured on Domínguez's early leadership albums, Chano (Nuba Records, 1993) and Hecho a Mano (Nuba Records, 1996)—which finally gave McGill drumming his moment in the spotlight, showcasing his dynamic rhythmic foundation and an electrifying solo.

What is most fascinating about Domínguez is his elegance in interlacing deeply flamenco rhythms and harmonies with unquestionably jazz elements. And he does this while trembling with pure nerve at the keyboard, often hesitating, in vertiginous moments, about which note to choose to begin the next flourish, or which unexpected chord to interpolate. This, perceived by the audience, is deeply appreciated—this commitment to risk, this dance with the extreme, this art of spontaneous combustion, ephemeral yet eternal. It is also valued seeing a veteran like Colina enjoying himself as if it were his premiere with Domínguez. But both Colina and McGill are longtime collaborators, already present in Domínguez's early albums and sharing more than three decades of musical mutual understanding and, one might imagine, of deep personal connection.

The night felt short, indeed, not just because of the brevity of some pieces, or by the fleeting concert's duration before its compensatory encores, but because of that well-known sensation that when we truly enjoy something, time compresses and evaporates like the water so often used in de Lucía's compositional imagery. Domínguez had stated at the concert's beginning that he hoped de Lucía, "if he was listening somewhere," would enjoy the performance. For this audience, there was no doubt that he did.

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