Watched flamenco by Campania Rafaela Carrasco, who titled their performance a bland "The Music of the Body (La Musica del Cuerpo)". The women were naiads mortalized -- older, fleshier, vigorous in corporeality, renouncing the hygiene of nudity for organic gowns of scalloped laminae and flouncing toolings. Eloquent with fury and ecstasy, they devoted themselves to seances of cupped palms and devilish turns, severe in their technical brilliance and spitting with strange emotive power. The men appeared to be mere accessories, but swiftly came into their own in the second movement, "Archangels", backed by relentless drums. The second part, "Una miranda del flamenco", had no description in the programme, however as J commented it needed none. It burnt in primary colours, a canny mating of music, dance, and song, each displayed like a jewel and cunningly cut to set off the sparkle of its fellows. The audience rose in ovation, but we didn't, hehe.
Saw WZ, he was so sleepy, poor thing.
Later, Raffles City, I was given meaningful looks by an old Caucasian man. The sorry thing was following us until we escaped, rather definitely. Then another of the kind gave me more looks near the basement carpark. Scared, but glad I have ze allure, ehehe.
Defying sage advice we had a jaunt in Clarke Quay, which was expensive and limp. Coffee came in plastic takeaways and the minority staff obviously thought locals were insufferable parasites on their attention.
J managed to get around Singapore again. |