Cameron Nye, Contributing Photographer

Sprague Hall basked in the warm light emanating from the sconces on the wall. But as if shone upon by the heavens, a solo light landed on the crown of Paco Peña.  

As Paco Peña tuned his guitar and prepared for his performance, a tense wave of anticipation and silence permeated the room. 

This is a man who has preserved the art of flamenco, Yale School of Music Dean José Garciá-León told the audience minutes before Peña came on. The stage was sparse, but Peña’s guitar music filled the stage. 

With no formal program, in traditional flamenco tradition, the audience sat at the mercy of the musician. The lack of definition allowed Peña to guide audiences through the music genre to which he dedicated his life.

“The flamenco concert was incredible!” Walker Bargmann ‘25 wrote to the News. “Paco’s ability to create music with his guitar was truly unlike any other musician I’ve seen.” 

Usually, spaces before songs are filled with white noise: the sound of pamphlets flipping, side conversations or the occasional cough. This wasn’t the case for Peña’s performance. 

Like wanderers achingly parched in a desert, the audience drank up each note like it was the last drop of water on earth.

When Peña closed his eyes and plucked the first note, the audience seemed transfixed — almost as if Sprague Hall had been transported to the birthplace of Flamenco itself. Just as viewers had in the cafés where the artform was born, the audience cheered and whistled with approval at the end of every song.   

His music was a story in itself. Slow, mournful melodies incited reminiscences of lost loves, and joyous staccato rhythms invited the audience to forget the usual concert norms and move their heads along to the music.

Peña was just a man and his guitar on stage, but he was also so much more. He was a storyteller, a painter, a master craftsman at work. 

The music was played “with passion,” said Joshua Gabrielson ’28. Peña’s 76-year relationship with the genre was made clear by his music; he played the instrument almost as if it were the air he breathed. 

During a brief pause between pieces, the musician explained his personal history with flamenco. The wonder of the art comes from folklore, and the soul and the people are the essence of this particular music, said Peña.

It seemed as if audiences also knew that they were witnessing something special. Following every song, wistful gasps and awe-filled applause erupted from the audience. 

Peña signaled the end of each song with a sudden, yet sullen turn away from his instrument. 

While playing, concentration and focus overtook his face. At the end of every song, Peña waited for the last note to reverberate into the room. It was only when the final sound had dissipated, he lifted his gaze to a cheering audience. 

At times his playing was so intentionally slow, one could hear a pin drop between guitar strokes. And then — as if it were nothing — his hands seemed to move with superhuman agility over the guitar strings. 

In the performance, Peña expressed his music through his entire body. He used the clacking of his fingernails on the guitar’s exterior  and the tap of his leather shoes on the wooden stage to enhance the rhythm of the music.

It was an emotional and visual experience as much as an auditory one. One audience member — Celeste Giannoulias ’28 — described the music as “evoking color.”

After Peña’s solo performance, he returned to the stage with Garciá-León and Ben Verdery, associate professor and adjunct of guitar at the School of Music, for an on-stage discussion on the future of flamenco and the contributions of younger flamenco musicians. 

Verdery and Garciá-León expressed their reverence for Peña. The former called Peña an “older brother” figure and recounted a personal anecdote that demonstrated Peña’s mastery of the guitar. 

In the late 90s, Verdery and Peña were set to perform a piece composed by Verdery. In a practice session, Peña turned to Verdery and told him, “That’s not right,” implying that the associate professor was playing it incorrectly.  

Verdery retorted, “Look man, here’s the deal. I wrote the piece.” Peña asked Verdery to go into Peña’s car and listen to the recording of the song. Verdery came back into the room, head hung low, and admitted that Peña was correct. 

Verdery and Peña then took the stage, giving listeners a glimpse of a sound that seemed too private for the audience’s ears. The old friends played the way only two emotionally connected people can — with laughter, vivacity and a kind of psychic awareness of what the other would do next.

In addition to this, Peña gave the audience a taste of his new project “Solera.” The name comes from the unique Spanish process of making wine, which involves blending mature and young juices. 

Peña lets this metaphor guide his upcoming project, which brings together young and old flamenco savants to the stage. 

Flamenco originated in the Andalusia region of Spain.

LUCIANA VARKEVISSER
Luciana Varkevisser covers theater and performances. She is a freshman in Saybrook College planning on majoring in history and psychology.