You hear Sara Baras before you see her. Offstage, a rapid, amplified clack of heels, in counterpoint to a rippling guitar, herald the opening of London’s annual Flamenco Festival. One of Spain’s most indomitable dance stars is in town – an imperious Baras owns the stage.
Even in her fifties, Baras’ velocity and ferocity seem undimmed. Foot stamps emerge in a remorseless fusillade, a woody-woodpecker reverberation. But Baras isn’t just a bravura turn, she’s an artist in speed and rhythm. She’ll knock in the dark like a pensive woodworm, scatter a few fleet taps across the music or build a dense thicket of sound. She glides across the floor, creating maximum noise with seemingly minimal effort, and when her heels make bullets fly, she might perforate the stage.
Vuela, the title of her latest show, means ‘fly’ – but what does flight look like in this tight-wound performance (marking 25 years of Baras’ company)? An opening section in black and white introduces a work of fearsome clarity. Baras’ crisp gestures – splayed fingers, curling wrist – are decisively capped by a snap of footwork. The show then moves through gusting emotion and loss (it’s a tribute to the late guitar virtuoso, Paco de Lucía). Above, an ornate censer sighs out incense.
The terrific musicians include elegant guitarist Keko Baldomero, and singers who haul vocals up from their bowels: raw-throated Matías López and May Fernández, with her voice of all the sorrows. In addition to percussionist Rafael Moreno (who delivers some winningly goofy moves at the curtain call), everyone stamps and claps, clicks their fingers, slaps their thighs – flamenco makes the human body into a drum machine.
The supporting dancers – six sharp women and a man-bun – aren’t required to out-shine their star. Baras also dances with Daniel Saltares (he of the bun), but they’re stamping in each other’s vicinity more than actually duetting. The real electricity is in Baras’ rapport with her audience.
This is the 20th edition of the festival: on opening night, director Miguel Marín was lured to the stage for a quick shimmy with Baras. Over two decades, Marín has tracked and encouraged the evolution of flamenco – this year’s festival includes artists inflected by ballet and contemporary dance, as well as leading musicians in concert.
Baras is a festival regular: a modern dancer but an old-school diva. She smiles regally, glares at the audience when we’re slow with applause and practically enforces a standing ovation. There’s a beast of a curtain call – the theatre try bringing up the house lights, time-gentleman-please style, but Baras has dance to get off her chest. In the end, this is the evening’s most potent image of flight – an artist exulting in her audience, soaring in the spotlight.
Sadler’s Wells, to June 1; sadlerswells.com
