Gamal Nkrumah applauds a Spanish dancer who captures contemporary Flamenco in full-on, passionate, fashionista pose Maria Juncal's bombastic bosom rise a little to the pulsating beat of the guitar. And as she reaches up to clutch the tail of her black and flesh-coloured floral Flamenco dress, cupping her bust prettily and revealing a lithe waistline, she swerves pointedly, drawing attention to her protruding derrière. The tableau is vivid and announces the dancer's bold intentions. "When I dance, I feel like a woman," and the impassioned bailaora, or Flamenco dancer, throws back her head in theatrical abandon. Visually seductive, she thrusts her backside in dramatic propulsion. For the next half-hour or so her hips sway to the magical melodies of the music of Andalusia. I had difficulty taking my eyes off her. At one point she looked ready to grab her dress and depart in a melodramatic fury. Then she lifted her skirts slowly, revealing arrestingly strapping and sturdy thighs that began to tremble uncontrollably. When looking for a phrase that conjures up images of elegance and sexiness, shuddering springs quickly to mind. Whatever you think of Maria Juncal on stage, she appears to be having some sort of a personal crisis, and that is precisely the very ethos of Flamenco. Just as a pure bred Arabian mare, an accomplished bailaora should always have a feminine manner and appearance. So what is "duende"? "That is when God enters the stage," she shrugs nonchalantly. When a bailaora is in full performance mode, there is no mistaking her femininity and her spirituality. You feel God's presence when the dancer unleashes divine power and unassailable pride, even haughtiness, in the face of human vulnerability. With all that whizzing around my head, I desperately tried to keep a close eye on her expeditiously energetic pace. I did notice that her outfit had changed colour. The muscles of her haunches were clearly visible in the sublime manner of an Arabian mare. There is a thrilling sense of foreboding in the opening moments of her last dance , since she is donned in severe grey trousers and matching short jacket that she pretends, quite convincingly, to rip apart. She metamorphoses from mare to stallion, bailaora to bailaor. Hers is the land of sun, sand and surf, the closest you get to Atlantis of Classical Greece. She is a descendant of the noble Dynasty of the Borrulls and her favourite song is The Shadow of the Wind by Ruiz Zafon. Her passion is the palo, or style, famed as the farruca. She imagines herself in a courtyard in Cordoba. Dancing farrucas or the alegrias her legs become nimble and light, even though her muscles are tightly knit in tension. Her impetuosity and her passionate outbursts bestow upon her the strength of a galloping steed and the obsequiousness and the dignified fighting spirit and nobility of a moribund gazelle mauled by cruel carnivore; perhaps, here, a pitiless lover. The lead singer's heart-wrenching lamentations set the scene. Another performer furiously strums his guitar as if in consolation, paying his condolences for a love long lost. Maria Juncal keeps us captivated with her entrancing determination to bring together diametrically opposed and contrasting impulses. Her dance was endlessly fascinating, punctuated by thunderous stomps and hysterical twists and turns. Her motions gushed with the inferno of her passion, and when she changed into a crimson frock the calenture of colour reflected the indignation of a lover spurned. Affronted, her outburst appeared to bring down the Opera House's entire rostrum. The signs are inauspicious. Maria Juncal revealed herself as an elemental force of nature. Then she mysteriously disappeared into the darkness. Born and bred in the Canary Islands, Maria Juncal , together with her musical ensemble, presents her audience with one of the most authentic and yet varied repertoires in the world of Flamenco. Yet one cannot say for sure that it is uncorrupted. She whirls in a cross between opera comique and sacred drama, or is it a Greek tragedy? "The worst aspect of Flamenco is envy," she spits out. The envy is of unrequited love when a woman loathes another because her beau has no eyes for her graces, no feelings for her. The dance is the symbolism of the shame of being shunned, the rage that is the very expression of irrepressible desire. The guitar and castanets compliment one another. The bespoke instruments tickle and chime away prettily together as the dancer wistfully reappears and speaks with her hands and her feet. The voice of her dance obeys its own laws like the volcanic outcrops of her native islands. The contemporary, younger generation of Flamenco dancers desire above all to align themselves with the rich heritage of their ancestors. And this particular artist is no exception. An essential form of her platform and a real selling point is how ingeniously she stresses an edge of modernity and newfangled cool. She is conveying an unspoken message of kinship with her observers. The net effect of her contrived disquietude communicates a trussed-up discomfiture not dissimilar to the dancers of yesteryear, but with a current sense of defiance. By all accounts, the Canary Islands are not the home of Flamenco, but Juncal, inspired by her mentors, the legendary Merche Esmerelda, or Mercedes Rodriguez Gomero, and Juana Amaya, as well as the Sevillian bailaora Manuela Carrasca, left her Atlantic island homeland off Africa's northwestern coast for mainland Spain. "I have never since stopped working for around eight hours a day," she says. The Canary Islands are a little bit of Castile with plenty of California dreamin'. Juncal personifies the ideal version of contemporary Flamenco and acknowledges the effectiveness of this praetorian spirit. Yet she does not come across as threatening, even when wearing trousers that bunch awkwardly. She deliberately looks ill at ease as a Matador. However, the alchemy takes us only so far. She knows she is looking sharp on stage impersonating a man. Her clothing is notably on-message and thought provoking. Yet it is obvious that she looks happiest, or most at ease, dressed as a conventional Flamenco female dancer. Even so, she does her darnedest to distinguish herself from the traditional dancer.
