Flamenco vocalist, Miguel Poveda, performed on September 29th, 2002, at Cooper Union in New York City. The following day Afropop's Christina Zanfagna was able to accompany him and the rest of his music crew to the Statue of Liberty. The encounter left her with much to ponder.

In a growing global music scene where geographical definitions are hard to maintain even at the best of times, flamenco stands out as being utterly tied to its homeland: Andalucia, Spain. Rumblings over authenticity in the music usually rise out of regional tensions. Miguel Poveda challenges those critics who still believe that only an Andalucian gypsy has access to flamenco. Born and raised in Barcelona, a city that has never been known for its proliferation of flamenco artists, Poveda grew up listening to his mother's extensive flamenco collection. His intense study of her records has certainly paid off. At the age of twenty-nine, it seems he has already mastered his craft, although not in the conventional way of gypsy families. Poveda will be the first to admit that he has not "lived" the stereotypically devious and renegade existence of most gypsies, but he does emote a certain restlessness on stage that is both mysterious and accessible. Flamenco is not a way of life for him; it is a way of performance. This statement is likely to boil the blood of many a flamenco purist, but at least Poveda is not trying to fake the funk.

Dressed in classic uniform of all black, Poveda took the stage at Cooper Union alone. Without hesitation, he began to sing a traditional Martinete, a song form most likely developed by blacksmiths in the forges of the Triana deriving from the unaccompanied religious chants of Jews, Muslims and Christians. There were no frills or attempts at flashiness--just the densely patterned rise and fall of his wail against a blank background. Straining his head to the side, eyebrows angled and clutching the air with his fists, he pulled notes out of obscurity with only his breath. The grace and humility of his cante (singing) was affecting without being overwhelming. Each song was delivered with the concentration and assuredness of a true professional. Although one longs for the raw setting of a smoky, alcohol infested flamenco bar or gypsy juerga , it is impossible not to appreciate the supreme artistry and intelligence of Poveda's performance.

Even with the addition of guitar, violin and dance, the sight and sound remained simple and coherent. Poveda was accompanied by the immensely proficient Chicuelo on guitar and another accompanist on violin. The three of them blended flawlessly, weaving between the other to create a sound that was both balanced and beautifully unresolved. Among the song forms (palos) performed were Soleas, Tientos, Granainas, Alegrias, and Soleas por Bulerias. As Poveda wailed out an old love verse, the molten orange wood of the guitar and violin shone out from him like pumpkin moons against a dark, moist Sevilla sky…

"Of cloves and cinnamon
you smell to me.
He who has not smelled
cloves and cinnamon
does not know how to distinguish them."

Clearly Poveda's performance delivers the feeling that this is the distinct sound of a distinct people, not just the sound of cultural difference produced through a prescribed list of ethnic clichés and stereotypes. His music is more than just mood-altering impressionism.

The violin, a common instrument in gypsy culture all around the world except in Spain, stood out as the one non-traditional element of the performance. It is obvious that it was chosen with great care and sensitivity. When I asked Poveda about the controversial concept of fusion in flamenco he was quick to acknowledge the immense frontier of possibility it creates. And really, there is no room for legislation where creativity is concerned; that would limit the possibility of a future miracle. What there is room for is respect: respect for one's own history and culture and that of others. Poveda, as a flamenco artist, may be split from the source of his music and the traditions commonly associated with it, but he is not separating flamenco from its roots. Instead, he strengthens his connection to heritage through his mastery of and adherence to traditional forms, while steering clear of the kitschy or romanticized images that confine and belittle artistic expression. His songs generally draw on older verses of love because, as Poveda says, lyrics of love never go out of date.

Poveda further complicates the relationship between music and place because he is at home in so many cultures. Throughout his world tour he has witnessed the reactions of many people from all over the globe. Each response to his music thrilled him, whether it was unwavering silence or a raucous chorus of "ole's!" He walks around with the bright-eyed wonder of a seeker. Looking out from the ferry deck, awaiting arrival at the Statue of Liberty, the collisions of race, age and language seemed to instill him with strength. Poveda has a unique talent to fuse (not confuse), which makes him an excellent arbiter of his craft. He occupies an invaluable place in the translation and preservation of flamenco music. Endowed with a an amazing vocal gift and an unrelenting love for flamenco, Poveda, as a non-gypsy and young worldly man, is able to highlight the importance of tradition, cultural heritage and history while remaining modern. Ole Miguel!