Last weekend as I was driving home from visiting my parents in Toronto, I tuned into CIUT's Global Rhythms and came across Antonitas DeHavila also known as Ray Isaacs. Antonitas is a classical flamenco guitarist, born in England of gypsy heritage who first learned to play from his father and then developed his abilities in flamenco guitar in the gypsy encampments of England, Spain and France. He is a master who has played Carnegie Hall and can be heard on many motion picture sound tracks. Antonitas is self taught. He does not read music. Everything he plays is from his heart. The songs he plays are hundreds of years old and he has hundreds of interpretations of each. As soon as I heard him begin to play, I knew I had to see him live.
He announced that he would be playing a concert the following Friday at Trinity St Paul on Bloor St. in Toronto. By the time we made our way through rush hour traffic that evening, the concert had begun. The concert was a tale in itself, but not for reasons one might expect. When we arrived Antonitas was not on stage; instead, young musicians were there playing a kind of fusion flamenco. An astounding male singer from Mexico - I never got his name - accompanied them. In conversation during an intermission Atonitas described him as having the kind of voice he hasn't heard in 20 years, not since the time of the Gipsy Kings. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gipsy_Kings.
The fusion flamencoists were talented musicians on their own, but unfortunately, were not what people had come to hear. Antonitas' nonelectric flamenco guitar was overpowered by their sound. I had a sense that these musicians had been invited to play with him and in their excitement had usurped his concert.
Antonitas left the stage while they were playing; the lead singer at the end of the set wished everyone a good night and the audience left disappointed ... but that is not the end of the story.
We found Antonitas eating chips in the foyer and engaged him in conversation. He is a humble and gentle soul. An artist. It is hard to imagine him managing anything else outside of his guitar. Talking with him I felt protective. This is a man who lives for his art and nothing else matters.
We asked if he was going to play a set without the other musicians. He smiled in recognition that his evening had been stolen and asked, "Are they gone, is it empty?" We replied that most people had left. "I will play for you two."
He reentered the hall and we took our seats . Antonitas pulled his chair up directly in front of us and began to play. There were 7 who witnessed this event. My husband, myself, Antonitas' wife and son, a man who caught our conversation and also reentered the hall and a young couple who hadn't left yet.
It was one of those transcendent moments where one can't quite believe what one is witnessing. It was astounding. The empty hall, the quiet guitar, the musician and the music. Antonitas plays as if he is one with his instrument. The entire guitar serves his music. His fingers flow across the instrument like water. I have never seen nor heard anything like it. I felt privileged. Honoured. I still can't quite believe it happened. I will always remember this as the night the gypsy played for me.
He announced that he would be playing a concert the following Friday at Trinity St Paul on Bloor St. in Toronto. By the time we made our way through rush hour traffic that evening, the concert had begun. The concert was a tale in itself, but not for reasons one might expect. When we arrived Antonitas was not on stage; instead, young musicians were there playing a kind of fusion flamenco. An astounding male singer from Mexico - I never got his name - accompanied them. In conversation during an intermission Atonitas described him as having the kind of voice he hasn't heard in 20 years, not since the time of the Gipsy Kings. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gipsy_Kings.
The fusion flamencoists were talented musicians on their own, but unfortunately, were not what people had come to hear. Antonitas' nonelectric flamenco guitar was overpowered by their sound. I had a sense that these musicians had been invited to play with him and in their excitement had usurped his concert.
Antonitas left the stage while they were playing; the lead singer at the end of the set wished everyone a good night and the audience left disappointed ... but that is not the end of the story.
We found Antonitas eating chips in the foyer and engaged him in conversation. He is a humble and gentle soul. An artist. It is hard to imagine him managing anything else outside of his guitar. Talking with him I felt protective. This is a man who lives for his art and nothing else matters.
We asked if he was going to play a set without the other musicians. He smiled in recognition that his evening had been stolen and asked, "Are they gone, is it empty?" We replied that most people had left. "I will play for you two."
He reentered the hall and we took our seats . Antonitas pulled his chair up directly in front of us and began to play. There were 7 who witnessed this event. My husband, myself, Antonitas' wife and son, a man who caught our conversation and also reentered the hall and a young couple who hadn't left yet.
It was one of those transcendent moments where one can't quite believe what one is witnessing. It was astounding. The empty hall, the quiet guitar, the musician and the music. Antonitas plays as if he is one with his instrument. The entire guitar serves his music. His fingers flow across the instrument like water. I have never seen nor heard anything like it. I felt privileged. Honoured. I still can't quite believe it happened. I will always remember this as the night the gypsy played for me.
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