Flamenco guitarist Juan de Lerida in Civray

The highlight of a not-so-exciting month was last Friday at the ‘Salle de Spectacles’ in Civray. I met up with a couple of gels from my French class in order to hear the Flamenco guitarist Juan de Lerida. I didn’t really know what to expect but, when the outing was being organised, I decided to join the party—if only because the venue was nearby!

So, leaving Geoff watching the rugby ( needless to say—France v Wales—it was one of the most exciting matches played this season!) I set off-with plenty of time in hand.

Parking was easy, and Glenys and Marie-Laure arrived very soon after me. This gave us over half an hour to kill as the doors weren’t to be opened until 8.30pm. We walked around the square, giving the smoker in our party sufficient time for one last fag!—and be-moaned the fact that a refreshing glass of anything was unavailable in the middle of town on a Friday night. Unbelievable!
It’s at times like that when you realise the difference in our two cultures! Countryside France is really a daytime café-culture—where one or two of the older inhabitants happily consume a small verre de vin rose at 10.30 in the morning.

Most (but not all!) English refrain from drinking at this time—saving it for the evening. On the other hand though, the English –particularly the ‘retraites’—don’t get up too early in the morning—so, if you start taking wine with your breakfast, Heaven knows where you’ll end up!
So, our thirsts still unassuaged, we got back to the theatre, found our seats—in the third row—and, like everybody else—we waited!—and waited-AND WAITED! The stage lights changed colour—2or 3 times- and still we waited—and some slow hand clapping followed—and a then few Spanish ( ?) catcalls of ‘ole’ & ‘ariba’ & ‘hasta la vista baby’ and ‘O-O-O’ (which really doesn’t look the same in print!) & such -similar phrases were shouted from the audience!

Eventually—but in their own time, 2 girls and 5 men—all dressed in black trousers and shirts arrived on the stage and started to play.

A blonde girl on the left of the stage played ‘bongos’—and later a mandolin, and the 2 men on her right were a guitar player and a bass player (who also played a double-bass). There was then a dark-haired girl who played a violin- and HOW! It was like hearing a wonderful gypsy style of playing! I could have listened to her play all night—but I come from a family of violinists and, even though it has missed a generation, it is still my favourite instrument.

The other side of the stage had 3 male singing percussionists.
After a couple of minutes a small, swarthy man, with long dark hair came through the curtains at the back of the stage, with a guitar under his arm. He walked to the front of the stage—bowed once, raised his right hand to the rafters, turned and then walked to the right of the stage where there was a raised platform. He climbed onto it, sat on the chair and started to play.

Oh My! The speed of his fingers—the crescendos—the music- my lack of ability to explain how wonderful it all was!

Although French-born himself, Juan De Lerida’s family escaped Lerida (Aragon, Spain) during Franco’s regime. His gypsy roots and jazz influences gives his music such a highly exciting sound.
All the musicians were superb, the style was Flamenco, tinged with North African (the singing) and gypsy (the fiddle-playing)—and was over all too quickly.

The audience clapped for more (but didn’t shout ‘encore’—don’t they do that in France?!)—and they came back and played 3 more times, after which (with relief, as my hands were aching!) we were told that ‘Juan De Lerida and his fellow musicians would be in the foyer, where we should join them for refreshments’
( Thank heavens—they all drank from bottles of water throughout the performance—and I’m sure were in need of it. I shall take a bottle of water with me next time I go there!)
A glass of cider and a madeleine was served in due course, and we stood around and discussed the performance. My main thoughts were

1. He ( Juan de Lerida) NEVER smiled! –although his fellow musicians laughed and shouted and ‘Ole-d !’ throughout the evening.
   And
2. How difficult to follow the Flamenco beat. (When I got home, my husband said it was because it was in 5:2 time—sounds good , but he knows NOTHING about music—can’t even sing in tune—so I think he was flanneling me!)

Glenys, too couldn’t follow the beat—in fact she wasn’t terribly sure that she liked Flamenco music at all. ‘I think I’ll stick with Radio2’ she said!

I, on the other hand was rather thrilled with my evening out and look forward to more concerts of all sorts—which, I understand are held regularly—in Civray, and many other venues in Poitou-Charentes!

About me

I am Heather Squires we bought our house in 2002, moved over to France to live here full time in 2006 and now run Maureville Chambre D'hotes in Asnois - 5 miles south of Charroux in the Vienne department.