In one of their typically laid-back and friendly concerts, the mixed and variable chamber ensemble Camarada presented a program of Spanish and Spanish-influenced music generally pervaded by the Flamenco style – the greater part of it all very pleasing to listen to and watch. Although all (in this case, a guitarist, a flautist, and a dancer) artists of good quality and professionalism, their concerts do tend towards the cozy atmosphere of musical soirees. Some of them are indeed occasionally put on in the parlors of grand houses, though the ambience may also equally tend towards the demotic – reminiscent for me of some of the naive neighborhood entertainments of my childhood (dead midpoint of the previous century) when during a PTA meeting the local Scoutmaster might deacon along a community-sing of "She’ll be Comin’ Round the Mountain" and "My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean." Camarada’s audiences seem to appreciate this combination of musical skills and relaxed presentation.

Though the powerful musical influence of the Gypsies (about which see the incomparable 1993 documentary film "Latcho Drom") still managed to hover about these proceedings – the characteristic "duende" (Flamenco goblin) much like the exorcized "gitano maldicho" of "El Amor Brujo" – that effect was, to some extent, residual and second-hand. This still-powerful Flamenco spirit was much mediated – considerably diluted from its original full strength. For one thing, as has long been the case, the music was largely filtered through the sophisticated consciousnesses of conservatory-trained composers in the classical tradition. Some of them, forsooth, were not even themselves Spanish (let alone Gypsies), but French – though ardent musical Hispanophiles and diligent original interpreters of the Iberian style.

Two such French pieces (for guitar and flute) were "Entr’acte"by Jacques Ibert (1890-1962) and "Piece en forme de Habanera" by Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) – both compositions very familar ones. The Ibert work (1937) consisted of a quick-tempo sections framing a slower central passage full of Flamenco-style riffs. In Ravel’s "Habanera" – a dreamy slow dance – the guitar was played in gentler style, not so percussive as Gypsy performance practice, but striving towards the velvet tones of the accompanying flute, which was given sinuous melodies somewhat reminiscent of Ravel’s similar luxuriously wandering passages in "Bolero," "Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun," and others works. In both pieces – rather characteristic of French composers essaying the Spanish manner – the easy accents typical of French speech seem to soften the strong stresses of Spanish language and music. But the command of that national idiom by these French composers is such that their Spanish homages do often sound as if they could well enough have been composed by the likes of their contemporaries Granados, Albeniz, or Falla.

Authentic Spanish compostitions by Manuel de Falla (1876-1946), Joaquin Rodrigo (1901-1999) and Isaac Albeniz (1860-1909) featured as well. Rodrigo’s "Serenata al Alba del Dio" was a varied three movement work for flute and guitar, full of Rodrigo’s trademark twangy minor seconds. In Falla’s "El Pano Moreno" and popular "La Vida Breve," as well as in guitarist Fred Benedetti’s own original work "Granadinas," dancer Gloria Lanuza joined with him and flautist Beth Ross-Buckley in interpreting the music. Such works in Spanish Nationalist style tend to interpose another sophisticated layer over the old Flamenco folk style, as they were usually written for piano or orchestra, trying to capture that sound (and often brilliantly, as when Falla made the orchestra sound like a gigantic guitar), and only transposed, in back formation, for guitar during the 20^th century classical guitar revival that owes so much to Andrés Segovia (who was one of Benedetti’s mentors).

Newer music in the Spanish spirit was represented in the program by "Tempestad," for solo guitar) by Juan Serrano (orginally from Fresno, California) and "Jal (Journey)" (guitar and flute) by Christopher Caliendo, a Los Angeles-based film composer.

Though Benedetti proudly displayed his latest technological marvel – a computerized screen that presented the score in lieu of actual paper sheets on his music stand – he later admitted that a glitch in this high-tech system prevented him from performing another one of his own compositions, for which he had to substitute the very well-known "Malagueña" (from "España," opus 165, no. 3) by Albeniz.

As skillfully as Benedetti and Ross-Buckley performed together however, I am not sure that the flute and guitar always made a happy marriage in this concert. It was rather like the forced union between a domineering wife and a submissive husband, who must alter their true natures to get along. At least it seemed so, perhaps from the decision of Benedetti to electronically amplify his acoustic guitar with yet another traducing electronic gadget. (Oh, please give them up, Mr. Benedetti!) As a result, instead of the usually soulfully soft and pleasingly gentle pervasive nature of Spanish music, the guitar sound became distorted and strident.

When questioned afterwards, Benedetti claimed that he amplified in order to better be heard along with the flute. But then, why did he not bother at least to pull the plug during his solo numbers, especially in Cyril Harris’ acclaimed "acoustically perfect" auditorium of the Neurosciences Institute? I once heard Segovia (Benedetti’s old master, after all) perform clearly and unamplified in the largest concert hall in San Diego. And though this was solo, I do not believe that Segovia or any of his followers were typically amplified when they performed guitar concertos with orchestras either. Moreover, flautist Ross-Buckley during the concert proudly demonstrated some sort of ring devices that she had just had installed on her flute to increase its volume. Did she need to do that so it could then be heard along with Benedetti’s amplified guitar? It sounds like a vicious cycle. It if continues, we all may have to get earplugs.

Gloria Lanuza, the dancer (who was not profiled in the program, though another dancer was) was beautiful and elegant to watch, demonstrating different aspects of Flamenco dance, though her style was generally more refined, graceful, and balletic than the usually more firey Gypsy style – light on her feet with many leg lifts, rather than the heavy, earth-connecting manner of Gypsy Flamenco.

But why did this lovely artist need to vulgarize her presentation, during one number, by dragging generally reluctant members of the audience up onto the stage and trying to get them to imitate her skillful dancing? Though no doubt jolly good participatory fun, it was rather like deliberately planting unsightly weeds alongside a beautiful rose. And although it was but a small portion of a mostly delectable concert, this episode had an unfortunately awkward aspect that my old friend Guillermo Virchis Olvera would have characterized as "amateur night at the Bijou."

DOWNLOAD PROGRAM HERE (with reviewer's penciled corrections)