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              SEEN 
              AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL CONCERT  REVIEW
 
                           
                           Falla, Albéniz, C. Romero, 
                           and García Lorca:   Eliot Fisk and Angel 
                           Romero, guitars, Benaroya Hall, Seattle, 25.11.2008 
                           (BJ)
                           
                           
                           
                           
                           There were at least three programs for this 
                           one-evening two-guitar festival in Seattle’s Benaroya 
                           Hall. The originally announced mix of works by 
                           Spanish and Italian composers was replaced, in the 
                           printed program book, by an all-Spanish anthology, 
                           and this morphed in the event into a slightly 
                           different sequence of Spanish pieces framed between 
                           arrangements of Falla and García Lorca.
                           
                           In the light of who was playing, few listeners could 
                           have felt any disappointment as this all-Spanish turn 
                           of events. Angel Romero, born in Málaga, is the 
                           youngest son of Celedonio Romero, and played 
                           alongside him for years in the family’s famous guitar 
                           quartet. Very different in his origins–he was born in 
                           Philadelphia–Eliot Fisk ranks virtually as a Spaniard 
                           by osmosis: he studied with Segovia, and lives part 
                           of the time in Granada with his Spanish wife and 
                           their daughter.
                           
                           Certainly the two men’s collaboration suggests no 
                           trace of national disparity, unless to call Romero’s 
                           playing more mercurial and Fisk’s more tellingly 
                           focused on structural unity might hint at any such 
                           ethnic contrast. In any case, Fisk’s two-guitar 
                           arrangements of Falla’s Seven Spanish Folk Songs 
                           and of seven of the Old Spanish Songs 
                           originally collected and set by the poet Federico 
                           García Lorca afforded them an opportunity, seized 
                           with enormous gusto and charm, to combine their 
                           talents in the most winning way imaginable. This was 
                           playing that blended the obviously Iberian, and often 
                           touchingly wistful, elements in the music with a 
                           brilliance and sheer élan that allied it with all 
                           good music from anywhere. As Vaughan Williams 
                           observed, the way for a composer to achieve 
                           universality is not by aping fashionable cosmopolitan 
                           trends, but rather by identifying himself with his 
                           own national roots.
                           
                           Separately, Romero offered poetic interpretations of 
                           two of his father’s compositions, and Fisk transfixed 
                           the audience with his arrangements of piano pieces by 
                           Albéniz, thrown off with the kind of virtuosity that 
                           transcends mere technique. But as pleasurable as 
                           anything was the two musicians’ obviously warm 
                           rapport, evident no less in their occasional exchange 
                           of friendly verbal digs than in the duet 
                           encore–Francisco Tárrega’s Recuerdos de la 
                           Alhambra–that sent us home with our toes tapping.
                           
                           
                           
                           Bernard Jacobson
            
	
	
			
	
	
              
	
	
              
              
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