Paco de Lucía / My older brother

Paco de Lucía

My older brother

by Javier Limón

Few others can claim to have had Paco de Lucía’s greatness as a human being

EL PAÍS 26 FEB 2014 - 17:41 CET

Paco de Lucía (left) and Javier Limón in Cancún.

During these terribly difficult moments, we can at least find some solace in the fact that while Paco de Lucía may have died very young, he has lived at least three lives. There is perhaps nobody who has played the guitar for more hours than him, and certainly few people can boast of having his enormous stature as a human being. Having been his friend is the thing of which I am proudest.

To me, Paco began as an idol, later became a master, and ended up acting as an older brother. He was the person you could always turn to if you wanted to know what step to take next to further your own career, because he had already been through every imaginable step. And so every flamenco artist woke up on this gray day feeling orphaned and bereft of the light that guided our way.

He was very likely the best guitarist of all time. All the musicians I have met throughout my life, from Keith Richards to Pat Metheny, admitted as much. But it wasn't just that. It is fair to recall his dimension as a great producer and composer of flamenco music. Nearly every element that defines the genre from a contemporary point of view, from the choirs to the cajón and certain styles, we owe to him.

That may be because he was always in touch with the new generations, and because he was the youngest of all the flamenco guitarists. Those who were there for his honorary doctorate ceremony at the Berklee College of Music will remember his infectious vitality, which captured the imagination of other musical legends such as the pianist Chick Corea.

I remember an anecdote involving both men that illustrates Paco’s personal magnetism. On one occasion, Corea told him: ‘Paco, let’s tour with my band and you play. Or let’s tour with your band and I’ll play. Or you play and I’ll dance.’ Chick, like every other musician in the world, was ready to accept anything, as long as it involved playing with the great Paco.

Today, musicians and fans alike are filled with sadness at learning that his life was still full of projects. He had decided to spend a few months in Havana because he wanted his children Antonia and Diego to get to know that scene. He went to see the legendary Cuban band Los Van Van three times, and was planning to work with them on a new project. And he died in Cancún because he was there to record a new flamenco album. Sadly, we will never get to hear it.

Javier Limón is a musician and producer

EL PAÍS

Obituaries / Paco de Lucía

Paco de Lucía

Paco de Lucía, 

guitar virtuoso, dies at 66

Flamenco star who pioneered flamenco-jazz fusion passes away in Mexico

Musician was famous for his collaborations with late singer Camarón de la Isla

CÁNDIDO ROMAGUERA Algeciras 26 FEB 2014 - 11:34 CET

Paco de Lucía during a concert at the Teatro Real in Madrid in 2010. / MIGUEL GENERGuardar

Paco de Lucía, the brilliant guitarist who pioneered the fusion of flamenco and jazz, has died suddenly of what preliminary reports suggest might be a heart attack. He was 66.

The native of Algeciras (Cádiz) was playing at the beach with his children in the Mexican resort of Cancún, where he owns a home, when he suddenly felt ill, according to his close friend Victoriano Mera. He died on his way to hospital.

The city of Algeciras has decreed three days of mourning and will assist the family in bringing the body home.

De Lucía was a globally admired artist who won the 2004 Prince of Asturias Award for his tireless exploration of the possibilities of flamenco. He will also be remembered for his association with the late flamenco singer Camarón de la Isla during the 1960s and 70s.

The musician had been living in Palma de Mallorca for several years, although he also spent periods in Cuba and the Yucatán peninsula in Mexico. Those who knew him back in Mallorca say he had been less keen about playing the guitar of late. De Lucía preferred to spend time with regular people rather than join intellectual and artistic circles. He also devoted a lot of his time to his two young children.

Born Francisco Sánchez Gómez in 1947, De Lucía, shunned his own legend. Fame came early, in 1975, with his by-now famous rumba Entre dos aguas. It was the last track on the album of the same name that made its way into hundreds of thousands of Spanish homes as society was beginning to shake off the dark dust of the Franco dictatorship.

His association with Camarón alone – the pair released over 10 albums of traditional flamenco together as well as a flamenco-pop-rock fusion record - would have been enough to make De Lucía famous. But there was a lot more to come. His flirtation with jazz earned him accusations of bastardizing flamenco, but he kept on pushing the limits of his music and by the mid-1970s he had formed a sextet that included his two brothers, Pepe de Lucía and Ramón de Algeciras, as well as Jorge Pardo, Carles Benavent and Rubem Dantas. This musical group introduced the Peruvian cajón, a percussion instrument comprising a tall wooden box, into flamenco. Since then, it has become a staple of the genre.

De Lucía also incorporated blues, Indian music, salsa, bossa nova and Arabic music into his own sound. His performances at the Teatro Real opera house in Madrid helped blur the border between high-brow and popular music.

“Everything that can be expressed with the six strings of the guitar is there in his hands,” said the jury that handed him the Prince of Asturias award.

EL PAÍS