Summarize this content to 2000 words in 6 paragraphs in Arabic Unlock the Editor’s Digest for freeRoula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.When Eva Yerbabuena first played Sadler’s Wells back in 2002, she came flanked by a unison-drilled backing band who were arranged around the flamenco star like so much parsley, or wheeled on to allow the boss to change a frock or take a breath. Shows such as Eva and 5 Women 5 felt slickly over-choreographed, but were always redeemed by Yerbabuena’s tremendous artistry.Happily, the vogue for synchronised señoritas — a mainstay of the old Joaquin Cortés spectaculars — is long gone. Yerbabuena’s 19th show, Yerbagüena, is a much simpler, more concentrated affair, featuring four (male) singers, a percussionist and the guitarist Paco Jarana, the star’s husband and musical director. There is also a brief but very welcome appearance by the excellent dancer Christian Lozano, fetchingly kitted out in a velvet dress and skinny jeans.The roomy Sadler’s Wells space is stripped back, with the six musicians clad in dark suits and shirts. Black-on-black gloom is always a risk, but the stage pictures are rescued by clever side and back lighting by Fernando Martín, whose “darkness visible” is a physical expression of the show’s subtitle: Oscuro Brillante. The star herself wears a series of inky gowns for her four numbers. The opening has Yerbabuena dressed à la Bernarda Alba in a sooty ensemble of taffeta and jet, but this is soon swapped for edgier creations. The frilly bata de cola which traditionally trails after the bailaora to be kicked or caressed like an errant lover is a flamenco archetype, yet takes on a new dimension when realised in wet-look black lamé that puddles around the dancer’s feet like a pool of tar.The production is intended as an exploration of contrasts — light/dark; movement/stasis — but seems strangely lacking in structure, making for a meandering, unfocused 90 minutes. Pacing is perverse, with none of the usual build-up. Instead we begin almost in medias res with the 53-year-old diva firing off a sustained solo that demonstrates her spiralling quebradas, the boneless curl of her lovely hands and fingers, and her rapid-fire taconeo footwork.The sound mix is not ideal. The contrapuntal purr of Yerbabuena’s heels remains a thing of wonder but is accompanied at all times by the handclaps of the four vocalists, the slap of the cahon and the percussive strumming of Jarana’s guitar, which all crowd out the rippling rattle of her feet. This busy soundscape and heavy amplification also creates an unhelpful disconnect between sound and vision.The show culminates in a sensational baile de mantón, in which a massive fringed shawl becomes her partner in the dance. At first, she whirls it around her head like a matador throwing reboleras with his cape, then follows this show of strength with a succession of painterly tableaux in which the fabric becomes an awning, a vestment, a shroud. Finally, Yerbabuena encases herself in the red and gold silk and swoops into one of her trademark anti-gravity backbends, slowly revolving in the half-light as the curtain falls.★★★☆☆sadlerswells.com
