granada

The lights are low in the small, whitewashed performance hall. Four men play quick, dramatic music on their guitars as five or six dancers take turns on the stage. The women wear red polka-dotted dresses flared at the calf, and the men wear black pants and frilled shirts. They lift their arms above their heads, clapping and stomping their feet to the beat. The younger dancers are quicker, more powerful, but the older performers carry the undeniable weight of experience. At one point, a middle-aged man comes to center stage, singing a heartbreaking song. At the climax of the song, he rips open his shirt to show his anguish.