There’s good reason to fear the worst from the archly mashed-up title of Israel Galván’s latest work. In his enthusiasm for reinventing the possibilities of flamenco, the exceptionally talented Galván is all too prone to courting the gratingly whimsical and wilfully obscure. True to form, FLA.CO.MEN sees the dancer trussed up in a corset, wearing a cook’s apron and briefly a frock, as well as spending a good few minutes bashing his head against a drum, and being pelted with paper balls by his band.
It’s an evening that screams avant garde, especially when the band are encouraged to add their own musical acts of subversion: freezing in a long moment of silence – a John Cage homage that’s not entirely respected by their extrovert audience – playing on every possible surface of their instruments and drifting into vaguely off-key jazz.
Yet while there are long sections of FLA.CO.MEN that feel like a sketchy replay of the 1960s, there are also sections that make you want to cheer the unconstrained invention of Galván’s ideas and mesmerising prowess of his technique. He can turn his tense, wiry body into an entire rhythmic playground – his feet stamping, his hands drumming on his stomach, his head tilting on a contrapuntal beat – or create a bright, metallic shower of sound by dancing on a heap of coins. He can drill his feet into zapateo of rare percussive intricacy while throwing off extraordinary shapes with his angled, outflung arms. A natural chameleon on stage, he is able to shift exquisite gear from toreador machismo to an elegant ironic jokiness or moments of delicate, inward grace.
The musicians, too, deliver their own virtuoso surprises, punctuating the more dutiful of their experiments with hauntingly intimate vocal solos or a larky fiesta march. Yet for all its very singular pleasures, FLA.CO.MEN is far from being a coherent, convincing work. However strongly I would recommend anyone to see Galván dance, his talent and his audience deserve more.
• Flamenco festival London is at Sadler’s Wells until 26 February. Box office: 020-7863 8000.
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