It was Manuel Liñán’s last show¡Viva!that made everyone sit up and take notice. In it, his all-male company were dressed in the full frills of traditional women’s flamenco dresses, pulling at the seams of the dance form’s carefully constructed gender roles. New work Muerta de Amor may have less overt a concept, but it’s still rich in originality, with a few genius moments (and he hasn’t completely jettisoned dresses). This time it’s out with the polka dots and in with sleek black fashiony takes on flamenco costume – sheer top, kilt-style skirt, long leather jacket. In power poses behind a row of mic stands the men look like a still-handsome boyband on their multimillion-dollar reunion tour.
The show’s title might talk of the death of love, but desire – physical and emotional – are very much pulsatingly alive here, alongside vulnerability, angst, passion and humour. With Liñán, his six dancers and the band, is the mighty singer Mara Rey, who can blow your socks off with husky volume and dramatic chutzpah. But in this show, everyone sings, like a series of monologues (I say it every year, but with lyrics so central, some surtitles for non-Spanish speakers would be helpful).
The singing’s good, but the dancing is excellent. From the fantastic chemistry between Liñán and Miguel Heredia, mirroring each other’s moves with relish, to the balletic flourish of José Ángel Capel. Liñán sits back on a chair to be regaled by Juan Tomás de la Molia’s torrent of footwork, full of peacocking prowess, jabbing at syncopations with sharp heels, racing neck-and-neck with the music, the rhythm driving through him just like the copious testosterone. The mood is flirtatious, and exhilarating. Best of all is a duet with Alberto Sellés, less blistering, more tender, more ambiguous. Liñán is most effective when forging specific gestures, knowing when not to move, to hold back rather than splurge everything out.
I’ve never known a flamenco dancer who believed in the maxim “leave them wanting more”, and by the long final section, there’s more in this show than necessary. It risks undermining itself in an eruption of pleasure, ego and neediness, but that’s basically the show’s whole theme. A text flashes up on the backdrop, rough translation: “Anyone, as long as they love me.”
Part of theFlamenco festival, which continuesat Sadler’s Wells, London, until 8 June