What to Listen For in Fountain of Tears (Ainadamar)

by Yayoi Uno Everett

Ainadamar, literally meaning “Fountain of Tears” in Arabic, is the name of an ancient well near Granada, Spain where the poet Federico García Lorca is believed to have been killed by fascist Falangist forces in 1936. By integrating flamenco with classical, mythical, and religious culture, Osvaldo Golijov’s opera Ainadamar explores Lorca’s quest for a utopian, mythic universality. Music and sound serve as an important marker of Andalusian history and culture. Electronic sounds of gunshots and trickling water signify Lorca’s execution at Ainadamar, where thousands of liberals were executed during the Spanish Civil War (1936–39). Golijov’s music is replete with references to cante jondo (deep song) and duende—the existential anguish that lies at the essence of Andalusian flamenco music.

The story of Ainadamar is told through Margarita Xirgu’s remembrance of Lorca. To this end, the temporal setting of the tripartite structure of this opera shifts back and forth between the diegetic present (April 1969) in Uruguay and the past (1936) in Spain at the time of Lorca’s death. In the First Image, called “Mariana,” Xirgu performs her role as Mariana Pineda and recalls the time when she first meets Lorca as a young man in Madrid. The entire Second Image, called “Federico,” is situated in the summer of 1936 during the beginnings of the Spanish War. The Third and final Image, called “Margarita,” takes us back to April 1969, where Lorca’s spirit emerges from the Fountain of Tears and appoints Nuria, Xirgu’s protégé, to be her successor. The final scene depicts the interior world of Xirgu as she prepares to die; in this moment, she is reunited with the ghost of Lorca and, along with Nuria, partakes in a quasi-Eucharistic ritual of consecration.

What To Listen For

The plaintive ballad: The haunting quality of the ballad centers on the anthropomorphic image of stones “crying” for Mariana’s death against the tolling bells. It is sung by the female chorus at the beginning of each Image in varied form and expression. In the First Image, the chorus sings the main melody of the ballad (“What a sad day it was in

Granada; the stones began to cry...”) as Xirgu interacts with the chorus and the cantaor (solo singer) hovers high in register over the chorus; the tempo is fast, the mood, somewhat urgent. When the ballad returns at the start of the Second Image, it turns into a crazed reprise as Xirgu loses her mind; a distorted recording of a Falangist political speech interrupts the flow to a frenzied, faster tempo. Lastly, at the beginning of the final Image, the ballad transforms itself into a dirge: as Xirgu collapses and gasps for air, Nuria sings with the chorus in call and response. The changing mood of the ballad brilliantly captures the progression of the story from Xirgu’s recollection to her death and reunion with Lorca.

Flamenco music and the anti-hero: The cantaor, the singer of flamenco cante jondo (deep song), is historically the conveyor of suffering for the marginalized race of Romani Gypsies. In the Andalusian flamenco tradition, duende refers not to an institutionalized deity but rather the spirit guide, which they believe possess the cantaor with a performance that resonates with the depth of feeling and emotion. Golijov assigns the role of the flamenco cantaor to both Lorca and the Falangist executioner, Ruiz Alonso— the existential anguish that lies at the heart of duende binds them together in spite of their conflicting political ideologies. Listen in particular for Alonso’s flamenco-style vocal improvisation; for example, the “Interludio de Balazos y Lamento por la Muerte de Federico” (Gunshot Interlude and Lament for the Death of Federico) that concludes the Second Image is especially powerful as Alonso sings his improvised lament over sampled gunshot sounds that are looped and turned into a flamenco ostinato pattern.

Rumba and other popular song forms: Golijov masterfully incorporates lighter song forms to offset the sombre characteristics of the framing ballad and flamenco music. A rumba—a light-hearted

Cuban dance form—accompanies

Xirgu’s nightly performance of Mariana Pineda. Lorca later sings a melancholy waltz entitled “Desde mi ventana” (From my window), which conveys his yearning and love for the revolutionary heroine, Mariana Pineda, whose statue he looked out onto as a child.

Prayer to the Virgin Mary and Gunshot Interlude: In addition to the electronic soundscape that conjures Spain at the time of the Civil War, Golijov intersperses a recording of the actual sounds of Mexican children praying to the Virgin Mary of Guadalupe in Chiapas at the moment when Lorca’s body is taken away following his execution (Second Image). Immediately following this is the Gunshot Interlude, in which Golijov took from a library of gunshot sounds from the 1930s to generate a tape loop as a symbolic homage to the death of thousands of individuals who were killed during the Franco regime.

Music of Ritual Consecration: Golijov’s musical setting of “Doy mi sangre” (Here is my blood) is rapturous. This music explicitly references the biblical Eucharistic rite in the consecratory text sung by Xirgu, Nuria, and Lorca. Here is my blood, shed for thee, drink it and tell my story. This is how I am going to die, submerged in the voices of those who have loved me and those not yet born.

Ainadamar begins and ends with the ballad as a reminder that history repeats itself—that there will be another retelling of the story of Mariana Pineda. The opera comes to a halt with the female chorus singing the refrain from the ballad over an electronic drone and trumpet motif. The music segues to the distanced sounds of water, which slowly fade out.

This article has been edited for length. For the full text, scan the QR code or visit detroitopera.org