The Inexplicable and Established Bond Between Flamenco and Japan
The movie La Leyenda del Tiempo—not the album—begins with a Japanese girl mesmerized by flamenco videos in her home. Her name is Makiko, and soon after, she boards a flight to Spain, specifically to San Fernando (Cádiz), to learn flamenco singing from Camarón de la Isla’s brother. As improbable as it sounds, Isaki Lacuesta’s film reflects the journey hundreds of Japanese people have taken to Spain over the last 50 years. Some, without even speaking Spanish, flew 10,000 kilometers from their homes to experience and learn firsthand something as intricate and culturally distant as flamenco.
Since the 1960s, they have gone from being curious onlookers to aficionados, and from aficionados to professionals—even becoming competition for Spaniards. As journalist David López Canales writes in his book on the subject, Un tablao en otro mundo: “For decades, guitarists and dancers (mostly female dancers) have studied and trained to bring flamenco in Japan to a level that many Spanish artists openly admit is now comparable to that in Spain.” According to data in this study, as of 2020, Japan was home to 500 flamenco academies, and 80,000 Japanese people, the majority women, were learning flamenco.
A Tablao in Tokyo
The story begins nearly a century ago: in 1929, La Argentina arrived in Tokyo during her international tour of El amor brujo. Three years later, the first Spanish guitar played in Japan was in the hands of Carlos Montoya, accompanying Teresina Boronat in 1932. Twenty-three years later, after World War II had put a pause on flamenco in Japan, Rafael Romero “el Gallina,” from Andújar (Jaén), became the first flamenco singer to deliver a quejío on Japanese soil during a mini-tour organized by the Spanish government as a diplomatic gesture. According to his son, interviewed in Carta de España magazine, some Japanese people had seen him perform at the Zambra tablao (one of the first to open in Madrid) and invited him to Japan.
This was the first seed, but the true cultural shock for the Japanese audience came with Antonio Gades and Pilar López’s tour in 1960 and the influence of Carmen Amaya through the film Tarantos (1963). In 1967, during Japan’s post-war economic development and growing openness to foreign influences, El Flamenco, Tokyo’s most iconic tablao, opened its doors and remained operational until 2016. Performers like El Portugués, the guitarist-dancer couples Pepe Habichuela and Amparo Bengala, and El Chato and La Tati performed there. These artists discovered Tokyo’s growing flamenco community, which was centralized at Casa Nana—a tiny bar that still functions today as a meeting point for flamenco enthusiasts.
Soon after, the dancer Manolete arrived at Tablao Madrid in Osaka. The dancer Tomás de Madrid followed, becoming one of the most active performers at El Flamenco. He found in Japan the seriousness and creative freedom he felt was lacking in Spain, creating shows that toured the country in the 1980s and 1990s, accompanied by Japanese dancers. Among those who also left their mark in Japan was Paco de Lucía, one of the greatest figures in flamenco’s international expansion.
In 1992, the appeal of Spain to foreigners increased thanks to the Expo in Seville and the Barcelona Olympics. The flamenco exchange between Japan and Spain became unstoppable, transitioning from a niche hobby to a small industry. Figures like Teruo Kabaya contributed to this transformation by founding the company Iberia, which organizes events, opens schools, and sells flamenco shoes and castanets. Some Spaniards stayed in Japan for extended periods, opening academies or settling there permanently, often marrying Japanese women. Examples include the singer Enrique Heredia and guitarists Emilio Maya and Carlos Pardo.
Japanese People in Spain
The bond between Japan and flamenco remains a mystery. According to López Canales, the Japanese are drawn to the depth and tragedy inherent in flamenco, which resonates with their traditional arts like kabuki and Noh theater. Paco Espínola, a writer and producer, explored this lyrical relationship in his book Japón Jondo, highlighting similarities between flamenco lyrics and ancient Japanese poetry. Yet the question remains: “It’s almost impossible to understand how they grasp our art from so far away,” said singer and dancer Enrique Pantoja.
The cultural exchange, however, went both ways. Flamenco artists traveled to Japan because they earned more there, while Japanese people came to Spain—mainly Madrid and Seville—to learn flamenco where it was born. In the 1960s, Japanese dancers like Yasuko Nagamine, who performed in the fin de fiesta at Corral de la Morería, and Yoko Komatsubara, considered the greatest Japanese flamenco dancer of all time, arrived in Spain. In Seville, some of their early work took place at Tablao Los Gallos, where dancer Shoji Kojima also performed.
Shoji settled in Madrid and taught at Amor de Dios with Tomás de Madrid. José María Íñigo featured him on television, and offers began to pour in. Back in Japan during the 1980s, Shoji toured the country and opened his own school. He remains active today at 85 years old, performing as a flamenco dancer in Japan. For the past 30 years, he has regularly invited Barcelona guitarist Chicuelo to perform with him. In December, Chicuelo traveled to Japan with his son Diego, also a guitarist and a performer at Tablao de Carmen.
“It was very special for me because it was the first time I worked with him, and my father greatly admires and respects him,” says Diego. “The Japanese have enormous respect for flamenco, a lot of respect,” he observes after his first experience in Japan. “No, the level isn’t the same as in Spain because no country has the same level we do, of course.” Spaniards, he adds, are more spontaneous and intuitive, whereas Japanese performers are more technical and precise. “Here, sometimes we don’t even know how we learned because we picked it up at parties, at home. There, they have to spend countless hours in classes—it’s not natural, it’s learned, but that doesn’t make it any less impressive,” he explains.
“When I Dance, I Don’t Know Where I’m From”
One of the regular visitors to Japan is guitarist Juan Manuel Cañizares. He first arrived in Japan with Paco de Lucía’s tours at the end of the last century and deepened his connection with the country by marrying Mariko Ogura, a Japanese Hispanist and flamenco expert currently researching flamenco’s history in Japan.
During his latest trip, Cañizares gave four concerts in Tokyo and Osaka, accompanied by local artists. The events were a success, according to El País correspondent in Tokyo, Gonzalo Robledo. Robledo also notes progress in one of the greatest challenges for Japanese flamenco artists: singing. At the annual meeting of the Japanese Flamenco Association in Tokyo, dozens of Japanese singers showcased their talent. “The growing number of Japanese performers tackling the melismas, quejíos, and rhythms of cante jondo challenges the widely held belief that flamenco in Japan is primarily about dance, prioritizing technique over emotion,” the journalist writes.
Japanese flamenco continues to thrive. Last summer, at the Festival de Cante de Las Minas in La Unión (Murcia), Japanese flamenco reached one of Spain’s pinnacles: Japanese dancer La Yunko won the prestigious Desplante award. It was the first time a non-Spaniard won, sparking controversy—some attendees even booed the jury. La Yunko, who has lived and worked in Seville since 2002, told El País the next day: “When I dance, I don’t know where I’m from—whether I’m from Japan or anywhere else. I just dance, and that’s it.”
