When it is well done, flamenco has the power to move audiences deeply. The first "ah-ee" that we hear from the flamenco singer seems to come physically from somewhere deep down in his chest and geographically from somewhere far to the east. Flamenco feels like it emanates from the pain and sadness of innumerable generations. This pain, however genuine in its origins, must then be well represented through the artistry of the performers, which does not always happen; in that unhappy case, one sees all too clearly only the conventions and mannerisms, and the authenticity of the underlying inspiration ceases to matter.

It is high praise to say that the excellent Noche Flamenca 1999 troupe supplied a large number of moments when we in the audience were simply swept away. For me the thing that made it possible was not so much the brilliance of the individual performers—although there was no lack of that—but the quick and subtle interplay among the musicians, singers and dancers that made the evening feel as if we were eavesdropping on a gypsy jam session in Seville. This was done not through cheesy sets or smoky "atmosphere" (the only props were the wooden chairs on which the performers sat) but through the quality of the attention with which the artists listened to and worked off one another. Throughout the evening I felt that each of the performers was really there rather than simply waiting until his or her turn came to do a solo.

The effect of this was immediate. It made the program's first number serve as more than merely the traditional introduction of each of the performers; it gave us an intimation, which was to be heightened and reinforced throughout the evening, of the family-like group from which the singing, dancing and playing emerged. Thus, for example, not only did the dancers get up and give us a sample of what they could do, but unexpectedly two of the singers did as well. As dancers, the singers were surprisingly good, but the point was that what was to come was a communal effort from everyone.

Noche Flamenca, which has performed for a couple of years in New York, is a small company, made up of three dancers (two women and one man), three singers and three musicians. It is worth noting that the singers (especially Rafael Jimenez Falo and Antonio Vizarraga) can still sing, which means that unlike the singers in many other flamenco troupes their voices are not hopelessly raspy from decades of shouting. Likewise, the musicians were exceptional, with the guitarist Jesus Torres and the bassist Luis Escribano especially fine. (Usually the music in a flamenco presentation is entirely traditional; Noche Flamenca included "Cante Romance," composed and sung by Falo and inspired by old Sephardic and gypsy music.)

As the male dancer, Bruno Argenta looked the slim-hipped part and certainly had the appropriate haughtiness of manner, but even in the traditional virtuoso display of the farruca I found him somewhat muffled and ultimately not as satisfying as the women. Both female dancers, Isabel Bayon and Soledad Barrio, were outstanding, but for me Barrio's soleá was the high point of the evening. Not only her technical accomplishment—the arch of her back, fabulous footwork and wonderful hands—but her overall passionate demeanor made me and the rest of the sold-out house believe for the moment in the depth of the emotion that her dance embodied.

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