She Sang it, He played it, she danced it..

We went to a Flamenco show where the passion of the artists spread to the audience and seeped through through their pores. The lights were dim, the audience was still, and the sound was just right.

The guitarist, he either looked high on drugs or high on the music. Whatever it was, he was still into it. Though he was performing in a little black box space, in front of no more than 60 people, he managed to bubble himself out of that the little space and export himself into a world where only he and his guitar existed. This sense of passion and isolation was all the singer needed to sing the romantic yet heartbroken notes that made the audience sense the same pain and passion with her. Her voice was raspy, strong and intimidating, but it was also addicting- you didn't want her to stop singing, not even to just take a drink of water.

The dancer was strong. In her dance, in her passion, in her art. She stomped hard on the floor, her steps sharp and extravagant.

Its no wonder that the people in the crowd sang a long, clapped with the singer and cheered for the dancer. And like the guitarist who managed to isolate himself from such an intimate setting, the people in the audience too were all transported to their own worlds with the sounds of Flamenco, at least for a little.

Canzion of the day: Pretty Lights : The time has come