Lorenzo Vicente

The younger son is the only one of the three who performs — badly, he insists, and on purpose: a builder who plays knows what a dropped golpe feels like through the top, where a thumb lands, what a guitar must forgive. His flamencas are built for working players.

He bends every side in the house over the hot iron, by hand and by feel, the way his grandfather did — no molds, no forms, the wood answering the heat. The minute it relaxes, he says, the shape is won.