With declarations of soulful authenticity in its every flamboyant gesture, flamenco is prone to cheesiness and nostalgia. But not when Israel Galván is in the house. He proceeds like a cubist, a brutalist, a Picasso portrait of a beautiful woman. He blunts typical flamenco moves—the arms flung over head in shouted triumph or wailing defeat, say—by reducing them to stark geometry. He undercuts drama with postmodern shifts in scene. He performs the intricate footwork without the frenzy, and sometimes even atop plastic tchotchkes that crunch underfoot. Galván may be irreverent towards history, but he’s serious about launching his experiments from a solid traditional base. The Sevillian’s latest solo, Seises (Sixes), takes its name from the baile de los seises, performed for centuries during three Catholic festivals a year in Seville’s main cathedral. The ceremony features boys in pantaloons and plumed Velazquez sombreros facing off in tight lines, with a heavenly choir backing them up. When Galván was a boy, it left an impression. —Apollinaire Scherr