This was an evening of Iberian highways re-travelled, but with a difference. At the beginning of 2016, the centenary of Spanish master Enrique Granados's untimely death, two young pianists at the National Gallery shared the two piano suites that make up the original Goyescas; finally last night at the Barbican we got the opera partly modelled on their deepest movements.

Watching tango dancers Gisela Galeassi and Nikito Cornejo own the apron of the stage during the second half of m¡longa, the brain finds it difficult to process what the eyes are seeing. The pair seem to be one writhing, dark-toned dervish of jutting, sensual, passionate movement. Back and forth they go, he spinning her round his body like a silk scarf, fluid as mercury; her feet attacking the stage, staccato, kicking out, kicking down, so fast it really is the proverbial blur. Nigh on two hours of tango with a 20-minute interval might sound like too much, but with only the smallest of lulls in interest, this show grips, from start to finish.

Belgian choreographer Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui’s international breakthrough was his award-winning 2008 collaboration, Sutra, with the artist Anthony Gormley and the Shaolin monks. He has since become a leading choreographer, always willing to explore global influences and sources. He’s revelled in the Hispanic before on the flamenco-themed Dunas, with Spanish dancer María Pagés but m¡longa is as very different affair, unwrapping the Argentinian tango and opening it out to a kind of visual concept album, based around six couples, coming together and apart, in different moods, in what we may imagine to be a Buenos Aires cityscape of streets, cafés and nightclubs.

The bandoneon-led sound of tango is an easy delight

As well as dancers, m¡longa utilises film and visuals to potent effect. There is a wonderful scene where a dancer stands with his back to us manipulating a giant screen of photos via gesture, like Tom Cruise in the film Minority Report. And another where dancers rush about trying to keep up with landscapes speeding past behind them, like Hollywood actors at the dawn of cinema comedy. On one occasion these visuals precede the show’s most enjoyable moment of outright clowning, when brightly auburn-haired dancer Vivana D’Attoma plays a woozy drunk, trying to pull the suavely dismissive, evening wear-clad Gabriel Bordon. Her floppy moves, precisely estimated, are a well-portrayed twist on the rest.

Some set pieces are isolated moments, such as the somehow shocking dance wherein Esther Garabali and Martin Epherra act out, via tango of course, an explosive relationship, bordering on the violent, or a sequence where three male dancers perform a particularly frantic, energetic routine. Other themes, however, run throughout, interspersed with the rest of the action. Particularly notable is the relationship between the couple played by Silvina Cortés and Damien Fournier who, often surrounded by the ensemble as an intrusive hubbub of night world activity, find each other, have a one-night stand, go their separate ways, and, perhaps, find one another again.

There's a minimum of props – a flag, a few chairs – and music plays a key role. The bandoneon-led sound of tango is an easy delight anyway, and composer Szymon Brzóska’s interpretation of it via a five-piece musical group, stage right, is well-estimated, bursting with life where required but also dropping to loose downtempo arrangements suitable for the more interpretive modern dances. M¡longa is an eyeful, and holds the attention with vim, vitality and sheer hard-practiced skill.

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Overleaf: Watch trailer for Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui m¡longa

Before this Sadler's Wells Flamenco Festival-opening performance of Israel Galván's show FLA.CO.MEN, my guest wanted to know what the show would be like.

Claims to embody the spirit of flamenco, or to be born with flamenco in one's blood, abound in the programme of the annual Sadler's Wells flamenco festival. Sara Baras, whose show Voces opened the two week festival on Tuesday, doesn't make such a claim in writing: she doesn't need to. Her every move on stage radiates the self-possession of a flamenco aristocrat, a confidence so vital it simply bulldozes proscenium and fourth wall to set up a visceral – and vocal – relationship between audience and performer.

Guadalupe Plata are a Spanish three-piece whose tunes will be a sonic treat for those who like their blues raw but with an extra dash of flavour. On their self-titled second album, spikey blues, bebop and rockabilly sounds rub up against the Moorish and Romany roots of Andalusian traditional music to produce a very special gumbo that will appeal to lovers of RL Burnside, Tav Falco, Link Wray and gutsy Latino bands like The Plugz and Tito and Tarantula.

It is an axiom of Israel Galván criticism to say the Spaniard is wired differently. He's the "Bowie of flamenco" - leggy and intense, unpredictably sparky, intemittently brilliant, and sometimes incomprehensible. His new show, Lo Real/Le Réel/The Real which had its UK premiere at the Edinburgh International Festival last night is about gypsies under Nazism and in the Holocaust, but it approaches its subject in an impressionistic, roundabout way that during the performance feels a lot more like a journey into Israel Galván's oddball consciousness than a history lesson.

No, don't check your calendar – it's definitely not March. I associate flamenco at Sadler's Wells so strongly with their annual two-week festival in early spring that watching Paco Peña Company at the Wells last night felt a bit like a cheeky out-of-season treat, akin to buying foreign strawberries before the native ones have come in. Fortunately, this was no watery, bland, forced berry, though: Peña and friends are some of the best in the business, purveying reliably high-quality goods in smart, well-produced packaging.

"Sprung from pure flamenco, Manuel Liñán exudes purity from himself and his dance - he is life, freshness and passion."  Leaving aside the need for a better copywriter, or at least translator, what does this, the opening line of the flamenco performer's biography in the programme for the Sadler's Wells Flamenco Festival, tell us about him?  That he's not afraid of making big claims, certainly. That he may have a teeny bit of a god complex ("sprung from"?

The Sadler's Wells Flamenco Festival is cunningly scheduled for that particularly dreary fortnight in late February when winter has been going on forever, spring is still just out of reach, and half term brings the dismal realisation that we're only just halfway through the school year and summer holidays are still at least five months away. When you're longing to be somewhere else, there's nothing like flamenco, a raw, gritty music-and-dance form born among the dispossessed of southern Spain.

When you're talking about dancers, the old adage about genius being 99% perspiration has a point. You have to work damned hard just to be average in professional dance; to be good, like Akram Khan and Israel Galván are good, takes sweat (and tears and blood, like as not). Still, all the perspiration in the world won't avail if you don't have that 1% of inspiration, a little blue flame of a pilot light in your soul, ready to spark the gas jets of hard work into fiery life, rather than just a lot of hot air.