'Of well and moon' and the pellizco of two gypsies

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A grand piano left the Alcázar silent. Pedro Ricardo Minho He played. He sat down in front of the ivories and the silence weighed a hundredweight. Seville was left breathless at the foot of the Giralda. A knife cut the air with the beats of zambra. Tientos and tangos. Paquito Vega to percussion. Manuel Cantarote y Juan Diego Valencia at palmas. A piano that sings. It sounded like El Caracol and Pastora. My no and MontesTo Seville, to Lebrija, to Triana.

I scratch my face desperately searching for words. They don't shelter the feeling. Nothing is of any use to me. Inés gave me a pellizco in the chest that still has me shrinking. You shake the flesh. This gypsy from Lebrija knows where it hurts. Fragile and sincere, she digs into the centers, takes out the cante from the guts… And I ended up shedding my tears.

«Inés Bacán gave me a pellizco in the chest that still has me shrinking. You shake the flesh. This gypsy from Lebrija knows where it hurts. Fragile and sincere, she digs into the centers, takes out the cante from the guts… And I ended up releasing my tears»

Ines Bacán He found his brother in trance. He looked up at the sky. The ceremony of shivers began, like a ritual. He rolled up his throat and sang that lullaby. Tired marsh It is a monument. She had kept it well guarded. Twenty-seven years silent. And the emotion in torrents slipped down her throat. Inés cried the cante, she rocked him with pleasure in her arms, tickling the wind. She was tempered by romance, dragging out grassy sounds in twos to the beat. Triana and Lebrija. Lebrija and Triana.

The echoes of Manuel Torre -always in the corners– and the cabal of The Fillo They hurt for seguiriya. Miño waited for her at the closing, he carried her on his shoulders. He threw the piano to the thirds and was a sooty gañafon cante of this gypsy. She woke up from her moaning and said, “Have I been okay?” She is a big girl, full of tenderness. The truth slips out of her mouth, she opens her mouth and undresses.

It's too boring to keep following the trail, there's too much road without anyone to entertain me. I don't need silence, I have nothing to think about. I did, but it was a long time ago, now I don't think about it anymore. Atahualpa Yupanqui It was a sweet treat in the caresses of Lebrija. The axles of my cart, fine as silk, dazzled the audience. Inés embroidered lace threads and provoked tears and sighs in a 'Unique Night' of emotions difficult to forget. She made the complicated simple. She hurt. She put her finger on the sore spot. She earned her place by stringing together magical moments for the memory of the Biennial.

Splashes of white foam from the waves of the salty sea fell on our faces. Miño played the piano for joy. A symphony at palmas, a strum on Paquito's cajon, a brush on the keys and the rest I guessed dreaming of a dancer gathering her dress. Por bulerías it was crazy. Pedro Ricardo is a master. He brought out colors on the piano and his hands overflowed with guitars and falsetas, with canteand of life.

«Splashes of white foam from the waves of the salty sea fell on our faces. Pedro Ricardo Miño on the piano for alegrías. (…) For bulerías it was crazy. Pedro Ricardo is a master. He brought out colors on the piano and his hands overflowed with guitars and falsetas, with cante"and life"

Sherry on the wood. The ship arrived again cante: The Macanita. She twirled her dark curls looking for the flower that he loved. The second body was brave. Malagueña and Abandolaos showed that Tomasa came in fine with her voice. She threw courage into the matter, pouring molten metals with the unmistakable sound of Fernanda by soleá. In La Andonda y La Serneta He creaked his bones with trapío. The tientos were less brilliant. The piano tempos were freer, slowed down, but he grabbed the tangos with grace and made three attacks. Then with bulerías. And there he destroyed us. Between Utrera and Jerez the thirds were shared. La Macana is not cold fire nor cold fire. Living candle, whirlpool of depth, sultan of gypsy life… I don't know what it is about him cante with bulerías from my Jerez.

Tomasa shone with substance. Devoted to Seville, exuberant, radiant… She gave a handful of kicks and kicked a few times to round off the match. La Macanita was a spectacle.

With the piano jondo With a loud and vibrant tail, they raffled off the toná. Inés and Tomasa, La Macanita, with white and black from Triana, put the Alcázar on their hat. And as if there were no tomorrow, the Sevilla 'De pozo y luna' gave a ceaseless ovation to the pellizcoof these gypsies.

Credits

Of well and moon
XXIII Biennial of Flamenco of Sevilla
Alcazar of Seville
18th September 2024
Cante: Ines Bacán and La Macanita
Piano: Pedro Ricardo Minho
Percussion: Paquito Vega
Palmas: Manuel Cantarote, Juan Diego Valencia and Vicente Peña