I'm handing over my spoon here. I can't help it. Ines Bacán He twists my left hand and even bites me. When they ask me what woman drives me crazy in the cante Her name always comes to mind. She destroys me, unravels me, hurts me with her complaints. She digs into her pain and shoves it down my throat from the gut. Inés is unique, inimitable, primitive, pure, visceral.
Antonio Moya He cuddles her like no one else. His guitar is the perfect match for Inés's throat. Most guitarists only catch her, because she's difficult to accompany. Antonio knows where the Bacán blood runs. And he runs through her veins until he touches the very walls of her heart. He plays with her in time, waiting for her beat, taking her by the arm in his the slow swings that Inés draws with the swaying of her hands. Moya sneaks into the trance with which she stabs this woman from Lebrija, forming the ritual of the two jondoHe played very flamenco.
Inés sang like never before, or like always. Melting the brown syrup of her throat in the fandangos por soleá with which she opened the recital. Tremendous in the attacks of the Aznalcóllar.
Fifty people in silence in what is perhaps the best listening room in all of Seville –Allegro Ma Non Troppo– attended the ceremony of the pellizco infinite. At 31 Parras Street, the duende took shelter between the strings of Antonio Moya's sonanta with a wooden pegbox and Inés's gypsy nut. And they brought tears of emotion to the fans in the privacy of a small room.
"When they ask me what woman drives me crazy in the cante Her name always comes to mind. Inés Bacán destroys me, unravels me, hurts me with her complaints. She digs into her pain and shoves it down my throat from the gut. Inés is unique, inimitable, primitive, pure, visceral.
I forgive him for slacking off for a while in the mountains with a macho man. María Borrico, although there too he made scratches. But less than in the soleá, where he pampered the low notes and rolled around in the brave thirds, renaming the variants according to Lebrija, shining in the one of Joaniqui, powerful, heartfelt, and racial. Sweet, with the tenderness of a mother, she warmly sang the lullaby, with singing caresses. And even through tientos she gave jabs with jinque. She remembered with exquisiteness Atahualpa Yupanqui, which did not want to grease The axles of my cart. It made me remember the magical moment that I had last time Seville Biennale offered us in the Alcázar next to the piano of Pedro Ricardo Minho with this song. She sang seguiriya, bleeding out the painful sorrows from the abyss of a terrible and dark fatigue, cracking her plaintive voice, squeezing the inner workings that more than one woman suffered. She changed from graceful terna to bulerías and they accompanied her to the palmas without his nephew being in the script Sebastian Bacán –which organizes the cycles flamencos in this space– and Juanelo y Choir of the Kings, who had come to rub their hands cante Inés's gypsy strike through the chest until her skin was lifted. It ended with a saeta. Short, sharp, without a macho and double with the tune of Christ, straight to Undibé's lap.
I enjoyed it from a meter and a half away, without a PA system, as if it were singing to me alone. The Dutch guitarist wept sadly beside me. Yus Wieggers, a huge fan, as is also Antonio Díaz, with whom she came to the warmth of Bacán's echo. The Lebrija commando did not miss the event: the comrade Araceli Pardal de flamenco from Lebrija and her husband Pedro, Isabel Trujillo, Eugenia Martin…Good people. And the night ended there afterward as no one knows: with ramen, partying, with cante, dance and what came.
Credits
recital of cante by Inés Bacán
Allegro Ma Non Troppo, Seville
April 12th 2025
Cante: Inés Bacán
Guitar: Antonio Moya
