‘Canta del Mío Tajo’ is the name of the song that the Toledans ‘Ethnos Atramo’ have recorded for the album ‘Música por el Tajo’, published on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the prohibition of bathing in the river and in which they have participated 37 artists. With lyrics by Pepa G. Lillo from Toledo (sings, plays the rebec and traditional percussion) and music by Gabriel Navalón (composer, arranger, keyboard player and musical director), the two members of this folk duo from Toledo created in 2009 have performed your contribution to the project.
With ‘Cantar de Mío Tajo’, ‘Ethnos Atramo’ emulates the old popular ballads of the Cancionero Viejo inspired by historical events and spread by troubadours and minstrels. The combination of electronics with the most traditional sounds gives the piece its own original character, the hallmark of ‘Ethnos Atramo’.
The drama of this protest song set in the past is the feeling of the overwhelmed people and the river in agony in the face of the apathy of the provosts who still beat up our legacy today, explains the group.
‘Cantar de Mío Tajo’ is part of the ecological-cultural awareness project ‘Música por el Tajo’ promoted by the Royal Foundation of Toledo and is included in the new album by Ethnos Atramo that Severalia Música will soon publish. For the production of this video clip, ‘Ethnos Atramo’ has had the photographic and videographic funds of Toledo Olvidado and the Royal Academy of Fine Arts and Historical Sciences of Toledo.
This is the letter:
“Sing your staff, the coins to the mattress,
the river runs in his favor, the miller grinds.
But, without flow, you will not be able to bake bread,
mourn your calamity. The miller dies.
Oh, his lament reaches the entrance hall of the Comendador,
but no one wants to listen.
He sings his staff, the coins to the mattress,
the river runs in its favor, the laundress washes.
But, without flow, you will not be able to clarify the salt,
mourns his calamity, the laundress at home.
Oh, his lament reaches the entrance hall of the Comendador,
but no one wants to listen.
He sings his staff, the coins to the mattress,
the river runs in its favor, the azacán waters.
But, without flow, he will not be able to drink without more,
mourn your calamity. The zacan complains.
Oh, his lament reaches the entrance hall of the Comendador,
but no one wants to listen.
He brandishes his staff, the coin was useless,
the river cries out in its fear at the passage of the Illustrious.
But, without flow, who will prepare his bread?
They haven’t washed his coat or watered the horse.
Oh, her lament goes out to the entrance hall of the Comendador,
but no one wants to listen.
