In Mexico, the corridos, heralds of the narcos, are disillusioned
And finally, he sang one. After an hour of a dozen pieces of adventure, love, and heartbreak, and especially after childishly asking permission from the mayor of Actopan, about a hundred kilometers north of Mexico City, who was present in the wings, the brass band sang Dámaso. And singer Gerardo Ortiz, wearing his vaquero sombrero—the Mexican cowboy—launched himself into the now-forbidden adventure of a narcocorrido in front of intoxicated spectators who had come just for that. “Yes sir, I am Dámaso, son of the “licenciado ,” I have always had the support of Culiacán and its inhabitants!” A tribute to Dámaso López, alias “El mini-lic,” former baron of the Sinaloa cartel. The audience is in a trance: most of them wearing their cowherd hats, white or checked shirts, boots on their feet, they don't forget a single word despite the liters of beer swallowed during this feria of Barbacoa – a typical mutton meat from central Mexico – and of which this concert is the highlight.
Libération
