In the swirling mix of those potent spaghetti-western brews, it is easy to forget:
Forgetting, in this case, is only a venial sin: deep down no one wants to watch a movie about that shit (and the wise belletrist, ever mindful of cultivating an audience, will always remember that).
Also easy to forget is the fact that this was in the first place another brilliant WZ tune, precisely because that beautiful mestiza* spinster covered it in a way that surpassed** the original.
* “a person of mixed European and Indigenous non-European ancestry in the former Spanish Empire”
Works for me–on me–I (technically but legitimately) qualify and perhaps it would be in my Interests to Identify that way, eh? Eh?
In the end I doubt that. Credit to any gender or not … Woah-oah is Me.
** Surpassed it, that is, in most every way except that she dropped the line (really the whole killer verse) that goes:
“I don’t wanna talk about it”.