A Supernatural Evening with Santana
After almost twenty years of near obscurity, the odds of ageing guitarist Carlos Santana rocketing straight back to global superstardom with an album that won him 9 Grammys, sold in excess of 25 million copies, and made him an icon for the MTV generation were, it’s fair to say, slimmer than Elvis rising from his grave to go on tour with John Lennon.
But Supernatural proved to be quite the winning ticket, and now a decade later the Woodstock veteran is still going strong. Currently touring in support of recent album release Guitar Heaven, Santana finished the European leg of the tour with a special stop at the MFCC arena in Ta’ Qali.
A burst of congas, timbales, and probably every other tribal sounding piece of percussion as yet discovered by Western man, and Carlos Santana shuffled on stage to the groove infused Spark of the Divine looking like, but not necessarily, a packet of Marlboro Golds. Dressed in immaculate white from head to toe, and wrapped in a soft-gold waistcoat, the 64-year-old still appears rejuvenated by his late-life reclaim to fame.
With his signature PRS guitar slung waist high, the Mexican’s trademark virtuoso guitar licks were somewhat drowned out by the indistinguishable cacophony of instruments rendered by the arena’s troublesome acoustics. The opening minutes sounded so “out there” due to the cracking percussions and echo drenched brass frenetically ricocheting all around the semi-cylindrical arena, it made Miles Davis’ hugely experimental Bitches Brew album sound like trad jazz in comparison. There were certainly a few quizzical looking faces among the audience.
Once the sound crew finally ironed out all technical gremlins the show really began to sparkle and take a life of its own: and they couldn’t have timed it better with Santana’s triple whammy of fan favourites Black Magic Woman, Oye Como Va and Maria Maria raising the room temperature from simmering to sizzling.
The blend of sultry Latino rock, muggy enclosed air and a few beers, proved to be a little too much for a worrying number of middle aged men, who were, one can only suppose, dancing with hopes of regaining that Woodstock experience that they missed out on all those years ago. It fell to the attendant ladies to adequately pick up the slack.
Santana’s musical output since the blockbuster Supernatural has been arguably dubious. With a never-ending host of big name collaborations and play-it-safe material, these releases inadvertently made Carlos Santana appear to be a mere cameo star on his own albums; delivering the occasional bankable salacious lick just to spice things up. Thankfully, it is Carlos who takes centre-stage in the live shows. Throughout the night, he worked his voodoo on the trance induced crowd with his signature wailing guitar solos, sounding truly inspired and effervescent.
Slicker than a snake in a barrel of butter, the ten-strong Santana band were also given ample time to showcase their individual skills in a selfless mark of entrustment and admiration from their moustachioed ringleader; entertaining, if slightly tiresome after the zillionth time.
Clearly Santana’s last three albums have been little more than marketable cash cows to sustain interest in the band’s upcoming live tours. With only six numbers from the ensemble’s resurgence period recordings, the setlist was predominantly dedicated to the Santana of yore. The latter half of the show in particular was one faultless segue of extended improvised jams - featuring staples such as Jingo, Europa and Soul Sacrifice - interspersed with Carlos’ very own drawn-out monologues that featured the words love, peace, and happiness mentioned several times and then some.
After almost three full hours of Latin-inflected musicianship, the audience now in an outright sweaty Salsa stupor, Santana and band wrapped up the show to festive cheers that engulfed the reverberating MFCC. Supernatural he may not be, but with performances of this class Carlos Santana comes pretty damn close.
