Carlos Santana's expressiveness takes over Sant Jordi

It wasn't necessary; the audience attending the concert already knew that Woodstock existed and that Santana played there, but from the beginning, Carlos Santana wanted to remember it with images from the time when he was a long-haired man. Yes, the Mexican-American guitarist is pure history , a piece of it who still plays his guitar with an agility that hasn't succumbed to the years, those same years that have left him as a reference for other eras and a beacon of instrumentalists. He was returning to Spain after many years of absence, but it seemed as if time had not passed, stopping at a figure with a hat who, in the middle of a stage without any fanfare, also without any stagecraft imagination, focused all attention on what had previously been the only thing in a concert: the music and a host of instrumentalists to give it substance and presence. The only thing missing was him mentioning, before starting his first performance in Spain on this tour, at the Sant Jordi in Barcelona with nearly 12,000 people, "as we were saying yesterday."

To further highlight the ancient strands of the fabric, the concert began at the beginning, when Santana was the champion of a nascent Latin rock related to Africa and his band, disheveled like him, was pure rapture . Soul Sacrifice , J in-go-loba , an Evil Ways less furious than in his live performance with Buddy Miles and more in line with the studio recording and thunderous applause from the audience with the entrance of Black Magic Woman on keyboards, which was repeated immediately after with the beginning, also on keyboards, of Oye Cómo Va . A song by Peter Green/Fleetwood Mac and another by Tito Puente in the hands of Santana and a trio of percussionists, two drummers and congas, already demanding and metronomic in the changes of rhythm. There would be more covers, natural in his repertoire, in which even in Evil Ways , another foreign song, he played a fragment of Do It Again by Steely Dan. But then the concert turned to Santana from Supernatural with Maria, Maria , and there the weight of the mythical memory fell and the guitarist who triumphed in the way Herb Alpert seduced the markets like a cat without claws entered.

During this part of the concert, Samba pa ti shone, during one of its turns seeming to recover the rhythmic plot of Evil Ways and very adult couples held hands smiling at each other's memories. Hope Your Feeling Better was also played, once again recovering the Santana style prior to his commercial consecration with the album Supernatural . Meanwhile, the plot of the concert featured instrumentalists whose boss made them earn their keep through solos, which showed that his wife, the excellent drummer Cindy Blackman , has a license to perform, with the bassist's permission, the longest ones, one of them during the encores, and that even someone with such limited exposure and prominence as rhythm guitarist Carlos Santana, the closest thing to anonymity and invisibility, had his and even sang a song, Put Your Lights On . Yes, the audience paid attention and turned on their cell phones in flashlight mode.

Carlos Santana spoke little, and when he did, he resorted to the precepts of his religion, Baha'i , to suggest that in this world where "Korea, China, and Russia talk about nuclear war ," what we need to do is pray a lot to change things and achieve peace, harmony, and compassion. It didn't seem like a call to direct action. Meanwhile, and despite it being a well-known fact, Carlos continued chewing gum—presumably gum—which, for a musician on stage, always seems untimely, like checking the time or picking his nose. Luckily, he didn't swallow them with the relish of Ancelotti, presumably taking advantage of his absences from the stage to restock his gum. At 78, that's what moves his body, jaw, and fingers. Also, music, which keeps him alive.

Relying on two singers, three if you count the rhythm guitarist, Santana, very expressive on his guitar, constant riffs, left hand at the base of the neck, solid accompaniment to the vocals, but rarely any silences, was in fine form despite at times reminiscent of that venerable gentleman who always tells us the same story in the same way. It's his, there's no denying it. The final stretch brought the venue to its feet, with only the first two rows of seats in the stalls remaining there consistently—because they are the most loyal fans and because if you pay more you have to have a good time because of the investment—and songs like Corazón espinado and the finale, " Smooth ," left spirits very high, rising in that elevator where they can be played without any surprises.