by Ann Powers
May 29 2009
From the start of his Thursday set at the Joint in Las Vegas' Hard
Rock Hotel & Casino, Carlos Santana made clear what historical moment
he hoped to invoke, if not revive. As the 11-piece group got the
polyrhythms of Santana's early hit "Soul Sacrifice" simmering, images
flashed across the large screen behind the musicians of an earlier,
more famous rendition of the song.
It was from Woodstock, which celebrates its 40th anniversary this
year. Providing a thrilling end to an excellent set at the definitive
rock festival, that version of "Soul Sacrifice" helped make the
guitarist one of the great stars of the hippie era. "Soul Sacrifice"
sounded different Thursday night than it did at Woodstock: It was
softer-edged, less aggressive and deliberately wild. Santana, now a
mellow presence at 61, has come a long way since his
reputation-making early days: He's expanded his Latin-rock fusion
sound to more explicitly encompass jazz, African and reggae music, as
well as hip-hop-era pop.
His fans have changed too. While many at the Joint literally could
have been at Woodstock, the mood they projected had little in common
with the muddy free-love-for-all of 1969. The cheer that went up when
Santana expressed the hope that President Obama might legalize
marijuana and give the resulting tax gains to schoolteachers was
audible, but well contained.
This crowd sipped cocktails while sitting in neat rows, dressed in
vacation finery: dresses and silicone-smooth hair for the ladies,
sport shirts and carefully distressed jeans on the men. Though some
women showed decolletage, no one was even remotely naked. Few
emulated Santana's nouveau psychedelic look or relaxed demeanor.
The fact that Santana's show worked in this setting proves what an
unusual rock icon he is. Though it's been promoted as the first rock
residency to hit Las Vegas (apparently Prince, who took a similar
extended gig at the Rio in 2006, doesn't count as a rocker),
"Supernatural Santana: A Trip Through the Hits" was just as much a
dance party and a jazz performance as a conventional rock show.
Sampling from throughout his career, Santana made sure to please with
his most recognizable material: "Black Magic Woman," "Oye Como Va"
and the latter-day chart-toppers "Maria Maria" and "Smooth" all got
thorough workouts. For many in the audience, these were the night's
highlights. The long-weekenders got out of their seats and danced
when they recognized the songs.
Those hits were generously rendered by Santana, who never scrimps on
feeling and warm technique when playing a solo or his trademark
honey-dripping runs. His band's current members, most of whom have
been with him for years, took a relaxed approach to the best-known
material, not trying to re-create the originals but not worrying
about breaking the mold, either.
Standout performers included drummer Dennis Chambers, who was deeply
energetic without ever dislodging the groove; trombonist Jeff
Cressman, who took a few monster solos; and singers Tony Lindsay and
Andy Vargas, who showed flexibility and flair, sharing the lead parts
in what was more often than not a big group singalong.
Lesser-known numbers provided the night's real highlights. Santana
waxed romantic with "Samba Pa Ti," a contemplative tune built around
a gorgeously languid guitar line and, according to its author, meant
to inspire compassion and forgiveness. He showed off his classic-rock
chops on the feisty "Batuka," featuring plenty of greasy keyboard
work by Chester Thompson and a few Jimi Hendrix-style guitar freakouts.
Also notable was the coda the group added to "Evil Ways" -- "A Love
Supreme," the John Coltrane classic Santana first explored in
collaboration with fellow guitar great John McLaughlin in the early
1970s. This was perhaps the first time that the mystical Coltrane was
celebrated in a casino.
Whatever song they took as a starting point, Santana and his fellow
players always followed it into a groove that was irresistibly Latin
and African. With drums, congas, timbales and many other percussion
instruments in the mix, this music did not make it easy to sit still.
Projected images of all kinds of dancers -- beautiful women, a young
child, African ritual celebrants, American street partyers --
encouraged people to rise and move.
That many didn't might be attributable to the room. The Joint has a
strange seating arrangement, at least on the main floor. Metal bars
separate various sections, within which are rows of uncomfortable
padded folding chairs. Ushers and security guards prowled the aisles,
keeping people in those uninviting seats.
If possible, the Hard Rock's management should consider removing some
of those chairs, because what was happening in the back of the room
was really interesting. There, couples -- many of them Latino --
broke into elegant partner dancing, doing what is expected when music
like Santana's plays in clubs all over the Eastside of Los Angeles on
any given night. Santana's fusion is, after all, just as
fundamentally meant for dancing as is Prince's.
If this "rock" residency is to succeed -- and it should -- it would
be well served by a real dance floor right beneath the men making all
those hips sway.
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