I think, perhaps, this is the most complex and diverse bit of musical analysis that I have, as yet, undertaken, because we are dealing with a phenomenon that bridges half a century, and a multitude of styles, incarnations, and philosophies.
As with so many of my stories, we begin at the weekend disco, in the Junior Common Room of St Martin’s College, University of Lancaster; a lad called Rob Connelly, built like a rugby player, is bringing proceedings to a close; I have a beautiful girl in my arms; we are warm from the exertion of dancing, and she smells divine.
The lights are dimmed, and the ‘last dance’ of the evening begins to crackle into life on the left turntable. Seven smooth notes on a very distinctive guitar, announce Samba Pa Ti, performed by a guitar hero, Carlos Santana. As the rhythm begins to hit a crescendo, I hold the girl closer, knowing that, very soon now, I am going to have to walk her back to her digs, and parting is such sweet sorrow.
I formed a love-hate relationship with that record in 1970, and it still sounds amazing today, but it would be years later, married to that same sweet girl, with a house of my own, and teaching on Merseyside, that I bought my first Santana album: ‘Caravanserai.’ Very ethereal, it is different in style to the sexy samba of my youth. The cover shows a camel train trekking across the desert in the blazing sun, and this gives it an ethereal, mirage quality, which is echoed in the music. Why I found its spiritual quality soothing, I’m not really sure, but if I had experienced a more hectic day than usual, the first thing that I did on returning home, was to lie prostrate on the sofa, pop Caravanserai into my new, top-loading CD player, and go into a trance-like state for its duration.
The most commonly repeated number on my copy is CDCBS 65299. I hope that that will be a help if you wish to locate a copy, and with tracks variously entitled, ‘Eternal Caravan of Reincarnation,’ ‘Waves Within,’ ‘Song Of The Wind,’ ‘All The Love Of The Universe,’ and ‘Stone Flower,’ it is easy to see why I found it rather spiritual.
Santana continued to crop up in my life from time to time, and I remember watching a televised concert which I think was from Mexico City. It was astonishing in its scale, with a black stage in the shape of a gigantic table, with maybe 15 to 20 musicians on top, and I’m pretty sure that they said there were a million people gathered to watch, and listen, of course. I remember tracks like ‘Black Magic Woman, ‘She’s Not There,’ ‘Oye Como Va.’ and ‘Let The Children Play,’ and being absolutely blown away by the scale of the spectacle.
A veteran of over twenty albums spanning the decades, I was very pleased when he released a retrospective double album in 1998 called ‘Santana, The Ultimate Collection,’ and I am very glad to report that it is exactly that. I now own such timeless classics as ‘Moonflower,’ ‘Revelations, ‘Aqua Marine,’ and of course, ‘Samba Pa Ti.’ Again, for those of our dear readers who like to know these things, the album is produced on the Columbia label , marketed by Sony Music Entertainment Inc. MCPS/B1EM/SDRM, and the only number that I can find on the CD itself is LC 0162.
It really is a wonderful collection of 49 of his best songs, and comes complete with a ‘family tree,’ so you can see which musicians were involved in the collaboration over the years.
After a retrospective like this, one rather expects that the guitar hero of one’s youth, is about to hang up his boots and retire, but none of it, and in 1999 (where have I heard that tune before?) the album ‘Supernatural’ was released. I don’t know about being supernatural, I am more inclined to believe that Carlos is ‘Super Human!’ With tracks like ‘Put Your Lights On,’ ‘Maria, Maria,’ and ‘Smooth,’ he took the charts and the dance floors by storm.
Thursday 6th of January, and I have slept since recovering ‘Supernatural’ from my somewhat chaotic archive. Someone with a ‘convergent brain’ may organise things in alphabetical order, but the ‘divergent brain’ tends to use different criteria for lumping things together. My idea was to re-familiarise myself with the album before writing about it. Imagine my horror when track five, the fabulous ‘Smooth,’ started to have fits in the machine. On ejection, it looked as if someone had sneezed on it. With a lot of exhaled breath and a polish using my spongy, velvety thing, I am glad to say that the restoration worked perfectly, and I was able to continue my retrospective.
I had forgotten what an opus magna this is: 75 minutes long, and the last track alone takes up just over 12 of them, but more of that later. It is on the Arista label, and carries the number 07822 19080 2. Anyone taking up Latin American dancing on the back of ‘Strictly,’ will absolutely love this album; a lot of the tracks are pure Salsa, with the occasional slower Samba thrown in. El Farol is the perfect example of the latter. The only track that doesn’t really conform, is called ‘Migra.’ It leans a little to North Africa, has very Middle Eastern overtones, and I could easily see my Romanian friends doing one of their complex processional dances to it.
The sheer number of artists performing throughout the album is breathtaking. I think that I counted twenty one musicians and singers, the most outstanding being Rob Thomas on ‘Smooth,’ and someone called Eagle-Eye Cherry, on ‘Wishing It Was,’ and perhaps the most enigmatic, the lead vocalist on ’Put Your Lights On,’ is named as Everlast, who incidentally, plays a pretty mean acoustic, rhythm guitar. I notice that in the acknowledgements, he lists his guitars as being by Paul Reed Smith, and he has a small team to service them.
Now we come to the last track, which almost defies description. The first three minutes sound like a warm up, with two guitars duelling for the lead. Anyone with that ear for style that I often talk about, will realise in seconds that we are listening to two icons, Carlos Santana, and Eric Clapton, sizing each other up. Suddenly, a hypnotic beat creates an infectious rhythm for the two guitars to joust to. This wonderful interplay continues for eight minutes, sounding a bit like Spain meets the Mississippi, and then all goes quiet, and one thinks that that is it finished; but you would be wrong, because it all fires up again for another four minutes of frenzied duelling, before fading away after a total of twelve. The only words are ‘Can You Hear Me Calling.’ The duet is called, ‘The Calling.’
I have tried to describe the album in musical terms, but Carlos obviously sees it more of a religious experience, describing his collaborators as shamans who have shared their souls; exposing their hearts and their inner light to create the music. The very extensive sleeve notes truly are a very enlightening read.
He seems to have found God; whose God, and whether that is an ancient God of the Aztecs, I cannot be sure, but something has had a profound effect on him. I have entitled this piece Milagro, as this is the name of the organisation founded by Carlos and his wife Deborah. This non-profit-making foundation is dedicated to providing financial assistance, improving education and housing, and providing medical care for children all over the world, as they believe that every child should have the opportunity to lead a safe, healthy, and creative life.
I don’t think anyone could disagree with that, whatever religion they choose to follow, if any at all, so I will conclude with an explanation of the word itself: Milagro means miracle.
JCT
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