On The Curb

For the first time in a year, I actually ventured out of my baby torture confinement camp home sans a single child last Friday night. After the sun went down. For 5 whole hours. And, I drank a Coke® while I was out. A tall one. Call the authorities. Wild, caffeinated, big booty shakin’ woman on the loose.

I saw Santana in concert with The Derek Trucks Band as his opening act and both were musical crack to my ‘jonesin’ for a fix’ ears. Definitely a concert worth seeing. (although you’ll have to catch derek trucks later as friday was his last performance with santana; he’s off to the studio to record…santana brought him out towards the end of the show to jam together for several songs…wow, they complimented each other’s guitar playing so well)

Can you believe I was hesitant to go? E had been bugging me about Santana for months, prodding me to line up a few seats. But, I kept thinking, “I only know a few Santana songs. I doubt it’ll be worth the surplus of milk I’m going to stock pile while being away from the b00by drainers for a few hours. Ah.”

Man, was I ever wrong. (though, not concerning the dairy bazookas i carried out of the amphitheater…i contemplated breastfeeding the adults in the car and generously offering my milk to passersby)

The first few beats had the crowd on their feet and we only sat for a few minutes throughout the 3.5 hour show. I was elbowed in the face on multiple occasions by E’s pointy mid-arm joints which should have been confiscated as deadly weapons during the body cavity search at the gate. He is quite the enthusiastic concert-goer to put it mildly. I caught him actually pumping his fists in the air on more than one occasion. I also noticed several men playing their wee little air pen!s guitars. E kept his mimicry to air bongos.

There was so much energy flowing through the joint. At a few points, I thought I might shoot up into the sky like a rocket. (no, no drugs were involved…i didn’t even whiff any pot in the air as is usually par for the course at outdoor concerts…just a tall order of caffeine rolling through these veins) With the mix of latin, reggae, and african beats, it was the perfect elixir to raise the dead.

Sorry; I have to sprinkle a light rain on the Santana parade. A few songs gave off a Jesus Week at Disney World vibe to me. While he was promoting a worthy message of peace, love, and ‘can’t we all just get along,’ a couple of songs felt too baptist tent revival with Jesus and the Devil sparring in the lyrics. But, that’s just me. Most in the Alabama crowd were pumping their fists in the air and feverishly working their pen!s guitars during these songs.

The set list included many of the mainstream hits such as Maria, Maria and Smooth along with the always groovy Oye Como Va. What I had forgot about was Black Magic Woman which shares a tie with my blog title (a benign story that is probably interesting to only me; therefore, you’ll hear all about it one day). I immediately laughed to myself when the song started, remembering a call I once received from a dear friend (mr. president is my pet name for him…i think i called him one year on his birthday and sang a breathy, marilyn monroe happy birthday hence his moniker) as he’s driving, “This song just came on the radio and I thought of you. You’re a black magic woman.” Beware, my powers. (don’t you love it when someone “dedicates” a song to you…unless, of course, it’s a song about being a raving b!tch, although i’d probably admire that, too)

Loved the show.  Loved watching the crowd.  Loved the memories it brought back.  I needed the reminder that, yes, I am a black magic woman.  I’ll make a devil out of you yet.  ;-)  Don’t turn your back on me, baby.