Four years ago, before the Supernatural album put paid to his financial insecurity for life, Carlos Santana could no more have sold out the 3,000-capacity Astoria than brought the moustache back into fashion. The Mexican-born guitar hero of the Woodstock generation hadn't grazed the chart in 20 years, until the 1999 album, and its many guest stars, redefined the word "comeback". Nearly 25m CDs (and several million of the follow-up, Shaman) later, the Astoria now counts as "intimate" - although the jury is still out on the moustache, which bristles in lady-frightening fashion tonight.
Scheduled on a whim a fortnight ago to round off a European tour, this kind of show is as up-close as fans will get to Santana, barring a catastrophic drop in record sales. Not much chance of that, though, given the popularity of his millennial package of cosmic abstractions and multicultural flavours. His public, in fact, so embody the music's inclusive vibe that they could pose for Benetton. All colours and sexes are here (though pretty much only one age: middle), and nearly all are united in spin-cycle gyrations that say much about the transformative properties of Latino pop and lager.
The 55-year-old Santana, who moves with the feline slouchiness of a much younger man, has two preoccupations: angels and solos. His opening words - "I'd like to invite you to behold the angels all around us" - are characteristic. The solos, however, quickly cease to be mildly diverting and are soon interfering in a major way.
Our guy may be a craftsman whose fingers, barely skimming the strings, give the hits Smooth and Maria Maria their Spanish-inflected romanticism, but he is constitutionally unable to say in two notes what he can stretch out to 100. He's not the first to delve deeply into the spiritual, ecstatic potential of music, but he doesn't half go on - and on. An impressive display of Latino/soft-rock artistry? Yes. Brain-sappingly dull? Oh, yes. Add the fact that classics such as Oye Como Va are tucked away at the very end and you will understand why the night's high point turns out to be a guest vocal from the exuberant songwriter Michelle Branch. At least she says what she has to say in three minutes flat.
