Mother’s Daughter
It’s like a roller coaster, really. Not a love roller coaster, like in a Luke Bryan song, but an old wooden amusement park one, back before safety rules were strictly enforced.
It’s the organ that sets the mood. You know, when it’s finally your turn and you walk onto the platform and sit down in the car, in eager anticipation, but also fear.
And then the old wizened man chewing on a cigar pulls back the arm and the train starts to move as Carlos’s guitar starts to buzzsaw, it’s too late now, you’re off and running, it’s all out of your control.
You reach the peak and your hair is flying, you’re holding on tight, this is long before seat belt laws, and you’re having the time of your life.
Got no time for foolin’ with you baby
Your stupid game is about to end
The power of endings, when you make the decision and decide you’re going to waste no more time, you’re gonna risk, you’re gonna ride by yourself, with no hand to hold.
Santana’s initial LP only sold in the wake of Woodstock, the movie blew it up, “Evil Ways” was all over the radio, people had to hear “Soul Sacrifice.” But we were unprepared for “Abraxas.” The nude woman on the cover, the quietude of the instrumentals, the just rightness of “Oye Como Va,” the hit of “Black Magic Woman,” but my favorite cut was always “Mother’s Daughter.
I woke up with a Luke Bryan song in my head, “Way Way Back,” but it wasn’t until thinking about the Fillmore book and pulling up “Abraxas” that I experienced the true power of music, to completely change your mood.
I listened to “Incident At Neshabur,” and then I pushed the button on my headphones until I heard the mellifluous sound of “Mother’s Daughter.”
I was brought back to fall at Middlebury, when I was a freshman and the air was changing, the heat was leaving us, and this emanated from the dorm room of Muddy Waters, this is when I finally realized I liked Santana.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard “Mother’s Daughter” on the radio. But that’s how it was back then, the album tracks were just as important, when being a professional musician was a high bar few crossed, and when you did, when you got your major label deal, we checked you out and if you were worthy we devoured your music, played it ad infinitum, it was all we had.
It’s all we’ve got.
