i think he's commited vile acts against music such as putting pavorotti and p.o.d. on the same cd, i believe alongside michelle branch (if you didn't know, the song with michelle branch was written by gregg alexander, frontman for 90's one hit wonders the new radicals, famous for their anti-commercial music commercial single "you only get what you give"... "fashion shows with beck and hanson, courtney love and marilyn manson, you're all fakes go to your mansions, come 'round here we'll kick your ass in..." he later wrote a song for hanson)
anyways, it always looks like santana is in great pain or smelling something bad when he's in the "moment"
which is funny, cause i react the same way when i hear his duet with rob thomas... a man that i will one day stab, not mortally wound, just cut 'em, i can't kill him because every superhero needs an arch enemy.
the reason i don't like santana is simple: he yelled at me once, simply because i was doing my job.
i was working at tower records in northbeach, we were having a musical performance by, i believe, greg rollie (who by the way played with journey and the early carlos santana blues band)
santana walks in, followed by his boy friday, closely following him with a basket, which was either for shopping, or cleaning up santanas droppings...
now, because gregg rollie was an artist on 33rd street records (tower's in house imprint) we naturally had a hot dog cart out front to commemorate the performance, anyone making a purchase that day was rewarded with a bun full of mouth watering meaty joy.
santana comes up to the counter, his boy friday following closely, thankfully the basket was full of cd's.
i serve mr. santana and then upon completion of the transaction asked the question i was required to ask of all patrons that day:
"would you like a free hot dog sir?"
santana looks at me coldly and shrieks:
"no, but you know what you can do is stop selling my bootlegs!!!"
a man with a personal servant, a convertable and a back catalog the size of mount rushmore was yelling at me (a STARVING artist) about not making money off of cd's...
not yelling at his manager, not his a&r, not even the manager of the store, no, a struggling clerk at a chain record store.
let's further the character assassination:
santana playing "the solo"
(because every solo is the same, just played with a different colored paul reed smith guitar and goofy hat/miles davis african colored t-shirt combo)
he's either dumping or he broke his hip...
when tom waits came in the store he was nice enough, of course he scared everyone out of the jazz room because they thought he was a vagrant talking to people on cd covers,
he was talking to them...
kirk hammet was always a complete gentleman
if you're rich, it's your job to be nice to poor people, before they realize that possesion is 9/10ths of the law... you're rich, not superhuman and as long as people are starving in this world you'd better treat me with humanity and respect and maybe even throw me a smile...
i heard another story about santana that occured at amoeba on haight:
a fan approaches santana and kindly compliments him earnestly, telling him how his music had gotten her through some very rough times in her life, as she tried to thank him for his art he quickly put his hands over his ears and began the "la-la-la i can't hear you routine"
when did eddie van halen turn into the witch that chases bugs bunny?
chris kirkpatrick came into the store once
HE FULLFILLS THE WACKY AND OR CHOLO QUOTIENT NEEDED FOR TRUE BOY BAND SUCCESS
seems nsync was playing in nearby oakland and mr kirkpatrick needed to stock up on cd's to bump in his suburban rover vehicle which contained two young suburban girls and two very urban body guards...
upon entering the building, in order to promote discretion, the two large black gentlemen quietly shouted:
"chris kirkpatrick in the house!!!"
the posse mosied around the store being discrete for a while then proceeded to the register,
now, to coincide with the "performance" tower records (who were also a retailer of concert tickets) had posted posters of the boy band phenom on the walls and counters of the store...
and as expected, the largely late teen/20-something staff of said store freely added decor to the posters, many of the additions were in the forms of devil horns and crude gotees
mr kirkpatrick pays for his collection of greatest hits collections (apparently he'd never heard music before so he needed to get caught up on fourty or so years of popular culture: best of journey, best of the who, best of the doors...)
upon recieving his bag his eyes are drawn to the counter and to the things that were drawn on him, or rather his likeness...
he suddenly looked very profoundly sad... as if to say with his entire body: you mean some people don't like me...?
he shouldn't have felt so bad, he's a successful/rich performer with a life most dream of
98 degrees is a way lamer boy band
suck in those cheeks a little more nick, good god, any more suction and his face would collapse on itself like a super nova
and 98 degrees isn't even hot, normal body temperature is 98.6
two brothers that suck lemons, one wears a backwards ball hat even with a suit on, some guy that looks like their annoying sitcom neighbor and a dude they found shopping at target with his wife who is probably a former tax attourney, who of course has a gotee
now to cleanse the pallet from all of this bitterness
ladies and gentlemen i present to you...