The pulse of the heart of latin american folk music beats steadily to the tune of thousands of ecstatic fans chanting "Ole ole ole ole, Joaquin, Joaquin". The man in the bowler hat who, staring wide-eyed and beaming into the faces of his adorers, tips the brim in humble salute and gesture of gratitude; perhaps the most sincerest thank-you a performer has ever bestowed his audience. You are there packed into the grandest stadium within Buenos Aires proper along with countless thousand other Portenos, beholding one of the most revered and respected musical geniuses of this time, and yet the distance and dimension is not estranging. You feel close to the music and the emotion and the man-- as if you were merely down at the local pub enjoying a round with your buddy, Joaquin, reminiscing those good ol' days singing your favorite songs.
Flood lights focused on the stage, the crowd becomes a black mass, an abyss save for the twinkling of spots from lighters and flashlights raised in homage to the legend standing before them. They resemble patterns of dazzling constellations, as if Sabina were singing for the cosmos. Suddenly the light doubles back onto the masses to reveal the surge of fists pounding the air in unison, bodies jumping like sparks of static across the floor. An earthquake couldn't shake the columns and stands as fiercely as the passion exuded from this crowd.
If you cannot tell by now, I am in complete awe of this man and the performance he delivers. I had never seen an artist captivate an audience so completely and charismatically as I did tonight at Boca Stadium.
This is Joaquin Sabina.
(Oh, and by the way, we got in for free. hehe.)
