Last week I made the pilgrimage to Madrid to see the Goddess. The one they call Shakira.
I am a recent convert. I had been hearing about Shakira since the 90’s, of course. But I always wrote her off as another of those dancing stars who sing a bit. I’m more of a Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zep kind of guy – the standard Baby Boomer. Then, sometime early last year, the French arts channel Arte put the entire Oral Fixation Tour video on replay. There was nothing better on TV, so I watched it. From end to end. I was blown off my feet. I was mesmerized, transfixed, discombobulated. This was not another dancing star. This was one of the greats. An artiste who rubbed shoulders with The Beatles and Elvis and Bob Dylan. Her lyrics vied with Lennon and Dylan. Her voice was operatic. She could play a dozen instruments. She could be hard rock, Latin, chanson française, pop, blues, standards. And the dancing – oh my dear God… she was music made flesh. She made words, music and dance into an indivisible whole. A goddess in human form.
