With the extended perspective of fifty-five years on the release of Santana’s self-titled debut album (released 8/22/69), its impact resonates all the more deeply, especially as the issue of the LP was just one component of an extraordinary sequence of events.
Issued just days after the band’s galvanizing performance at Woodstock in August 1969, the record reached the top ten sales charts just before the end of that year, setting the stage for the second single from the album. “Evil Ways,” a cover of jazz percussionist Willie Bobo, achieved the same level of success, peaking just prior to the release of the festival film.
Santana’s appearance in the Woodstock movie is one of its highlights, further elevating the profile of the San Francisco band. While this escalation of popularity is a marketing maven’s dream, it reflects the band’s musical progression.
Hearing Live at the Fillmore 1968, compared to the group’s first studio album, reveals the evolution of the band’s chemistry. Expanding to a sextet with the inclusion of percussionists Michael Carabello and Jose ‘Chepito’ Areas, plus the substitution of new drummer Michael Shrieve, Santana’s firepower increased immensely.
It fell to mentor/manager Bill Graham, however, to help Santana focus on its strength(s). The late impresario who founded and operated the Fillmores East and West—and notably secured Santana’s prime slot at Woodstock in exchange for his production services there—emphasized the need for good material in addition to the band’s largely improvisational repertoire.
He brought the group the song used for the aforementioned second single, which, in addition to becoming the band’s first bonafide hit, supplied a template for the construction of their own songwriting efforts. Santana is thus a potent combination of well-wrought arrangements and lively spontaneity.
Even so, only one cut exceeds the five-minute mark in duration: the cinematic spotlight piece “Soul Sacrifice.” Mood aplenty arises from tracks like “Waiting” and “Shades of Time,” however, and the effect is all the more striking when contrasted with the fine-tuned likes of “You Just Don’t Care:” Santana’s pithy leads and fills on guitar remain in balance with his bandmates’ contributions.
At those most stirring moments, Gregg Rolie’s rich, gutsy lead singing, along with his prominent Hammond organ playing, interweaves with the namesake’s fiery fretboard work. And those elements mesh with the churning rhythm work of the aforementioned duo’s congas and timbales, intermixed with Shrieve’s rapid-fire motion around his drum kit. Fused with David Brown’s bass, the continuous pulse becomes an anchor that furthers the hypnotic effect of a number like “Persuasion.”
The combination of visceral and cerebral effects rose to even greater heights with the Santana band’s sophomore effort Abraxas. Released only a little over a year later after its predecessor, the sophomore title not only consolidated the gains of the first album but also expanded the reach of the group: more contemporary outside material like “Black Magic Woman” by ex-John Mayall guitarist and co-founder of Fleetwood Mac Peter Green, was of a piece with expressive originals such as “Incident at Neshabur” (written by the bandleader with Alberto Gianquinto, who played piano on the atmospheric cut).
In addition, the foundation of Santana’s style rooted in the blues further ignited the Latin influences of “Samba Pa Ti” and Tito Puente’s “Oye Como Va.” Not surprisingly, the six-man band’s combustible mix was readily apparent at their August 1970 appearance at Tanglewood (under the aegis of Graham): Santana’s set was aflame to virtually the same intensity as Miles Davis and his band’s performance earlier that same hot summer night.
Whether or not that occasion sowed the seeds for Carlos’ subsequent (more or less fruitful) excursions into jazz-rock fusion via later albums such as Caravanserai, the first studio record by his early group makes for repeated listening experiences as revelatory as close perusal of the front cover artwork by Lee Conklin (taken from a poster for a show at Fillmore West in 1968).
In the end, this half-century-plus definition of the concept of ‘the complete package’ stands as a high water mark of its era and a milestone in the career of one of contemporary rock’s most recognizable names.
