Carlos Santana isn’t here for your artificial intelligence, virtual reality, or “alternative truth.” He’s still too busy making mystical medicine music, a term he drops early and often during a conversation that veers from bassline theology to the spiritual significance of Woodstock to why America could use a shaman convention in Vegas.
The album Africa Speaks might technically be a Santana record, but it feels more like an ancestral transmission filtered through fuzzy guitars and volcanic percussion. It’s also a collaboration with Rick Rubin and powerhouse vocalist Buika, with an assist from Laura Mvula. “The main word is healing,” Santana says. “African music always creates joy. Which is the opposite of what's happening on this planet.”
He’s not wrong. Turn on the news, and it’s mostly fire and brimstone dressed up in 5G. But Santana wants none of it. “There’s a fever of fear everywhere. I find it quite predictably boring and pathetic.”
So instead of doomscrolling, he made a record rooted in the rhythms and spirituality of Africa—a continent he insists is the true mother of all music. “Whether it’s blues, jazz, gospel… all of it has the African element. Some people want to call it salsa or whatever. But it's still African music. If you wanna dress it up and sell it, fine. You got a Beyond burger, but it’s still a burger.”
Africa Speaks doesn’t tiptoe into its message. It stomps, it swirls, it seduces. “We recorded 49 songs in 10 days,” he says. “Buika told me, ‘I thought I was only going to sing one. But then they played the songs and every time I could hear what I needed to do. It was like automatic writing.’” Santana calls that “the gospel truth.”
“Los Invisibles,” the album’s stunning opener, came together as a sonic vortex, anchored by a bassline Santana deliberately reworked to sound more like Larry Graham. “Larry invented that shit. That ‘thump’—it’s church and funk and sex all at once,” he says. “I told Benny [Rietveld], ‘Give me something Larry would smile at.’” The result is a hypnotic, slow-motion possession—one Santana hopes to rework further with other producers to “create a different kind of single.”
And then there’s “Yo Me Lo Merezco,” a mantra that translates to “I am worthy of it.” Santana leans in: “This is the opposite of being a guilt-wretched sinner. That’s deception. The only reality is that you’re pristine with purity and innocence.” His passport, he says, is his heart. His currency is love. “If that’s too hippy, tough titty, man.”
At 76, the man who melted minds at Woodstock and took home nine Grammys for Supernatural still seems baffled by the idea that inspiration might run out. “I’m a perpetual seven-year-old,” he shrugs. “Still thirsty for adventure. I don’t need to go searching. I am the inspiration.”
And if you’re wondering how he squares all that optimism with the apocalyptic vibes currently streaming from every media outlet, Santana says we’re just at the pimple stage of global healing. “It’s infected. It needs to be popped and disinfected.” That’s not a metaphor you expect from a spiritual guide, but he lands it. “Eventually, we’ll realize there’s no borders. From space, you don’t see flags or nationalism. You just see this beautiful planet.”
What about walls? “Built by fear,” he says. “By people scared to lose their circle property. But the Berlin Wall came down. This one will too.”
He pauses. “In my heaven, there’s Bob Marley, John Lennon, and Coltrane. In my heaven, there’s water, bread, and love for everyone.”
If that scares you? “Then you still need to go around the block a couple more times.”
Welcome to the Santana frequency.
Listen to the interview above and then check out the tracks below.
