Chicapah
On this, Santana's third studio album in as many years since they wowed the Woodstock nation, I get the impression that they were a fairly happy, uncommonly stable and reasonably satisfied band comfortable in their own skin. They were so universally accepted by the masses and so genuinely well-liked by millions that I honestly can't blame them for taking an "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" attitude when it came time to laying down the tracks for this release. In most cases a safe, unadventurous and conservative approach results in an album that's far too predictable and sorely lacking in passion but I can't argue with what my ears confirm to my heart when listening to Santana III. They still had fire in their bellies. They were surfing atop the crest of immense popularity in '71 and, whereas other successful groups running around in their loafers were exhausted/burned out by the demands of near-constant touring, these hardy gauchos were still basking in their primeness, generating enough energy night after night to electrify a metropolis and playing with verve as if their lives depended on it. What made Santana so special and jazz site-worthy? They possessed the rare commodity of owning a sound so unique yet so accessible that they created a singular niche they didn't have to share with any other band. They were a one-of-a-kind musical hybrid that had a whole genre of music all to themselves. That's why their first trio of albums comprise such a consistent set. They stuck to their pistoleros, not due to their record label coercing them to churn out more of the same profitable shtick (although I have little doubt the suits at Columbia were thrilled about everything they produced turning to platinum), but because Santana knew who they were and what they were all about. They had a sort of "I know what I like and I like what I know" kinda thing going on that managed to please both the Top 40- addicted general populace and the more critical jazz/rock fusion mob that refused to settle for plain vanilla flowing through their headphones. Not an easy mountain to climb for even one album, much less three in a row. Yet as much as I admire this collection of songs I'm extremely glad (as the whole jazzy world should be) that they took off in a revolutionary and fearlessly exploratory direction on the next one. But let's concentrate our focus on Santana III, shall we?
A rhythmic blend of percussion and drums sets the spicy tone for the instrumental opener, "Batuka," and Carlos' aggressive guitar riff announces without apology that they haven't lost their edge. His solo is ferocious and Gregg Rolie's screaming Hammond organ snarls like an agitated pit bull and then they abruptly shut it down as if the police had arrived in response to a disturbing the peace complaint from the neighbors. No harm done, though, as the classic "No One to Depend On" follows right on its heels. It has one of their great slight-of-hand intros that keeps you guessing where they're going to go right up until the moment Michael Carabello's congas and Jose Chepito Areas' timbales grab you by the collarbone and pull you into the tune's irresistible groove. Carabello and newcomer Coke Escovedo co-wrote this catchy number featuring ensemble vocals that make it impossible to resist singing right along. It includes clever rests and accents to delight in as you make your way through the verses and the inspired middle section erects an unexpectedly large platform for the band's then 17-year-old newbie Neal Schon to introduce himself to their fans via a fierce, ripping guitar ride that still threatens to crackle your speakers to this day. Once that major revelation concludes their exemplary posse of percussionists guides the song back to its original feel with nary a glitch, paving the way for one of my favorite one-second-in-duration guitar licks (the one right after the last "I ain't got nobody") and an unforgettable, band-in-a-canyon ending. I still crank the volume when this one comes on the radio even after all these years of hearing it.
Rolie and Areas teamed up to pen "Taboo" but, despite a grandiose onset, it promises more than it can deliver because the tune is too anemic and weak to stand on its own. It marks the low point of the album. Its saving grace, however, is what the group does with the arrangement when the vocal ceases to bore and the instruments take over, especially Mr. Santana's sublime guitar. "Toussaint L'Overture" comes galloping in like the cavalry to rescue the proceedings. Though it's hardly more than an organized jam based on a frequently-borrowed descending chord progression, in this group's hands such fare sizzles like fatty bacon on a spit. Gregg knocks out another hot Hammond solo and Carlos' guitar lead doesn't disappoint but it's the fiery percussion roiling underneath the Latino chanting that really gets my heart a pumpin'. The second half of this cut has Schon, Santana and Rolie duking it out like they're caught up in a last-hombre-standing street fight all the way to the stop-on-a-dime ending.
I've always been fond of songs that help encourage and motivate me to get off my duff and take on the planet, especially in the morning, and few can do that as efficiently as "Everybody's Everything." (Another is the blistering live version of "Can't Turn You Loose" by Edgar Winter's White Trash from their '72 album, "Roadwork." Better than caffeine.) Wisely employing the prestigious Tower of Power horns to accentuate the positive, this tune streaks by like an express train on a downhill slope. Okay, it ain't real complicated but it's a terrific way to spend three and a half minutes while getting dressed. Gregg's roaring Hammond and Neal's flaming guitar lines shine brightly but it's the triad of Carabello, Areas and Escovedo that fuel this furnace all the way to the fade out. "Guajira" is next and it's a south of the border rock & roll samba that'll make even the palest Caucasian want to dance (think "Smooth" 28 years before its time). The cool break that precedes guest Mario Ochoa's playful piano solo gets me every time, Jose's trumpet spasm paints a fine change of aural scenery and both guitarists perform magnificently.
They then hit the road in an all-out sprint again with "Jungle Strut," a fast-paced jam peppered with hot licks emanating from most everyone in the group. This one's an ideal example of Santana doing what comes naturally to them and I can't help but notice the Allman Brothers-ish dual harmony guitar lines that provide the melody. (Those Dixie roosters influenced everybody in their heyday, it would seem.) Carlos' amateurish "Everything's Coming Our Way" retards the momentum slightly but, as usual, the boys behind him make the most of what they have to work with and Rolie's room-filling Hammond organ in particular keeps it from becoming a yawn-inducer. They serve up Tito Puente's "Para Los Rumberos" for the finale and it's another smokin' track generously ladled over a Spanish en masse chorale that takes no prisoners. Another talented guest, Luis Gasca, wields a sharp Trompeta in the middle that's suitably wild and arresting. And there you have it.
The only virtuoso that doesn't get an opportunity to show off on this album is their phenomenal young drummer Michael Shrieve but that's the only oversight on Santana 3 I can find (other than the two aforementioned puny compositions). This was also the last go- round for founding members Carabello and bassist David Brown (rumor has it they were overindulging in Peruvian marching powder) and if they'd broken up at this juncture their legacy would still live on forever courtesy of classic rock radio. However, they not only survived but, after delivering three chart-topping and highly commercial LPs (in terms of sales, at least), they were courageous enough to completely abandon their comfort zone and give birth to a fusion landmark, "Caravanserai," thus securing for their ensemble a sacred place in the jazz/rock hall of fame for all time to come. The material found on Santana III ranks well above the average, no doubt, but what they were about to accomplish with their upcoming masterpiece still staggers my senses. It's my belief that every jazz enthusiast worth his/her salt should have all four of this group's initial studio albums in their collection because high-quality, exploratory-minded music never goes out of style.