Carlos Santana Talks New Album, Smokey Robinson & Love for Motown

There’s something almost otherworldly about talking to Carlos Santana. It’s not just the legacy or the unmatched sound of his guitar—it’s the way he speaks with complete presence, humility, and joy. That joy is front and center on his new album Carlos, out March 28 on Candid Records, where he collaborates with none other than Motown legend Smokey Robinson on the song “Please Don’t Take Your Love.”

“I have so much fun, you know?” Carlos told me. “I got so excited when I got the phone call that Smokey wanted me to play on it. I just started remembering when I first came to America, in '62, and Motown had probably more number ones than the Beatles and the Rolling Stones together.”

His reverence for Smokey goes deep. “All of the artists were singing his songs—he was writing for everybody. He wrote ‘My Girl,’ ‘My Guy’... so to be in the same session with him? I’m just like—my feet are off the ground.”

Listening to Carlos and Smokey together feels like a duet—one voice, one guitar, perfectly woven. I asked if he adjusts his guitar tone to fit the singer or just plays like himself.

“This one, I tried a double amplifier—it’s called a Wicks, very hard to find—and a straight-up white Stratocaster,” he explained. “It really complimented his voice. It’s important to match the frequency, the vibration, and the sound of the singer. Otherwise, it sounds like nails on a blackboard.”

That kind of attention to detail isn’t new for Carlos. It’s how he’s always approached his work, and you hear it on this entire record. Whether it’s the groove of “Please Don’t Take Your Love” or his stunning reinterpretation of Michael Jackson’s “Stranger in Moscow,” Santana is still chasing new sonic alchemy.

“I did that one with Narada Michael Walden,” he told me. “I discovered I like that song because I’ve been to Moscow. And I relate to what Michael was singing about—being lonely in Moscow at night. It’s dangerous... Perry Mason cannot help you out there.”

Carlos didn't just play the song—he studied Michael’s vocal phrasing. “You gotta know when to lay back and when to go in front. If you play everything in the middle, it’s boring. It’s kind of like sex, you know?” he laughed. “You have to know when to lay back and when to go forward.”

One of my favorite parts of the conversation came when I asked about the longest he’s ever gone without playing guitar. “Let’s see, I stopped in November... probably about three months. I mean, I did play at home,” he admitted, “but yeah, I have to play one way or the other. A lot of people practice chords, a lot of people practice speed—I practice penetration. I gotta penetrate that note and give you chills.”

That idea of "penetration"—of truly reaching the listener—is something that goes back to his childhood.

“Probably in Tijuana,” he said. “I used to work at a strip joint. I played from four in the afternoon until six in the morning. We played an hour, then the strippers would go on for an hour.”

Wait—what?

“I was like twelve,” he added with a grin. “But for me, it was like Cirque du Soleil or something. They had those tassels—doing things this way and that way—and I was mesmerized. It was my first sense of wonder. On Sundays, I’d go to church and play Ave Maria on the violin, and during the week, I was playing blues and sensual music. It was a beautiful balance.”

That balance continues today with his Las Vegas residency. I asked if playing live so often has changed his musicianship.

“It makes me more giddy,” he laughed. “Vegas is like a laboratory. We get to try African songs, Cuban songs, all kinds of alchemy. People want to hear certain songs, sure—but we also get to play yesterday, tomorrow, and in between.”

I brought up something I always worry about: that people get stuck comparing new music to old hits. Does that bother him?

“I don’t really care,” he said. “They’re both my children. If someone’s stuck in the past, that’s their prerogative. But I wake up every morning with newness and freshness.”

And that freshness is clear on Carlos. His creative spirit is not only alive—it’s evolving.

Toward the end of our talk, I mentioned the calming energy he radiates on stage. When he plays, the audience feels it. I asked if he draws from the crowd in the same way.

“Everyone has access to this place,” he said. “It’s called grace. When you get there, the Holy Ghost takes over. The best music is when the music plays you. Your hair stands up, you get goosebumps, then you start crying and laughing and you don’t even know why.”

I couldn’t help but bring up Woodstock—that legendary performance.

“I was in no condition to play,” he admitted. “I was imbued with LSD, mescaline, peyote—whatever I got from Jerry Garcia. So I asked God with specificity: ‘I need you to help me.’ And God said, ‘Take a deep breath, trust your fingers—they have muscle memory—and trust me.’”

That’s Carlos Santana in a nutshell: a child prodigy in a Tijuana strip club, a psychedelic force of nature at Woodstock, and now, a living legend making new music with Smokey Robinson—and still channeling grace through every note.

Before we wrapped, he dropped one last idea on me: Motown Mondays. “Every restaurant in the world,” he said with a laugh. “We gotta make it a thing.”

You know what? I think he’s right.