The Fire This Time

There they were, face to face, a pair of legends. Carlos Santana, guitar god, spiritual guy and Woodstock vet, whose once great career was sagging, and Arista Records whiz Clive Davis, who signed the 52-year-old axman just when it looked as if Santana's next starring gig might be at the discount racks. It was time to draw up a blueprint for a comeback album. "So," Davis asked, "what does Carlos Santana want to do?" It didn't take Santana long to answer. "Mr. Davis," he said, "I want to reconnect the molecules with the light."

Such helium-filled, heartfelt pronouncements flow frequently from Santana's lips, but Davis had no trouble catching his drift. What Santana wanted was a hit. And a hit he got. The album the two men dreamed up, Supernatural, has turned into one of the year's biggest surprises, blowing past seemingly invincible blockbusters like Limp Bizkit and even the mighty Backstreet Boys during its amazing run up the charts. Since its June debut, Supernatural has sold a cash register-popping 3 million copies while drawing an uncommonly diverse coalition of fans: grizzled 1960s hippies; university kids who prefer Dave Matthews but know a good jam when they hear one; Latin rockers lured by fiery guitar and tropical-tinged rhythms; and, as Santana himself describes them, "kids who aren't as old as my Metallica T shirt." Supernatural's fortunes are still rising; this week it lands at No. 2 on the Billboard album charts and is knocking on the door, loudly, of the No. 1 spot.

What makes all this so uncommon is that classic rockers--especially the prodigiously talented psychedelia-tinged guitar slingers of the '60s and '70s--are usually considered by radio to be as irrelevant to today's pop- and hip-hop-happy world as Benny Goodman was to the Woodstock generation. Santana's biggest smash, Abraxas, came in 1970. Radio now shuns most of the greats of Santana's glory days--the Who, the Allman Brothers, even Paul McCartney. Who cares if you're in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? It's ratings they want.

Still, Santana and Davis agreed that there was very little Santana needed to change. His lightning finger work and exquisitely formed fusion of blues, Hendrix-style guitar fireworks and Afro-Latin rhythms remain fresh. The key was coaxing a new generation of record buyers to discover a musician whose early hits are probably collecting dust in their parents' vinyl collections.

So Davis roped in a marquee full of guest stars to lend a hip, young edge: Dave Matthews, Lauryn Hill, Wyclef Jean, Everlast and Rob Thomas of the rock band Matchbox 20. Radio is lapping up the star-packed bill, powering the album's rise. And, not least, the songs are flush with energy and redemptive beauty.

Supernatural is a happy meeting of marketing and music. Maybe that's what Santana means by connecting the molecules with the light.