It’s pretty sad that Carlos Santana hasn’t made a good album in decades. On one hand, it’s hard to begrudge him the validation of his big late 90’s comeback; the man deserves recognition. On the other hand, duetting with the likes of Rob Thomas does not a more burnished legacy make. It feels like Santana’s main priority since then has been to rope in as many profile boosting guest stars as humanly possible at the expense of anything resembling creative integrity. Allowing Pitbull to jizz all over Oye Como Va was the absolute nadir. But despite Santana’s own very best efforts to pimp himself back to Top 40 relevance, he does still have a legacy. Let me remind you that in the 70’s Carlos Santana was making transportive and important music, pushing the boundaries of psychedelic rock by drawing on a diverse mix of influences that presaged today’s thirst for all things ‘global’ and exotic. Now if he would only stop playing sideman to people who don’t deserve to mop his floor.