Carlos Santana’s life changed forever on a hot August day in 1969, when he and his band were dropped into the chaos of Woodstock by an army helicopter. The festival, already legendary for its scale and spirit, would become the stage for Santana’s breakout performance—and a moment that would define him as both an artist and a person. But the story behind that performance, as Santana told Dan Rather, is even more surreal, poignant, and unexpectedly honest than fans might imagine.

The helicopter ride itself felt like something out of a movie. Santana remembers looking down and seeing what he described as a “living organism,” an ocean of people, hair, and colors swirling together in a way that was both overwhelming and magical. “It felt like if you were with Jesus when he was feeding people with bread and fish,” he said, drawing a parallel to the sense of unity and hope that filled the air. The crowd wasn’t just there for music—they were gathered in protest, believing in their collective power to change the world, to stop the Vietnam War, and to stand alongside movements like the Black Panthers and leaders such as Dolores Huerta and Cesar Chavez. “We could change the system,” Santana said, recalling how the music became a support system—“notes are more important than bullets,” as Bob Dylan once put it.

But Woodstock was also a place where boundaries blurred—between music, politics, and the psychedelic haze that defined the era. Drugs were everywhere, and Santana was no stranger to their influence. Shortly after landing, he ran into Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead, who offered him a mind-altering substance. Santana, thinking he had hours before his set, accepted. What followed was a twist of fate that would become rock legend.

In the chaos of Woodstock’s ever-shifting schedule—traffic jams, rain delays, and a crowd that seemed to stretch to infinity—Santana was told he’d be going on stage much sooner than expected. “You need to go on now, otherwise you’re not going to play,” someone told him, and suddenly, he was thrust into the spotlight, his senses heightened and distorted by the psilocybin Garcia had given him. “Everything becomes really like colors, amoeba,” Santana recalled. “I see the crowd and the band is looking at me like, ‘Man, you know, don’t you?’”

He walked onto the stage, unsure how he was even moving. What followed was a set powered by muscle memory and sheer will. When the band launched into “Soul Sacrifice,” Santana experienced something extraordinary—the neck of his guitar seemed to come alive, writhing like an electric snake. “It wouldn’t stand still,” he said, and his attempts to keep it under control led to the iconic, intense facial expressions captured on film. Fans have wondered for years what was really happening in those moments; Santana’s confession adds a new layer of myth and humanity to the story.

Rather pressed him on the specifics: Was it marijuana? Cocaine? Heroin? “No, no, no, no, no cocaine never. Or heroin? Never. It was probably psilocybin, which is another word for mescaline or peyote or ayahuasca,” Santana clarified, demystifying the experience while underscoring his openness about the realities of the time.

Woodstock catapulted Santana to stardom. The world opened up to him, and his music became a global phenomenon. But fame brought its own challenges. Rather asked if Santana had sunk deeper into liquor or drugs as his career soared. Santana’s answer was surprising: “I got deeper into depression.” The more hits the band had, the more money they made, the heavier the burden of expectation became. “I thought I was losing my mind,” he admitted. The adulation and pressure to be a certain way—always “supposed to be this and supposed to be that”—became overwhelming. “I just want to practice and make the music genuine, honest, sincere, true for real, and authentic,” Santana said. The drive for authenticity became his anchor amid the storm of fame.

When asked to describe his music, Santana’s response was both poetic and revealing: “My music is delicious anytime. My music is sacred and sexy, like the Doors.” He resists labels, especially the Hollywood tendency to brand him as “Latin.” “I don’t deny being Latin, whatever that is, even though I don’t speak Latin,” he joked, referencing the way the entertainment industry tries to fit artists into neat boxes. “What I am is a musician who articulates 99.9% African music. African music. That’s what I play.” Whether it’s blues, cha-cha, mambo, rumba, bossa nova, or any other rhythm, Santana insists the roots are African—a tribute to the deep cultural heritage that shapes his sound.

Santana is renowned for his collaborations, especially with singers. He attributes his success in this area to trust and respect. “They know that if they invite me, I won’t step on their lines. I will not do anything to disturb their space and place in the song,” he explained. His vast portfolio of melodies and nuances, learned from countless influences, allows him to adorn a melody and make it gorgeous without overpowering it.

After his performances, Santana describes a process of “coming down” that is as intentional as his music-making. “It takes like about an hour and a half,” he said. Now living in Las Vegas, he jumps in the pool, reads, and chants mantras to calm his mind. “Repetition creates a form of tranquility for your brain because your brain gets ecstatic a lot,” he explained. After the energy of a show, he seeks a gentle landing, chanting affirmations like “I am that I am. I am the light. Gratitude. Gratitude. Gratitude.”

Santana’s journey to America began in 1963, when he was a teenager. His first days in the country were challenging, especially after growing up in Tijuana, where he learned about music and life in the strip joints. “Can anything be better than this?” he wondered at the time, reflecting on the education he received—not just musically, but in understanding the power and confidence of women. “The way I grew up in Tijuana, the way they walk and everything was very conducive to how I articulate sassiness, conviction,” Santana said. He credits those formative experiences with giving him a sense of self-assurance that carries into his music and performances.

For Santana, music isn’t just entertainment—it’s a sacred, sexy, and deeply authentic expression rooted in cultural history and personal experience. His story, from Woodstock’s psychedelic haze to the strip joints of Tijuana, is a testament to the transformative power of music, the challenges of fame, and the resilience of the human spirit. By sharing his truth with honesty and humor, Santana invites fans to look beyond the legend and see the real person behind the guitar—a man who, even at the height of fame, is still searching for the genuine, the sacred, and the soulful in every note he plays.