You know that feeling when you hear a song so many times you just assume you know everything about it? That’s Black Magic Woman. Most people hear those sultry, sustain-heavy guitar notes and immediately picture Carlos Santana. They see him on stage, eyes closed, fingers dancing over a Gibson SG or a PRS, backed by a wall of congas.
But here is the thing: it isn't his song. Not originally, anyway.
The track that basically defined Latin rock for a generation was actually written by a guy from East London who was struggling with his own demons. It’s a weird, winding story that connects British blues, a tragic guitar hero, and a San Francisco parking lot.
The British Roots Nobody Talks About
Before it was a global anthem for Santana, "Black Magic Woman" was a 1968 single by the original Fleetwood Mac. And no, I don't mean the Stevie Nicks/Lindsey Buckingham version of the band with all the "Rumours" drama.
I’m talking about Peter Green’s Fleetwood Mac.
Peter Green was a legend. B.B. King once famously said Green was the only guitarist who ever gave him the "sweats." He wrote the song as a moody, minor-key blues shuffle. If you listen to the 1968 original, it’s much sparser than the version you probably have on your playlist. It’s haunting. It feels like a late-night basement club in London where the air is thick with smoke.
Green reportedly wrote the lyrics about his girlfriend at the time, Sandra Elsdon, whom he called "Magic Mamma." Musically, he was ripping off himself—specifically a track called "I Loved Another Woman" from their debut album. He also admitted to being heavily influenced by Otis Rush’s "All Your Love."
It’s crazy to think that a song so deeply associated with the sun-drenched "Latin Sound" of California actually started in a rainy studio in England.
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How Gregg Rolie and a Parking Lot Changed History
So, how did a British blues track end up in the hands of a bunch of hippies and jazz-fusion fanatics in San Francisco?
It wasn't even Carlos Santana's idea.
Gregg Rolie, the band's keyboardist and lead singer (who later went on to found Journey), was the one who brought the song to the group. He’d been listening to the Fleetwood Mac version and thought they could do something with it.
Carlos was hesitant at first. He didn't want to just play a blues cover. But then they started jamming on it.
There’s a great story Carlos tells about a soundcheck in a Fresno parking lot. They were just messing around, and he realized he could layer different styles over Green’s melody. He thought, "I can put some Otis Rush here, maybe some Wes Montgomery jazz licks there."
Basically, they took a skeletal blues song and stuffed it with:
- Congas and timbales
- A heavy Hammond B3 organ
- Afro-Cuban 3/2 son clave rhythms
- That signature "Gypsy Queen" instrumental tag at the end
That ending is important. On the Abraxas album, "Black Magic Woman" isn't a standalone track. It’s a medley that transitions into "Gypsy Queen," which was written by Hungarian jazz guitarist Gábor Szabó. That’s why the version you hear on the radio today sounds so much more "complex" than the original Fleetwood Mac single. It’s a literal mashup of two different artists' visions.
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The Production Magic of Abraxas
When Santana went into Wally Heider Studios in 1970 to record the Abraxas album, they weren't just making a record. They were inventing a genre.
The recording of Black Magic Woman is a masterclass in tension and release. Think about the intro. It starts with that lone, echoing keyboard note in the left channel. It’s quiet. It builds. Then the percussion hits, and suddenly you’re in a different world.
Engineer Fred Catero helped capture that "voodoo" atmosphere. They didn't use a lot of fancy tricks; it was mostly about the room and the chemistry of the musicians. You have Michael Shrieve on drums (who was only about 20 at the time) and the legendary Jose "Chepito" Areas on percussion.
It’s worth noting that the version most of us know—the one that hit #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in early 1971—is actually a "radio edit." The full album version is over five minutes long. If you've only ever heard the short version, you’re missing the best part: the way the song breaks down into a frantic, percussive jam that feels like it’s about to fly off the rails before perfectly landing on its feet.
Why the Song Still Works (and Why It's Misunderstood)
There is a lot of debate about what the song is actually "about."
Is it about a woman who practices the occult? Or is it a metaphor for addiction?
Given Peter Green’s later struggles with mental health and his brief, intense descent into the world of "high-society" acid parties and rumors of the occult, people often read a lot into the lyrics.
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"Got a black magic woman... she's tryin' to make a devil out of me."
But honestly? It’s probably just a classic blues trope. The "femme fatale" who has a supernatural hold over a man.
What makes the Santana version superior to many fans—and even to some members of Fleetwood Mac—is the "swagger." It’s a sexy song. It has a groove that works in a club, at a festival, or in your car. It’s one of those rare instances where a cover version completely eclipses the original to the point where the original songwriter becomes a footnote.
Interestingly, Peter Green didn't mind. He actually lived off the royalties of the Santana version for years after he left Fleetwood Mac and gave away most of his other money. He even performed it with Carlos during their 1998 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction.
Actionable Insights for Music Fans
If you want to truly appreciate the depth of this track, don't just stream it on a loop. Dig a little deeper into the DNA of the song.
- Listen to "I Loved Another Woman" by Fleetwood Mac (1968): You will hear the exact moment Peter Green birthed the melody. It’s like seeing the rough sketch of a masterpiece.
- Compare the mono vs. stereo mixes of Abraxas: There are subtle differences in how the percussion is panned that change the "hypnotic" feel of the track.
- Check out Gábor Szabó’s "Gypsy Queen": Once you hear the original jazz version of the song's ending, you'll realize just how much of a "thief" (in the best way) Carlos Santana was. He took disparate pieces and glued them together with his own soul.
- Try the 1998 Live Version: Search for the video of Peter Green and Carlos Santana playing it together. It’s a touching, if slightly messy, tribute to the man who started it all.
The legacy of Black Magic Woman isn't just about a hit single. It's about how music travels. It’s about how a British bluesman's heartbreak turned into a Latin rock revolution.
Next time it comes on the radio, listen for the congas, but remember the "Magic Mamma" back in London. It took both of them to make the magic happen.