All That I Am

We get it, already: Lots of people are dying to work with Carlos Santana. This is his third album in a row that’s bum-rushed by guest stars—and they all tend to bring out the worst in him. When he’s cornered on songs with the likes of Steven Tyler, Big Boi, or Bo Bice, Santana overplays egregiously, filling every nook with flowery guitar lines that may or may not fit. Luckily, a few vibrant and notably celeb-free Latin shuffles serve as a reminder of the dude’s genuine talent—and the promise of that wonderful day when he loses his Rolodex.