On the morning of Aug. 15, 1969, Carlos Santana's red-hot Latin rock band wasn't much more than a local favorite in the Bay Area. By the end of the day – after a jaw-dropping seven-song set before a half-million kids at Woodstock – you could say word of the six-piece had made it out of town. A few days later its debut, Santana, was released and went on to sell more than two million copies. That album, with the addition of three previously unreleased tracks, makes up the first of this exciting two-record set.

This was a one-of-a-kind band, with two percussionists, drums, bass, organ, and Santana's unmistakable guitar. It boasted not only the most powerful, exciting rhythm section in rock, but, most amazing of all, it was also led by a guitarist who could play with tasteful restraint. That, along with his unique sense of melody, put Santana in a class by himself. The original tapes have been remastered, and though I don't know what remastering entails, I assume the process explains why, when I play the CD, it sounds like the band has set up in my living room.

I sometimes wonder why producers go to the trouble of remastering old tapes to enhance the original sound if they're going to serve up a second disc burdened with music that generally wasn't strong enough to be released the first time around. As a general rule, when a second CD is added to what was originally a single-disc affair, disc two sucks. And wouldn't you know that the first six cuts on this particular second disc were recorded some months before the others, with different personnel and a different producer, and, true to form, they suck. But beginning with "Waiting," the seventh track, and running through "Fried Neckbones," what you'll find is a near perfect live recording of the 42-minute Woodstock performance that was Santana's coming-out party. And you know what? This band was so good and so unique that the music still works 35 years later. The truth is that if you got the second disc with only the Woodstock set, this one would still be worth owning. That, in case you missed the point, is what you call a critical rave. (J.H. Tompkins)