Los Lonely Boys – Brothers in arms
During a break over a late-lunch/early-dinner spread of chili, beans, and chips — JoJo nodded to Henry, “Tastes like school, huh?” — small talk was made. But when the conversation touched on how Elvis died, the small talk turned serious. It was almost as if they could have been talking about their own lives.
“Elvis died because he had to take uppers to get up in the morning and downers to go to sleep at night,” JoJo said somberly. “It all started turning into the concrete in his intestines. He was just trying to use the bathroom when they found him, man. He was still alive, foaming at the mouth, strangling. The Colonel said not to let him live, not in those words but in not getting there in time. So he lost his life.”
“He could’ve had a number of things happen to him,” Henry countered. “Could’ve faked it. Could’ve gotten murdered. Could’ve died. He did what he was doing. Dude was never by himself anywhere. He didn’t know what was going on around him because he was trusting the people working for him. All he gave a shit about was the money. He didn’t give a shit about the person.
“Life’s not about that,” Henry continued emphatically, waving his plastic spoon for emphasis. “Life is about living. When Elvis died, he lost everything. He lost his wife. He lost his fans. No one was really liking him because he was so big. He wanted to get back to being Elvis, but his life went by him. By the time he was ready to do something he was too old.”
“It’s sad to say he’s a perfect example of what happens in this business if you let it control you, man,” JoJo said, shaking his head.
“Most people don’t see that,” Henry replied. “The real people don’t see that. They think he had everything, he died happy.”
And what would the public not know about Los Lonely Boys?
“We’re tired puppies, man,” Henry said. “We’ve lived fast and lived hard as kids. Now, we’re straining along and there’s not enough time with your kids growing up.”
The suits wanted an album. The Boys were not only tired, but they were, uh, umm…distracted. You’d be too if a year earlier, you’re on your tour bus rolling into San Francisco to do a gig at the Fillmore in San Francisco, a place even Tejanos in west Texas know is a hallowed hall of rock ‘n’ roll, and a black BMW pulls up and Carlos Santana, the all-time #1 Chicano rock god, steps onto the bus to greet you like long-lost brothers.
The connection was immediate and heartfelt. Before the night was over in San Francisco, los hermanos Garza were jamming with Santana, two sounds separated by 30 years and a thousand miles that blended into one. The elder was passing the torch, he told the Boys that night at the Fillmore and later on at his home north of the city, where they played records and made music until dawn.
“What started with Ritchie Valens and went through me is now going through you,” Santana told them. For the Boys, it was an honor more worthy than a dozen platinum CDs. The second studio album could wait. And it did. In the meantime, a live album, recorded at the Fillmore, was released in February 2005.
That was the same year Epic Records stepped in to distribute the album for Or Music, which triggered a whole new promotional campaign and required more roadwork. But they were spent. “What is there left for me to do?” Henry asked toward the end of the year. “I’ve made a ton of money. I’ve sold a lot of records. I’ve been to Carlos Santana’s house. I’ve been to Willie Nelson’s house. I’ve toured with both. What’s left?” He missed home and family. And he wasn’t the only one.
When they finally came back to finish the follow-up studio album, they added dollops of Santana special sauce to the sonic attack. Though some songs are bilingual, knowledge of Spanish isn’t required to feel the Latin groove. The jam component of the band has matured into a hybrid of Stevie influences and Carlos influences — fitting since the role models were mutual admirers. And they have a real knack for pop songs.
Texican pride may be a badge of honor. So are the comparisons to Vaughan and Santana. But in the end, those are qualifiers that superficially impose a glass ceiling, like being called the best Mexican-American band from Texas. What’s wrong with being the best band from Texas? Or the best American band?
This band dreams bigger, just like their dad did. One thing father and sons still agree on is that the Beatles were the best band ever. Why not aspire to that?
The Boys’ manager won’t go there. “We stay away from that,” Kevin Wommack said. “Where’s Badfinger? Being the next Beatles has never worked for anyone.”
But Ringo Sr. has his opinion, which leads him to say in all sincerity, “Hopefully, someday they’ll be the Mexican Beatles.”
Their harmonies are just as tight. They have a soft spot for sentiment and romance in the spirit of “Do You Want To Know A Secret?” and “Michelle”. Just listen to the new album’s “Never Met A Woman”, “Diamonds”, and “Roses”.
And it’s not just the Beatles who’ve provided their cues for appreciating sappy pop. They have repeatedly voiced respect and admiration for Ronnie Milsap, the blind pianist from Memphis who became a country star in the 1970s and is their father’s favorite recording artist of all time. The soulful parts of Milsap’s pop ballads obviously rubbed off.
In fact, when CMT’s “Crossroads” program approached Los Lonelys to do a segment, they agreed with the stipulation that their collaborator on the musical mix ‘n’ match show be Milsap. As for “Roses”, there’s no better way to get to that special pop-rock plateau occupied by acts like the Doobie Brothers than by collaborating with a big Doobie — Pat Simmons — to write the song. They met Simmons on Maui over at Willie’s place and brought him to San Angelo, where they wrote songs, raced cars at the San Angelo Speedway, and talked about all things Doobie.
Maybe the elder Ringo is on to something with this Mexican Beatles talk. Not for nothing is there a movie script floating around that reads a whole lot like A Hard Day’s Night with Los Lonely Boys’ names on it. I can hear it now…
El El Bee…El El Bee.
ND contributing editor Joe Nick Patoski is working on a biography of the LLBs’ benefactor, Willie Nelson, for Little, Brown and Company, to be published in 2008.