QUESTION MARK Answers [1981]

Text by Cary Baker / FFanzeen, 1981

Introduction © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2017

Images from the Internet, unless indicated

At Cavestomp! 2002 - Pic (c) RB Francos

This article was originally published in FFanzeen, issue #8, dated 1981. It was written by writer-turned-press agent extraordinaire Cary Baker.

There is no denying that “96 Tears,” ? and the Mysterians biggest hit from 1966, has one of the most infectious organ lines in rock’n’roll. I had the good fortune to see the band play in 2002 at CBGBs during “Cavestomp!,” a garage revival showcase series they were headlining. Between songs, he used the term “bay-behhh” a lot, as in “Hello, bay-behhhs. Great to be here, bay-behhh!” Needless to say, they were amazing. – RBF, 2017

Of all rock’n’roll’s “one-hit wonders,” perhaps the least is known of the arcane man by the name of Question Mark (hereafter referred to as “?”) who, with the equally-inscrutable Mysterians, created the Vox-riffing masterpiece of pop ephemera known as “96 Tears.”

The song, innocent as it was when ? wrote “Too many teardrops for one heart to be crying,” has enjoyed a phenomenal revival, thanks more than partially to Garland Jeffreys (who returned it to the Hot 100 this year) and to “Joe “King” Carrasco, whose Mex-merizing version was a live showstopper on last year’s Son of Stiff tour.

Now ? is back with four all-new Mysterians, touring at the peak of commotion brought on by Jeffreys’ cover. And without dispelling too much self-perpetuated “mystery” at the center of his non-myth, ? would like to make a few things crystal clear. Well, translucent, anyway:

Mystery No. 1: While certain rock texts espouse that ? is the nom de disque of Rudy Martinez, the mystery man himself insists it has been legally changed to, well, Question Mark. Asked to see an ID to that effect, he replies that he’s been refused one because no one believes him. Especially the immigration authorities, who deny him passports to the UK. “After all,” he reasons, “anyone can make anything up.”

Mystery No. 2: ? & the Mysterians are not from Brownsville, El Paso, or Austin, but rather from Flint, Michigan. “Outside of town and in the country,” specifically. The other original members (Bobby Bladerrama, guitar; Frank Rodrigues, keyboard; Eddie Serrato, drums [d. 2011]; Frank Lugo, bass guitar; Robert Martinez and Larry Brojas) were from Texas, he explains. Asked if ? himself, of obvious Hispanic descent, was born in Flint, he shrugs, “I won’t say.”

Mystery No. 3: After “96 Tears” topped the charts (the week of October 29, 1966, between “Reach Out” and “Last Train to Clarksville”), ? rebounded with “I Need Somebody” (peaking at No. 22), “Can’t Get Enough of You Baby” (No. 36), and “Do Something to Me” (which, karma aside, reached its apex at No. 96). Then, one would have thought, according to all logic, that ? would take the hint and disband the Mysterians. Therein lay Mystery No. 3. Fact is, there has never been a time that ? was without some version of the Mysterians. What’s more, he recorded (though not released) an album every year since 1969. “It was continuous,” he says. “Whoever came in, he was the new Mysterian. But every time I had a new group and it looked right to go on the road, someone would mess it up. I do have albums worth of material for each year.”

Mystery No. 4: A major record trade magazine recently reported that the original Cameo single of “96 Tears” was cut in a garage. Not only is that incorrect, but ? never sought coverage in the magazine. “I just called to see how Garland Jeffreys’ version was doing,” he says. “We were going to play in New York so I thought I’d drop in on ABKCO Records, who took over Cameo.”

* * *

The ? of today is of indeterminate years (“I never tell my age”) and sports a hirsute mane of shoulder-length black hair. Constant are the dark, convex shades that became his trademark a decade before there was a Ramones.

Coming to terms with the New Wave aided his renewed popularity. ? is proud to say that, “Elvis Costello bought an original copy of the 96 Tears album for $250.”

He likes much of what he’s heard, he claims, but doesn’t have a lot of time to spend listening to anyone. “I have heard Kraftwerk,” he says. “They play music with no drummer, no guitarist, no bass player, and no keyboard. Just four guys, and each has an electronic pad. If music goes in that direction, I can’t appreciate it. I wrote a song called, ‘He Plays Guitar.’ In ten thousand years, people are going to ask, ‘What’s a guitar?’ Just get a group of guys up there playing guitar, bass and drums.”

And you didn’t believe he was from within earshot of Detroit?

Central to the ? sound – then and now – is the organ. One hears a lot these days about the Farfisa, the matter-of-fact keyboard that spans an entire four octaves. Vox is the Farfisa’s close cousin, and served the original Mysterians well. “Now the guitar’s more out front,” ? says, “and we’re using a Hammond B-3 instead of a Vox. If I could find one, I’d love to have it because that’s the sound that happened then and can happen now. In Boston, we played with some new group and they had a real Vox. I almost walked out with it.” In an affected tough-kid Mexican inflection, he recapitulates his reaction: “Hey, we need that Vox, you know?!”

? has another taboo topic besides his age and birthplace: he refuses to interpret the vision behind his lyrics.

“They’re personal. I write for everybody. I figure everybody has the right to fantasize and put in their own possibilities. As soon as an artist says this song’s about so-and-so, that spoils the mystery.”

Why the recurring theme of mystery in his personal? ? won’t say.

“I didn’t just happen to say, ‘Do this.’ It evolved. See, I’ve been in show business since I was five. I was always dancing, always onstage with lights.

“My parents bought me a tape recorder. They would’ve bought me a piano if I’d wanted. I came from a family of ten, so it wasn’t easy. Anyway, I just sat down in a room and sang whatever was in my head and ‘96’ was one of those songs, instrumental arrangements and all.”

But, ?, is it not correct that Sir Doug’s “She’s About a Mover,” and Sam the Sham’s “Wooly Bully” preceded “96 Tears?”

“Yes, they came out first. But I had “96” conceptualized before they came out. As I said, my parents said they’d finance a piano if I wanted it, but I took a look at all those keys and thought, ‘It’d take forever to play this thing. And I have so much music in my head. I can sing it, but I have to find someone who can play what I hear.’”

? consulted the father of a neighborhood record store clerk who attempted to teach him to read music. “He tried to teach me the ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb” bit, but I didn’t have the time,” ? says, “So, he played ’96 Tears’ and for the first time, I heard the music I’d been hearing in my head, thanks to his old man.

“Right away, I started tracking radio stations, writing down how many times they played each song. People thought I was crazy, but I just had to do it. I mean, one day, I was going to be on the radio,” he says.

“96 Tears” was taped in a friend’s living room on a two-track perched outside on a patio. It was March, and the friend’s storm windows were still in.

“Not very acoustical,” he concedes.

The session cost $50. The organist came up with the two-chord run that set the tenor. “And I told him, ‘Hey, I’ve heard that before.’ Then it dawned on me. I wrote that. The old man at the music shop played it for me.”

“’96 Tears’ hit the top of the pops, while follow-ups were no more household than the Seeds’ “Can’t Seem to Make You Mine” or the Shadows of Knight’s “Willie Jean.” The band embarked on a Dick Clark tour and played Chicago’s Aragon in 1967 with the Four Seasons and Mitch Ryder. A version of “Do Something to Me” (“a year before Tommy James & the Shondells made it a hit”) made No. 5 in Louisiana and Hawaii, and No. 1 in their native Flint.

“If we’d stuck with original material, I’m convinced people would have related better,” he feels. Instead, producers kept feeding them outside contributions.

The eventual demise was far more external than choice of material. The Cameo label, whose president was Neil Bogart (later of Buddah, Casablanca and Boardwalk), collapsed. And since ? was on the road nearly perpetually, he didn’t hear the news until after the Cameo office phone had been disconnected.

Unreleased albums and countless personnel changes ensued. Finally, when the original organist found he couldn’t get along with the new members, the Mysterians took on a new, low-profile visage “with the guitar more out-front.”

There were plans to tour this year, as with every year prior. And then, suddenly, “96 Tears” was on the radio again, and ? was blown out of the water.

“I’ve never heard of Garland Jeffreys. And a friend called and said she’d heard my song on the radio. So I called the radio station and they played it for me. Then, in Columbus, Ohio, someone that called a radio station wanted to know, ‘Where’s the original Question Mark?’ I guess someone from Flint had a sister in Columbus. The DJ said, ‘If you know where he is, call us. If you have an original copy of the record, we’ll pay you $200.’ It just created a whole new interest.

“I like the Jeffreys version. He really listened to the bass line,” ? adds.

In concert, the new Mysterians have a Detroit sound and have the tendency to illuminate a ‘70s influence more than a ‘60s or and ‘80s one. Mitch Ryder’s current band comes to mind, as do the Rockats. And to the letdown of many, ? saves “96 Tears” until the tail end of the second set.

* * *

Mystery No. 5: This tour has been said to be a cash-in on the Tex-Mex craze with no more artistic merit than the return of, say, the Grass Roots or Crazy Elephant.

“I never get sick of doing my songs,” ? says. “One thing about a good song is that you can do it anytime. The band (conducting their soundcheck as we spoke) is playing, ‘Do Something to Me,’ which I recorded in ’68. It still sounds good to me. It doesn’t have to have a time period. If I’d done something disco, someone would have said, ‘Well, that’s good but it’s disco,’ and they wouldn’t appreciate it five years from now.

“That’s the one thing about an original: you can do it any time. The songs relate to any time anyone wants them to.

A later version remake:

SIR DOUG SAHM: Rock’n’Roll Royalty [1988]

Text by Bruce “Mole” Mowat / FFanzeen, 1988

Introduction © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2016

Images from the Internet

This article was originally published in FFanzeen, issue #15, dated 1988, beginning on page 11. It was written by Canadian music historian Bruce Mowat, who used to go by the name Mole in those heady days. For decades his locus was Hamilton, Ontario, but has since moved to the northern Prairies. Back east, during the time of this interview, Mole had a radio show, and this is actually a transcript of the on-air interview they did.

                                                                    

As for Doug Sahm, another of his popular bands was the Texas Tornados. However, one of the serendipitous thing about this piece is that while Mole now lives in Alberta, one of my favorite Doug Sahm recordings was for an Alberta label called Stoney Plains Records in 1987, just outside Edmonton (or as Mole might call it, “down south”). It was called Return of the Formerly Brothers, which Sahm recorded with Amos Garrett and Gene Taylor. It’s solid boogie blues, unlike the more psychedelic country blues of his earlier and better known band, The Sir Douglas Quintet, who had a big hit in the 1960s with “She’s About a Mover.” Sahm died in November 1999 of heart failure, in his sleep.  – RBF, 2016

FFanzeen: With the revamped Sir Douglas Quintet, you’ve had a number of albums out. The most recent was Rio Medina, and it wound up on a lot of people’s favorite albums of’85, including mine.

Doug Sahm: That’s what I’ve heard.

FFanzeen: I’d just like to go over some of the tracks of Rio Medina. One thing that really knocked me out was the version of the Police hit, “Every Breath You Take,” which is not normally something I particularly like; it’s the old adage of “It’s the singer, not the song,” but maybe you could tell me how it was arranged and how it came to be, covering that particular number.

Doug: Well, to be real truthful, it’s gonna take me a while to think about this, because when I made one record and move on to another, it takes me a while to get back into the details of it. You see, I do a lot of different types of bands. At that time, I was using my horn section from San Antonio, and I always thought that was a great song. I was inspired by Otis Redding, of whom I’m a big fan, who used to take “Satisfaction” and some of the pop songs and turn them into Rhythm & Blues. And that’s where I sort of came up with that idea. We had been playing it on our gigs at that time and everybody seemed to really like it, so it kinda developed from the stage act, really.

FFanzeen: “Viking Girl,” I guess that’s a reference to your big following in Scandinavia, and those areas of the world that you’re still very popular in.

Doug: The album just prior to Rio Medina [Midnight Sun – BM, 1988] has a real great drummer, Doug Clifford – he used to be the drums on the Credence Clearwater Revival – and Bobby Black, steel [guitar] player. At that time – that would be about two or three years ago – these country singers really got popular in Sweden and our timin’ was real good. That song “Meet Me in Stockholm” came to me and it became one of the largest hits there. It’s kinda strange in one way, though, ‘cause they kinda refer to me as a country star. I don’t really look at myself as a country star. I do so many different types of music that I think in some ways some people like it and some people it confuses, but I just kinda go with what I feel. We’ve always had this legendary drawing power. We’re one of the few bands from the ‘80s that you could go see that would play the hits, with most of the original guys.

FFanzeen: It’s kinda funny you mentioning you’re going back to Austin, after you did that song, “Can’t Go Back to Austin.” It’s a bit of irony.

Doug: Well, you know, a lot of people don’t really realize what’s going on back there. I’m from San Antonio and I like it. I really appreciate it and it’s one of the most soulful towns in the world, but I don’t prefer to live there. I like Austin, but even now, we’re having this giant influx of people comin’ there and it’s kinda changing it for the old timers. The young people like it but some of us old, kinda “cosmic cowboys,” we look at it as a kinda invasion right now. It went from a little over 100,000 (people) to half a million, and there’s no end in sight [in 2016, the population was 931,830, according to Wikipedia – RBF, 2016]… You know, I was real saddened at the passing of Richard Manual [of The Band, d. 1986]. I thought he was a real good musician. It’s kinda a shame in a way that he had such a unique American band, and in some ways America turned its back on ‘em ‘cause they’re not fashionable at the moment. One of the parts about my country I really don’t like is that you go to Europe and they just go completely bananas over American music. And a lot of them guys that can’t even hardly work here in the States can go to Europe and it’s really amazing. Me and Augie (Meyers) have maintained a real following, which we’re glad to have, but right now I’m kinda workin’ on that; I’m workin’ on a record that’s gonna be unique in that you might not even know it’s me [The Texas Mavericks, Who Are These Masked Men?, 1988 – RBF, 2016]. It’s a theory I’ve been working on for a while. We’ll see what the commercial aspects of it will be. Right now I’m playin’ again with my buddy Alvin Crow. He’s a real big country artist down here. He plays a lot of rock and roll. We also have a baseball team together. We have this gig right now, we have a drummer who usta play with Lee Michaels called Frosty [“Do You Know What I Mean?” – BM, 1988; full name is Bartholomew Smith-Frost – RBF, 2016]. He’s probably the finest drummer. Now there’s a studio here so we’re workin’ on a new album. I’m really quite happy with it, it’s about half completed. We’re really doing a lot of this West Texas rock and roll. We have this guy named Johnny X who’s a premier West Texas guitar player like Buddy Holly and Bobby Fuller. We did a remake of “I Fought the Law” that I think’s real good. We’re blending that with some of my new pop-kinda songs. I think it’s gonna be a real interesting album. I’m not really sure when it’ll be released, but I keep trying to be always forever changing. I think it does keep you very youthful in playing rock and roll, ‘cause a lot of guys get jaded after a while.

FFanzeen: Speaking of Buddy Holly and Bobby Fuller, I don’t want to say how old you are, but I can imagine you can remember working the same circuit as those people. Did you ever meet any of them?

Doug: No, I never did. In fact, I’m very proud of my age; I’m 44. I’m definitely a graduate of Haight-Ashbury. I was a kid for rock and roll, growin’ up in San Anton [sic]; I think I was 13 or 14 when Little Richard came out. That just completely blew me away. And then in the ‘60s, we all just packed it in and went west to San Francisco and became Texan flower kids or somethin’. That part of my life was quite successful as far as hit records goes. And then in the ‘70s, we came back to Austin, which then the “cosmic cowboy” was kind of a cowboy with long hair; and now it’s the ‘80s, we’re kinda goin’ wild, and it’s interesting ‘cause I’m happy to have the years because a whole lot has already went down, and some of the guys who aren’t quite that age now, a lot of the good times has already been done. And as far as musicians, Buddy was in and out so quick. I never was around West Texas much, and he was raised in Lubbock. Most of my influences in the early days came from the Black Rhythm and Blues guys like Bobby Blue Bland [d. 2013] and T-Bone Walker [d. 1975]. Me and Johnny Winters [d. 2014] and Stevie Ray [Vaughn; d. 1990], all those guys, we all sorta grew up diggin’ T-Bone and those guys. I would say we all were probably more Black-influenced. Buddy represented what we called the White music, which was great, but it seemed like he really wasn’t appreciated until he was dead, you know? But there wasn’t much of a country feel in the ‘60s; I mean the British Invasion kinda blew that right off the map for a while.

FFanzeen: That’s why you were called Sir Doug, I believe [their manager, Huey Meaux (d. 2011), attempted to pass off the SDQ as a Brit act – BM, 1988]

Doug: Well, that was part of the truth at the time. I kinda credit Willie Nelson a lot – my good buddy – he came back after he went away and did the Outlaws thing, plus he did all those big picnics and started (country music) all comin’ back. So the country thing – the real country thing – dates back to when I was very young – say the early ‘60s when I was, like, 10. I was born in ’41, so I remember the time in ’51 and ’52; I remember it very well, meeting Hank Williams [d. 1953], Lefty Frizzell [d. 1975], you know, he was an ex-boxer and I actually saw him punch a guy one night. It was one of the highlights of my young life, I wanna tell you. He was a great guy. I mean, it’s really funny when you compare (them) to the perfect-clean/squeaky-clean rock stars of the ‘80s. No offense in any way, but these guys were really soul guys to me; they were really hard-livin’. What they’d sing is really what they were. It wasn’t an act. That’s why I was really glad to see Little Richard make a comeback. I think that was really great.

FFanzeen: Being around the San Antonio area, you’re one of the people who’s credited to help develop the so-called Tex-Mex sound. I just wanted to maybe talk about all the different pieces that goes together to make that sound, and what you feel your role in it was.

Doug: Our role was quite clearly defined, I think. We were the first nationally/worldwide successful band with that sound. “She’s About a Mover,” you know, with the backbeat of the organ, is pretty much like Chuco polkas – are you familiar with Flaco Jiménez?

FFanzeen: I’ve heard bits and pieces, but that kinda material – original material – is very hard to get.

Doug: It is. There are some out. He’s getting really popular in Europe now, too. He’s been playing the circuit in England quite a bit. You see, one thing about living down there, you have a very large Chicano population, which is almost non-existent up here. They got a real great station in San Antonio. They call it “jalapeño radio,” and it was run by a guy named Rubio Polkas. Rubio means “blond guy,” and he’s a buddy of mine. It’s a family-run station [KEDA, 1540 AM – RBF, 2016] owned by Mr. (Manuel) Davila [d. 1997] who used to play our records 25 years ago when I had local hits, before there was a Quintet. So, that’s why that music is real popular, and I just love it. I mean, it’s a real alternative to be able to turn all the way to the right of the dial and get this weird sounding music. But the Tex-Mex thing, some people confuse that. Some people have called themselves Tex-Mex, which I don’t know if they are or ain’t. I don’t consider myself a critic, I just kinda tell it how it is. We were the first to do it. And then in the last four-five years, Joe “King” Carrasco [FFanzeen interview HERE], who’s also a friend of mine, he – oh, how can I put it without being too blunt – he popularized it through the press. He had a great press man, who’s a real good buddy of mine, Joe Nick Patoski, who’s a writer. (Joe) had this thing of kinda bringing it out to the kids. In other words, there’s a big gap now of 20 years with the fans who go to his gigs. When he plays in Austin now, he draws this large college crowd that I just don’t relate to any more. I’m from the old faction. When I play, you get all the old people there from the Silk Creek days or the Armadillo, when that was happening. You see, you gotta remember, that’s non-existent and that scene is almost over. And lately, a few of the bands out of there have done real well: the Fabulous Thunderbirds. I’m really happy for them. They finally cracked it. And Stevie Ray. But that’s more in the Blues’ side. The San Antonio thing is flourishing, but one thing about it, see, the Tex-Mex thing is very regional. Now y’all would really like it here (in Canada). I think if you really heard it more, if bands would tour –

FFanzeen: Absolutely!

Doug: - But it’s such an expense to bring people up here.

FFanzeen: It’s a long way

Doug: The Tex-Mex thing progressed. I mean, you remember Sunny and the Sunglows [formed in 1959 – RBF, 2016] was a big one. And then Freddy Fender [d. 2006] was definitely a big influence. Freddy’s almost not doing anything anymore. It’s amazing this up and down type of thing he’s had with his career. But I don’t know, it’s a certain type of people I think too, y’know? I was raised and still spend a lot of time in the barrio in San Antonio. You don’t really need to go to Mexico. It’s almost like being in Mexico, y’know? Yeah, me and Augie and a few of the White guys who kinda kept it going, they call me a nickname: Gavacho. A gavacho is a White guy who was raised by the Black and mostly Chicago influence. We just always liked that music, y’know, ‘cause San Antonio’s always had a blend of everything, of country and rock. Even now, like, my son is totally heavy metal, which the young Chicano kids just eat alive. They just love Ozzy Osborne, and KISS and Judas Priest, and that’s what they’re into, like most of the kids. And they really don’t like the Conjunta type.

FFanzeen: It’s, like, their parents’ music.

Doug: Yeah, exactly. I put on a polka station, and it’s, “Oh, man, turn it off. I hate it. I wanna hear KISS.” I guess every part of the world has its regional (music), but overall the American music scene on the soul level has become very homogenized. To me, it’s nowhere near where it was in the ‘60s, when you had the Byrds and us and Sam the Sham. We all worked shows like that. It would be, like, Dylan, the Byrds, Sam the Sham, us, the Kinks, directly to Stoney Plain (distributors). Throughout the world they’re a little clique or association of kinda got like everything else.

FFanzeen: Do you ever keep in touch with anyone from that era?

Doug: Sam’s (the Sham; aka Domingo Samudio) not around anymore. I understand Ry Cooder dug him up for that Border album, or somethin’ like that. I understand he’s driving a fishing boat to the (oil) rigs out there in New Orleans. He’s not even playin.’ And I’m sure you’ve been reading about David Crosby.

FFanzeen: Yeah, everyone’s pretty well familiar with his situation.

Doug: He’s been having a few problems. I was a fan of the Byrds. We still do “Mr. Tambourine Man.” I thought they were a great band. Boy, that’s ‘bout all I can think of right now. A lot of them are still in California. A lot of the bands are out there and I see them when I go out there occasionally. I think some of them made the transition into the new world and some of them didn’t. I feel quite fortunate to be able to, you know, have had a real, incredibly long longevity. I mean, look around and see 20, 25 years – a quarter-century – has popped by. There’s even an album out in Belgium that’s made up of stuff I recorded like five or six years before the Quintet, even.

FFanzeen: So that early material is being released.

Doug: Yeah, one of them is. This is a really great album. It’s on a label called Perceval. It’s out of Belgium [Texas Road Runner: The Renner Sides 1961-1964, re-released on Moonshine Records in Belgium in 1985 – RBF, 2016]. We were quite lucky to have that success over there. I didn’t have to play the American ballgame of this corporation kinda thing. I’m kinda an old rebel in some ways. I really enjoy working with our Swedish record Company. They lease it directly through Stoney Plain. Throughout the world they’re a little clique or association of the last of the good, independent record companies. They’re into makin’ good music and putting out Johnny Copeland [d. 1997] records, instead of the high-dollar, million dollar rock and roll records. And if they weren’t doin’ that, I think the whole sound would disappear from the face of the earth.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxsWRDeuxTE

“King" of the Tex-Mex: Joe Carrasco Crows

Text by John Jorge, introduction and photos by Robert Barry Francos
© 1982, FFanzeen; introduction / photos © RBF, 2011
Videos from the Internet



The following interview with Joe “King” Carrasco was originally published in FFanzeen magazine, issue #9, in 1982. It was conducted by John Jorge.

Calling Joe “King” Carrasco a dynamic performer is an understatement on the level of saying the Alamo didn’t go well for the Americans, or George W. Bush isn’t too bright. The man is a human form of double-caffeinated espresso

I had the extreme pleasure to see him (and the Crowns) play at the short-lived Sheepshead Bay club, the Brooklyn Zoo (where I took the photos attached to this piece). They rocked the place.

Time passed and after a few great albums, Carrasco and the Crowns went their separate ways. Carrasco moved on from Tex-Mex and jumped into reggae with full heart. But, and this is part of why this is being republished now, he has reformed with the original Crowns, and is heading back on the road to tour. Whether it will be Tex-Mex or reggae is anyone’s guess, but I’m going to assume it’s going to be a bit of each. Whichever way, it’s all good. – RBF, 2011



Joe “King” Carrasco and the Crowns. The name alone makes one think of perhaps some obscure “doo-wop” group of the late ‘50s. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Joe “King” Carrasco, along with the Sir Douglas Quintet, are the main exponents of Tex-Mex music. This style is hard to adequately describe, but listening to farfisa punctuated songs such as “96 Tears, “Wooly Bully,” or “Double Shot of My Baby’s Love,” one will know what Tex-Mex is all about. Call it Tex-Mex, nuevo wavo, or DOR, whatever you want, it’s difficult to keep still at a Carrasco concert.

“King” Carrasco may resemble the Police’s Sting, but he acts more like Steve Martin: a wild man unbounded. The tall, blond-haired Texan has made a name for himself in the past two years, since he formed the Crowns. Appearing on stage dressed in what has been termed “cheesy garb” and sporting a cape and an Imperial Margarine crown, this Texan oddball will do anything to win the adulation of the audience. He leaps and splits on stage, and armed with a sixty-foot guitar cord, jumps off stage still playing his guitar through the aisles, or on top of tables or the bar. He has brought his infectious dance-oriented music to such rock venues in New York as the Malibu, Mudd Club, Privates, as well as the Lone Star Café and Saturday Night Live. The Crowns include Dick Ross on drums; Brad Kizer on bass; and the comely Kris Cummings on keyboards.

Joe “King” Carrasco is as high-strung as a squirrel on Dexedrine. To conduct this interview (at the girls’ locker-room at Stoney Brook University), Carrasco had to be tied down and given a 20cc intramuscular injection of liquid valium. It did not have any effect on him.

FFanzeen: What is the question most asked of you?
Joe “King” Carrasco: “Why do you call yourself ‘The King’?” Well, I don’t know! [Laughs] I never knew why I called myself the King. Why does Prince Charles call himself “Prince” Charles? I don’t know.

FF: Who were you crowned by? Or was it a self-coronation?
Joe: One night in a dream, an angel came into my dream and crowned me. There’s this strange mystique in Texas. This is the real honest truth. I had a band called El Molino [The Grinder – RBF, 2011]. We were going to put out an album and we wanted to play New York, but some of the people in the band couldn’t make it up. So I couldn’t say it was El Molino and honestly say it was El Molino. I was called Joe Carrasco. And I said, Joe Carrasco is cool, but it doesn’t have anything to it. Sir Douglas Quintet are really big heroes of mine. And Augie (Myers), who plays organ for Doug (Sahm), is called “Lord August.” And there’s all these royal names down in Texas. Bands in Texas are really into royal names, so I thought, “King” Carrasco – it works! So I went for it.

FF: Name some influences to your music and style.
Joe: In the seventh grade, we played Sam the Sham stuff and Chicano music a lot. Sonny and the Sunliners, Steve Jordan, and Little Joe and the Familiar, and people like that. Those people really inspired me a lot. I used to always want to just end up playing in the lounges, and that’s what I really wanted to do. And all of a sudden, it wasn’t that I was tired of playing Mexican lounges, but we started playing this place called Raul’s in Austin, a punk club ran by Chicanos, and ended up playing more and more stuff that people loved. And all of a sudden we ended up in New York with Stiff Records, and now we’re here (at Stoney Brook). Weird! It’s weird. I didn’t start out to do any of this.

FF: What other places in Texas have you played?
Joe: Skip Willies, in San Antonio. That’s a big city down there, but no clubs. Skip Willies – it’s the only one. It’s kind of slow in San Antonio, but it’s trying. I played Kelly Air Force Base one time, at the Officer’s Club there. We got run out on the first set. And we didn’t get paid for it, either. The government still owes us $180. They told me, learn some commercial stuff. So I learned a couple of K.C. and the Sunshine Band songs. I didn’t play them – but I learned them.

FF: What kind of image would you say that you project?
Joe: I guess that a lot of people think I’m crazy or something. But I think what we’re trying to do is – not that I’m bored with the world, but I think that people should have a good time and start dancing. I’m used to going to a lot of parties and seeing people having fun. That’s kind of what I expect to see when I play: a lot of people having fun and dancing, and everything. Staying up late.

FF: What exactly is Tex-Mex music?
Joe: To me, Tex-Mex is Chicano music, like Steve Jordan or Little Joe. That’s Chicano music, but to me, it’s hardcore Tex-Mex. Roots. But to me, pop Tex-Mex, which I’m into, is more like “96 Tears” and “Wooly Bully,” or stuff like that. It’s not like I’m trying to carry on a fucking ‘60s tradition, because I don’t really care. [The] ‘Sixties is great and cool, but I’m talking about something that has to do with Tex-Mex. This is just a way of style and life and music. And that’s where it’s at. If you ask a Chicano what ‘60s is, they’ll go, “What?” They don’t know what ‘60s is. They don’t even know what year it is, right? They’re into having fun.

FF: I’ve noticed that more traditional music that is played in Mexico is more rigid or stiff than what you do.
Joe: The thing about Chicano music is that they’ve heard a lot of British music, right, and they tend to throw a lot more English influences into their polkas. Chicanos – Mexicans – came to Texas and heard the German polkas and adopted the German polkas into their thing. It’s really interesting how it all started. What I’m concerned with, mainly in Chicano music, is the melodies and a little bit of the rhythms. But mostly the melodies are just really good to add. You just put a Mexican melody to a rock’n’roll beat and you just have a great song. And that’s what they’ve done on “Wooly Bully,” “Mendocino,” and our songs.

FF: How do Latin audiences respond to you and your music?
Joe: They like us. They like us a whole lot. I’m gabasco – a white cat. That means really a lot, you know. I’m sure a lot of Chicano fiends of mine would rather like to hear me sing in Spanish. But I don’t speak very good Spanish. I speak a lot of Spanish down in Mexico, but writing and singing pure Spanish is hard for me. My songwriter partner is Spanish, so he puts a lot of Spanish in the lyrics. But they seem to like us. When we play for a solid Texan-Chicano audience, we play polkas, which we don’t do up here [in the North].

FF: Speaking about your songs, what are they about? Where do you get them from?
Joe: The songs I do are based on things that have happened to me, or stuff I’ve heard about from people. (The title of my song) “Caca de Vaca” means cow shit, you know. The song’s about a place called Palenque. That’s where all the mushrooms are. And the mushrooms come out of the cow shit. Caca de vaca’s the real thing down there. Guys go out at six in the morning, before the sun comes out, and pick them. And they sell them or give them away. Everybody’s eating mushrooms.

FF: Coming from Dumas, Texas (about 60 miles north of Amarillo), it would seem natural for you to go into C&W, or even rockabilly music.
Joe: Well, to me, rockabilly is good. And there’s a lot of rockabilly down there in Texas. Country and Western people do not understand these rockabilly people here in New York. There have always been rockabillies in Texas. They look at these guys and don’t know what to make of it. They take one look and it freaks them out. I think rockabilly’s great. To me, though, the end of it was in Chicano music, because they listen to James Brown and they’re into soul music more so than anything else. They just do a lot of soul music. And if you’re ever at a Chicano dance and you know you don’t like AM radio, but you want to know the cool songs, go to a Chicano dance. You’ll hear the cool songs. They got an ear for the soul stuff, the good ones. It’s weird. I never figured it out. “Groovin’” was a cool Chicano song, 'cause they’re into groovin’.

FF: What was your first gig like?
Joe: Our first gig? Oh, wow! We did our first gig on the Texas border. And a fight broke out. It was a place called Joe’s Barbeque and Dance. And God!, it was like, 14 people were there and a fight broke out. And we only made about $15, and we drove six hours to make that $15. It was really wild! And we were late, too. An hour and a half late for the gig – totally Mexican.

FF: How do they receive Joe “King” Carrasco and the Crowns in Europe?
Joe: We’re big in Europe. Our single’s, like, number 24. We’re big in places like France, Belgium, Spain and Portugal. I’ve had people record my songs in Europe. I like playing in Europe. It’s a blast! Last year at this time, we were playing in Portugal in the Stiff tour, and we all want to go back. We just got off a tour with the English Beat. I think they’re great. And we’ve got about a month’s tour with the Go-Go’s.

FF: Do you have anything to add?
Joe: Viva! Viva Carrasco!





Bonus Video: