“If it wasn’t for Chris Strachwitz, Los Lobos wouldn’t have happened the way they did.”
Chris Strachwitz in his music shop.
I was saddened to hear that Chris Strachwitz, the visionary and indefatigable music producer and founder of legendary Arhoolie Records died last week. Sure, he was 91 years old and led good life, a long life for sure. Yet, it was still disheartening to wake up and read that he had died. He was known in music and artistic circles as the guy who recorded and promoted enduring blues artists such as Sam “Lightning” Hopkins and Mance Lipscomb. Beginning in the early 1960s he played a huge role in spreading the talents of blues artists as well as traditional Americana music makers in the fields of Louisiana-based Zydeco and Tex-Mex frontera music.
On top of all of that, if it weren’t for the pioneering work of Chris Strachwitz and his unselfish community spirit, there would never have been the recorded music of Los Lobos, the East Los Angeles-rooted treasure of Chicano/mexicano/roots/rock music. At least not in the way it happened. Let’s be clear: Los Lobos would have eventually been monsters in the music world, because their sheer talent and innovation were just too irrepressible to ignore. They would have made it—one way or another. But the way they did make it owes a debt of gratitude to Chris, even though indirectly.
Let me explain.
Waaaay back in the Pleistocene, that is the early 1970s, there was this group of hippie-looking, long-haired Chicano musicians who had just taken to calling themselves Los Lobos del Este de Los Angeles. They’d only been out of Garfield High School for a couple of years. Louie Pérez, David Hidalgo, Cesar Rosas and Conrad Lozano. They played music. And they played. And they played. They never met a garage or a backyard barbecue they didn’t like. They perfected their chops.
Los Lobos performing in early 1970s.
They started out with rock ‘n roll, but soon hit the harder stuff, as Mr. Dylan might say. They put down the electric guitars and picked up requintos, vihuelas, guitarrones and all manner of acoustic stringed instruments. They learned songs recorded by Miguel Aceves Mejia, Jacinto Gática, Pedro Infante and others. The Mount Rushmore of traditional Mexican music. And here’s the thing: they got good at it. They got great! They wowed audiences wherever they went on the Eastside. Abuelitas nodded in approval at the songs they had heard in their youth. Teenagers with blue hair, normally fixated on the Rolling Stones and Jimi Hendrix, gyrated in surprised adulation. Los Lobos were that good.
I was a bit of a mocosa myself at the time. Fresh out of college, I worked with some Chicanos making bare-bones documentary films. The group included a guy named Rudy Vargas. He gave me the phone number of a guy named Louie Pérez, a member of the musical group. I called and soon I cornered these scruffy but unbelievably talented musicians to do soundtracks for some very low-budget films. Associations and friendships developed. I had them record music for a little film I did for the University of California. It was a brief propaganda film intended to recruit Chicanos/Chicanas to UC campuses.
Around that time, we formed a little collective dedicated to making films and, in general, spreading the word of the artistic accomplishments of the Chicanada. The movimiento was in full swing, in all its dazzling manifestations—from murals to poetry to drama to films and, certainly, to music. This little group included Vargas, Jesús Treviño, David Sandoval and me, the youngest and most mocoso of the group. I had hosted radio talk shows to pay for undergraduate school and I had developed a few jobs in radio and assorted recording gigs. I knew a lot and I knew that I didn’t know a lot. We got the idea to produce an album with this scruffy but talented group of mocosos called Los Lobos.
That’s where Chris Strachwitz comes in. If I were at all religious, I’d say “bless his heart.” As it happens, I follow the dictates of Luis Buñuel who once said: “Thank god, I’m an atheist.” All that aside, Strachwitz was—dare I say?–a godsend.
The Ash Grove featured blues performers like Lightening Hopkins, Mance Lipscom and Mississippi John Hurt (shown here).
Here I was, determined to produce a record with Los Lobos. I had enormous help and support from David Sandoval in this endeavor. But here’s the thing: I had never produced a record. (There’s a ton of stuff to accomplish, from start to finish.) I didn’t know where to start. I went to the library and read every book I could find on “how to produce a record.” There was no Internet in those days. The books were not much help. They focused on mega-budget projects with Frank Sinatra and The Beatles. Some help to a fledgling record producer. But not much. I was working with a miniscule budget.
At the time I was a huge fan of acoustic blues. I went to a coffee house called the Ashgrove to hear these great, if unsung musicians. The Ashgrove, run by the mercurial Ed Pearl, became my musical house of worship. Lighting Hopkins. Mance Lipscomb. Mississippi Fred McDowell, Mississippi John Hurt, John Lee Hooker. These were my musical heroes. And as it happens, they were the musical heroes of Chris Strachwitz as well. Hell, he had produced and marketed their records!
So, at that time—in the early 1970s—I did something wacky. I decided to pick up the phone and call Chris Strachwitz, the founder and owner of Arhoolie Records, the guy who had recorded all of these great blues artists. Además, he had recorded tons of very cool mexicano stuff! Arhoolie Records cranked out the Grammy-winning record “Ay Te Dejo en San Antonio” by Flaco Jimenez. Strachwitz, along with his partner Les Blank, created “Chulas Fronteras” and works by Los Pinguinos del Norte, including “Conjuntos Norteños.” Come on!
I called “directory assistance” (remember that?) and got the number. I called Arhoolie Records in El Cerrito, north of Berkeley. I asked for Strachwitz. To my amazement, he picked up the phone. He was unbelievable cordial and patient. I was this nobody Chicano calling from East L.A., planning to produce a record—from start to finish. Of course, he didn’t know me from Adán. I explained who I was and what I was hoping to accomplish. Again, he was patient and understanding. He gave me his time and his insight and a good chunk of his experience. We were on the phone for more than half-an-hour. (We subsequently talked two other times on the phone.)
He gave me a crash course on producing a record, from the technical aspects of recording, to mixing, to equipment, to copyright law, to design.
To compress it all: he gave me a crash course on producing a record, from the technical aspects of recording, to mixing, to equipment, to copyright law, to design, to physically pressing a record and printing the album sleeve, to marketing, to bookkeeping. And he didn’t have to do it. I was unbelievably grateful at the time. And I am unbelievably indebted to him to this day.
Six months after that first phone call with Chris Strachwitz, the album “Los Lobos del Este de Los Angeles: Just Another Band From East L.A.” was on the market. It became a calling card for the band. Los Lobos skyrocketed from there. It led to their first “real” record with a Big Time label, a subsidiary of Warner Brothers. Los Lobos were off and running.
And I am still grateful to Chris. I don’t want to be maudlin, but maybe it was strangely appropriate that he died on Cinco de Mayo.
(Note: I am grateful to Ron Escarsega for the inspiration to put this down on paper.)
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Copyright by Luis R. Torres. Luis Torres is a veteran journalist in Los Angeles. With David Sandoval, he produced the first Los Lobos album, “Los Lobos del Este de Los Angeles: Just Another Band From East L.A.”