Casual research into the name Joe “King” Carrasco reveals the synopsis of a manic Tex-Mex bandleader better suited for the club stage than to the purposes of recording LPs. Mention his name to someone who’s seen him in action and you’ll likely hear an enthused recollection of a wild and happy night. Listen to Mil Gracias a Todos Nuestros Amigos, the 1980 Stiff Records debut of Carrasco and the Crowns, and the ear will be greeted by 12 songs from a group that from under the wide umbrella of the New Wave was briefly able to transfer their wild performance-based abandon into the grooves of long-playing vinyl.
There’s been a lot of debate over the years regarding the value of the late-‘70s musical surge known as New Wave. Setting aside the zealous haters that simply could not abide the movement’s departures from the Zeppelin/Eagles Arena Rock model, many detractors continue to associate the term with a weakening of the punk aesthetic set in motion by acts looking for wider success as encouraged by the interests of parties that were largely if not completely mercantile in character.
Naturally, some kernels of truth reside in this assessment, as the linguistic sleight of hand of Seymour Stein’s “Don’t Call it Punk” campaign easily attests. But naturally, it’s a far more complex situation than that. For example, new wave’s proponents often describe it as music made in direct response to ‘70s arena rock having reached a juncture of stylistic exhaustion, and for emphasis they point directly to the recycling of the buzzword applied to the cinematic uprising known as the Nouvelle Vague, which in the US, Great Britain and elsewhere was translated under the heading of the French New Wave.
That much needed and still influential development in film was surely a break with its home country’s Tradition of Quality, but it was also delivered by a small handful of auteurs, the most famous being Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut, Éric Rohmer, Jacques Rivette, and Claude Chabrol. Displeased with “a certain tendency in the French cinema” they surely all were, and they did certainly set themselves to the task of creating something fresh.
However, only when combined with simultaneous shifts in motion picture activity in the UK, Italy, Japan, Germany, the Soviet Union, and yes the USA does this analogy with new wave music become truly apropos, and it shapes up far less as a reactionary occurrence (as No Wave was in regard to new wave) and much more as a purely generational thing.
Of course for a short time it blended right in with punk’s objective to Rip it Up and Start Again, but those most frequently categorized as new wavers weren’t so much angry with the grand gestures located in stadiums and amphitheaters as they were simply unable or disinterested in working in that grandiose mode. Others weren’t however, and the ritual of arena-scaled rock, which has slowly come to mingle with the yearly barrage of sweaty summer festivals, continues on to this very day.
A big hunk of new wave music, like a lot of new wave film, wasn’t disapproving of the past at all, though it must be noted that much of the stuff wielding synthesizers was focused not on history but instead on forecasting the future for the benefit of their present day’s audiences. Yes, the new wave scenario is full of nuance and sometimes even contradictory complications.
And the longer a mind spends contemplating new wave, the more its reductive designation as just a bunch of skinny tie-clad kids making a big if temporary MTV-assisted splash on the way to its denouement at the intersection of late New Romantic Avenue and Rick Springfield Boulevard while the record industry regained its footing through the savvy marketing maneuver of music video production is just plain silly and oft indicative of a belief that there’s no rock quite like Classic Rock.
For a few years there, new wave bands seemed to be sprouting up everywhere and they came in all shapes and sizes. For instance the label was so inclusive (to the point that many have derided it as meaningless, similar to later style markers like College Rock, Alternative and Indie) it even got slapped onto Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. That may seem wrong in retrospect, but who besides the new wave sect of the power poppers was dealing in Beatles/Byrds-derived revisionism at the time?
New wave definitely had its “roots” component, encompassing the punk-trash of The Cramps, the inspired reverence of The Blasters, ex-Tuff Dart Robert Gordon’s team up with Link Wray, the more polished strains of The Stray Cats, and to get away from rockabilly, the revamped Latin ambiance of Kid Creole and the Coconuts, the whole 2 Tone experience, and to stretch things close to the breaking point, even the No Wave neo-jazz of The Lounge Lizards.
One of new wave’s coolest roots expressions came from the Tex-Mex stylings of Joe “King” Carrasco and the Crowns. Yes, the movement even had room for a zanily dressed coronet-topped conduit of the eternally hep strains formerly associated with such bands as Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs and The Sir Douglas Quintet.
The Crowns’ debut LP was issued in the UK by the Stiff label, a connection that surely cements their new wave bona fides. But deepening it was their quick rep in New York City as a live act to see, with the Crowns’ border town spirit getting them linked to the zesty warped kitsch of fellow Southerners The B-52s, and it eventually steamrolled them into an appearance on Saturday Night Live and frequent rotation on early MTV.
Indeed, videos on Music Television were many folks introduction to Carrasco, but a much smaller number learned of him through his debut with the group El Molino. Their sole LP, Joe “King” Carrasco and El Molino was initially released in 1978 by the small Lisa label, picked up the next year by punk/wave indie Chiswick, and eventually reissued on cassette in ’89 by the ROIR imprint and later on CD by Tornado under the title Tex-Mex Rock-Roll.
It’s a very good record, but it made no splash, and its second title is somewhat deceiving, particularly for those coming to it with prior knowledge of the Crowns. But if not an essential acquisition, for a full understanding of where Carrasco was coming from, it’s a must hear. Therein is found a true grasp of Tex-Mex’s links to Western Swing, a whole heap of brass band involvement, the obvious influence of later precedent (Flaco Jiménez, Steve Jordan, Freddy Fender, Doug Sahm), and even a curious lounge-like vibe at times.
On a couple of occasions I’ve crossed-paths with humans articulating a belief that the Crowns were little more than a gimmicky style-snatch. This is a simply ridiculous assertion, and in each case it was uttered by entrenched new wave-haters that had only heard Carrasco’s two slabs for MCA. Joe “King” Carrasco and El Molino might’ve stirred up little dust, but along with being a sweet listen, its existence proves the leader’s tightening of the focus with the Crowns was no exhibition of fakery.
But others have diminished the Crowns as sort of cheesy, mainly due to the presence of Kris Cummings’ organ sound. I also can’t help but think that conclusion is drawn from exposure to the MCA recs or even the self-titled version of the debut pressed-up in the US by Joe Boyd’s Hannibal label. While its thirteen tracks do share nine with the Stiff issue’s dozen, they are sequenced in a far less attractive manner, though it does open with “Houston El Mover,” the b-side to their scarce Billy Gibbons-funded first 45 on Gee Bee Records.
To these ears, the Hannibal incarnation is far inferior to Stiff’s Mil Gracias a Todos Nuestros Amigos, which opens in a Sir Douglas Quintet-like zone with “Buena.” As it plays, Cummings’ organ easily sidesteps cheese-land and heads straight for the heart of “Mendocino.” And the ease with which Carrasco’s vocals switch from English to Spanish should halt any stubborn doubters in their tracks. If this is a fake, Wilt Chamberlain was a munchkin.
From there, the album enters its sweet-spot, which can be roughly described as light garage-rock melding with power pop that reveals occasional distinct new wave-ish flourishes. Yes, the garage mining might fall short of a personal standard that’s set to the pure raucousness of The Sonics, but anybody who’s spent an enjoyable evening in the company of a Fleshtones’ record should dig “Betty’s World.”
And if you’ve got a stash of Bomp singles at home, then “I Get My Kicks on You” should caress your lobes like an amorous bedmate. From there a very sturdy cover of Roy Head and the Trait’s “One More Time” introduces hopped-up late-50s R&R to the table. Along with good taste (Texan Head is a noteworthy, sadly underappreciated figure and a great listening source far beyond “Treat Her Right”), it brings useful range to the disc.
“Don’t Bug Me Baby” is an excellent slice of hyperactive power pop driven by the engine of a finely-tuned band. Along with Cummings’ organ and Carrasco’s fleet guitar, bassist Brad Kizer serves to anchor but more importantly propel as his counterpart in rhythm, Mike Navarro gives his drums a workout. And that antsy sensibility shapes up as a big part of their new wavey congruence, but the biggest nod in that direction comes through side one’s closer “Nervoused Out.”
The very title screams of the era’s sway, and hearing its combination of flailed riffs, jerky momentum, and anxious vocal mannerisms makes plain that it could’ve only emerged from the ’78-’82 period. It’s also Mil Gracias a Todos Nuestros Amigos’ most rocking tune, and while it’s tethered to Carrasco’s beginnings in El Molino by a barely perceptible thread, Cummings’ presence, which registers like Augie Meyers on a pot of strong coffee fighting off a fit of the shakes, keeps the origin of it all radiating nicely in the back of the mind.
Side two’s opener “Caca de Vaca” is more securely Tex-Mex defined. Imagining a packed club of New Yorkers’ dancing to it reminds me that the dawn of the ‘80s was far from the worst of rock ‘n’ roll times as many continue to portray them. “Susan Friendly” is another dose of organ driven power pop, and then a distinctly handled cover of Buddy Knox and the Rhythm Orchids’ “Party Doll” returns to the fount of ‘50s inspiration.
It and “One More time” combine to insinuate an unlikely proposition; specifically, that Carrasco briefly and rather swankily carried the torch from (another great Texan) Bobby Fuller right into the early ‘80s. Coming closest to the sound of El Molino is “Federales,” but in its stripped-down celebration of ethnicity it’s also not far from the later efforts of California’s Latino punks The Plugz.
“Wild 14” begins in a power pop locale but subtly integrates Tex-Mex flavor through Carrasco’s vocals, Cummings’ keyboard, and the song’s clever structural twists. That it’s all complimentary really speaks to music’s universal functionality. Power pop was more than just a pack of skinny, scarf-clad white kids looking to score a record deal, and by extension new wave was a truly multicultural and many-faceted state of affairs.
And checking out closer “Let’s Get Pretty,” which begins with one of the spiffier alterations to the “Gloria” template that I’ve heard, shows that Joe “King” Carrasco, contrary to encapsulated received wisdom, did manage to momentarily document his band’s live fire for home consumption. And they didn’t have to do much but set up in the studio and play.
Assisting them were writers-turned-producers Joe Nick Patoski and Billy Altman, and if short-lived, the success wasn’t as fleeting as you might think. Subsequent to the album’s release Stiff offered “Buena” on 45 with the non-LP “Tuff Enuff.” It’s a good one. Hannibal also knocked out a 12-inch in ’81 titled “Party Safari” but I’ve never been able to track that one down.
I’ve have heard the Crowns’ second and third efforts, ‘82’s Synapse Gap (Mundo Total) and the following year’s Party Weekend. Both have their moments, but as the cover of the first underscores, there seemed to be a concerted effort to mold them into B-52’s knock-off and simultaneously lessen the overt Tex-Mex qualities that makes Mil Gracias a Todos Nuestros Amigos so appealing. Both are worth picking up if found cheap (if the jacket to Party Weekend doesn’t scare you away), and Synapse Gap even has backing vocals on one track by none other than Michael Jackson.
Since then Carrasco’s put out a ton of material, but outside of a few stray tracks I know it not. His enduring popularity continues to be based on his ability to raise a ruckus in the performance setting, so checking him out if he’s playing nearby is probably a smart idea. An even brighter notion would be swiping up a copy of Mil Gracias a Todos Nuestros Amigos if you ever see it in the racks. The chances of spotting it at this late date are very slim, but if you do please don’t dally, for it’s a gloves-off Nuevo Wavo classic.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
