San Antonians are celebrating the legacy of conjunto icon Flaco Jiménez, who died Thursday after a long illness. Here is one essay from San Antonio native Oscar Garza, professor of professional practice of journalism and director of the Specialized Journalism Program (Arts & Culture) at the University of Southern California.
There was a time when I hated Tex-Mex music.
In the 1960s, it was the music that dominated the jukebox at my dad’s icehouse on the South Side of San Antonio, and that icehouse is what kept him away from home, day and night. Kept him from family dinners, from my Little League games.
One New Year’s Eve, my dad rented a large adjacent room and hired a conjunto, led by some guy named Flaco Jiménez. I secretly hoped the dance would be a bust — not thinking about the financial implications for our family. And it was, as only a few people showed up. But according to my dad, Flaco still occasionally came around to hang out at his icehouse over the years.
Thanks to my older brothers, growing up I listened to a lot of soul and R&B. In high school, it was Elton John, Chicago and Three Dog Night. But when I got to college, my musical taste thankfully widened.
I discovered a California singer/guitarist named Ry Cooder, who was an early explorer of American roots music. In 1976 he released an album called “Chicken Skin Music.” Some of the songs featured an accordionist, and when I read the album credits, there he was: Flaco Jiménez. At about the same time, he was also featured in Les Blank’s fantastic documentary about Tex-Mex border music, “Chulas Fronteras.”
The following year, Cooder released a live album called “Showtime,” and it included Flaco wailing away on a medley of “Viva Seguin” / “Do-Re-Mi,” followed by the cantina classic, “Volver, Volver.” And just like that, Flaco was cool.
He went on to play with a legion of popular American musicians. His 1992 album, “Partners,” included duets with Stephen Stills, Linda Ronstadt, Emmylou Harris and Los Lobos, among others. And then he became a member of the Texas Tornados, alongside Freddy Fender and San Antonio legends Doug Sahm and Augie Meyers. And he played on the first album by Los Super Seven, which won the Grammy for Best Mexican American Performance — one of six Grammys he collected. My dad was thrilled by Flaco’s success, and my record collection grew to include every one of his recordings I could get my hands on.
By 2015, I was producing a daily culture show on a public radio station in Los Angeles, when Flaco was named the recipient of a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award. I’d hoped we could interview him about the honor for my show, but when I reached his son/manager on the phone, he said Flaco was under the weather that day. I asked if I could at least chat with him for a minute. He put Flaco on the phone and I asked if he remembered my father. “You’re Willie Garza’s son?” he exclaimed. “Man, your dad was a good guy — we used to make a lot of racket at his place!” I wished I could have shared that moment with my dad, but he’d died in 2001.
Fast forward to just a couple of months ago. A cousin gave me some photos I had never seen. From 1971 at Willie’s Drive-In on Frio City Road, there was Flaco, along with a couple of other musicians, playing outside the converted gas station. It looks like they were making a joyful racket.
