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from NPR Music. This is All Latino. I'm Felix Contreras. Okay, this week we're going to take a trip back back in time to explore a little known bit of Latin music history that had been lost but has been recently rediscovered. Let's set the dials on the time machine back to Washington, D.C. in 1971, a moment when a group of young Latino musicians joined forces with some African American players to create a band they called Zapata, an organic cultural mashup of two communities that were largely well outside the city's mainstream or white culture, cultural and political power structure.
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Now these used to be all over my ceiling.
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On a tree lined street in the city's Mount Pleasant neighborhood basis, Pepe Gonzalez is digging through a closet in his basement studio, pulling out artifacts that he has saved and carefully guarded from his time in the band over 50 years ago.
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I would just after the shows, I would always pull them out.
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Now check out the names of the A list bands that they opened for
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back in the day, Weather Report, Miles Davis, Ross and Roland Kirk, Stanley Tarantin, Ramsey Lewis, Harvey Hancock, did I say Sly in the Family Song, Isley Brothers, Little Feet, Redbone.
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And there's one crucial artifact that's the reason why we came to visit Pepe, an old recording of Zapata from 1971. It's the only existing recording recording of the band and they've just restored it from an old cassette tape. My conversation with Pepe started with the basics, how a band came out of the street culture of of late 1960s
C
Washington, D.C. you know, in the 60s and 70s, there was a gang warfare in D.C. and we came out of the first Hispanic and black street gang, but not an offensive gang. We just got tired of people getting their ass whooped by other people. All of our equipment managers came out of the gang. All of the band came out of the gang. You know, some good people who were caught up in the street and the street made them something else only because of the survival needs. We were the outcast because we were some of the first Latinos that made the move to the black side of things. We grew up in a black neighborhood, so we were accepted on the black side. So we were these Latinos and these black cats who basically were more street. You know, we just defended our turf.
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So what was going on musically, nationally at the time? What were you guys listening?
C
At the time was late 60s, early 70s. We listened to a lot of soul. And then around the 70s, we get people like War, Mandrill, and, you know, Santana came out, Marlowe came a little later, Redbone. So all of these. While we. Now we had people who we. We could directly relate to in the sense of our heritage. But then we had a whole plethora of black music that we grew up with. All of that basically became part of who we were.
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Okay, I need to jump in here for a minute to explain why Zapata's music stands out to me before. Pepe explains how they came to that sound. Now, this band existed at the exact intersection of the explosion of Afro Caribbean rhythms and styles from Finer records in the early 1970s, a golden era of American R and B and a style that was popular in the 60s called soul jazz. And according to Pepe, it seemed to be something that was distinct to DC and the seven members of Zapata, they
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were either the black bands or the white bands. Once in a while, a black band might have a white dude and the white bands might have a black dude, but never a mixture and a mixture with purpose. And what happened was, it was black bands. We were coming right out of the Motown bag, man. But at home, our parents were listening to the whole diaspora of Latino music, you know, from tango all the way up to Caribeno. So we're hearing these musics from different perspectives, not knowing that it was leaving an impact in the subconscious consciously. We did not want to be part of that. Oh, no. I saw, you know, La Musijo, you know, the music of the old people. No. Later on, little did I know that I was going to come back to it, playing with Maria Rodriguez, playing all those beautiful old, you know, not only salsa, but all those old Cuban songs, man, that, you know, that my parents used to listen to.
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So I want to. I want to stay on that idea of all the stuff that was happening. Like you said, 69, 70, you know, Aretha was on the radio. Santana, Change, man, you know, and. And along the whole.
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The Fly in the Family Stone listening
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to the tape, you guys were like, a combination of all these things.
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Yeah. We never looked at it like, oh, this is a reflection of that era. But when you look at it or when you hear it, it's a reflection of Latino black experience. Black Latino experience. In D.C. which had never been given attention to because the Latino community was a microscopic community, in contrast to what we have, which is a Mac. Leaving maybe now.
B
Okay, so, like, nowadays you can go on YouTube and learn how to play, you know, a Wawano, like, even from Matanzas, which is really rare, right? Like you. So you can. You. Everything's on YouTube. You can take lessons. Like, how did you guys learn all of that stuff?
C
We would listen to the records and the ones that were the real percussionists when we wanted to play. Oh, you know, Pepe, You know, okay, you know, or Slap It. So they would break it down to us because they studied it. They would listen to it on the record, wear the record out, you know, sometimes even put a nickel on it to slow it down, or a dime, depending on how much you want to slow it down. So. And the same thing to learn lines. And they would slow it down and then listen to Slap Tone, you know, Palma. And then they would come back and start playing it to us. And then they would. Whenever we wanted to jams, it was always. I mean, there was never a get together where somebody didn't jam. So they would run it down to us, who were not literally percussion players, but we played and they would break it down, and that's the way we develop.
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The band was so popular. I'm. I'm blown away by some of the bands you guys opened for. I mean, what was that like? I think. Did. Did you get any feedback from people like Herbie or Miles or anybody?
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Well, yeah, the Isaac Brothers and. And Mandrill loved us, man. Mandrell. Every time they came to DC, they would call me up, call me up. 4838605. I remember the phone number, brother. No, 202 back then. And they were. Oh, yeah. I mean, you know, because they. Someone could speak Spanish. But where y' all playing at? Here and there. And they would show up and the people would flip, man. The man Joy was up there with us, jamming with us. You know, Isley Brothers loved us.
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Did you feel like you were reaching a point where you were. Guys were about to make a big step or go national or go beyond the region? Yes.
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When we were in Birmingham, Alabama, opening up for Sly, we had some people from Atlantic actually come. I remember them coming to our rooms and sitting us down, and they said, hey, man, we heard this. We heard some of your music. We're very much interested. We would like to follow up on this. This was in 72, 73. But the band really, after a While the band started going different ways musically. And that never came to fruition, unfortunately. But yes, they were interested. We didn't solicit them, they solicited us.
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So let's talk about the end of the band a little bit. You said that everybody was doing something different musically. At what point did Zapata cease to exist?
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Late 74. By then I had picked up Miles Davis Records and Mosheesh was basically educating me to more of the jazz thing. And I told him that I wanted to buy an upright, you know, everybody laughed at me because I was small and I didn't know much about music. I said no, why don't you get yourself a cello man if you gonna play something like that, man, you know. Anyway, you playing electric bass, man. You don't tell an Aries that I'm an Aries man. You don't tell an Aries that you can't. So I did and I started, you know, learning how to play it. I mean, it sat in my room for like couple of. I mean, I pluck it, but I didn't know how to even approach an upright without frets. You know, I. I understood somewhat, but then I started asking questions and I got a little bit and. But you know, my girlfriend had bought me a method, which I still have by the way. And she wrote something that I live by today. I still live by what she wrote. And I have it there. She wrote something that was so awesome that I. My whole life, even as of today, I'm still living to those words.
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But what did she write?
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May I?
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Yeah.
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This is over 50 years old, gentlemen. And in the back she writes, to become a master in any art. Now this is a 17 year old little young lady. To become a master in any art, you have to first learn and understand the theory, basic truths and answers to your questions. Second, you must apply your new knowledge and practice what you have learned completely and honestly. Finally, you will have experienced a deeper reality never before imagined. You will be a master, one who can live through his art only and who remains wise and powerful in his concept of life and the art. You will have achieved your purpose on this earth.
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So that dedication or advice guided you through what you went through after Zapata disbanded.
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That was the genesis of realizing these words, which I'm still living by these words today, doing my best to become, never become a master, but as best as I can be.
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So did that. Once the band broke up. What did you do personally? You followed the jazz path? Because now I moved to D.C. 25 years ago and you're one of the first names I heard being one of the elders and, and one of the guys to go, you know, that's still playing is doing stuff that's interesting.
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Yeah, yeah, yeah, I came up through. So the old color guard, man, really, the old cats, the old black cats. This was before there were schools that were teaching jazz, man. There were about three schools nationwide that would teach jazz. Back then you learned Africanism the way Africans teach through word of mouth. In this case, it's word of plain. I was MF'd and G God damned and MF'd off stage so many times, but they realized that this little dude wants to learn. So we're gonna give the little brother a little chance. But I was, man, I was tenacious, man. I went to every jam session, they would, no, you ain't playing to change this, man. Next, you know. And then, you know, I would go back and every time I saw that new chord, I would play and the drummer or whoever. Yeah, boy, you got it now, you know. So that's the way I came up through that. Oh, and no longer. We no longer have this sea of black musicians teaching us. We have schools. That's why these young people in the last three and a half generations are coming out playing the hell out of their instruments.
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But from books, you followed that path. You followed your own individual path to get you where you are now. What happened to some of the other members of the band?
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Bacho and Rudy went into the Latin thing, salsa big band. Ernie, my boy. Ernie and Miguel were both brothers, Chicanos. They were both guitar players in the band. I hate to say it, life got the best of them. They, you know, they followed the path of. They paid it. They paid the price, man. The horn player got caught up on the same thing, but the opposite. One was Coke and the other one was Heron. And we hadn't seen him for three days. And when we went, we, we found him dead also. But they, they, they a lot. They were still playing. I mean, they were still playing, but not to that degree. When Zapata was said, it's peak, it's the of performance, you know. But when I went my way, I guess Rudy Bacho and Tony, Tony Duncanson and his brother Mike, who were two of the percussionists also. We were about the ones that were playing more than the other cats, you know, the other cats were here and there just, you know. And little by little, of course, they, the Chicanos moved to California and unfortunately that's where they both passed. Both brothers passed there. Yeah.
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So you're the. You're the last one.
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I am the only one left.
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We're going to take a break from our conversation with Pepper Gonzalez. We'll be right back after this. This message comes from HomeServe. A burst pipe, a dead water heater, the AC calling it quits. Who do you call? HomeServe is an easy way to handle unexpected home repairs with plans covering stuff basic homeowners insurance usually won't. Instead of scrambling for a contractor, you make one call to get the repair process started. Join the millions of customers who trust HomeServe right now. Go to HomeServe.com podcast for 50% less your first year savings compared to renewal price void in Florida.
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And now let's get back to Pepe's basement to hear how he restored those old recordings with the help of a producer named Pep PJ Urquia. So that takes us to the discovery of this tape. Okay, you guys recorded some material and then take us through what happened. Go back to 1971 when you recorded what Happened.
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Well, we recorded and not only did we record in for the first time in a studio, but we also had a lot of life recordings back then. Our manager, who. Our manager had been there from almost the Genesis man, and he lived right here like two doors down. What happened was that our manager apparently was seeing another lady and his wife found out about it. And when they come in late, very late, it was early hours in the morning, like two, maybe three in the morning. It was quite late because back then shows would go real late and then of course we would hang out. We came in all. There were boxes and all, everything, you know, just in front of the house,
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she threw all his stuff out, all
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of it, including the boxes with all our information. Now think about 1974 Washington D.C. yo. So we went and unloaded the equipment. I forgot where. Oh, at Bacho's house. Right up the street, actually. And then we went back to get his stuff. This is in the middle of the night. When we came back, nothing was left. Boxes empty, papers strewn all over the place, some clothes thrown all over the place. But all of. See, the thing about it is that all our material was with his recording. You know, he had these real, real tapes. Tapes and all that. And all of that was stolen. Because that's number one priority, man. I mean that if you're going to steal some, you're going to steal a television or the recording things, right? So that's it. And we were never able to salvage it again. We asked around in the neighborhood because we didn't know what we had lost, but we. We wanted our stuff back, you know, but we were never able to recuperate. Recuperate.
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So. So take us through the story of how there was. You found a cassette? Someone found a cassette?
C
Yeah, no, somebody, you know, and how.
B
When was that?
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I don't know if it was late 80s or early 90s. Something tells me it was late 80s and. And his brother we grew up with, but I hadn't seen him forever. And he goes. Back then, they used to call me Spanish Joe for a whole different reason. Because there's Black Joe and Spanish Joe. And when the cops came around, they wanted to know which ones, is it Spanish Joe or Black Joe? But we ain't going to get into that one. But. Hey, Joe, man, what's up, man? Hey, bro, how you been, man? Blah, blah, blah. Nah, man, you know, Ben ain't around anymore because he. He had literally, I think. I think he had been locked up, I think because he said. Went back back in the day when we used to say, yeah, I was on a long vacation. You know what that means, right? Right. And I told him, I say, you know, the shit was stolen, man, you know, and we never. We were never able to find out who it was because it was on Columbia Road, you know, so Columbia Road, Mount Pleasant was two different crews, you know, so a lot of people, even if they knew, they weren't going to tell us who it was. But, you know, all we wanted was just get our stuff back. We weren't going to call no police on them because back then nobody called the police. We took care of our own problems. Yes, always. Never the police. So the cat goes, man, you know, I still got some tapes, man, from back. Back when HR used to play Yalls music And I go, you do, man? He goes, yeah, man, but it was a cassette tape. I mean, when I heard it, I put it like. It was like, oh my God. I said, oh, man, you know, I saw him a little late and I told him, hey, man, I appreciate it. Never thought about it. But then Paul Sears, the drummer, the only one white cat that played drums for us for maybe about four months, put it on a CD just to have it on a cd. And I kept the CD just to have it until I met pj. And then, you know, PJ asked about it. And PJ has been working on it for what, two years now or thereabouts, the last rendition of what he has done. And he gave it to me, he sent it to me. I was upstairs and I was listening to it and tears were coming out of my eyes, man. Cause I thought I would never hear that music again.
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Where were the tears coming from, man? What was going through your.
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From the joy of being able to hear this music again, man. It meant a lot. In retrospect, it means a lot more, man. Especially after having lost all of them, you know. That's why last year I did a 50th year anniversary on my own. I got 50 or 100 T shirts made, I think, with Zapata on the front. And I gave most of them to their offspring of the band, but also to people who, you know, few of the people that are still alive, like my brother and three other of his. My brother's generation, they used to help us with our equipment. I gave them and their offspring. But I had a 50 year anniversary on my own just to just pay tribute to them. Because I didn't want these people. I don't want this to go. I knew how important we were even then. But in retrospect, we were damn important because historically we basically unified. Matter of fact, we used to give Father's children, it was a Muslim band, and us, Zapata, we became like brother bands. And we wanted to unify the Latino and the black community. And at Kalorama park every summer we would get free concerts where we would ask all the people to come up. And the theme was how to unify the black and Latin community. That's why I know we were bad mofos, man, and we believed in that. We were basically indoctrinated by the Black Panthers and the Young Lords, the Puerto
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Ricans, literally the groups from Puerto Rico,
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like the Bram Barrettes, Chicanos.
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Yeah. What do you hope happens with the music, really?
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I mean, if people. If people find it in any way pleasing to their ears. It's beautiful, man. Is really the historical implications behind how the music was the soundtrack to my life during that time and a lot of other people's lives.
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What do you think your fellow bandmates would think about being able to put the music out right now?
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They would probably cry. Yes.
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It's a big deal.
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I miss them, man. They're my roots, man.
B
Well, I appreciate you sharing it with us, man. And I'm sure they're wherever they're looking from, I'm sure they're gonna enjoy this moment.
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I appreciate you for that, man. Sorry.
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Sorry.
C
A lot of stories in that band, brother. From violence to music to traveling and more violence. And more violence. And violence. Violence was always around.
B
But the music saved you guys.
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Oh, yeah, it saved me, man. Cause when I started picking up that upright, cats would be coming knocking on my door and I'd be saying, no, my man, I gotta practice this, man. You ain't gonna mount to nothing, bro. You ain't never gonna learn that instrument. I still ain't learned it, but I'm still on it.
B
Pepe Gonzalez, man, thank you so much for sharing this.
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Thank you for your interest in this, man. I appreciate you all.
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Once again, thanks so much to Pepe Gonzalez for sharing his memories about his bandmates in Zapata and the music that they made together. You can hear the lost tape by Zapata on Bandcamp. It's out right now. You should check it out. You have been listening to Alt Latino from NPR Music. Our audio editor is Noah Caldwell, Executive producer of NPR Music is Sarayo Mohammed Sonali Mehta is executive director. Special thanks this week to Otis Hart for editing the show. And don't forget, send us an email to altlatinopr.org let us know what you're listening to these days. Let us know what you thought about this show and the music of Zapata. And if you enjoyed this episode, leave us a review on Apple or Spotify or wherever you're listening. I'm Felix Contreras. Thank you so much for listening.
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In this episode of Alt.Latino, host Felix Contreras takes listeners on a journey through a hidden chapter of Latin music history: the story of Zapata, a groundbreaking D.C. band from the early 1970s. Featuring an interview with bassist Pepe Gonzalez, the episode uncovers how this racially mixed band forged their unique sound, opened for legendary acts like Miles Davis and Sly Stone, and then all but vanished—until a miraculous tape resurfaced decades later. The episode also explores the broader context of D.C.’s Black and Latino communities and the enduring cultural impact of Zapata’s music.
Origins in Street Culture:
Pepe Gonzalez describes Zapata’s members as coming from the D.C. street scene, specifically a peaceful Hispanic and Black gang formed for self-defense, not aggression.
Musical Influences:
Zapata’s sound was a blend of their parents’ Latin music, Afro-Caribbean rhythms, soul, R&B, and the emerging soul-jazz genre.
Racial & Musical Integration:
Unlike most bands of the time, Zapata was an intentional mix of Black and Latino musicians, reflecting cross-cultural solidarity, both musically and socially.
Legacy of Community:
The distinctiveness of Zapata lay in their identity as a musical manifestation of Black-Latino experience in D.C. (05:42)
Opening for Iconic Acts:
Zapata opened for Weather Report, Miles Davis, Sly & the Family Stone, Isley Brothers, and more.
Industry Recognition:
The band drew attention from record companies, notably Atlantic, but internal musical differences ultimately prevented a breakthrough deal.
Pepe’s Personal Journey:
Pepe remained committed to music, inspired by encouraging words from his then-girlfriend, and sought mastery of the upright bass despite skepticism.
Peers’ Fate:
"Bacho and Rudy went into the Latin thing, salsa big band... Ernie, my boy. Ernie and Miguel were both brothers, Chicanos. They were both guitar players in the band. I hate to say it, life got the best of them." (13:20, Pepe Gonzalez)
Survivor:
"I am the only one left." (14:40, Pepe Gonzalez)
Loss of Master Tapes:
The band's original recordings were lost in a late-night incident when their manager’s belongings were thrown out and stolen.
Rediscovery:
Decades later, a friend unearthed a cassette tape of Zapata’s music, previously aired on radio. Producer PJ Urquia painstakingly restored it, moving Pepe to tears.
Commemorating Zapata:
Pepe organized a 50th anniversary to honor bandmates and sent commemorative T-shirts to their offspring and supporters.
Hopes for the Music:
Pepe wants listeners to appreciate the music both as art and as a historical document of a pivotal era in D.C.
Personal Reflection:
The music, and especially the upright bass, ultimately saved him from the streets while violence claimed others.
On Zapata’s Role:
"When you look at it or when you hear it, it's a reflection of Latino black experience. Black Latino experience in D.C. which had never been given attention to..." (05:42, Pepe Gonzalez)
On Survival:
"Violence was always around. But the music saved you guys." (24:19-24:34, Felix & Pepe)
On Legacy:
"I miss them, man. They're my roots, man." (24:01, Pepe Gonzalez)
This episode is an evocative exploration of Zapata’s legacy—a group that embodied the fusion of cultures at a crossroads in American history, overcame adversity, and created music that transcended boundaries. Despite tragic losses, Pepe Gonzalez’s resilience and devotion to passing on this musical legacy shines through, as does the hope that new listeners will embrace Zapata’s rediscovered sound.
Listen to the restored Zapata tape on Bandcamp.