NPR Music - Alt.Latino: They opened for Miles Davis and Sly Stone, then disappeared

Episode Date: June 24, 2026

This week's episode is a musical time machine. In the late 1960s, the band Zapata sprang out of a street gang in northwest Washington, D.C., with a sound that combined a variety of contemporary styles: Afro-Caribbean rhythms, soul jazz and the golden era of American R&B. The mixture worked. For a few years, Zapata opened for an astonishing number of A-list acts passing through the city, like Miles Davis, Sly and the Family Stone, Herbie Hancock and The Isley Brothers. But the band would break up in 1974, and for years their recorded material was believed to be lost. Now, surviving member Pepe Gonzalez has restored a cassette tape of Zapata's music from 1971, and is releasing it for the first time. In this episode, Felix chats with Gonzalez about the origins of the band, and how they tried to unify the Black and Hispanic musical scenes in the city at the time.The podcast episode was produced by Noah Caldwell and edited by Otis Hart. Suraya Mohamed is the executive producer of NPR Music.See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for sponsorship and to manage your podcast sponsorship preferences.NPR Privacy Policy

A quick note before the show, this podcast contains explicit language. From NPR Music, this is Alt Latino. I'm Felix Contreras. Okay, this week we're going to take a trip 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

are white, cultural, and political power structure. Now, these used to be all over my ceiling. On a treeline street in the city's Mount Pleasant neighborhood, bassist 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. After the show, so I would always pull them out.

Check out the names of the A-list bands that they opened for back in the day. Brother Report, Miles Davis, Ross and Rolling Kirk, Stanley Turrentine, Ramsey Lewis, Harvey Hancock, the States Light in the Family song, Isley Brothers, Little Feet, Redbone. 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 of the band, and they've just restored it from an old cassette tape. My conversation with Peppa started with the basics, how a band came out of the street culture of late 1960s, Washington, D.C. You know, in the 60s and 70s, so it was the 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 to ask what by other people. All of our equipment managers came out of the gang.

All of the band came out of the gang. 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 them. moved 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. We just defended our turf. So what was going on musically, nationally at the time? Well, at the time, 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, Molo came a little later, Redbone. So all of these, wow, we now we had people who 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. Okay, I need to jump in here for a minute to explain why Sapatra. 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 Fineer Records in the early 1970s, a golden era of American R&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 D.C. and the seven members of Zapata. They were either the black bands or the white bands. 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 there 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 Carriveno.

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, that's up for the ageo, you know, the music of the old people. No, late on, little bit, 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 my parents used to listen to.

So I want to stay on that idea of all the stuff that was happening, like you said, 69, 70, you know, a rea, that was on the radio, Santana, you know, and along the whole... Sligh in the Family Stone. Listening to the tape, you guys were like a combination of all these things. 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 macro. Okay, so nowadays you can go on YouTube and learn how to play a wawanko, like even from Matanzas, which is really rare, right? So you can, everything's on YouTube.

You can take lessons. Like, how did you guys learn all of that stuff? We would listen to the records. And the ones that were the real percussionists, when we wanted to play, they were, no, you know, pepe, cutum-pah, cut-tum-pa, cut-cum-pah, cut-cum-pah, you know, okay, no, no, no,

no, no, he's talking well, 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 in the same thing, you learn lines, and they would slow it down and then listen to where a slap tone, you know, palma, and then they would come back

and start playing it to us, and then they would, when wherever we wanted it 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 would not literally percussionist players, but we played. and they would break it down and that's the way we developed. The band was so popular. I'm blown away by some of the bands you guys opened for. I mean, what was that like? Did you get any feedback from people like Herbie or Miles or anybody?

Well, yeah, the Isaac brothers and Mandrill loved us, man. Mandrell, every time they came to D.C., they would call me up. Call me up for 838605. I remember their phone number, brother. No 202 back then. And they were, oh, yeah, I mean, you know, because someone could speak Spanish. But what are you all playing at it? We're here and there.

And they would show up, and the people would flip. The Mandjew was up there with us, jamming with us, you know. Isley brothers loved us. Did you feel like you were reaching a point where you guys were about to make a big step or go national or go beyond the region? Yes. When we were in Birmingham, Alabama opening up for a slide, we had some people from Atlantic actually come. I remember them coming to our rooms and sitting as them and they said, hey man, we heard this,

we heard some of your music, we were 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 in different ways musically. And that never came to fruition, unfortunately. But yes, they were interested.

We didn't solicit them. They solicited us. 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? Late 74, by then I had picked up Miles Davis Records, and Moshe was basically educating me to more of the jazz thing. and I told him that I wanted by an upright

you know everybody left at me because I was small and I didn't know much about music I said now why don't you get yourself a cello man if you're gonna play something like that man you know anyway you're playing electric bass man you don't tell an Ares that I'm an Ares man you don't tell an Ares that you can't so I did

and I started you know learning how to play it I mean that it's set in my room for like a couple of months I mean, I pluck it, but I didn't know how to even approach an upright without threats. I understood somewhat, but then I started asking questions, and I got a little bit and, 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.

What is you right? May I? Yeah. 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. So that dedication or advice guided you through what you went through after Zapata disbanded? That was the genesis of realizing these words, which I'm still living by these words today, to win my best to become, never become a master, but as best as I can be. 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 one of the guys to go, you know, there's still playing and doing stuff. That's interesting. Yeah.

Yeah, I came up through the old Collar 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. They would teach jazz. Back then, you learned Africanism, the way Africans teach through word of mouth. In this case, it's word of playing.

I was MF'd and G. God-dammed and M-F'd off-stead. stage so many times, but they'd realize that this little dude wants to learn. So we're going to give the little brother a little chance. But I was a man, I was tenacious, man. I went to every gym session. No, you ain't playing the changes, man, next, you know. And then, you know, I would go back, and every time I saw that new chord, I would play and then the drummer or whoever, yeah, boy, you got it now.

You know, so that's the way I came up through that old and no longer. We don't longer have this sea of black musicians teaching us. We have schools. That's why these young people, the last three and a half generations, are coming now playing the hell out of their instruments, 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?

Bacho went, Bacho and Rui went into the Latin thing, salsa, big band. Ernie, my boy, Ernie Miguel were both brothers, Chicano's, 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 owner was Heron.

We hadn't seen him for three days, and when we went, we found him dead also. but they they a lot they were still playing i mean they were still playing but not to the degree when sapata was said it's peak it's the pinnacle of performance you know um but when i went my way i guess rudy bacho and tony uh tony duncinson and his brother mike who were two of the percussionists also um we were about the ones they were playing more than the other cats You know, the other cats were here and there just, you know, and little by later, of course, the chicanas moved to California. And unfortunately, that's where they both passed.

Both brothers passed there. So you're the last one? I am the only one left. We're going to take a break from our conversation with Pepper Gonzalez. We'll be right back after this. And now let's get back to Pepys' basement to hear how he restored those old recordings with the help of a producer named PJ. Urquilla. 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? Well, we recorded, and not only did we record in for the first time in a studio, but we also had a lot of live 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 everything, you know, just in front of the house. She threw all his stuff out. All of them. 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, it bought your 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, thrown all over the place, some clothes throwing 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 this real, real tapes and all that. And all of that was stolen because that's number one priority, man. I mean, if you're going to steal some, you're going to steal a television of the recording things, right? So that's it. And we were never able to salvage it again. And we asked around in the neighborhood, because we didn't know what we had lost, But we wanted our stuff back, you know. But we were never able to recuperate it.

So take us through the story of how there was, you found a cassette. Someone found a cassette. Yeah, no, somebody, you know. And when was that? I don't know if it was late 80s or early 90s. Something tells me it was late 80s. And his brother we grew up with, but I hadn't seen him forever. And he goes, oh, bad.

I mean, back then, they used to call me Spanish Joe for a whole different reason. because there was 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 didn't want to get into that one. Hey, Joe, what's all, man? Hey, boy, how you been, man? Blah, blah, blah, blah, cha, right, right.

Nah, man, you know, band ain't around anymore. Because he had literally, I think, I think he had been locked up, I think. Because he said, 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'd never able to find out who it was because it was on Columbia Road, you know, so Columbia Road in Mount Pleasant was two different crews,

you know, so a lot of people, even if they knew, they wouldn't go on to tell us who it was, but, you know, all we wanted it was just get us stuff back. We weren't going to call no police on them, because back then nobody called the police. We took care of the own problems. Yes, always, never the police. So the kid goes, man, man, you know, I still got some tapes, from back when H-R used to play y'all's 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's like, oh, my God. I said, oh, man, you know, I saw him a little late and I told him like, hey, man, I appreciate it, never thought about it. But then Paul Sears, the drama, 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 a 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? A devoutes? 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, goes, I thought I would never hear that music. Where were the tears coming from, man?

What was going through your... 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. And, you know, that's why last year I did on the 50-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, a few of the people that are still alive, like my brother, and three of his, my brother's generation, they used to help us with their equipment. I gave them in their offspring, but I had a 50-year anniversary on my own just to just pay tribute to them, and 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 our 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 Coloradoama Park every summer we would get free concerts where we would ask all the people to come up and the theme was how to reunify 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 Rican. Literally, yes. The groups from Puerto Rico. And like the Bramborettes, Chicanos. Yeah. What do you hope happens? with the music?

Really, I mean, if people find it in any way placing to their ears, it's beautiful, man. It's really the historical implications behind how the music was the soundtrack to my life during that time in a lot of other people's lives. What do you think your fellow bandmates would think about being able to put the music out right now? They would probably cry.

Yes, it's a big deal. I miss it, man. They're on my roots, man. 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 going to enjoy this moment. All this is for that, man. Oh, sorry.

Sorry. 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. But the music saved you guys. Oh, yeah. It saved me, man.

Because when I started picking up that upright, cats would be coming, knocking on my door, and I'd be saying normal, man. I got to practice this. Man, you ain't on a mountain. Bro, you ain't able to learn that instrument. I still ain't learned it, but I'm still on it. Pepper Gonzalez, man, thank you so much for sharing it.

Thank you for your interest in this, man. Thank you. I appreciate you all. Once again, thanks so much to pay. Pepe Gonzalez for sharing his memories about his bandmates and Zapata and the music that they made together. You can hear The Lost Tate 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 Sarajeo Mohammed. Sonali Menta is executive director. Special thanks this week to Otis Hart for editing the show.

And don't forget, send us an email to Alt Latino at NPR.org. 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.