Remembering Raul Malo

Some voices hit your radio and you forget them by the next red light. Then there are voices that scramble your attention and make it hyper focused on what you are experiencing. The unforgettable ones. Raul Malo always belonged to the second kind. A once in a lifetime gift that was equal parts Texas dancehall and Roy Orbison. With some Cuban spice tossed in for good measure.

I still remember first seeing The Mavericks on Nashville Now when they were promoting From Hell to Paradise. Far from a house hold name. Yet, Ralph Emery looked into the camera and proclaimed they were about to be the next great band known across the world. He wasn’t wrong. He usually wasn't. In that old monoculture era, Garth exploding, the whole genre on starched loud Brushpopper-infused rocket fuel...The Mavericks carried a buzz that felt real. Different. Palpable. It was akin to what was happening in rock music at the time. There were pretenders and innovators. Raul Malo and The Mavericks were innovators.

And by the time What a Crying Shame dropped in ’94, they were solidified as trailblazers. They did their own thing and people responded, platinum style. Awards followed. Industry respect was there from the jump. And they just kept getting broader, funkier, braver. The Mavericks pushed boundaries like it was a competitive sport. Robert Reynolds and Paul Deakin had something to say about that, but Raul Malo always had his hand firmly on the wheel.

I played that What a Crying Shame cd on repeat for months. On every spin, Raul's voice was a magnet. A comet streaking across the music landscape. Singular, spellbinding, and impossible to contain (or really accurately describe).

The Mavericks helped give the emerging Americana genre some of its early shape and swagger. Which is to say, throw the whole kitchen sink at your muse. From country and rock to jazz and world music. And then they pushed beyond even that. They were their own genre. Their own planet. Their own weather system. And Raul Malo was the creative force at the center of it all.

If you ever saw him live, that was to truly experience his gift. His voice was beautiful, seemingly effortless and full of massive emotions.

The last time I saw Raul perform was back in 2019 at Mile 0 Fest. The Mavericks were on the bill and what better place to see Raul Malo than in Key West, Florida at a Texas Music festival? The nexus of all his influences and artistry converging in real time. He was in fine voice and spirits. Eddie Perez was outright transcendent that evening, but no matter what he did to show his talents, it was Raul that kept drawing my eyes and ears. I'll never forget that night. Hearing those songs live that night took me right back to my bedroom in 1994 with What a Crying Shame blasting out of my Aiwa cd/radio/cassette combo (you know the one). Felt like it took Raul back to that time too.

Behind that powerhouse voice was a gentle, grounded man who understood that music is supposed to move you, lift you, remind you...connect you. Now the world is suddenly missing that connection. But, thankfully he left a catalog of reminders. Raul leaves us with the reminder that music can be truly special when someone spectacular is holding the microphone.

Raul Malo taught us how to sing through all sides of life. The good, bad and through the ugly. At the end he had to deal with too much ugly. But, it never deterred him. Much like Ozzy, Raul got to go out surrounded by joyful music and those he loved. He got to load out to the great gig in the sky knowing how much he meant to everyone and the musical realm.

Rest easy, Raul. Thanks for expanding the borders of what music could be and for filling our lives with that glorious, unmistakable voice.

There will never be another Raul Malo.