This essay is adapted from Merrick Morton’s “La Bamba: A Visual History,” published by Hat & Beard Press.
“Dance!! Dance!! Dance!! to the music of the Silhouettes Band!!” read the handbill. The Silhouettes featured Ritchie Valens — “the fabulous Lil’ Richi and his Crying Guitar!!” — at a 1958 appearance at the San Fernando American Legion Hall in Southern California.
He was 16 years old. The Silhouettes was Ritchie’s first band, and they launched him into history. But a silhouette itself is an interesting thing: You can see the general shape of something while you hardly know the figure casting the shadow. Valens’ musical story begins with the Silhouettes, and we have been filling in his story, and projecting ourselves onto it, ever since he left.
A founding father of rock ’n’ roll, he would lose his life barely a year later, when the plane carrying members of the Winter Dance Party Tour — Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Valens — crashed on Feb. 3, 1959, in an Iowa snowstorm. A Chicano icon. A stranger.
Ritchie was a kid playing his guitar to make money for his family and one song he played was a version of “Malagueña.” The number was rooted in centuries-old Spanish flamenco music that had spread in all directions, becoming a classical music melody and a Hollywood soundtrack go-to by the 1950s. In his hands, it became a catapult for guitar hero god shots.
“Malagueña” communicated experience and rico suave flair to his audience. Meanwhile, his mom was selling homemade tamales at his shows in the American Legion Hall. This guileless 17-year-old, Chicano kid from Pacoima found a way to introduce himself to America by taking something familiar and making it feel like nothing you had heard before.
From the beginning, Ritchie heard the possibilities in turning a familiar sound forward. He saw, even as the teenager he will forever be to us, how in reinventing a song, you could reinvent yourself. Listen to “Donna,” the heartfelt love ballad that felt familiar to Chicano ears, listeners who for years had tuned in to Black vocal groups. In the process, he cleared the way for so much great Chicano soul to come in the next two decades.
Most of all, of course, listen to “La Bamba.” A centuries-old song from Veracruz, Mexico; the tune has African, Spanish, Indigenous and Caribbean DNA. In the movie, he encounters the song for the first time when his brother Bob takes him to a Tijuana brothel, but however he first heard it, Valens viewed it as a prism, a way of flooding all that was in front of him with his voice and guitar.
The music he made came from Mexico, and it came from Los Angeles, where 1940s Spanish-language swing tunes, Black doo-wop sounds and hillbilly guitar-plucking were mashed together in a molcajete y tejolote. Most of all, it came from the radio, which lined up sounds that were not like the ones that came right before and blasted them out on AM stations from corner to corner across the Southland. Radio devoured difference and transformed it, and if Ritchie is now regarded as a pioneer of Chicano music, he was in his own, brief time, a product of AM democracy, a silhouette with a spotlight shining on him.
Danny Valdez knew all the songs. In the early 1970s, the artist and activist had released “Mestizo,” billed as the first Chicano protest album put out by a major label. The singer-songwriter and his buddy Taylor Hackford would drink beer, belt out Ritchie Valens songs and make big plans. They talked about someday shooting a movie together, with Valdez playing Ritchie and Hackford directing. “Neither of us had a pot to piss in,” said Hackford, “so we never made that movie.” But years later, after Hackford had a hit with “An Officer and A Gentleman,” Valdez called him and raised the idea once more.
There were many steps to getting “La Bamba” on the screen, but it began with an understanding that it would be about the music. That meant they had to make the music feel alive — namely the handful of recordings produced by Bob Keane that Ritchie left behind. The owner of Del-Fi Records, Keane was a guiding figure in the singer’s life, recording his songs, urging him to mask his ethnicity by changing his name from Richard Steven Valenzuela and giving him career advice. Keane booked Gold Star Studios, cheap at $15 an hour, and brought in great session musicians as Ritchie’s backing band, including future Wrecking Crew members Earl Palmer and Carol Kaye. But the recordings he made were not state of the art, even in their own time.
“They weren’t high-quality,” said Hackford, comparing them to the early Ray Charles sessions for the Swing Time label. “I had a commercial idea in mind, of music selling the film, of people walking out of the theater singing ‘La Bamba’ who had never heard of it before,” he said. That meant he needed contemporary musicians who understood the records and could re-record Ritchie’s songs and reach an audience that was listening to Michael Jackson, Madonna and George Michael.
Ritchie’s family, including his mother, Connie, and his siblings, had already heard that Los Lobos were playing “Come On, Let’s Go” live in East L.A. When the band played a concert in Santa Cruz, where the Valenzuela family was living by the 1980s, a friendship grew.
“Danny and I knew Los Lobos in the ‘70s when they were just starting out,” says writer and director Luis Valdez, “when they were literally just another band from East L.A. We were very fortunate that they were at that point in their career where they could take on this project. Without Los Lobos, we wouldn’t have Ritchie. David Hidalgo’s voice is incredible. I don’t think we could have found other musicians to cover him. They come from East L.A., they’re all Chicanos. They were paying an homage. We happened to be in the airport together when they got the news that ‘La Bamba’ had become number one in the national charts.”
“They called themselves the spiritual inheritors of Ritchie Valens,” says Hackford. “And they went in and re-recorded Ritchie’s songs plus several that he had played in concert but never recorded.” Now Hackford had his own album of old tunes that turned in a forward direction.
Next, Hackford made sure there were roles for modern performers to play the classic rockers from the Winter Dance Party Tour. He cast contemporary performers who could re-record their material too: Marshall Crenshaw as Buddy Holly, Brian Setzer as Eddie Cochran and Howard Huntsberry as Jackie Wilson.
Then there’s the surprise of the first song heard in the film — a rumbling version of Bo Diddley’s “Who Do You Love?” that had Carlos Santana, hired as a soundtrack composer, playing with Los Lobos, and Bo himself offering a fresh vocal over everything.
“We were so happy to have the touch of Carlos Santana as part of Ritchie’s story,” said Luis Valdez. “It’s his guitar that underscores a lot of the scenes and he had a theme for each of the players. We screened the whole movie for him first and he was very moved by it and ready to go right away once he saw it without his contribution. He was alone on the soundstage at Paramount, where we recorded his soundtrack, doing his magic with his guitar. He became a great friend as a result of that. It’s incredible what an artist can do.”
The original soundtrack recording topped the Billboard pop charts and went double platinum.
Hackford loved pop music; his first feature film, “The Idolmaker” (1980), was a rock musical. Releasing hit music became a key promotional element of the package. In advance of 1982’s “An Officer and a Gentleman” came “Up Where We Belong” by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes. It went to No. 1 a week after the opening. For 1984’s “Against All Odds,” he selected Phil Collins to sing the title cut, a song released three weeks before opening; the song soon went No. 1. 1985’s “White Nights” had two No. 1 songs, Lionel Ritchie’s “Say You Say Me” and Phil Collins and Marilyn Martin’s duet “Separate Lives.”
One looming problem for “La Bamba” was that the 1987 moviegoing public was not familiar with the name Ritchie Valens. Hackford had ideas for that as well. He set out to introduce him to contemporary audiences — convincing the studio to fund a unique teaser trailer to run weeks before the official movie trailer went into theaters.
The producer assembled a parade of familiar faces to reintroduce Valens. The short film included Canadian hitmaker Bryan Adams and Little Richard talking about the icon. There was also the vision of Bob Dylan in a top-down convertible riding along the Pacific Coast Highway. The 17-year-old Dylan was present at a Valens concert in Duluth, Minn., just days before the plane crashed; he popped up talking about what Valens’ music meant to him. “You bet it made a difference,” said Hackford.
After the “La Bamba” soundtrack became a hit (there was also a Volume Two), Los Lobos made the most of their elevated success. They had experienced head-turning celebrity with “La Bamba,” and they followed it up with “La Pistola y El Corazón,” a gritty selection of mariachi and Tejano songs played on acoustic traditional instruments. They had banked cultural capital and directed their large new audience to this music that many had never heard before. “La Pistola y El Corazón” won a Grammy in 1989 for Mexican-American performance.
The “La Bamba” soundtrack helped set a precedent for the crossover global success of Latin music, which has become a major force in mainstream pop culture. From Ricky Martin and Jennifer Lopez to Shakira, Bad Bunny, Peso Pluma, Becky G, Anitta, J Balvin, Karol G and Maluma, among others who are dominating the charts, racking up billions of streams, headlining massive tours and festivals.
Does Hackford think “La Bamba” helped set the table for subsequent Latino pop star success?
“I think the one who set the table was Ritchie Valens. He recorded a song in Spanish, a rock ’n’ roll version of a folk song, and he made it a huge hit.
“I challenge you, any party you go to — wedding reception, bar mitzvah, whatever it is — when ‘La Bamba’ comes on, the tables clear and everybody gets up to dance. That’s Ritchie Valens; he deserves that credit. We came afterwards.”
RJ Smith is a Los Angeles-based author. He has written for Blender, the Village Voice, Spin, GQ and the New York Times Magazine. His books include “The Great Black Way,” “The One: The Life and Music of James Brown” and “Chuck Berry: An American Life.”
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