Every creative individual looks up to an influential role model that shapes their artistic personality. Sometimes musicians instantly connect with a role model during the first listen and at other times they build their appreciation over time. Once they feel the true impact of this inspirational figure though, they become unavoidably hooked to the goal of unlocking their role model’s musical secrets. Recordings become a key part of this experience, as the musician spends countless hours ingesting the role model’s improvisational approach, composition and arranging techniques, as well as their repertoire choices. They translate the sound from the recordings into a wealth of musical ideas through extensive time transcribing, analyzing, and playing along with their stereos. When the role model performs, these musicians become regular fixtures at their concerts, watching the physical execution of the musical ideas and the way that they interact with other artists. The musician connects with the role model as they sort out the realities of the artist’s musical approach, and in some cases, they get the opportunity to talk with the artist. Through years of immersion in the role model’s output, the musician understands their work deeply and soaks it into their own style.

For many musicians, the idea of performing with their role models remains a dream, but for conguero Poncho Sanchez, the dream became a reality that shaped his career. A childhood focused upon soul music led him to musical beginnings as a singer, but a concurrent love of classic Latin Jazz led him to the congas. Sanchez built his technique on his own, but he developed his musicality with the help of recordings from Cal Tjader, Mongo Sanataria, Tito Puente, and more. He learned these recordings in detail, developing an advanced and refined technique as well as a massive repertoire. This served him well as he began finding work as a conguero, working with Latin Jazz, salsa, and soul bands in the Los Angeles area. The big break arrived when vibraphonist Cal Tjader came knocking at Sanchez’s door, offering the percussionist a prime Latin Jazz gig. This led to a musical relationship that defined Sanchez’s musical path for the next seven years and beyond. He learned the music through Tjader, built connections, and solidified a musical concept that would form the basis of his own group. Sanchez lived the dream during his time with Tjader and built the bridge into a lifelong musical career.

In Part 1 of our interview with Poncho Sanchez, we looked at his childhood and early development as a musician. Today Sanchez shares his first experiences as a conguero and increasingly intense involvement with the music. This path led directly into his tenure as conguero for Tjader’s band, and Sanchez explains how he got there. It’s a fascinating story that involves a dream, lots of hard work, and a deep musical connection.

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LATIN JAZZ CORNER: So when did you make that jump to playing percussion and studying Latin music?

PONCHO SANCHEZ: I started singing and then I started playing drums or trap set. Then I started a little Latin Jazz band called The Midnight Set when I was in the middle of high school. I was the leader of the band, I played drums, and I had a sax player. We did “Song For My Father” and Herbie Mann’s “Comin’ Home Baby” and some standard Latin Jazz stuff. It was real simple stuff, but we thought it was big jazz. We were just kids in high school playing that stuff.

I started learning to play the timbales a little bit and then I actually got a conga drum. I saved up sixty-two dollars by doing my little gigs on the weekends and bought the conga drum at a pawn shop by my house. It was, once again, a piece of junk, a little cheapie; but to me, it was a conga drum. I wanted two of them of course, because I had seen guys play two, not just one. So I asked my father, “Hey Dad, I only have enough for one, can you help me buy the other one?” My dad was never really excited about me being a musician, but he said, “Well, yea, you’ve been doing this for a few years now, you’ve got some gigs and you’re playing around town a little bit. I’ll get you the other one.” I was so excited. I brought them home and they were both exactly the same – they were not a conga and a tumba, they were just two congas. I thought, “Well, I think that one has to be higher and one has to be lower. So I’ll make this one the high one and this one the low one” I just tuned them to my ear, whatever I thought sounded OK. I was listening to the records and trying to catch the pitch of the conga drum. I’d just put the one lower and it sounded good to me.

Then I started trying to play along with the records. I did that for about two weeks in my mother’s garage, every day. My sister would come and pick up her kids – by then my sisters had my nephews and nieces. My mother used to baby sit them in the day time. They would come pick up their kids in the evening after work, the regular routine. My sister would stick her head in the garage and say, “Well, it’s OK, you’re doing OK.” Two weeks went by of me practicing on these congas, and she said “Man, you’re starting to sound pretty good. You know what? I know a professional conga drummer that has a Latin Jazz band in Los Angeles. He plays every Thursday night in this place that I like to go to. His name is Ray Medina and he’s a professional percussionist, he’s a Puerto Rican. I’m going to ask him if he’ll give you lessons.” I said, “But I ain’t got no money for lessons.” She said, “I’ll pay for the first two lessons.” Well, she came back a couple of days later and she said, “Hey, I talked to that guy, he’s coming tomorrow. So clean the garage! Sweep it up a little bit.” I was in my mother’s garage, but it was my little hang. I had a little couch and I had a couple of chairs, my stereo, my stack of records, a drum set, and congas. I said, “Yea, no problem, I’ll be ready for the guy.”

The guy came and I remember he had a Volkswagen bus. I said, “Wow, this guy’s cool, he must travel and then park in places and hang out.” Anyway, he said, “Can you help me pull my drums out of the back of the van?” I helped him pull them out and I said, “Wow! These are Gon-Bops!” Gon-Bop was a brand of congas and they were the finest congas made at that time anywhere. They were the best congas around. I only knew that because I used to buy the Down Beat jazz magazine and they had an advertisement of Gon-Bop congas. It showed Patato playing them, and Ray Barretto, and people like that. They were the best, it was like a Cadillac. And there I was with my little cheapies. But I pulled them out and said, “Wow, these are Gon-Bops.” And he said, “That’s right son, these are the finest made.” And I said, “Oh, I know that! In fact, these are the Mark IIs.” I knew the brand and I knew that they made three different models – “These are the Mark II voodoo model.” The guy said, “That’s right son, how did you know that?” “Well, I’ve seen them in a magazine.”

Anyway, we went inside my garage; I was all excited just carrying his drums and I was very nervous. He sat down and goes, “OK kid, let me see you play so I can see where you’re at, let’s start with that.” I was very nervous, so I said, “Can I play to the record?” “Yea, yea, go ahead, play to the record.” I put my favorite Cal Tjader song on and I cranked it up. I started playing to it, doing my thing playing on my little drums. And then after the song was over, I lifted the needle off the record. I lifted it off and there was silence. I thought, “This guy is going to let me have it!” I just looked at him and he goes, “Hey man, how did you do that thing with your left hand? And then you did this other thing with your right hand, how did you do that? Show me how you did that.” And I said, “Oh, like this?” And he said, “Yea, man, you sound nice! You sound good How long have you been playing – six or seven years?” I said, “Two weeks.” I was playing what they call a three point shuffle to a mambo and I didn’t even know what I was playing. I was just playing what I felt and what I liked. He said, “Who showed you that pattern?” I said, “Nobody showed me, I just did it, took it from the record.” He said, “Yea, that’s incredible – you’re lifting your finger a little too high on this part. But other than that, it’s fine. You’re good.” So, that’s the only conga lesson that I ever had in my life. From there on in, I just started learning more and more, and listening. Then I’d go out and hear bands from time to time. It was hard to find bands with conga drummers at that time, because everyone was into Acid Rock music at that time. Everyone was into the Cream and Jimi Hendrix. If you’re a high school kid, you can’t really go into clubs, and I didn’t have any money. I couldn’t go to Hollywood, because I didn’t have a car. So I was just in the neighborhood – if I’d hear about something, I’d run over and see if there was something going on.

Little by little I started learning more about the conga drum and then when I got a little bit older – I was a senior in high school – I started going to The Lighthouse in Hermosa Beach. I would see Cal Tjader play there, and I’d see Mongo Santamaria, Willie Bobo, The Jazz Crusaders, Freddie Hubbard – all like that. I would watch them close up. I would show up to The Lighthouse an hour and a half early and Howard Rumsey would let me in the door. “It’s a little early son.” “Well, I had to come from Norwalk.” “Norwalk?!?” Anyway, he’d let me in and he’d say, “You’ve got to sit over there on the side and just drink Cherry Coke.” – I wasn’t 21 yet, I was 18 or 19. Usually a friend would drive me; I didn’t have a car so I’d pay for his gas – 50 cents for gas! That would get us there and back in those days. I’d go out there and I’d just stare at Mongo’s congas for like an hour. “Look at the master’s drums!” That’s how much I was into this, it was ridiculous. I would look at his drums, and when he finally came out and started playing, it was like I was in heaven. Almost too much. He would come out and smack those drums! I’m going, “Woah, how does he do it?” Then I would see the group where Armando Pereza was in Mongo’s band – the two great conga players in one band. I would sit there all night drinking cherry cola in awe of these guys.

Later on, of course, they became my best friends. Of course, they’re all gone now. Tito Puente, Cal Tjader, Mongo – they’re all gone. They were best friends of mine. Armando Pereza is still alive, he’s a very good friend of mine. It’s amazing how I just started out from the garage to becoming best friends with these guys. As a matter of fact, I named my oldest son after Mongo, I have a son named Mongo! And I have a son named Tito for Tito Puente. These guys became good friends of mine but you can tell what kind of fan I was, I named my sons after them.

LJC: You joined Cal Tjader’s group in 1975. How did you meet Cal Tjader and join his band?

PS: I was married and out of high school and my son Monguito was already 2 years old. I was playing with a local band called Sabor, which in English means flavor. We were playing around Los Angeles, doing weddings and dances. We played a mixture of Tower of Power, Chicago, and Blood, Sweat, and Tears. They had three horn players in the band, so they were really into that horn funk thing. I was the lead vocalist for the band and I was on the conga drums. I had been learning Mongo Santamaria songs, Ray Barretto songs, and some Cal Tjader stuff, so we played some Latin Jazz and half funk. The band was pretty good. We played a little spot in a city called Pico Rivera, which is near East Los Angeles. It was a hot spot where a bunch of Latinos would hang out on the weekends. When we played there, we always had a real big crowd there on the weekends.

One night there was a white guy who walked in wearing a really nice hat and smoking a cigar. It was predominantly Latinos in this club - he stuck out like a sore thumb! Later on, I found out that he lived a block from that club, that’s why he used to frequent it – he could walk home! On our break, I walked up to the bar to get a drink and this guy said, “Hey man, you sound pretty good.” I said, “Oh, thank you” and shook his hand. He said, “My name is Ernie Steeles, I live by here. I really like the way that you sound, do you want a drink?” I said, “Yea, if you’re buying, I’ll take one!” I got a drink and he said, “You know, I’m a personal friend of Cal Tjader’s.” I thought in my mind, “Yea, right!” He said, “Do you know who Cal Tjader is?” I said, “Oh, yea, I’ve got all his records.” So I got my drink and I said, “Well, thank you very much, and don’t forget to tell your good friend Cal Tjader about me.” I walked away laughing, and once I got up on the bandstand, I told all the guys, “Hey, see that guy over there? He says that he’s a personal friend of Cal Tjader’s.” Everyone in the band was like, “Yea, right! He’s my uncle too!”

Two weeks went by and I went to Concerts By The Sea. Howard Rumsey owned The Lighthouse in Hermosa Beach and then he moved over to the next beach, Rodondo Beach, and opened a really nice club downstairs called Concerts By The Sea. That was the new hot jazz club in town, so everybody used to play there. All the guys would come from New York, San Francisco, or whatever, and play there. I went to go see Mongo there, and Barretto . . . everybody. Cal Tjader was there one week, so I told my wife and a friend, “Hey, let’s go see Cal Tjader, he’s at Concerts By The Sea.” When we got there, you had to walk down these stairs – it was underneath the pier – I’m walking down these stairs and all of a sudden I stopped. I told my wife and friend, “Wait a minute! Do you see that guy down there? He’s talking to Cal Tjader!” They were right in front of the box office where you go in and Cal was standing right there – I knew what he looked like because he was my hero. This guy Ernie was talking to him. I said, “Remember that guy I told you about that bought me a drink? There he is!” The guy looked up, saw me, and said, “Hey, Cal, that’s him, right there, Poncho Sanchez.” It’s funny, he was talking to Cal Tjader about me at the time I was walking down the stairs. I immediately got scared! I walked down and he said, “Hey, Poncho, this is Cal Tjader. Cal, this is Poncho Sanchez. This is the kid that I’m talking about, he plays really good!” I was shaking, thinking, “Wow, I’m really talking to Cal Tjader.” Cal says, “Hey, my friend Ernie here says you play really good, do you want to sit in?” I said, “Sit in? When?” “Right now! Tonight, in a little while. I’m going to call you up in the middle of the set.”

We paid, got our ticket stubs, and sat down and now I was really nervous. Sure enough, they played a couple of songs, and then Cal said, “We have a guest in the house here tonight, his name is Poncho Sanchez. He’s going to play a little conga drums.” I went up there and he told me, “I’m going to do a little tune – you’re not going to know the breaks because we haven’t recorded this one yet. It’s an old version of Manteca, but we haven’t recorded this version. When the breaks come, just lay out or play time through it.” I said, “Sure.” We started playing and I started doing my thing. Those breaks came up and I played them. The guys were like, “How did you know that?” So we kept playing and they gave me a solo, the crowd went crazy. After the song was over, I got up and said, “Thank you Cal.” I was going to go sit down, but he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Stay with us the rest of the set.” I played four more songs with them that night. He called me in the back room after and said, “Hey, how did you know the breaks to that song when I haven’t even recorded it yet?” I said, “Well, Cal, I’m a big fan and I was here last time you played. You announced that it was a new arrangements and I learned the breaks when I saw you play last time.” He said, “Wow! You sound great, give me your name and your phone number.”

We went home and I was celebrating – I thought, if he never even looks at me for the rest of his life, I’m still happy - I played one time with Cal Tjader. My friend Kenny asked me, “Do you think he’s going to call you?” “Nah, he’s not going to call me, what for? There’s a lot of great conga drummers all over the place. He was probably just being a nice guy” A couple of week went by and my phone range – it was Cal Tjader calling from San Francisco down to Los Angeles. He said, “Hey, listen, I need you to play with me for one week. I’m going to do one night, New Year’s Eve, at The Coconut Grove at The Ambassador Hotel in downtown Los Angeles, opposite Carmen McCrae’s band. Then we’re going to do five nights down in San Diego. Are you available?” I said, “Of course I’m available!” It’s funny, I was working at an aluminum foundry, where you melt hot aluminum and pour it – hot, dirty work – and I had gotten laid off from that place, collecting unemployment. So when he said “Are you ready?” I said, “Are you kidding? Right now.”

So, that’s the way it went, I played with him on New Year’s Eve down in L.A. I had heard of the Ambassador Hotel – that’s where the president speaks sometimes . . . that’s where the movie stars stay – but I had never been by there. I went over there in my ’63 Chevy and played the first set with him. After the first set was over, he came into the back room, gave me a hug, and said, “Hey Poncho, you sound great. You know what? The gig is yours if you want it.” I said, “The gig for the next five days?” He said, “No, no, the gig is yours.” “You mean to play with you all the time?” He said, “Yea, you’ll be in the band.” That was the first week of 1975, and I was with him for 7 and a half years. I recorded about 14 records with him. I won a Grammy with him in 1980; we were nominated again the following year. I toured all over the world with him, and I was with him the day that he died in Manila, the Philippine Islands. He died of a massive heart attack and we had to fly him home. On the way to the Philippines he was sitting next to me, which is an 18 or 20 hour flight and on the way home he was in a box. It was a nightmare. I saw him die, it was like loosing my musical father.

It was heavy – when I got home, I was down and out. Not only did I loose my best friend, my idol, and my hero that day, I also lost my job. I had been working with him for seven and a half years. Monguito was bigger, my son was now nine years old – I was thinking, how am I going to pay my bills? I had been playing with Cal Tjader. I actually had the Poncho Sanchez band already, but it was just small time. We would just play once every two months for chump change. It was not happening yet. Cal, before he died, had gotten me a contract with Concord Records. I signed a contract in ‘82 with Concord Records, he set it all up for me. My band was still not really that good yet though. I had to jump into it full force to get my band together.

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Make sure that you check out Part 1 of the LJC interview with Poncho Sanchez and read some background on Sanchez’s early days. You can find it HERE.

Check back next Wednesday and Thursday for parts 3 and 4 of our interview when we get into the early days of the Poncho Sanchez Band and his most recent projects. You don’t want to miss this!

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Check Out These Related Posts:
Latin Jazz Conversations: John Calloway (Part 2)
Latin Jazz Conversations: Jose Madera (Part 2)
Latin Jazz Conversations: Mitch Frohman (Part 2)
Album Of The Week: Psychedelic Blues, Poncho Sanchez

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