The Catalyst interview: Raul Malo of the Mavericks

With a voice that’s like a puree of Presley, Orbison and Mario Lanza, Raul Malo is one of the most revered and respected singers in contemporary country music.

His effortless baritone has always been the lead instrument in the Mavericks, formed 35 years ago in Miami, through a dozen albums, each in its own way a hybrid of rootsy rock ‘n’ roll, classic country, pop, R&B and the Latino sounds introduced to Malo by his parents, 1950s exiles from Fidel Castro’s Cuba.

The Mavericks will open for Dwight Yoakam Thursday at the BayCare Sound (find tickets for the 6 p.m. concert here).

They’re one of those groups the critics adore, and the fans buzz around reverentially. In this interview, Malo mockingly refers to himself as the “Americana cult hero.”

That’s because critics and adoring fans don’t always send songs up the airplay or download charts. The Mavericks’ highest notching single, a rollicking collaboration with Tejano accordion player Flaco Jimenez (“All You Ever Do is Bring Me Down”) made it to No. 13 in 1996.

There are, of course, more powerful markers of success than chart positions and platinum albums. The Mavericks – and Malo – are considered fearless innovators and risk-takers (who can forget the cover of the Frank and Nancy Sinatra song “Somethin’ Stupid,” featuring Malo and duet partner Trisha Yearwood? Or the haunting version of “Blue Moon” in the movie Apollo 13?)

In 2019, the band released an all-covers album, followed a year later by a collection sung entirely in Spanish.

Five months ago, Malo went public with the news that he’d been diagnosed with intestinal cancer. Over the phone Monday from Nashville (the tour starts in St. Augustine Wednesday) the singer/songwriter, in great spirits, talked about the band, his heritage … and, yes, that other thing.

St. Pete Catalyst: Question Number One: How’s your health?

Raul Malo: Man, honestly I’m doing really good, really well for an old guy with cancer! I’ve had my eighth round of treatment. It hasn’t killed me, by any means. I definitely feel a little fatigued, you know? They (the medical team) know what I do for a living – that was taken into account when we were kind of formulating a plan of attack, when the treatments were going to happen and all that. And they’ve always been interested in making sure that the treatment itself was the least bit obtrusive into my life. They adjusted as we went along. It’s been amazing. It’s so personalized, the treatment and the way they go about it. They can adjust their chemo cocktail, as they call it, and have it be more targeted to your specific needs.

I’m happy to be on a chemo break for the holidays. And after the Nashville shows on Dec. 6 and 7, I go in for liver surgery on Dec. 12.

I don’t know you, but I’m proud of you. How do you not go “Screw this, I’m going to give music up for a while. This thing is much too important.” How do you keep the career going, and your positivity going?

I didn’t want to sit around and wait for it. No, if I’m feeling pretty good and I can go out and do my thing, I think that’s gonna be better for me than sitting here doing nothing. Because a lot of this game, I’ve learned, is psychological. And not everybody handles it the same.

I’ve never felt that this thing was a death sentence. Or even close to that. As a matter of fact, my running joke with everybody was: It was living that was killing me. All the horrible things we eat, our habits, all the horrible shit we do on a daily basis, and put in our bodies on a daily basis, that’s been an eye-opening thing to come to terms with and to realize.

I don’t know, man, it was one more thing to take care of, and if I could go out and work and play music, I figured that was gonna be a positive.

You made your first record in Miami in 1990. How did the Mavericks, playing country music, fit in with the rock ‘n’ roll bands playing what I assume were the same clubs? How did you get work?

In those days what we did, which is kind of what we’ve always done, we just offered an alternative to the alternative – or whatever it was that was happening at the time. It was different. And half the time we didn’t really know what we were doing. Or maybe we thought we did! It wasn’t that thought-out or that orchestrated. It kind of just happened, y’know, and the fact that it happened in Miami is really nothing short of a miracle.

Your heritage is Cuban – how did this sort of music happen for you?

Obviously there’s different genres of music, there’s all kinds of styles and this and that, but to me, music kind of all ran together. I’ve never been one like “Oh, I hate jazz.” That’s not true – I might not like all records made in the jazz catalogue, but I don’t hate jazz. I don’t make blanket absolute statements like that.

I grew up in a household that listened to all kinds of music. My dad was a big country music fan; my mom was an opera fan, and she loved rock ‘n’ roll, and she loved swing music. And my dad loved Cuban music. So there was always stuff playing in the house.

When I first heard Elvis’ “It’s Now or Never,” that was the catalyst. That was like the seas were parting, you know? The heavens had opened up. And when my mom pointed out, “By the way, that’s an Italian aria,” that really sealed the deal. With what music could be, and what it meant to me. Music is a language, and whether you’re singing rock ‘n’ roll or singing opera, you can still communicate.

So I looked at music a little differently. (Laughing) That’s why we’re not in any genre now – we’re kind of in a no-man’s land!

There’s country music, Tex-Mex and Tejano and rock ‘n’ roll in what you do. Big pop ballads. You’re still following those same non-guidelines.

Yeah. What else can we do? It’s what we do, you know – it makes it difficult for marketing divisions and record labels. We’re their biggest nightmare. And that’s just kinda the way it’s been. And it continues.

For me, country music has always been about the distinctive singing voice. Did anyone in Nashville ever tell you “Your voice is too weird for this kind of music”?

(Laughing) No, I’ve never heard that one. But that’s not to say that somebody doesn’t feel that way about it. But within the context of the Mavericks and what we do, it’s not weird. Obviously, I can admit that it’s a unique sounding voice.

For whatever reason, we don’t get the radio play or any sort of recognition in that way.

Going back to that first indie album out of Miami, people said you guys were going to be huge. Today, a lot of people know you and what you do – but the band never really did get huge. Has it been OK for you, the way it’s gone?

Inevitably, Uber drivers will drop me off at a studio, or pick me up at a tour bus or a venue or whatever, and they’ll ask me, what do you do? And I’ll say well, I’m the most famous person you’ve never heard of. I say, I’ll give you my name, I’ll tell you the band that I perform with. You’ve never heard of us. But I’ll get out of the car, and you’ll Google it, and you’ll be like “Holy shit, that guy was just in my car!” And sure enough, that’s exactly what always happens.

So that’s my fame. I’m the Americana cult hero.