Interview: Antonio Lopez rips up past pain for high-flying ‘Roots and Wings’ album

Antonio Lopez is the youngest of five children. His parents — his mother now a retired second-grade schoolteacher, his father an activist and attorney, who along with his brother Reyes, was an essential figure to amplify voices during the Chicano Civil Rights Movement — both were part of “the first generation where more people of color gained access to higher education,” says Lopez, whose own voice carries with it the weight and force of the world. “That struggle was hard-fought, and the work done by my parents and others in the civil rights movement allowed me to get a college education in music composition and classical guitar. I see my work as a continuation of this progress.”

Originally from Alamosa, Colorado, and now rooted four hours south in Longmont, Lopez bares true heart with his new studio record, Roots and Wings. His work is like a Rubik’s cube, its intricacies a mesmerizing display of songcraft and sheer grit growing and flourishing deep within his soul. As bright and awe-struck many of his arrangements are, the pain is weathered and worn like a jacket draped around his shoulders, wearily clinging to the past as a way to pay tribute before he forges his own legacy. He speaks truth to power and truth to his heritage, honoring the pain his parents endured so he and his siblings could have a better life in America.

Lopez’s uncle Reyes died in a “mysterious car bombing,” as Lopez describes it, after an FBI-formed secrete branch (called COINTELPRO) used their power to “infiltrate and disrupt domestic social movements.” That fateful day in 1974 in Boulder’s Chautauqua Park was well before Lopez’s time, yet its significance has sent ripples throughout his life. His father nearly buckled beneath the system, too, when the government “tried to silence [him] by trumping up false charges, forcing him into exile and relinquishing his license to practice law for over ten years. He was later exonerated of all charges and gained his license back, but the shadows of these events still loom over my family.”

Lopez speaks emphatically and honestly, choosing not to let the past torture him. Rather, he uses it to stoke inner fires for his own sort of revolution. “Each of us alive right now is the link between the past and the future. It is now our time. Our time to speak our truth. My songs come from my ancestors. My ancestors still exist because I am here,” he tells B-Sides & Badlands. “They exist inside of me. They exist through me. I am their dream. The life I am able to lead is a life they could only dream of having. When I sing, I’m adding my voice to their voice— joining them in both words and actions for a better tomorrow. A better tomorrow for me. A better tomorrow for you. A better tomorrow for all of us.”

Roots and Wings emits a radical glow, seeing Lopez torch the earth around his feet. His approach is undeniably urgent, but compassionate, opting to uncover the beauty and goodness peeking through cracked layers of earth and overgrown weeds. Make no mistake, he doesn’t make allowances for any of the bad; he simply accepts that what’s done is done and moves on.

Below, Lopez dissects his personal journey the last few years, how his past fed creativity, and a vibrant musical palette.

Since you first had the inkling of this music back in summer 2018, what have you learned most, either in life or through writing and recording this record?

I am a patient and calculated person. My plans for the new record were for it to be a breakout moment in my career. I still think that is possible, and I still believe that is what’s happening, but COVID-19 has changed things. These past two-plus years have been trying mentally, with that combination of hard work, patience, and perseverance. The original release cycle’s timing and the careful placing of those puzzle pieces were spilled all over the floor due to the pandemic. Thankfully, we wrapped up the recording of ‘Roots and Wings’ and the Kickstarter campaign to fund it just a few months before the Pandemic hit.

A music career is not the easiest of life paths. Moments of self-doubt are common. Simultaneously I often take myself way too seriously while also not taking things seriously enough. One of the most important jobs of a musician is to not become jaded. The reward lies in the process, playing guitar and singing every day purely for the joy of it. Exploring those rabbit holes getting lost in an ocean of sound. The further I get down this music path, I realize it’s a journey of self-discovery and becoming more of what I already am. It’s a process of becoming myself. What does the future hold? Some things you can never know. You just have to believe.

Did you find anything particularly difficult to confront through this work?

I pushed outside my comfort zone with this one. Growth towards your dreams happens outside of your comfort zone. My life is not a story about me. I am but a thread that connects the past with the future. I have a responsibility both to my past and my future [descendants]. The fact that I can pursue my dream of a music career is a privilege that is not lost on me. With this album, I am stepping out of the shadows of the past and into the light of the future. Music is medicine that can heal the hurt of the past, transmuting it into hope in the process.

Reading about how your father was faced with trumped-up charges, it feels like something ripped out of 2020 and a jarring reminder that so much has not changed in almost 50 years. Did that hurt really guide your songwriting hand?

Lived experience shapes one’s perception of the world. As a person of color, you are aware of injustice from a young age. This hurt has guided my songwriting hand. I can only imagine what it was like for my father to go through the tribulations he had to.

In talking about the record so far, you’ve said you hope it gives people hope as we head into a new year and that you want to be a hero for people right now. Who are your heroes right now in this moment?

There are everyday heroes from all walks of life right now. The truth is that the times we are in are really stressful and will continue to be for an undetermined amount of time. People are resilient and creative and find ways to make things work. Everyone lending a helping hand to others as they can is a hero in my book.

From a music standpoint, my current hero is Cory Wong, a guitarist out of Minneapolis, MN, known for his work with Vulfpeck, session work, and his solo artist career. He is prolific. Who releases eight albums in one year? Cory Wong does! My favorite album of his 2020 releases is ‘Meditations,’ an instrumental collaboration with pianist Jon Batiste that veers in the complete opposite direction of Wongs’ usual sound. This album is my current go-to whenever I want to relax or work to some ambient music. Cory is inspiring because he did not throw a pity party about the pandemic and its effect on musicians. He decided instead to release tons of new material, start hosting a podcast with Premier Guitar, and provide educational and inspirational video series on his YouTube channel. Does Cory Wong even sleep?

I know you dipped into a well of older songs for this record. How did those seem to fit what you needed to say now?

There are two main reasons why some older songs made their way onto this record. Reason one is I am not a prolific songwriter. Reason two is that as an independent musician, it takes a while to build up the resources to go into the studio and record new music.

A record is a snapshot in time; if you’re trying to make the perfect record, you’re never going to release it. If you spend too much time on it, you will squeeze the life out of the songs, ending up with something that may technically sound good but is sterile and lifeless. I feel like we captured my band and these songs so that the hope and excitement are stamped into each song’s DNA.

You’ve spoken quite a bit about your father and his role as an activist in the Chicano Civil Rights Movement. What’s been your personal journey the last few years, as it seems we’re in the middle of one of the most crucial moments in history in terms of rights?

I’ve felt the pull in recent years to use my platform as a performing musician to do more than just be the soundtrack to drinking beer. I don’t consider myself very political but look at it more as being socially conscious and conscientious. My message is one of unity. There are not many people of color that play the same type of music as I do. Sometimes, It can be a lonely space to occupy. I used to see this as a challenge to overcome, but I now see it as a strength.

Born into the Chicano culture of northern New Mexico and southern Colorado, my roots in this area predate western expansion of the United States. My people’s history is not well known or well understood in the greater context. Being of a marginalized group can be a painful experience, being seen as an outsider in your own homeland. Instead of hardening me, this has led me to be more open-hearted and live with more empathy for others. We are all marginalized in some way.

In the early days of The Pandemic, I stepped into the executive director role of the non-profit Sound Bridge Music. In taking on this position, I vow to do what I can to support the Colorado Music Community as we navigate through this difficult time. It pains me to see the financial hardships many of my peers and I are experiencing due to the toll COVID-19 is taking on the music community. It haunts me to think about what the climate will be like as a working musician after this. One thing is for sure, none of us will be able to weather this storm on our own. The way we are going to get through this is people helping people.

Do you find art and music can move the needle forward when other vehicles of activism may not?

Yes, absolutely. Art and music are powerful means to build a connection and understanding of others. Who doesn’t like a beautiful piece of art or a beautiful work of music? I believe that true activism unites rather than divides. Great art and music connects with the heart and the mind and elicits feeling and emotion.

“The heat of compassion can burn us up,” you observe on “The New Warrior.” You later observe that it’s “not a battle between the good guys and the bad guys.” What is at the core of this song? And what provoked writing it?

“The New Warrior” is inspired by a cross-generational friendship with my friend Tetsuko who passed away a few years ago. Tetsuko was a quadriplegic who was in a wheelchair since 1969. She broke her neck in the student protests happening at this time in Berkeley, CA. I first met Tetsuko in the summer of my sophomore year in college. The school year was ending, and I needed a summer job. The way we met was I found an ad in the local newspaper’s classifieds section that Tetsuko had placed looking for a caregiver. Since I grew up in a small town, Tetsuko was the first Buddhist I ever met. [This song] is based on conversations with Tetsuko about the Shambhala Warrior prophecy. A new type of warrior emerges to help society in times similar to those we are experiencing now. I like this prophecy because this warrior is not a savior that will save us, but instead, this warrior-ship is inside each one of us. We have the ability within us to be the force of good. This warrior is not confrontational. The weapons that she wields are compassion, insight, and wisdom on the radical interconnectedness of all things.

On “The Truth We Tell,” you unleash some of your most fascinating lyrics, particularly this line: “The hurt of the past is frost on our bones / To hold it in is to drown in the well.” Has being so forthright in not only your work but in life been really healing?

Honesty is raw, but it is real. Sometimes it is healing; sometimes, it is scary. I’m a horrible liar, so for me, it’s the best policy.

Does such imagery naturally spring to your fingertips, or do you often return to them later on?

To me, songwriting is an alluring art form as it uses an economy of words. I am a quiet person, and in everyday conversation, I struggle to find the words in the moment. The practice of writing songs affords me the time to say what I want to say.

“Too Much Too Soon” carries with it a throwback 1960s pop sound, especially with the opening vocals. Did the song always lean in that direction?

“Too Much Too Soon” was a fun song to write. I co-wrote that one with my wife, Georgia, and my friend Kyle Donovan. That 60’s doo-wop vibe was something we were feeling all along with the tune. I want to give a special shoutout to the bassist in my band Chad E. Mathis who arranged the song’s four-part harmony intro.

With “That Old House,” you sing some of your most haunting lyrics: “Ghosts in the floorboards / Time can hear them all.” What are you confronting here?

I wrote this song in my head as I drove my mom in my Subaru Outback, pulling a small U-haul trailer with her belongings behind us. After several decades of being together, she and my dad were splitting up. A decision that I think serves them both better. While there was love in their relationship, there was also much dysfunction.

What else did you come to greater understanding about through making this record?

I learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned just how intimately connected my hopes, my dreams, and my fears are. I’ve come to better recognize my strengths and weaknesses and how they are really one and the same. An aspect of self, expressed in a different way. One that emanates the light within and one that hides in the shadows of my psyche. Whenever I feel the clouds of a “woe-is-me” existential crisis moment arising, I remind myself that I am OK. It’s time to put down the phone and pick up my guitar. I have the healing power of music at my fingertips. I have food on my table and a roof over my head. I have a loving wife, and I am a member of many concentric circles of family and community.

If I were a man that chased the dollar, I would not have chosen the career path of a musician. I would have given that dream up long ago. Still, I wouldn’t trade in the life I have for anything else, even right now in this present moment. My life is rich in ways that cannot be measured in a monetary value.

From my earliest childhood memories, music has always been at the forefront of my focus. I am committed and will continue this path I am on. When I am an old man, this is still what I’ll be doing, regardless if I’m playing in a fancy concert hall or the corner of some dive bar. This long view approach has served me well, and I am learning to enjoy the process instead of being so attached to results. The ego is attached to outcomes and gaining recognition. Creativity flows when you let go of expectations and are present in the moment.

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