Cover photo © 2024 Arnie Goodman

Drummer turned guitarist, Henry “Coco” Montoya, was born in 1951 in Santa Monica, to parents of Mexican heritage.  He immersed himself in his parents’ record collection at an early age, and first started playing drums at age eleven, obtaining a guitar two years later.

“My parents separated when I was very young, and my mom worked as a waitress and in a factory. My dad would come by to visit but mom had to work two jobs to keep us going.  I grew up in West Los Angeles till about third grade and then we moved to Mar Vista California down by Venice.”

Coco’s mother listened to a wide variety of both American and Mexican first artists and the first concert he went to, was to see the legendary “God of Ranchera “Miguel Aceves Mejia. Mejia recorded an album called “The Man from Mexico.”

“I couldn’t understand a word he was saying but I felt this incredible soul from this man’s voice. My mom took me to see him, and I loved the feeling and the music, it was amazing. I’ve never forgotten it.  Then I heard La Bamba by Richie Valens. I loved that guitar intro, and I still do. That was the first record that made me want to emulate somebody like that.”

Coco admits that music became an eight-cylinder engine that drove him past a long list of obstacles and “no thank yous” in his early years. Athletics and sports were only two of the activities he couldn’t care less about.  All that mattered to him was music.

“I was a very insecure kid. If you critiqued or criticized me, I would just quit. Music was the only thing where I would not let anyone defeat me. That’s why I never took lessons, I was too sensitive to take them as criticism. I was the weird kid that stayed in the garage trying to play his drums and driving the neighborhood crazy. The same with guitar, it was my brother’s. I just picked it up and noodled around on it when I could. My first band happened when I was around fifteen. We played ‘Gloria’ and ‘Dirty Water’, and ‘Baby Please Don’t Go’. We actually got halfway proficient, and I was all over the place.”

For the young man with a music addiction, Los Angeles was paradise, with early R&B groups like Thee Midnighters playing almost every weekend. Thee Midnighters featured the incredible voice of Little Willie G, a huge influence on Los Lobos and other later groups.

“I opened for them at a park in Inglewood and I was just in awe. I could not believe how great they were. They were so, so good and they were nice to us, real encouraging.”

He continued to play, soaking in the sounds and style of everybody from R&B pioneer Johnny Otis, to Cream, to the Doors, and then one fateful night he went to see Iron Butterfly with Credence Clearwater Revival and in the middle of them was a blues singer named Albert King.

“I had no idea who this man with the patent leather shoes, and sharp suit was. How come he’s not reeking of Patchouli oil like me and everyone else there? When he got done, my whole life had changed. I couldn’t care less about CCR and-or Inna Gadda Da Vida.   I was totally into this man who had just played something that affected me emotionally. That was magic. We all know there are other attractions, girls, notoriety, prestige, all that, but when came down to the music all I cared about was that it affects me emotionally.  I started buying all the British blues records. I became obsessed with Eric Clapton, Peter Green, and Mick Taylor. Eric would say in his interviews, ‘I did not invent this, go look in your own backyard!!’ So, I got Livewire Blues Power (an all-instrumental album by Albert King containing some of the best blues guitar playing in history). I played it over and over and wore it out. Then I found Live at the Regal by BB King and wore that out. The British blues guys steered me back to America, and I love them for it.”

“So, I was playing drums in a band at a joint in Culver City and playing Top 40 for a mostly Mexican crowd playing ‘Evil Ways’ and lots of Santana. Apparently, the club owner had met the legendary blues guitarist Albert Collins, was blown away by him, and talked him into doing a Sunday matinee kind of thing. Meantime, all my gear was there. I had not packed up my drums. When I got there, all my drums had been moved around and I wasn’t really happy about that. The club owner and I got into an argument, but Albert was there and said he would get some other drums.  He was so nice, and I felt bad and ok’d it. Albert asked me to sit in and I was by no means any kind of a blues drummer with any real blues knowledge, just the English stuff. He took my number down and I never thought any more about it.”

“Several months went by and he called me up. My mom said there was a guy named Albert Collins wanting to talk to me on the phone. I was in the backyard with some buddies trying to figure out what to do today and here’s Albert.  Albert asked, ‘I need a drummer, are you available? You know I’m going up to Oregon in the Northwest and all the way up to Canada.’  I said, ‘Well sure,’ which was unusual for me because I never had a confidence level that would just say ‘Yeah, I’ll take the gig’, I would shy away from it. Anyway, I said yes figuring there would be a couple of weeks of rehearsals or something. Albert said, ‘I’ll pick you up in about three hours.’  I stayed with him until ’75 or ’76. I was just so enthralled with his music and every night we played it was a new deal because I wasn’t playing “Evil Ways” or “Born on the Bayou.” I was playing this guys’ own music. I was at an entirely different level.”

“The first day I was with him we were packing my drums, and they had a bass player that knew me from the clubs. He saw me and said, ‘Oh no, you got Montoya.  He can’t play!’  Albert said, ‘Mind your own business Tommy, and shut your mouth.’ He looked at me and said, ‘don’t worry we are going to be fine, I called you for a reason.’  I was pretty hurt but one of the first lessons he taught me at the age of twenty-one was to persevere. That was a big, big message.”

Collins would serve as both a mentor and a guide to the world of national blues musicians.

The former top forty drummer found himself in the company of artists like John Lee Hooker. They were at a festival at Six Stadium in Seattle and unlike Tommy the bass player, Hooker loved Coco’s playing, teasing Albert and saying, “That drummer, he’s a burner, I’m gonna take him from you!”

“Kim Wilson was on that gig and we were just like two kids going to Disneyland.”

During that time, the self-conscious young man who feared criticism continued to learn and grow by keeping company with the legends. He would sneak Big Joe Turner drinks and run around with Pee Wee Crayton. Players like Collins and Pee Wee were also self-taught and anything you picked up off of them came from being allowed to watch them close-up if they deemed you worthy of their attention. For years it was “Living the Dream” but by the eighties the constant touring had taken its toll upon the Man from Montoya, and he needed a break.

“I virtually got out of the music business. I tried doing a Top 40 thing again, but I just didn’t have the technical ability. I did not have the formal training to even find a way to learn how to do that. I had reached a place where playing drums I was not getting any better.  I became a weekend warrior. It was nice to have a regular paycheck and enjoyed the freedom. I saved some money, bought a Super Reverb, a Gibson Explorer Copy and would just go to jam sessions. I went to a great session in Hollywood run by Keith Robertson who used to roadie for all the English bands, Eric Burdon, Phil Collins and all the great guys used to come in and play. That’s how I met John Mayall. I helped move a Yamaha CP70 piano into his house. Later, I went to that jam session, and he showed up and heard my version of an Otis Rush tune and when Mick Taylor left to join Bob Dylans’ band He got ahold of me. He called and I thought it was a joke, but he said, no, no this is a job. I went and auditioned, and he asked if I wanted to join the band. I figured If I lasted a month, I could always say I played in the same band as Eric Clapton, I mean Mayall was my hero it was like being asked to join the Beatles. I ended up staying ten years. I had a second career as the result of a phone call.”

“It was exciting and amazing but there was the whole other side I wasn’t prepared for. There was Walter Trout on one side of the stage and me on the other, dealing with egos learning to just make music together. John did some great things for me; he called me on the carpet. I was trying to emulate all those great guitar players, and I had become a parrot.”

“So, John sat me down and said, ‘I need you to be that guitar player I hired from the club in L.A. You’re trying to be Eric, or Peter Green or Mick Taylor. I need you to start playing like Coco Montoya.’ It freed me up and opened everything to me. I stayed with him for ten years until things began to get a little stale and I left John not knowing what I was going to do.”

By the early nineties, his time had come to sink or swim as a bandleader. Three lessons learned from Albert and John would prove invaluable.  Lesson Number One was an easy one. Sobriety would be necessary for survival and success. Coco began to follow the path in late 1992 and has stayed on it ever since.

Lesson Number Two: This lesson began the day he was hired by Albert Collins. Collins instilled in the young protégé the need to persevere. Never give up. Always persevere. Perseverance proved to be the number one key to success for Mr. Montoya.

Lesson Number Three: Finding a sound that was unique. Coco’s favorite story on the subject goes to Albert who used to tell this one:

“I was in record store when ‘Frosty’ (a Collins song) came on the in-store stereo. This guy standing next to me, says ‘Man. That’s Albert Collins. I can’t stand the way he plays.!!!’ Rather than take it as an insult, Collins smiled and thought to himself, ‘How cool, he knew who I was didn’t he!’”

In 1995 Albert Molinero, the owner of Guitars R Us, a high-end music shop on Sunset Strip offered to finance an album for Coco to help jumpstart the solo career.

“He didn’t care about making money, he just wanted to recoup the investment if possible.   I called it Gotta Mind to Travel. We called in favors, I had guest appearances by John and a number of stars including Mayall, Richie Heywood of Little Feat, Debbie Davies, and Albert Collins.”

Blind Pig Records released Gotta Mind to Travel, giving him much needed label support for riding the Blues Highway. That ride has continued since 1995, with seven albums on Alligator Records, (including his latest, Writing on the Wall),  and worldwide recognition. However, COVID almost derailed it all.

His voice was trembling as he recalled:

“Man, I had to dip deeply into my savings, it was brutal, I’m still feeling the effects. I’ve had to do bar gigs for the money I was making back in my thirties just to stay alive. It has been a real struggle and it’s not done yet.”

However, he has managed to weather the storm, and following the teachings of Albert Collins, persevere. His tight, emotional style of guitar harkens back to past masters like Otis Rush, and a lack of politics or a social agenda sets him apart in the world of today. He described his nightly approach to the live show.

“They need something to take their mind off all this going on in the world. For the 90 minutes I’m playing I just want them to have a good time and take their minds off of all that other mess.”

“I’m steeped in tradition, and if I play what I love, I know I’m going to stand out. Good or bad, they’ll know it’s me. The biggest, hardest thing is to find your own identity. You find your voice, find your place, they know it’s you, and that’s the ultimate prize.”

You can learn more about Coco Montoya at www.cocomontoyaband.com