Carnival of Soul

For almost four decades, guitar player/singer Coco Montoya who began drumming for blues icon Albert Collins has gone from performing as lead guitarist for John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers to striking out on his own.

In 1995, Montoya launched his solo career and has since put out ten solo albums of blues, rock and soul. Guitar Player calls Montoya’s newest album (and fifth for Alligator), Coming In Hot  “stunning, powerhouse blues with a searing tone, emotional soloing, and energetic, unforced vocals.”  I caught up with the gifted artist at the Iridium in New York City, where he was playing:

When you were 11 you had a drum kit. Did your parents buy it for you?

My mom got it fairly cheap but she had to make payments on it. It was a Pearl drum set before Pearl was a good company.

Two years later you got a guitar. Why?

I just wanted to make music: drums, playing beats, grooves. There were the Beatles and I wanted to be able to make chords.

And you were playing this guitar left-handed?

I picked up guitar at people’s houses and they were all right-handed guitars. I didn’t know there was a right or left. Same with drums. I just did what I saw. I had no idea I should have turned it around.

Are you still playing the guitar upside down left-handed?

Yeah, I don’t know any better.

You played in a number of area rock bands as a drummer while you were still in your teens. Did you have lessons?

I never had a lesson in my life and that pretty much sums up why I left the drumming career; because I only got so far. Everything I did was listening to a record and figuring out how to do it. The guitar playing as well, I just taught myself, so that’s why I did it all wrong.

In 1969, you saw Albert King opening up a Creedence and Clearwater Revival/Iron Butterfly concert in LA. How did you feel about Albert King’s playing?

It changed my life emotionally. It was the sounds that would give you that feeling inside your heart. What Albert King did was so real and so emotionally based that he stole the show.

In the early seventies Albert Collins was playing at the same small club in Culver City where you played the night before and the club owner gave Collin’s permission to use your drums. What happened?

We got in a shout-out because I didn’t know who Albert was. But he was so kind and nice, I just said, “You already got it set up. Just go ahead and use it.” And that’s how he got my number and that was it.

Did you stay that night and watch him?

He got me to sit in. There’s a lot of holes in my playing, but Albert learned the same way and it’s all just by feeling it. He would constantly say, “Don’t think about it, feel it. What I’m showing you has nothing to do with scales and the pentatonic scale.” He didn’t even know what pentatonic was and neither did I. So that’s why we jelled so.

He brought you on as a drummer. Why do you think he took the time to teach you guitar?

Albert never taught me guitar, you just absorbed him. It was sipping whiskey in the hotel room on a day off and I’d play his other Telecaster, and we’d play and laugh and drink. It was just absorbing each other.

So you left him and you joined John Mayall. How did that happen?

I had to get off the road because I was broke. I had to pay bills, so I ended up leaving the road. I got a day job. Had a paycheck every week, loved it.

Did you miss music?

No, actually I saw how Albert got treated by promoters and getting stiffed with the money and it was the ugly side of the business. When I got out, I had a steady paycheck and had the freedom to just go somewhere and drink and play if I wanted to. Then John Mayall heard me at a jam session. He was re-forming the Bluesbreakers after Mick Taylor had left. Out of nowhere he called me. What a call!

What was it like to fill the shoes of Clapton and Peter Green and Mick Taylor?

At first euphoric, but after a while, a nightmare. These are your heroes. Eric Clapton’s always been one of my biggest heroes. You would think that, you’d be on cloud nine, but once you get into the gig, you’re trying to come up to their level as best you can. I realized I can never be at the level of Eric Clapton. John pulled me aside and said, “Where’d you forget the first rule of blues? The first of blues is interpretation.” Albert used to say that all the time; he’d say, “I play it the way I play it.” That freed me up. It was just, “Why am I trying to live up to something? I’ve just got to make my own mark.” John set me on the path of, just tonight I play the song the way I play it.”

John says he gives his musicians complete freedom?

John takes the leash off. You do what you do. But he’s a businessman and you have to be there. if it says you’re supposed to be in the lobby at 10:00am, you’re there 10 minutes before 10:00am. That’s on time. I remember us getting upset because we’d worked probably a month straight in Europe with no days off and asked John for a day off. John goes, “I didn’t bring you over here for a vacation. I brought you over here to work. If you want to stick around here after and go on vacation, I’m paying you good enough. But now, I’m here to work.” I thought about it and said, “Yeah, there’s a musician’s usual thing, just bitching about not having work and then bitching because they got work.” It’s kind of a habit.

What’s the most important thing you’ve learned from John?

Self-confidence. He helped me learn to embrace my mistakes. He taught me how to laugh and how to say, “You made a mistake, you’re human,” and to have fun when you’re on stage

In 1993, you left John and you struck out on your own. Why?

I just felt it was time for something else. I thought I was going to go back to bartending. At the time I was a little worse for wear from drink and drugs. I toned down the drugs down but was still drinking really bad. I sobered up in ’93. Everything happened in ’93. Albert Collins got cancer. I hung out with Albert until he passed away. With Albert dying, his manager took over my career and has been there ever since.

Your 1995 album, Got a Mind to Travel, established you as one of the best guitarists and vocalists on the contemporary blues scene. In 1996 you won the BMA Award for best new blues artist. What was that like for you?

I thought it was rather odd. I’d been playing for quite a while and I was a newcomer?  I’m not ungrateful, but I never got into it for statues. The greatest thing is if I go out and play and people dig what I’m doing.

Living Blues calls you “a showstopper…heartfelt singing and merciless guitar with a wicked icy burn…he swings like a jazz man and stings like the ice man, Albert Collins.” How do you feel about that as a characterization?

I have no idea about those things. Sometimes I’ll come offstage on a gig, and think, “you were just awful.” Oh my God I forgot so many lyrics, or I just sang flat or my hands aren’t working, my hands are sore. I say I played terrible and then somebody turns around and says, ”You guys are great.” So I go, “Who played tonight?”

We seem to be willing to take that risk of being accepted or totally rejected. It’s the need to accomplish something. Some days you think you got it, some days you just don’t got it. It’s an amazing place to be and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

What makes your new album, Coming in Hot different from your other albums?

I think the songwriting. I don’t do a lot of songwriting. We only have one song that was accepted by the record company on the album, which just ended up being the title.

What does music mean to you?

Expression. Getting it out of you. Emotion. It’s just a way of communicating, letting people know how you really feel deep inside.

When you get out there and sing, sometimes you’re letting people know so much about you. And music is the ability to state my case.