Soul

If you watched 54 Ultra’s music video for “Upside Down” and came away thinking it was a relic from 1980s music programs like “Solid Gold” or “Night Tracks” — you’d be forgiven for making the assumption.

Aside from the 25-year-old’s vintage wardrobe, hairstyle, and ‘stache that harks to that decade, the song itself — a silky, boppy ballad that channels the energy of groups like the Chi-Lites or solo acts like Johnnie Taylor — sounds and feels ripped from the era in a manner that’s hard to faithfully re-create these days.

That old-school vibe isn’t exactly how 54 Ultra started off when he began putting out solo music three years ago, but it’s what he’s settled into nowadays. The artist, whose real name is JohnAnthony Rodríguez (and yes, his name is supposed to be written together), hails from New Jersey and is of Puerto Rican and Dominican descent.

The name he settled on, 54 Ultra, came by way of uniting Frank Ocean’s 2011 album “Nostalgia, Ultra” and the historic nightclub Studio 54. It was sometime between 2019 and 2020 that he interned at a few different recording studios, songwriting in his spare time with the intention of writing and producing music for others.

“I remember I was trying to find a way to make a living out of music and introduce myself to other artists,” he says over the phone, recalling all the demos he had recorded and presented to artists he’d cross paths with.

“People would be like ‘Who’s singing this? Who demo’ed this?’ And I’d say ‘It was me.’ And then they’d say, ‘You keep it.’ After that [happened] a couple of times I realized that I might as well put it out by myself.”

His first solo singles, like the high-energy “What Do I Know (Call Me Baby)” and “Sierra,” were firmly rooted in the indie rock family tree. It wasn’t until more recently, first with “Where Are You” and later “Heaven Knows,” that Rodríguez began to explore a more retro and soulful approach.

The latter track made an appearance in a 2024 “rhythm and soul” playlist curated by Mistah Cee, an Australian DJ and music selector, who included the song between Bobby Caldwell’s “My Flame” and Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Devotion.” The segues between tracks are seamless, in no small part due to Rodríguez’s immaculate production and fealty to the tempo of the times. His was the only contemporary track on the playlist, but it fooled many who eventually caught on to the rest of his work.

“On YouTube, I remember that was a nice boost, because people would comment, ‘Who came from Mistah Cee?’ Or, ‘Who thought this was an oldie?’ or whatnot,” he says.

To date, it’s not only Mistah Cee’s most viewed playlist by a wide margin (5.6 million and counting) but also 54 Ultra’s most-streamed song on Spotify with 27 million. “That was a very organic wave of things happening, and I’m very grateful for that also because I didn’t expect [it] at all,” says Rodríguez.

Latin soul, of the kind that recalls the doo-wop and boogaloo era of the 1950s and ‘60s, has seen a resurgence in the past few years. Artists like Chicano Batman, Thee Sinseers, Los Yesterdays and the Altons, as well as solo acts like Jason Joshua and Adrian Quesada, have made inroads with listeners and on the radio. Rodríguez is enthusiastic about this opportunity to show different facets of Latin culture and music through this genre.

“I just feel like I’m grateful to be a part of that family, or that idea that people relate all the music together and being a part of that scene is pretty nice,” he says.

Despite his Gen Z status, he notably lacks the “smartphone face” that’s rampant among pop artists and celebrities — and is partial to dressing in an anachronistic way, which he pulls off with gusto. It might be easy to assume his regular getup is a result of wanting to match the music, but Rodriguez insists he was already dressing that way much before he ever considered dabbling in soul. There is a kind of freedom he associates with the wardrobe of that time.

“[The clothes] were never a costume or a gimmick,” he says. “Whether I did music or not, I enjoyed how it fits because that [period] just has the best clothes. I think that was peak menswear. No one cared about any type of gender assignment with clothing; everybody wore what they wanted, and all the measurements were the same … it seemed like everybody had fun back then. They weren’t worried so much about what people thought.”

“[The clothes] were never a costume or a gimmick,” says 54 Ultra of his vintage style.

(Max Tardio)

He shouts out Blood Orange, a.k.a. artist-composer Dev Hynes, as a major inspiration for him. “That’s my favorite guy,” he says. But at the same time, he offers an eclectic list of artists whose music lights fires for his own output; Brazilian musicians like Jorge Ben Jor, Lô Borges and Evinha have made his rotation, along with some moody ‘80s bands like the Smiths, the Cure and Siouxsie and the Banshees.

“And Prefab Sprout,” he adds excitedly. “That’s my jam. That stuff’s crazy.”

His reputation has grown this past year, putting him in rooms he never expected to be invited to. Earlier this year he found himself producing the song “All I Can Say” for Kali Uchis, off her 2025 album, “Sincerely,” and recently opened for her during a concert stop in San José.

Earlier this month, he kicked off a world tour promoting his latest EP, “First Works,” that will take him from D.C. and Brooklyn to London and Paris. The schedule includes multiple stops in California, including two in Los Angeles: Oct. 26 at the Roxy Theatre and Oct. 28 at the Echoplex.

For Rodríguez, a tour like this is the culmination of everything he’s worked toward in his admittedly still nascent but steadily growing career. He confirms that he’s been chipping away at a debut LP, which will brandish a more “fast and punchy” rock sound that recall his days playing basement shows.

“Anytime anybody asked me what I wanted to do, I would say: ‘I want to perform anywhere I can and for anybody, wherever that may be.’ I’ve always wanted things to resonate, and I’ve always wanted it to make sense.”

Rome Ramirez wasn’t built in a day.

He was once a guitar-strumming, teenage Sublime fan in a Mexican American household in Fremont, Calif. At 18, he moved to Los Angeles to follow his dream of making music. He swept floors, lived in his van and eventually did the impossible: He became the singer of his favorite band.

In 2009, 13 years after the death of Sublime’s founding singer-songwriter Bradley Nowell, Rome befriended Sublime’s remaining members, Bud Gaugh and Eric Wilson, and became the frontman of Sublime with Rome — playing to an established fan base in amphitheaters around the world. Behind the scenes, Rome developed a robust songwriting career of his own, cutting his teeth in the studio-session culture in L.A. and racking up credits on Enrique Iglesias and Selena Gomez songs.

Yet eventually, the band started to feel more like a job than a calling. After several lineup changes, Sublime with Rome embarked on its farewell tour in 2024. “For the majority of being in Sublime, our recording schedule was so busy,” he says. “I knew that in order to do a solo career, it takes everything from you if you want to do it right, so that was not on the mind.”

Despite being a lifelong California boy, Rome moved his family to Nashville during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. There are perks to living in America’s songwriting capital — like a slower pace of life and the ability to do “more errands per day than in L.A.,” he says with a laugh. But now, he says that he and his children are some of the only Latinos in their neighborhood.

“There [are] a lot of people who leave California,” says Rome. “They trash-talk California, but it’s just such a huge part of my identity and culture — growing up as a Mexican American in California, that Chicano culture. I will always love Los Angeles.”

After 15 years in Sublime with Rome, the 37-year-old has forged a new path as a solo artist. His sound is a West Coast cocktail of beachy reggae and hip hop-inspired grooves, specially made for summertime — like his new single “Slow & Easy,” featuring the Dirty Heads, his friends from back when he slept in his van.

It’s the first offering from his debut EP, “Gemini” — “It’s about the duality of my music, I can’t be put into a box,” he says — which is set for a Sept. 19 release. He’s also announced a slate of tour dates in the U.S., starting Sept. 17 in Destin, Fla.

This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Your solo career was kick-started by stepping down as the lead singer of Sublime with Rome. Was having a solo career something you had in your head for a while?
Through the course of touring with Sublime, I was really heavily involved in songwriting. I was doing all kinds of records for people I really looked up to — like Selena Gomez and Jason Derulo and Enrique Iglesias. Huge names. As a kid who grew up writing songs in his mom’s basement, this was just like a dream come true.

It wasn’t until the pandemic happened where for the first time Sublime with Rome wasn’t touring, we were at home and I started live-streaming. People were showing up in these rooms — like 500 to a thousand people. I was one of the first people in my music community who was already outfitted with cameras, ready to go in the studio. I would start with a Sublime album and go through every song on the stream. And then the next album, then the Sublime with Rome album, then I would do covers. After about like six months, I ran out of songs and people were just asking like, “Dude, do you have any music? Like, are you working on anything?” And honestly, I hadn’t worked on music for myself in so long.

I think part of that was not wanting to dig deep into traumas, [like] growing up in a household with drugs. But during the pandemic, I had time to start writing music again for fun — playing with sounds that I loved and grew up on, and starting to pull the scabs off of [wounds] that I tucked [away] in the past. After a while I had a handful of songs, and I just knew I [couldn’t] put them in the Sublime with Rome set. This thing I love to do started to feel like a job, and that is a no-go. So I asked myself, “Am I going to do Sublime with Rome for money, or am I going to really follow something that I believe in?”

We started having conversations about what the future of the band was looking like prior to our summer tour in 2023. I’m really glad that everything happened the way it did. We had a roll out for everything. I needed to trust my gut and follow through with my belief in this music and what I’m building.

“Lay Me Down” with Dirty Heads is one of your biggest songs, with nearly 120 million Spotify plays, but it came out in 2010 — much earlier than your current venture in your solo career. What’s the story behind this song?
I’m from the Bay Area, but I moved down to Los Angeles when I was 18 to go make something of myself. I was hanging around this recording studio that the Dirty Heads were just getting started at.

I was just interning, sweeping floors, [eating] cheeseburgers, that kind of thing. Everyone knew that I could write a song, and eventually, after hanging out there for so long, me and the Dirty Heads worked up a friendship. They said, “Let’s get together and write a song one day.”

So we barbecued some hot dogs and just hung out in one of the guys’ backyard with a couple of guitars on a picnic bench … and we wrote “Lay Me Down.” The song sat around for a year, but we really liked it.

They were going on tour in the van and I wasn’t doing anything — I was homeless at the time, Sublime wasn’t even a thought. They offered me to go on the road with them, so I did and played that one song with them. From there, our manager took the demo to KROQ. The song started getting played on the radio and the shows got fuller. It was such an amazing experience. It was just just by the grace of God, it like all worked out and our lives changed from that point. We cashed our first checks and bought our first cars together from that.

You collaborated with the Dirty Heads again on your recent single “Slow and Easy.” It’s your first single since you’ve gone solo. What was that process like?
It’s come full circle with my best friends again. I knew this song was special. I went into the studio with the aim of — “I want to make a summer song that feels like a Van Morrison record, but [an] Uncle Kracker [vibe]. Real simple.”

I went in with my boy, Nick Bailey, who I write a lot of music with, and we nailed that song in two hours. After I got the demo I was like, “Man, it’s so close. What if I put the Dirty Heads on it? [With] a little rap and a little melody, it would just be so different.”

They loved it. They sent me their vocals the next week and I was like, “OK, I feel like this is a good song.” Eventually some awesome promoters at radio stations heard it and they wanted to take a chance on the record.

The summer vibes are strong on “Lay Me Down” and “Slow and Easy.” What artists introduced you to this sound that’s present in everything you do?
I grew up on Motown and Bob Marley. That’s what I circled back to after I left Sublime.

As I was working on music during the pandemic, I was like, “What do I want to hear? What’s the shit that I like?” And it’s like Stevie Wonder, it’s the Supremes, it’s the Four Tops, it’s Fiona Apple, it’s Leon Bridges, it’s Van Morrison. I really like feel-good music that sonically reminds me of an older time.

I have kids now, so I’m very conscious about the message I put into the world. I’ll try to write a song that the world could benefit from hearing, but not make it a preachy song.

How would you describe the sound of Rome?
The underlying factor is soul music. When you hear soul music, you think of Teddy Pendergrass and things like that. I love soul music. [Take] Bradley’s voice in Sublime, you cannot tell me that that man wasn’t a soul singer.

That’s the music that I really gravitate to, music that just feels really honest. Reggae music [lives] in me. Jack Johnson is another huge influence. My sound is reggae and soul and pop music, for lack of better words, because I write simple-ass songs.

How do you feel like your Mexican heritage makes its way into your music? Or in how you move and how you present yourself?
Growing up Mexican shaped my whole framework for how I live my life. I don’t speak Spanish, but I grew up in two households that were fully fluent in Spanish. All my friends growing up were Mexican. [I remember] seeing Carlos Santana playing with Rob Thomas on [television] and my dad was like, “He’s mexicano right there.” Man, that was pretty sick.

Growing up in a really thick Mexican culture [meant] both my parents worked their ass off, but at the same time, family always came first. These are the kind of morals that are really instilled in Mexican culture, that I’m so proud that I have. As a family man now, those things are so prominent in my life. We take a lot of pride in what we do, we work our asses off … then when it’s time to play, we play.

What makes a good summer song?
Something that you don’t have to try too hard to listen to. There are some songs where you’re like, “All right, I need to get in the car and drive and listen to this thing, ride it out the gate.” When I envision a summer song, it’s very simple and easy to play.

People online are debating what the song of the summer is in 2025. What has been your song of the summer?
In terms of listening and all the damn content I’ve been making, it’s “Slow and Easy!” But aside from one of my own songs, probably “Golden” from “KPop Demon Hunters” because that’s what my kids are spinning. The music is shockingly good. It’s like Max Martin s—.

You’re on quite a big U.S. tour. How is it going?
It’s so sick. We just rolled out a couple dates in Florida just to test the waters and those shows are selling really good, so promoters have been adding more and more.

I’ve been to so many of these places [with Sublime], of course, but the energy’s different. I’m playing smaller spots, [connecting] with people before and after the shows. You can’t really do that in amphitheaters. I’m experiencing everything in reverse. I was homeless when I met Sublime and then I was on the tour bus. Now, it’s like we’re climbing up the ranks again.

I have such a long lineage of songs I’ve been working on and the fan base — shout out to the Romies — who’ve followed me over the years. Putting together the set list has been a celebration of the different eras of my life. I’m just having a lot of fun doing this.

The heart and soul of suites by Bach and Handel are often found in the slow, central sarabande, said to be a dance of Spanish origin. In Bach’s cello suites, the sarabande stops time. Watch Yo-Yo Ma play a sarabande. His eyes seem to recede under his eyelids, as though entering a profound state of hypnosis. He can make a Bach sarabande work anywhere, including on a river rafting trip with a background of gurgling water on his latest Bach recording.

The sarabande from Handel’s D-Minor Keyboard Suite is well known as the theme from “Barry Lyndon,” about to thrill Stanley Kubrick fans all over again with the new 50th anniversary 4K restoration screening Saturday night at the Egyptian.

That Handel sarabande was one of the catchy opening numbers of “Sarabande Africaine,” Ma’s joint appearance with Afropop singer-songwriter Angélique Kidjo at the Hollywood Bowl on Thursday night. Ma and Kidjo met seven years ago at an event in Paris commemorating the end of the World War I. That led him to look a little deeper into music he had been playing since he was a young boy and was by now ingrained in his DNA.

And it led him to loudly exclaim, before playing the sarabande from Bach’s Second Solo Cello Suite in his short solo set, “Who knew?”

Musicologists have discovered the origin of the rhythmic patterns of what became this Baroque era vehicle for the transmigration of souls in dances carried by enslaved Africans to 16th century Spain. The church banned the sarabande for its perceived lusty eroticism. But when the dance later reached the hands of a certain German father of 20 children, Bach made sarabandes of such mystical serenity that eros equaled the sacred miracle of new life.

That Ma, an old Silk Road musical warrior, and the multifaceted Kidjo bonded is hardly surprising. But that they could put on a show with a fabulous family of African drummers, Caribbean piano and percussion, and assorted electric guitars and brass and dancers in which all the world — not just Bach but Philip Glass, Dvorak, Gershwin, Ravel, you name it — seemed to be just waiting for the right African accent, and that traditional African music needed no translation at all for some 17,000 at a near full Bowl, that was something.

Even so, Kidjo and Ma are an odd couple. Kidjo proudly transforms anything she comes into musical contact with. To hear “Summertime” in Swahili, a beautiful language for song, is indescribably touching. Kidjo added words to “Bolero.” They were not translated and didn’t need to be. Ravel’s rhythms had a riveting new freshness.

Ma’s cello, on the other hand, fits in, often remaining in the background, though not a distant background. He got into playful duets with drummers and a moving one with Kidjo as an intro to “Summertime.”

There was talk of peace, a better world where we understand each other, by both Ma and Kidjo. They demonstrated how that might work, with Kidjo commanding the stage, brilliantly dressed, while Ma, seated and in a sport coat for the first part, speaking a different yet compatible musical language. Even so, it was the big, crowd-pleasing Kidjo numbers that ultimately sent the audience home dancing.

There was, however, one particularly fascinating area of communality. Glass has written important pieces for both. Ma is featured in Glass’ 2002 score to “Naqoyqatsi,” the third in the “Qatsi” trilogy of silent documentary films by director Godfrey Reggio. Although the least known, “Naqoyqatsi” has an antiwar theme that would have fit right in with “Sarabande Africaine.”

Glass also fell under Kidjo’s spell, first composing three enchanted “Yoruba” songs for the singer, and then his Symphony No. 14 (“Lodger”) for her and premiered by the Los Angeles Philharmonic in 2019. The third in another Glass trilogy, this of symphonies based on David Bowie albums, “Lodger” consists of seven Bowie songs sung by Kidjo with new music by Glass.

For “Sarabande Africaine,” Kidjo sang the first of the songs in the symphony, “Move On,” arranged for cello, piano and percussion. Ma carried the main orchestral melodic lines. Bowie, who sometimes felt the need to move on, could well have written the song for Kidjo, with lines like, “Somewhere, someone’s calling me.”

The two-hour “Sarabande Africaine,” without intermission, could get a tad preachy. The evangelical mixing of musical genres and geography had its touristy elements; however engaging and engrossing the wonder-making, it was always fleeting.

But, ironically, “Move On,” in its new setting, had the powerfully intimate feel of stopping and reflecting. This was the one composer Kidjo and Ma both knew personally. They were equals and equally at home with his style, and the movement put the moving on, the “drifting like a leaf,” “feeling like a shadow,” stumbling “like a blind man,” in revealing relief.

“Move On” ends with Ma tracing a haunting, fleeing cello response to Kidjo singing “Can’t forget you / Can’t forget you” She might have been speaking for how her audience hears her, but also of the forgetful nature of the history of music, in which we are maybe not meant to remember. You hear something, make it your own and move on.

There are multi-talents, and then there was Salvador Bagüez.

Hollywood used him as a bit actor in 1950s B-movies and classic Western television series from “Death Valley Days” to “Bonanza” to “The Cisco Kid.” Studio executives frequently hired the Mexican immigrant as a technical advisor or dialogue coach for movies set in Latin America or Spain involving stars such as Marlon Brando, Robert Mitchum and Cary Grant.

Bagüez’s baritone took him to radio programs and stage shows alongside Jose Arias, a pioneering bandleader of Mexican and Californio music. In his later years, he covered the Dodgers as a sports writer for La Opinión. But for two decades, the longtime Lincoln Heights resident made his biggest mark in Southern California life — no pun intended — as a star illustrator for The Times from the mid-1920s until about World War II.

Not a bad career for one of the first Latinos to work at this paper, amiright?

I first heard about Bagüez in 2023 from Times editorial library director Cary Schneider, who had received a query from someone trying to find out more information about “Sal Baquez.” He gave me a heads-up because one of the trillion sub-beats I have is trying to tell the stories of pioneering but forgotten Latinos at the paper. So far, I’ve profiled columnist Pepe Arciga, cartoonist Manuel M. Moreno and artist-turned-Commerce Councilmember Alex O. Perez.

Now, here’s Bagüez’s story.

Copy boy turned star

He was born in Juarez in 1904 and came to this country in 1921. Bagüez’s first jobs for The Times were as a copy boy and a singer in the paper’s monthly radio variety show on KHJ (and I thought appearing in our videos reels was intimidating). Singing classic and contemporary songs in English and Spanish, his voice was so stirring that an Aug. 12, 1926, Times story revealed that colleagues in the art department took up a collection to gift him singing lessons.

By then, Bagüez was establishing himself as an illustrator in the paper’s pages. His main beats would become sports, entertainment and the Los Angeles Times Sunday Magazine. His style varied — Pee-Chee folder-style illustrations that spanned the length of the front page of the sports section, sketches in charcoal of Hollywood stars like Charlie Chaplin and Douglas Fairbanks, even Art Deco-style flights of geometric fancy. When World War II came, Bagüez drew caricatures of Hitler and Stalin and even maps of Axis advancements across Europe. He signed all of his illustrations with an umlaut over the U in his last name, a grammatical courtesy not offered to him by The Times typesetters, who went with “Baguez” in his byline.

When he wasn’t drawing, Bagüez was interpreting for Times reporters and penning Spanish-language film and music reviews. His importance to the paper was such that he was listed as one of The Times’ stars in a Dec. 3, 1928, ad in the Pasadena Post urging readers to subscribe to this paper — the only Latino staffer afforded the honor.

A 1941 illustration of author Booth Tarkington drawn by Salvador Bagüez.

(Los Angeles Times)

The last mention I could find of him as a Times employee came in the May 17, 1943, edition of “Lee’s Side o’ L.A.,” in which longtime columnist Lee Shippey mocked people who expressed sympathy for pachucos, the Mexican American men who were increasingly being assaulted by white servicemen in a series of attacks that culminated in the Zoot Suit Riots just a few weeks later. Shippey cited Bagüez and fellow Times artist Perez as Mexicans done good, writing, “Both worked up to enviable reputations because they were thoroughly good men as well as good workmen … gangsters go to jail, good citizens do well. Pick out the right examples, boys.”

I wonder if that tokenism is what La Opinión sports editor Rodolfo B. Garcia was referring to in a 1979 Bagüez appreciation when he said the artist left The Times at the height of his fame because he didn’t like how a Times editor “called his attention.”

One person who knew Bagüez well was Hall of Fame Dodgers broadcaster Jaime Jarrín. His first radio job, for KWKW in 1955, was as Bagüez’s replacement after the latter quit the station for a movie gig. The two would dine before games at Dodger Stadium — “full meals, not the hot dogs they give reporters now” — once Jarrín became the team’s Spanish-language broadcaster and Bagüez covered them for La Opiníon from 1960 to about 1970.

“I held him in high regard because he was always so calm and respectful,” Jarrín told me. “Salvador had the soul of an artist and a beautiful voice — he spoke marvelous Spanish and perfect English.”

Don Jaime remembers weekend trips to Tijuana with Bagüez and some of his Hollywood friends, legends like Anthony Quinn, Ricardo Montalban and Gilbert Roland. He also laughed during our short conversation at the fact Bagüez never referred to the Blue Crew as the Dodgers but rather “Los Esquivadores” — the literal translation of “dodgers.”

But Jarrín, as much as he hung out with Bagüez, said there was always something inscrutable about his friend: “Salvador was a very private man. Never talked about his personal life, never even talked about whether he was married.”

Bagüez died in 1979 and is buried in Calvary Cemetery in East Los Angeles alongside his mother. Garcia, the La Opinión sports editor, praised Bagüez in his remembrance as the “cleanest writer” he ever edited.

“Rest in piece, the Juarez native who triumphed in the United States as artist, reporter and announcer,” Garcia concluded. “Another of the old guard that has crossed over the path that waits for us all, late or early.”

This morning’s must read

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(Illustrations by Lindsey Made This; photograph by Jenny Anderson / Disney via Getty Images)

Going out

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A question for you: What’s your favorite California beach?

Diane Miller writes: “Avila Beach in San Luis Obispo, Calif.”

Jocelyn Harrison writes: “Zuma Beach!”

Robert Benowitz writes: “Corona del Mar is my favorite California Beach.”

Email us at [email protected], and your response might appear in the newsletter this week.

Have a great weekend, from the Essential California team

Kevinisha Walker, multiplatform editor

How can we make this newsletter more useful? Send comments to [email protected]. Check our top stories, topics and the latest articles on latimes.com.

For the record: Yesterday’s newsletter incorrectly stated the name of a reader’s favorite California beach. Jot McDonald’s favorite beach is Asilomar Beach, not Ancillary Beach.

By the time Cuco arrived at Dodger Stadium on a recent Tuesday evening, thousands of fans were already lined up outside the venue’s gates, waiting to be let in.

Though the matchup against the Arizona Diamondbacks wouldn’t begin for another two hours, these Doyer diehards made their way to Chavez Ravine early to catch the pre-game festivities. It was Mexican Heritage Night, and the team had plenty of entertainment planned for the fanbase that Fernando Valenzuela built: a mini-concert by the legendary La Original Banda el Limón de Salvador Lizárraga; a lucha libre exhibition; and the throwing of the ceremonial first pitch by Chavo Guerrero Jr., scion of the storied Mexican American Guerrero wrestling clan.

Luchadores perform in the outfield during Mexican Heritage Night at Dodger Stadium.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

To complete this hodgepodge of a cultural celebration, the Dodgers also asked Cuco to sing the national anthem, a fitting invitation given that the 26-year-old Inglewood-born and Hawthorne-raised artist, whose real name is Omar Banos, had just put out “Ridin’” (released May 9 via Interscope Records). The LP, his third, is an 11-track gem of L.A. Mexican Americana dripping with the ageless sounds of Chicano soul.

Donning a team cap, a long white tee, black shorts, Dodger blue Nike SB Dunk Lows and his trademark glasses, Cuco walked into the stadium entrance reserved for suite-level ticketholders accompanied by his manager and a social content creator. Despite a heat wave that raised that day’s temperatures into the high 80s, a black Dodgers windbreaker that he planned to wear later in the evening hung around his neck. Pinned to it was a button that contained a portrait of Jaime Mendoza, his late maternal grandfather.

“My grandpa was big on the Dodgers,” Cuco said, noting that it was because of him that his whole family rooted for the Boys in Blue.

Cuco wears a pin with his grandfather Jaime Mendoza’s picture at Dodger Stadium.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

As Cuco is escorted through the concrete bowels of Dodger Stadium by a pair of team publicists taking him to sound check, fans spot him and excitedly call out his name. Some even approach him for a selfie. When asked if he often gets recognized in public, the singer-songwriter chuckled.

“Yeah, if there’s a lot of Latinos around,” he quipped. “I’m always going to say yes to a photo. I’m never going to turn them down.”

It’s cliché for any artist to say that they’d be nothing without their fans, but this adage rings particularly true when it comes to Cuco. His loyal supporters, dubbed the “Cuco Puffs,” turned a former precocious marching band geek into a bonafide indie pop star.

He began his career in the mid-2010s by uploading Spanglish lo-fi love songs recorded in his childhood bedroom to Soundcloud and Bandcamp. Dreamy, synth-heavy ballads like “Lover Is a Day” (off of his first mixtape, 2016’s “Wannabewithu”) and “Lo Que Siento” (released as a single in 2017) quickly connected with countless bicultural, Gen Z Latinos, racking up millions of streams in the process. By the time Cuco started performing at backyard shows, he had packed crowds singing every lyric back at him.

Such was the hype around him that several labels got into a two-year bidding war to sign the unlikely teen idol with a ready-made fan base.

Cuco sings the national anthem before the Dodgers game.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

“I don’t need a label. The labels mostly need me,” Cuco told The Times in 2017. “Like, in no cocky way, the reality of it is labels stay up because of the artists.”

When Interscope finally won out in 2019, it was on the artist’s terms — Cuco inked a seven-figure deal that allowed him to retain ownership of his music and gave him the creative freedom to do what he wanted. He was 20 at the time.

That summer, he released his debut album, “Para Mi,” a notable first effort that paired a blissful sound — inspired by a slew of genres, including psychedelic rock, bossa nova, pop and quiet storm R&B — with lyrics that touched on loneliness and substance abuse (“Take this and fly away till the substance numbs the pain,” he sings in “Ego Death in Thailand”). The album’s first single, “Hydrocodone,” is a nod to the pain medication he was on after being involved in a near-fatal car crash while out on tour in 2018.

This March, Cuco celebrated three years of sobriety.

The year 2022 saw the release of “Fantasy Gateway,” an ambitious concept album heavily inspired by psych rockers Tame Impala that takes the listener to another dimension, featuring notable collaborations with artists like Mexico’s indie darling Bratty and fellow sadboi romántico DannyLux. “Sitting in the Corner,” recorded with música Mexicana crooner Adriel Favela and country singer Kacey Musgraves, is a space pop ranchera that yearns for a lover who has left.

“It’s the vibe, man,” he says of the musicians he chooses to work with. “It’s not really about artists being big or not. It’s just if I get along with them and they have cool ideas and it aligns with my personality.”

With “Ridin’,” Cuco delivers his most mature album to date. Produced by Thomas Brenneck (Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings, Mark Ronson, Amy Winehouse), the record is a neo-Chicano soul instant classic that pays tribute to the likes of Brenton Wood, Al Green and Smokey Robinson — soul and R&B artists from the ’60s and ’70s whose music has been adopted by lowrider and Chicano culture — all while maintaining that distinct Cuco sound, a perfect marriage between the old and the new.

The album’s opener, “ICNBYH” (an abbrevation of “I Could Never Break Your Heart”), would be at home in an “East Side Story” mixtape compilation. Cuco’s psychedelia roots are most apparent in songs like “Ridin’,” a track that feels like you’re cruising on a spaceship down Whittier Boulevard.

“I couldn’t really try to make something that sounded exactly like [Chicano soul]. I was hoping to embody that timelessness, but I had to work in the most authentic way possible so that it felt that way,” he said.

“I wanted to go for more natural sounds with the soul sound, but I think it’s just inevitable for me sometimes. I’m just going to end up doing some psychedelic parts with the music because that’s what I’ve always been.”

“Ridin’” is an album of the summer contender for anyone whose idea of summer means hanging out at the beach with all your friends — this exact scenario describes the music video for the album’s first single, “My 45,” which stars Mexican American actress Xochitl Gomez as a femme fatale.

And while the LP is teeming with enough vehicular references to make Bruce Springsteen jealous (the cover shows Cuco sitting on top of his 1989 Toyota Supra), Cuco says “Ridin’” isn’t strictly meant for the car.

“I’m hoping that [“Ridin’”] is something that’s interpreted however the listener chooses to interpret it, whether they’re ridin’ in your car, ridin’ for somebody or just ridin’ through life,” he says.

After sound check, Cuco made his way back to the suite level to wait for the rest of his party to arrive, which included his parents, Adolfo Banos and Irma Mendoza. The only child of immigrants, the artist has made it a point to share his success with them. Forgoing wearing anything in Dodger blue, the elder Banos donned a hoodie from his son’s latest tour. Mendoza showed up wearing a team hat and a striped shirt. Affixed to it was a button identical to her son’s. It was her idea; she had made them the night before.

Cuco gets a hug from his dad after singing the national anthem.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

As it got closer to game time, the singer was ushered down to the field once again. It was showtime.

Cuco poses with his parents before singing the national anthem.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

“Please stand and remove your hats for the singing of the national anthem,” the stadium announcer said over the P.A. system. “Joining us today is Cuco, indie pop star from Hawthorne!”

Cuco took a beat before singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” in his patented soft and mellow voice. His parents stood approximately 20 feet away, beaming with pride. After it was all over, the singer quickly made his way to them, and was met with smiles and hugs.

A minute later, a production assistant grabs Cuco for his final obligation of the night. He’s handed a microphone and is escorted back to where he performed the national anthem. He’s met by a congregation of luchadores who will act as a chorus as he delivers the phrase popularized by the legendary broadcaster Vin Scully — “It’s time for Dodger baseball!”

In the fall, Cuco will go on a nationwide tour to promote the album — he’ll be performing at the Greek Theatre on Sept. 15. But right now it’s summer and he’s ridin’ with his loved ones, about to watch a game the Dodgers will end up winning 4-3 in extra innings.

“What the f— is going on?” Bernard Sumner says jokingly.

After crashing on both Zoom and WhatsApp, the founding member of New Order decided to give FaceTime a shot. He materializes, sitting on a couch with a white wall behind him. Mild, inviting eyes hide behind his glasses.

It’s been 45 years since he, now “below 70 and above 20,” founded the group alongside bassist Peter Hook, drummer Stephen Morris and keyboardist Gillian Gilbert. But it’s impossible not to mention New Order in the same breath as its previous ensemble in Joy Division. The story is all too familiar, with the band springing up after a Sex Pistols gig in Manchester.

“Famously, loads of people went … Morrissey was there, and the Buzzcocks were there … and everyone went out and formed a band,” Sumner quips.

And to anyone who has ever heard Joy Division, it makes complete sense. The band’s debut album “Unknown Pleasures” is imbued with the Pistols’ signature sense of “anarchistic rebellion, aggression and energy,” from the very first track. Sumner describes the gig as a pivotal moment in the history of music as it, sonically, gave everything the “kick in the balls” it needed.

“It was really ‘f— the establishment’ … we’d all had a pretty s— time at school and the rebelliousness and didn’t like the establishment,” Sumner says. “It was giving those teachers a kick! F— you and f— your lessons and f— all the s— you’re trying to teach us, because we’re not f— interested.”

“Punk gave us the excuse we really needed,” he adds.

But just a few years after Joy Division graced the music scene, the group came to an untimely demise following the death of lead singer Ian Curtis. And a year after that, New Order appeared with Sumner, Hook, Morris and Gilbert at the helm, and an entirely different sound to back them.

The band began to mix in synthesizers with the typical instrumentation, creating an unforgettable, hypnotic sound — every thump and woosh calls listeners to the dance floor and begs them to move. Sumner says it came from nothing, with no conscious effort being put into the familiar noise that would go on to define decades to come.

New Order performs in front of a buzzing crowd in Sydney, Australia.

(Warren Jackson)

“Four people came together and that’s what we did,” Sumner says. “We got rehearsals, but we had no great plan, we didn’t give a s— about earning loads of money, we didn’t give a s— about being famous.”

In fact, their creative process boiled down to going to rehearsals, talking about what they saw on TV the night before and going to grab a baked potato from Spudulike near the studio.

“Then we’d go, ‘Should we try to write something?’” he recalls. “We go, ‘Yeah, okay,’ and then we switch the amps on, and just see what happened.”

He even tells a story of the first time they worked in New York, and met up with famous producer Arthur Baker. The latter was used to working with session musicians, and while doing so, decided to throw New Order into a studio while he finished up.

“He said, ‘Come up with some ideas,’” Sumner says. “We just couldn’t, because we’d been put on the spot and told to do it, and that had never happened before … the trick was not to think about it.”

However, even with its original and revolutionary style, New Order struggled to etch its name in the charts outside of the indie and indie alternative categories. In the ’80s, they were reliant on radio play and didn’t get much outside of college campuses in America.

Instead, groups like Sumner’s, such as the Smiths and Echo & the Bunnymen, ignored what was going on in the mainstream altogether, leaving the numbers game to pop music.

“We just ignored what was going on in the mainstream,” he says. “We didn’t really like what we were hearing on the radio, so we made our own radio.”

Of course, when the internet came around, it bypassed mainstream radio and absolved the band’s issues with getting airtime. This led to its undoubted success in bridging the gap between generations, with parents sharing the group’s records with their kids.

“Good music is good music, isn’t it? It always floats to the top,” he says. “Buy a New Order record, it’s a good investment for the rest of your life.”

Sumner claims the group is now “more successful” than they’ve ever been and says it comes down to a couple of factors, including cohesion.

“In the early days, we used to get f— up quite a lot and that f— up the shows,” Sumner says. “We used to play a really good one, celebrate how great it was, and then the next one would be terrible because we celebrated too much.”

Bernard Sumner of New Order bows out to fans.

(Warren Jackson)

“Our popularity has increased, really, rather than decreasing, and it usually decreases, doesn’t it?” he jokes.

This relationship between generations that grew up listening to the group and those now is all too apparent when it comes to festivals like Cruel World, which celebrates post-punk, new wave, goth and alt-rock. The event, first hosted in 2022, has brought the likes of Iggy Pop, Duran Duran and Morrissey back to the main stage.

Now, New Order is set to headline the festival on May 17 alongside Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. It’s an unexpected ’80s revival that has maintained steady enough attendance to point toward becoming a staple, much like many of Goldenvoice’s other feats.

“There must be an appetite for this [era of] music, otherwise they wouldn’t be putting it on,” Sumner jokes. “It’s got soul, it really has got soul.”

As for what’s next in terms of new releases, the group recently had to shut down rumors of an album on the way. It’s been 10 years since its critically-acclaimed album, “Music Complete,” was delivered to fans, who are understandably craving a new project. Sumner says the delay comes down to general motivation to write again, with some members wanting to do so and others not being “too keen.”

“I’m one of the ones that does,” Sumner assures. “That’s all I can say, really.”