My dad didn’t get to see his family for about 20 years and then he was stuck in Mexico for about seven months in 2015 because of problems with his papers. “You never know if you’re gonna see somebody who gets deported again. Such is the case with Cuco, who accepts his fans’ characterization of “Rest Easy, I’ll See You Again” as a commentary on deportation. But the line between projecting one’s politics onto art and the innately political nature of artistic production is blurred when artists accept alternative interpretations of their work because it aligns with their own praxis. Under Trump, there’s been much debate about the overpoliticization of art that isn’t inherently political. I don’t care that we have a loco in the Casa Blanca, I don’t care, I want to make sure that I shine and show people that they can do the same.”
They don’t want my people to rise? So I’m gonna rise. I’m scared I have family that doesn’t have papers yet…but I feel like it just means that there’s more of a reason to strive higher, to rise. “These are scary times to make art,” Cuco says of the current political climate. He sings, “Did you say/the things you wanted to say?/ Or did you sell/and it just went away?” It’s here that we see a young artist at the brink of a major breakthrough contemplate what being a creator means.
Yet, the series of questions double as Cuco’s inner dialogue, one that suggests doubts about his career. The title of Songs4u‘s “Rest Easy, I’ll See You Again” promises hope, yet it delivers somber, doubtful lyrics, wherein the only definitive statements are “I’ll never/see you again/I hope that I can catch up to you/I’m kneeling.” Like in “Cupid’s Quiver,” the artist finds himself begging someone for another chance. That candor extends beyond his confessions of love and loss. “These are scary times to make art, but I use my fear as inspiration.” “I’m at your front door/But I’m dead can’t knock now, dear/Will you still open/To say bye/I miss you.” The lyrics are marked by naked despair, but they’re sung with melancholy that reflects a millennial ennui, which lends to Cuco’s “super softness.” Where forbears like Los Dandys vigorously belt out their sorrow, Cuco mumbles harmoniously, creating tenderness that grounds his maudlin lyrics without losing any of their vulnerability. Cuco’s vocals echo and break as he shamelessly begs an ex-lover to take him back. “Because my music is super soft, it challenges a lot of our Chicano elders, ‘cause they’re always like, ‘somos hombres, no debemos de llorar,’ pero I do cry.” On songs like “Cupid’s Quiver,” Cuco reimagines old school boleros that have become Chicano staples, replacing guitar strings with celestial synths. “I’m super soft,” Cuco says about his lyrics. Cuco’s tracks are sometimes sung in English, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in Spanglish – but they’re always tinged with a touch of humor and tenderness.
Cuco’s two EPs reject rigid genre boundaries, as mariachi trumpets blaze over 808s and reverbed vocals evoke Morrissey’s weary romance. Cuco’s music recalls lowrider classics like Ritchie Valens’ “Donna,” at the same time evincing Tame Impala’s psychedelic daydreaming. The 18-year-old Chicano’s two EPs, Songs4u and Wannabewithu, are dreamy compilations of cosmic love from someone seemingly untainted by the toxic machismo that often plagues Chicanxs. But Cuco’s music paints an alternative response: one of young love and heartache under Los Angeles’ pink skies.
It’s no surprise that some seek aggressive outlets for their anger. It’s mid-February in Los Angeles, where youth of color are currently facing a fight on multiple fronts not only does the current administration target their community, as it is one of the biggest sanctuary cities in the U.S., but the neighborhoods are under attack by a fast wave of violent gentrification. Omar Banos, better known as Cuco, has made it a habit to hug, talk to, and take pictures with every last one of his fans at his backyard shows.