In 1999, I had the distinct pleasure of interviewing Raul Pacheco, guitarist/ founding member of Latino rock outfit Ozomatli. Named for the Aztec god of dance, fire and music, Ozomatli was a virtual melting pot of musical style, an unconventional hybrid of every conceivable subset of Latino music (cumbia, norteno, merengue, salsa) as well as ska, funk, reggae, jazz, hip-hop and punk, all presented with the panache of a savvy rock band.
The band was forged in the crucible of activism; the members met while fighting to form a labor union for disenfranchised workers and discovered their musical talent and commonalities in the process.
After their 1995 formation, Ozomatli quickly became known for their frenetic live performances, earning rabid fans in and around Los Angeles. Fledgling indie label Almo Sounds signed them and released their eponymous 1998 debut album. Their subsequent 1999 tour stopped in Cincinnati, leading to a CityBeat assignment and my conversation with Pacheco.
One of Pacheco’s many stories was his account of Ozomatli’s then-recent opening for Santana, and how Carlos Santana sought them out backstage after his set. The world-famous guitarist was intent on sharing wisdom with his young openers, telling them to work on their interpersonal relationships so that they would know they could trust and rely on each other going forward.
The six founding members of Ozomatli remain the band’s heart and soul, and they’re now in the midst of their 30th anniversary tour. It would seem Santana knows a thing or two about a thing or two.
“That’s probably the most important, because you’re individuals and everyone is different,” says Pacheco of Santana’s advice. “Everyone has desires and you have to be open to how those desires are being met. We’ve learned how to do that as best as we could and it’s allowed us to keep it together for this long.”
Ozomatli’s absolute dedication to activism and the pursuit of equality has been woven into the fabric of the band from the start. That passion was recognized 20 years ago when the U.S. State Department named Ozomatli official Cultural Ambassadors, sending them on global tours to promote unity and acceptance, experiences as impactful on the band as it has been on their multinational audiences. When Pacheco reflects on the band’s numerous musical and political accomplishments — their Wikipedia page is a scrolling list of notable benchmarks — he cites the heart of Ozomatli’s motivation as his personal pride point.
“I think it’s just playing to huge crowds who don’t know us and rocking the shit out of it,” says Pacheco. “Connecting with strangers who don’t even speak our language in some part of the world where we’ve never been. That’s very unique, special and fun, and it’s a testament to the power of music. You show up and it’s like, ‘I’ve never heard this band. I love them!’ That’s something to be proud of, just basic human connection with strangers. I’m really lucky that I have the ability to do that, and I’m really happy that there are people who are open to not knowing what’s about to happen and be like, ‘All right, lay it on me.’ That spirit of fearlessness, on both sides, is really important.”
Given Ozomatli’s reputation in L.A. — the city once declared April 23 as Ozomatli Day — it’s no surprise that the current immigration policies being enforced in California are of particular concern to the band. Their specific focus is the disinformation being disseminated and the potential escalation that could result.
“I have places in New Mexico and Los Angeles. I grew up in Los Angeles, and I’m mainly there,” says Pacheco. “Because of social media and how they portray it, and the level of violence that’s happening when people resist, it’s on every street corner. It’s not. It’s in a very small section of Los Angeles. The thing is, they’re rounding up people without questions and it’s disturbing. I’m afraid that people on both sides are going to start shooting at each other, and that’s an excuse for the government to become more militarized. And there’s an element of someone not identifying themselves, and people having to defend themselves. It’s a weird game, and that’s scary because innocent people could get hurt. None of us want to go that route.”
Ozomatli’s emphasis on social activism and touring constantly to spread their messages has had the unintended consequence of limiting the band’s studio efforts. Although they’ve only released eight studio albums in their 30-year history, they have all been powerful musical statements. Thankfully, new Ozomatli music is on the horizon; the new single “Red Line,” a reference to the underground rapid transit track running between North Hollywood and downtown, was released in late July (another new track drops soon). Unsurprisingly, there’s a message in “Red Line.”
“It’s the idea of communities that are separated and how public transportation is this defining thing for people,” says Pacheco. “If you have money, you tend not to take it, especially in L.A., which is a very car-centric culture. And it’s not very efficient. It’s better than it has been, but working people need that part of their lives to be easier. A person who jumps on the bus, then takes a train to the other side of town, does their work and goes home, that’s a real commitment. There’s dignity in choosing that because that’s what you need to do to provide for your family and yourself. The chorus — ‘Don’t take the Red Line’ — is the outsider looking in, but we’re also speaking from the place of the insider, like, ‘If you don’t come, it’s OK. We don’t need your approval for the choices we make to survive.’ It’s touching on all these elements of classism, and I think that will always exist at some levels.”
Pacheco finds that, after 30 years of trying to effect change in a world that desperately needs it, most situations boil down to a singular cause.
“There are people who like sharing, and people who don’t,” he says simply. “That’s been around since the beginning of time. We’re on the part of sharing because that’s how we grew up and how we got by. It’s not unnatural for us to be on that side of the fence, so to speak, and to bring light to those kinds of issues. We’re seeing a lot of that in this country right now, but it happened in the late ’60s, the ’70s and at different times in the ’80s. There’s always been moments of trying to solve issues in a way that some people would say is cruel and other people would say, ‘It’s about time.’ We’ve always been on the side of the have-nots, and the perspective of our songs aligns with that side.”
Returning to our original interview, Pacheco recalled how Santana personally introduced Ozomatli to his audience, where he called the band “the future of music.” With 30 years in the rearview mirror, and hundreds of accomplishments notched and accolades bestowed, does Ozomatli feel like they’ve lived up to Santana’s sweeping prophecy?
“He was referencing the egalitarian mix of acknowledging the beauty and admiration of music and its traditions all over the world,” says Pacheco. “I think we’ve lived up to that tradition, that he is a big part of, and that many bands all over the world are a part of. I love North African music, and the transference of cultural music from that region that came to America with slaves and some of it turned into blues and it fueled American music, then it went back to them in a different form. We’re always borrowing; there’s always layers on top of one another. You see it in food, in music, in language, and it’s normal. It’s been going on forever. This is how cultures are made, transformed, grow and change. This sense of being at the center was what Santana was referring to because, in his mind, the center is all of us. We’re in a long line of bands that have done that and will continue to do that.”
Ozomatli plays the Ludlow Garage on Aug. 24 at 7:30 p.m. More info: ludlowgaragecincinnati.com.
This story is featured in CityBeat’s Aug. 6 print edition.
This article appears in Aug 6-19, 2025.