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Danny Santos is struggling in obscurity in Austin.

Trips from Haltom City to Poly peaked in 2001 when Gómez was living with a girlfriend. Her role was to hold a job and earn enough money to pay for rent and drugs. His job was to keep drugs available in the house, a job he did well until guilt forced him to seek treatment. The former high school honors student was 19, a failure to himself, and a disappointment to his parents.

"I don't live like that anymore, but it was an education that proved to be helpful," he said. "It made me realize that, if I can survive that and get what I wanted in that situation, then I can survive and get what I want in this music situation."

After rehab, he holed up at his parents' house to distance himself from drug buddies, and he wrote to keep his mind busy. His first two songs were the bluesy "Wind Cries Your Name" and folksy "Hill Country Star," with its opening line about leaving Fort Worth for Austin with "the clothes on my back and a stolen copy of Junior Brown." His family and friends were surprised to see him penning thoughtful ballads; he had spent the previous few years immersing himself in Jimi Hendrix, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and electric guitar. Encouraged, Gómez decided to record the two songs on a demo c.d. to help find paying gigs. He was working odd jobs here and there, but nothing really interested him except music.

The phone book listed numerous recording studios. He chose one with a Haltom City prefix, figuring it was the most convenient, and called. In 15 years as a studio owner, Earl Musick of Reload Record Company had dealt with many teen-age kids with big dreams and varying degrees of talent. He told Gómez to "c'mon down and let's see what you got."

The quiet and mumbling Gómez didn't much impress at first glance, nor did his admission that he had only $100 to spend on the project. But once he sat down with a cheap acoustic guitar in his lap and played the songs, Musick was floored.

"I told him, 'You're a rare breed, kid,'" Musick recalled. "There's a lot of people come through this door wanting to record, and a lot of Hispanics, but they're not wanting to record Americana singer-songwriter kind of music. They're coming here to do rock, pop, rap. John was different, and that's why I wanted to work with him. It was valid songwriting with an interesting twist."

Giving away studio time to a broke and unknown musician is an investment of time, faith, and, in this case, about $10,000 worth of missed income. Musick offered to produce a full-length c.d. for free, in part because he wanted "to improve my karma by helping somebody out," and also because he saw a business opportunity in this diamond in the rough. Over the next few months, Gómez wrote more songs, co-wrote a couple with Musick, and began recording.

Gómez' debut c.d., Head First, was released in 2002 on Musick's independent label. (The c.d. is available at Record Town and Ernest Tubb Record Shop). As with most first efforts by unknowns, sales have been abysmal. Regardless, Head First is a joy to hear and a promising debut despite a few lyrical lapses that reveal Gómez' inexperience. The songs are fresh even though they deal with universal themes such as relationships, wanderlust, and living on the edge. Gómez' reedy, nasally vocals are distinctive and even a little unsettling. He weaves the F-word and references to marijuana into the music, but so matter-of-factly that they don't sound stilted like standard Outlaw Songwriting 101 lyrics calculated to elicit beer-soaked roars at the mere mention of Lone Star Beer, pickups, tacos, and tequila.

Musick mailed Head First to several web-based Texas Music critics, and the reviews were upbeat. Plano resident Lana Hughes launched one of the first web sites (misslana.com) in the 1990s to track artists, rate c.d.'s, and publish a calendar of events. "There weren't very many Texas Music web sites, even four years ago, but there are now," she said. "I used to have to hunt for gigs to put on the calendar, but now it's amazing how much it's grown."

She had attended hundreds of concerts and heard thousands of c.d.'s by the time she heard Head First late last year. "I get so many c.d.'s that are average or below average, that when I get something really special like John Gómez it makes me take notice," Hughes said. "I was thinking, 'Who is this guy and where did he come from?' He's a great songwriter. Once he gets a little experience under his belt he is going to be killer. I really think he is going to be one of those to be reckoned with."

Add to that his Hispanic surname and the possibility of a Latin Outlaw explosion, and Gómez has a solid chance to establish a career if he can develop the eye of the tiger. Right now, though, he exhibits little of the ambition and hunger that drive so many young artists. He seems content to stumble along in sleepy fashion, although, to his credit, he's stumbling in a forward direction.

He and Musick formed a small band, and they've gigged at the Ridglea Theater, MacHenry's, and The Moon and are currently seeking a booking agent. Gómez has made little attempt to establish a solo career and admits he never considered becoming a pioneering Bandido. He didn't know there weren't any Latino stars in Outlaw; he hadn't even realized he was writing Texas Music songs until Musick pointed it out.

"I don't want people to feel like I'm trying to cash in on this Texas Music," he said. "I always really wanted to play rock-and-roll but I wanted to do it my way. The way I thought it would be the most rebellious was to strip it down so much so that it was almost a country record.

"And I never thought, 'Hey, I'll make a splash because I'm Hispanic,'" he continued. "For someone who wants to use his nationality as something to get himself started, this probably isn't the best music to go with. Texas Music is uncharted territory for a lot of Hispanic kids. Obviously Hispanics are showing an interest. It's just a matter of time, whether it's me or another Hispanic singer/songwriter, but eventually some kid is going to make a big enough splash where it will attract other Hispanic musicians, who will say, 'Hey, I really fit into this type of music.' It took me awhile to figure out I fit into this type of music."

Figuring out the music is one thing; capturing an audience is another, and it involves elements beyond talent. White country-and-western audiences have shown that they will accept blacks who don't sound too black (Charlie Pride) and browns who don't sound too brown (Johnny Rodriguez), but they tend to shun the rest or treat them as novelty acts (Freddy Fender in the 1970s, Texas Tornados in the 1990s).

Gómez is half Hispanic, half Anglo, with a fair complexion, disheveled appearance, dark hair, tattoos, street cred, and a rebel's sense of idealism and freedom -- traits that might make him more palatable to Outlaw audiences and propel him upward in the rough-and-tumble Outlaw field.

At a recent house party in Azle, Musick and Gómez were performing for a crowd of about 20 people. Most were white, although a Hispanic couple was hosting the party. The host's brother, Ernest Rodriguez, inquired about the young fellow who was sitting in a chair and performing "Hill Country Star." The party atmosphere, which had been robust and loud just moments earlier, had grown quiet as people gathered in a circle to listen to Gómez' plaintive ballad.

"This guy's good," Rodriguez said. "Who is he?"

"His name's John Gómez," I said. NEXT »

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