Get Down with Mexican Garage Rock OGs Los Panky's

All photos courtesy Ryan San Martin

By 1962, rock n’ roll had infiltrated Mexico’s collective psyche. Even though record players were luxury items and TV sets exceedingly rare, the hip-gyrating sounds of Elvis, Bill Haley and the first two Beatles singles had inspired a veritable legion of Mexican bands to shoot for the bright lights and bowl cuts of rock n’ roll glory. Formed in the Mexico City barrio by five teenagers using borrowed equipment, Las Animas were garage rock wunderkinds who played cafes, dances and quinceañeras all over the city. What made the band—drummer Raul San Martin, singer Cesar “Larky” Hernandez, bassist Silverio Perez and guitarists Marcel Ruano and Julio “Yulmer” Saldivar—stand out from the horde of Fab Four copycats was their fevered, punk-like delivery.

In 1965, they signed with Mexican mega-label Discos Orféon and were shipped out on package tours across the country. The following year, Tommy James and the Shondells’ “Hanky Panky” was re-released in the US and on its way to No. 1 in the charts. As Hanky Panky Mania jumped the border and seized Mexico in the merciless grip of surf guitar twang and V-neck sweaters, Las Animas were enlisted to record a Spanish-language version of the song. Rechristened Los Panky’s—yes, with an apostrophe—the band became bona fide rock stars with national airplay and high-profile television appearances. In two years, it was all over. San Martin moved to Los Angeles, where he started a family and spent 30 years playing with Latin rock favorites Los Blue Angels.

Continued below…

In 2000, Raul’s son Ryan—then in ninth grade—was looking for his older brother’s copy of The Smiths’ The Queen Is Dead. He found it in the family record collection alongside his dad’s old Los Panky’s records. He knew Raul had been in a band back in Mexico, but he’d never actually heard the music before. “As soon as the first few notes blasted out of my speakers, I was truly in shock,” he recalls. “This music was just as good, if not better, than the garage rock stuff my friends and I already listened to. It sounded like The Sonics or The Wailers or something. Had I just rediscovered an obscure garage punk gem? And more importantly, why had my dad never showed me this?”

Fast forward to 2015: Ryan heeds Burger Records’ social media call for submissions from obscure bands from the 50s through 70s, which leads to the label releasing a 14-song cassette compiling most of Los Panky’s recorded material. A vinyl version is in the pipeline, along with the possibility that the surviving members—all currently between 67 and 70 years old—could reform to play next year’s Burger Boogaloo festival. We recently took a ride out to Thousand Oaks, California, to speak with Raul and Ryan. Check out the interview and listen to Los Panky's "Hanky Panky" below.

NOISEY: What was your life in Mexico like when you were a kid?
Raul San Martin: It was wonderful. I would not change it for the world. We were coming from a very poor family. We lived in Mexico City, but back in those days everything was so innocent. There were no drugs. There were no TVs. You were lucky if you had a radio. I played in the street with friends all day long. There was no one trying to snatch us away or anything like that. We had freedom, a hundred percent, my younger brother and I. We used to play on the train tracks and jump on the moving trains. We played in the runoff from the river, even though it was filled with bacteria. Sometimes we saw dead animals floating in the river. But it was like Disneyland for us. I’m talking like eight years old, man. Now you can’t let the kids play outside. Back in my day, you had to play outside.

How did you get into music?
My brother and I got into music very early in life. We were known as The San Martin Brothers. We were a vocal duo, and we did just vocals for one reason: We could not afford instruments. My brother made a guitar out of plywood, but it didn’t work or anything. [Laughs] We would sing at every family gathering. Eventually we formed our first group with the neighbors. We heard The Beatles, and we tried to emulate everything they did—their clothes, their music. We didn’t even know what we were singing about most of the time. It was very rare to find a young person in Mexico who could speak English in those days. But the 60s were a beautiful time for rock n’ roll. Eventually, I joined the guys who would become Los Panky’s.

What did you do for equipment at that point?
We used to rehearse in Cesar the singer’s house. They had acoustic guitars, but I didn’t have a drum set. I had drumsticks and I could make noise, but that was it. [Laughs] I’d be hitting on a chair or something to learn the songs. When we played at the venues, we were borrowing equipment from other bands. But after we signed the contract with Orféon, Cesar convinced his mom to buy a whole set of equipment for us—guitars, amps, drums, microphones—with the understanding that we’d pay her back. So she took us to the music store and we went crazy, man. It was nice.

What kind of places would you play?
Cafes. There was no liquor, no beer. The only drink they had was coffee. But every single night those places were packed. They had funny names like the Spider Web, the Tequila A-Go-Go. There were ones on the high end and ones in the barrio. We must have played every single one. But it was very fun to play in those places because people just wanted to hear music.

How did things change when you signed up with Discos Orféon?
They were one of the biggest labels in Mexico at that time. They had the most influence. They used to promote tours where they would hire those big old Greyhound buses that could carry several groups that belonged to the label. They used to take us to different cities—Acapulco, Veracruz, Cancun—to promote the label and the groups. You can imagine what it was like with 50 young people on a bus like that. But it was clean fun—there was nobody getting high on anything. I was 15, 16 years old. I did that until I was about 19. I juggled going to school, playing in a band, rehearsals, and then doing a little work here and there to make ends meet.

You were in the studio audience when Bill Haley played on Mexican television in 1962.
I was sitting right there, man! I think Bill Haley was the first major rock n’ roll artist that was allowed to play in Mexico. You’re not going to believe this, but they banned Elvis Presley for the movie Jailhouse Rock. We wanted to see it, but we were not able to! Now you see that movie, and there was nothing wrong with it. But Bill Haley was also an Orféon artist in Mexico, and they brought him over. The label had a TV program called Orféon A-Go-Go. We would play there, too. But it was simply amazing to see Bill Haley and His Comets, even though it was lip-synching. In those days, nobody would play live on television. I don’t think Mexico had the technology.

The band was originally called The Black Diamonds, and then became Las Animas. How did you become Los Panky’s?
Orféon was attached to record companies in the United States, and in many cases we’d get the records before they started playing them on the radio in America. That’s what happened with “Hanky Panky.” About midnight one night this guy who was the manager of the Orféon studio came knocking at my door. He said, “I want you guys to come to the studio tomorrow and record this song!” He had the 45 by Tommy James [and the Shondells]. Cesar lived a couple blocks from my house, so we walked to Cesar’s to use his record player. The guy from Orféon wanted us to record it the very next day so they could get it on the radio in Mexico at the same time it would be on the radio in the United States. That’s how crazy those times were. For every American hit, there was a Mexican version played by a Mexican band. I guarantee you most of those Mexican bands had no idea what they were singing, but “My baby does the Hanky Panky” was easy to translate.

So we learned the song and we recorded it the next day for a single. At the same time we were in the studio recording, they were already making announcements on the major radio stations: “Tomorrow at six o’clock there will be ‘Hanky Panky’ by Los Panky’s!” So they gave us a new name and everything. You had no say in anything back then. You could have the greatest name in the world but they would say, “You want to record with us? Your name is now this.” [Laughs] And if you didn’t wanna do it, someone else did. There were hundreds of bands waiting. So it was very quick and very crazy. The next morning, they delivered the single to every radio station.

The song became a pretty big hit, didn’t it?
It did, but we didn’t feel the impact we were causing. Often when you were a local band from somewhere in Mexico, you would feel like Orféon was not promoting you. But little did you know they were promoting you all over Latin America. The other day Ryan showed me an old issue of Mexico Canta, which was a music magazine that came out every week for one peso. He got one from somewhere in Argentina, and Los Panky’s were in it. A few weeks ago I went to pick up my tickets for the Fourth of July show here in Thousand Oaks, and there was another Mexican family in front of me, about my age. So we got to talking about all the dances and the shows at the cafés. I had a picture of Los Panky’s on my phone and I said, “You remember these guys?” They said “Oh yeah! Do you know them?” I said, “Yes, I happen to be one of them.” And they started dancing and singing right there: “My baby does the Hanky Panky…” This music is from 50-some years ago and 2000 miles away, but it happens to me every so often here in the United States. So the flame is burning a little bit.

Why did you decide to leave Los Panky’s and move to Los Angeles?
In 1968 or '69, the music started changing a little bit. It started getting a bit more psychedelic. In Mexico, we would hear about the Whiskey A-Go-Go [in LA] and all these wonderful places for music. I told myself, “I want to be in the middle of this.” That’s when I came to the States, man. I went straight to the Whiskey A-Go-Go. I was so lucky that I was able to see practically all the groups of the time—Creedence, Three Dog Night, Ike and Tina Turner, Leon Redbone, The Beach Boys. It was real easy to get into all those concerts. It used to cost just a few dollars. When I got to the States, I immediately started playing with other bands and then joined Los Blue Angels for 30 years. But if I was not playing, you could find me at the Whiskey A-Go-Go for sure, man.

What happened to the other members of Los Panky’s?
I had not talked to Cesar for about 45 years when Ryan found him three years ago. He’s in Chihuahua, Mexico, now. He’s a family man. I just talked to him two weeks ago, actually. It’s funny because all my family calls me “El Panky,” and that’s what Cesar’s family calls him, too. I told him, “No, I’m El Panky!” [Laughs] Unfortunately, Marcel passed when he was like 45. He developed lung cancer. Silverio passed, too. He was run over by a bus in Mexico City when he was in his 40s. I found out from Cesar. So two of us are gone. I have no idea where the other guys are at, but I think Cesar can find them.

What do you think of the renewed interest in Los Panky’s after all these years?
It’s wonderful, and it’s all because of Ryan. He found my old Los Panky’s records and made copies for his friends. Then he got in touch with Burger Records and they wanted to put it out. I’m amazed with this new Panky’s wave. I didn’t know we were playing “garage rock.” We didn’t even have cars! There was one car on the whole street where I grew up. [Laughs] Now Burger Records is putting together something called the Burger Boogaloo, and they want us to play. I was like, “Holy crap!” So I called Cesar and told him, “You better get ready because we’re going back on the road.” He paused for a couple minutes and said, “You know what? I’ll do it, man. But you’re gonna have to let me practice a little bit!”

You can pick up a copy of Los Panky's Complete Collection via Burger Records.

J. Bennett does the Hanky Panky whenever possible. You can read some of his ravings at Cry Now, Cry Later.