Singer-songwriter-guitarist Mark Zubia credits Gin Blossom Jesse Valenzuela with helping him and frontman brother Lawrence at every turn, including producing—and, with help from Arizona chainstore Zia Records, funding—the recording of this great one-off album, Voices on the Street, by the brothers behind Live Nudes, the Chimeras, and the Pistoleros.
Released in ’04, it found the brothers answering only to themselves, outside the Pistoleros. It’s yet another record that should’ve propelled the Zubias to the forefront of Americana, indie, folk-rock—or whatever silly genre you want to drop them into.
The Mexican-American brothers’ songwriting had long arrived. Over a career spanning decades, their output was so consistently strong that cherry-picking the best feels futile. But this record shows quiet reinvention, the brothers and Valenzuela favoring their most nuanced and soothing sides. Valenzuela contributed several co-writes and captured the Zubias at his Los Angeles go-to studio.
The emphasis on gentler accents adds dimension to the emotionally direct Zubia songs. When a guitar or chorus soars, the lift feels earned. When a lyric cuts, it bleeds. “Hotel Defeated” taps early Warren Zevon—an East Hollywood-meets-Mexican-night ride, lovely and despairing. A Spanish refrain, a purring slide guitar and whirring acoustics wrap the ache. The understated “Crash Landing” lifts a massive guitar hook over a grooving drum loop and lands on an unlikely chorus: “You won’t let me in to hold you.”
Lawrence’s melodies long for the unattainable. “Sweet Angel” and “Angelina” could soundtrack a lonely walk home after closing time through the street lit shadows of Tempe. Fleetwood Mac could’ve covered either in their prime. Seriously. “I Was Waiting”—a Zubia co-write with Jayhawks Gary Louris and Marc Perlman—closes the collection on a languid note.
The singer wrote about the world as he found it—the broken and the saved—rarely changing names or places. In “Voices,” he nods to Dead Hot Workshop’s Brent Babb, storied Tempe bassist Paul Cardone (who plays here, RIP) and the death of songwriter Doug Hopkins. A sense of mortality runs through his detail-rich lyrics on an album both elegiac and celebratory. It’s like sadness made radio-friendly. Only, sadly, radio never played this.
There’s jangle and chime, folk and blues, hints of Latin soul and nods to solo-era George Harrison—a heady mix of melodic sweetness and heart. Zubia cohorts add color, including bassist Darryl Icard and organist Tim Rovnak. The upbeat singalongs “Sara Says” and “Summertime” appear, redressed on later Pistoleros albums.
Session drummer Gary Mallaber brought his own pedigree. A longtime member of the Steve Miller Band, he’d backed Streisand and Springsteen and plenty in between. His enthusiasm was infectious. “He did all the drums on Moondance,” Mark says, still sounding like an awestruck kid. “He shows up as a guy who only wants to play. He drives up in his minivan and says, ‘let’s go!’”
Live, the combo ran through the album’s ten songs, mixed in Stones covers and employed a mad collection of Arizona musicians. The siblings fell out again in ’05, another casualty of Lawrence’s opiate self-sabotage. In retrospect, the brotherly tension lends the songs a sense of longing, hurt and grace.
The Pistoleros went quiet for years. In ’06, Mark released his debut solo album, Parts of Yesterday, alongside his work with Los Guys. Lawrence formed the Persuaders and released Ghost Ship Sailors.
– Liner notes by Brian Jabas Smith
