Jake Cortez was a musical magician.
The Weslaco-born gig player, who died Wednesday, would enchant audiences at Rio Grande Valley bars and restaurants, casting a spell with his battered nylon-string classical guitar.
Diners would stop eating and stop talking to stare as Cortez strummed his nails across the strings. He never used a pick; friends called his trademark garish press-on nails his “talons.”
Those diners would keep staring while Cortez belted out a Spanish bolero or a Mexican folk song, fingers flying impossibly fast up and down the frets.
Cortez’s spell would transform little bars in McAllen into Andalusian taverns, while he sang about love and heartbreak and passion, playing like a gypsy from 200 years ago.
And then Cortez would have some fun. He’d throw in a riff that didn’t fit, seamlessly massaging notes from another song into the one he was playing, the kind of trick musicians in the crowd marveled at. He’d slow down the tempo for a new song, going from playing so fast it sounded like three men playing at once to going as slow as physically possible, milking every ounce of meaning from each vibration of his guitar.
Cortez would mix in other genres, playing B.B. King or the Beatles or even Madonna, making every one of those songs into his very own.
The death of Cortez, 44, leaves a hole in the Valley’s music community. That community lost one of its most talented members, but it also lost one of its most beloved members who leaves behind a legacy of generosity and kindness.
Mark Cavazos, another local musician, met Cortez 20 years ago at Pepe’s on the River.
Cortez took Cavazos under his wing, breaking down songs and lyrics for him, and teaching him the theory behind the music they played.
Cortez would do that for anyone who wanted to learn, passing on as much of his talent as he could. He would give other things too: amps and strings and capos, whatever anyone needed to get through a show. He would cover a gig for you if something came up and you couldn’t make it. He never seemed to miss his own and seldom took breaks while he played.
Cortez would joke, Cavazos said, about never having to worry about being fired for laziness.
Often bands would go to close out a tab to find Cortez had gotten there first and paid for their drinks and their food. Other times he would scoff at his cut from a gig; other players had kids and Cortez didn’t. He said they ought to keep it and pass it on.
Once, Cavazos remembers playing a gig at Bodega. Cortez was there, and so was a man in the parking lot, asking people for money.
The kitchen was closed, but Cortez went in and pleaded with the owner. A few minutes later Cortez walked out with a plate of hot food, giving it to the man.
Once a year Cortez would drive up to play for children in the burn ward at the hospital in Galveston, Cavazos said.
“Jake never thought twice about helping,” he said. “He always wanted to help, he always wanted to give.”
Cortez was a role model for Cavazos, and for many other Valley musicians, among them Ram Danesse. Danesse would alternate nights with Cortez at Santa Fe Steakhouse, Cortez’s most consistent venue for years.
Danesse remembers the audience there falling silent when Cortez played, mouths open. Businesspeople from out of town made a point to stop in at the restaurant when they were in town, drawn in by Cortez and his guitar.
“He was like a prodigy. A virtuoso,” Danesse said. “He was just immensely talented and I feel like he was the starting point of why mainstream live music is here, is because everybody wanted to book him. He was, and has been for as long as i can remember, the most highest demanded musician for any gigs. For gigs, for weddings, just anything.”
Some were surprised Cortez never cut a record deal. He had the talent to, most agree, but he seemed, in the end, to be content sharing his talents in the community he was raised in.
In the last years of his life, Cortez found one more calling: religion. He became very devout, always preaching and always talking about God.
Danesse remembers the last time he saw Cortez. It was after a gig, in the wee hours of the morning.
“He gave me a ride home and we sat in the parking lot of my condo,” he said. “He pulled the Bible out from his glove compartment and read some verses from the Bible. He was that kind of guy.”
After those verses Cortez gave Danesse a hug, and they said goodbye for the last time.
