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When Rafael Reyes goes on tour with his band, his concerns run a bit deeper than lodging, food and acoustics.
"I'm from Southern California, so sometimes when I play other cities, like San Francisco and San Jose, I do get death threats," says Reyes, 40, who, in addition to being a member of the dark synth-pop duo Prayers, is also a member of San Diego street gang Sherman Grant Hill Park 27. "But when I play those cities, I make a point to walk out and meet people, so they know I'm not hiding and I'm not afraid."
Fear is not an emotion Reyes seems to have much experience with. He got jumped into a gang at age 13, he says, to protect his family, which immigrated from Mexico when Reyes was a child. Getting bused to a white high school, he became infatuated with goth rock, and brought the music, and the look, back to his neighborhood. After getting out of jail in 2010, and doing time in a few other failed projects, he formed Prayers with producer Dave Parley. Over minimalist electro beats recalling New Order and Pet Shop Boys, Reyes shout-sings autobiographical gangland stories tinged with occult imagery. They've dubbed the sound "cholo goth," and with only two EPs to its name, Prayers has earned co-signs from the likes of the Cult and Travis Barker.
It's all pretty audacious, especially for someone who ventured into music only three years ago. But Reyes, speaking by phone from his porch in San Diego, believes there are other forces at work.
"In order for it to bear fruit so strongly, and so immediately, for me it feels like destiny," he says. "It has nothing to do with skill, nothing to do with fucking talent. This is fucking destiny."
WW: How did you discover the music that informs Prayers?
Rafael Reyes: I'm a child of the '80s. Before I joined a gang, the music was everywhere. You go outside and people would be break dancing. You go inside and you'd be watching a new Duran Duran video. MTV was huge. I went to a white school. I grew up in a Mexican community, but where I grew up they put something together where they were busing certain kids to Pacific Beach, which was a neighborhood with surfers and skaters. I was inspired by their whole vibe. I was inspired by skate culture. BMX was huge. All the music, all the punk-rock kids and death rockers—it just opened my mind.
What happened when you took that look back to the neighborhood?
They were like, "What the fuck?" I couldn't help it, though. I loved it.
You've said you couldn't connect with gangsta rap, despite actually living the life described in a lot of West Coast rap that was popular at the time you were growing up.
It just didn't resonate with me because I was there. I was seeing the aftermath of all these things people are glorifying. I guess, in some sense, I'm just a realist. I don't try to pretend like I'm the toughest guy in the world or the cruelest or most insensitive. I have feelings and emotions, and I've seen what happens when someone gets shot. My friends have been shot. I've been shot. My cousin is doing life in prison. This lifestyle has left me brokenhearted. And when I hear these fools rapping about it, that's glorifying this type of shit, it doesn't resonate. I was out here living it, so I didn't want to listen to it, too. Fuck that. I want to escape my reality. I want to escape this life these motherfuckers are rapping about. It's already fucked up I have to walk these streets and watch my back and carry guns, and go home and see my mother crying because I'm beat up. Now I've got to listen to it, too? Fuck that.
What was it about goth stuff that appealed to you?
I just always felt safe around that music. There was another world out there, and it was good to know there was something out there other than the reality I was living. When I would listen to Pet Shop Boys or Christian Death, they took me to this world that, for me, was like a fantasy, and I just loved living there. Then I'd stop listening to the music and go outside and it's like, "Oh shit, here we are. It's about to get real." It saved my life, because it gave me a different perspective. For me, it was like a guardian angel, this music. It was saying, "Yes, this is your reality, but there are other stories being told."
You didn't do music until you were almost 40. Did you always want to be in a band?
From the beginning, man. There was a time when I wanted to start a band and no one wanted to. No one took me seriously, and people were saying discouraging things to me. But my desire was way stronger. So I secretly started doing it on my own in the house, until one day, before I got out of jail, and I had a dream. That's what the song "Pentagram Medallion" comes from. I was in prison, and my dad came to me in a dream and told me, "Time to forgive yourself. Grab your life and live it. Stop waiting for others to help you out." I woke up from that dream, and things changed. I was always super-loyal to people—loyal to my neighborhood, loyal to everything I came across—but I wasn't being loyal to myself. I was finally sick of it. I put so much time and effort and energy into everyone except me. What would happen if I put this amount of love and energy I'm putting into my neighborhood and everyone else, what if I put that into me? This is what happened. Prayers is what happened.
You actually have a positive view of the gang lifestyle. What is the biggest misconception people have about being in a gang?
The biggest misconception is, they think we're all criminals and drug dealers. Yes, I'm a gang member, but I'm not a criminal. I am gang member, but I'm not a thief. Yes, I'm a gang member, but I'm not a bully. I'm a gang member, but I'm not a drug addict. I've been straight-edge 10 years. I'm none of those things. I'm a gang member, I represent my neighborhood. If I have to fight for an injustice, I will. But I never start anything. I will finish it, but I won't start it.
Is there a particular person you're trying to reach with Prayers?
Yeah, the me. I have found them. They're out there. I get these beautiful emails, direct messages, all these cool messages from people saying, "Hey, where were you when I was growing up? I wish you existed back then." There are a lot of people out there who lived and experienced the same things I did, but didn't have a voice. It's funny, I just got an email last night from this skinhead, this white supremacist. He sent me an email and was like, "Yo, I respect what you're doing. I spent a lot of time in prison, I was with the Aryan Brotherhood, but I identify with you." He wanted to be a skateboarder, a punk rocker. Secretly, he wanted to just be something else. But because of his family and where he grew up, he had to be a white racist. Then he heard my music, and he was like, "Fuck this shit, I'm done with this shit. I'm going to be what I want to fucking be." It's empowering.
There are various forms of spirituality referenced in your music and visual art. What do you think you're looking for?
Everything I've ever done, from the way I dress to my paintings to my writing, they're all about self-exploration. It's about taking responsibility for your own life and not looking up to the sky or underground for people to blame. This project and everything has been about finding the self—the self-God. Nature is the truth to me. I have no need to be looking into things I cannot see when it's in front of me. I don't think I'm from outer space, I'm from right fucking here. I'm from planet Earth. Mother Nature created me. I don't need to be thinking aliens or God came down and spread his seed across the land. I don't need those stories. Those stories are for those who are lost. I'm not lost. My mother is here; I see myself in her. I see the fire in me when I see the sun, I see the knowledge in me when the moon comes out. The energy of the ocean, the land I'm walking on—that's my God. So I've found it already. Nature is all I need. I don't need to be looking at any book for anything. I just need to look within myself.
SEE IT: MFNW and Daze of the Dead present Prayers at Star Theater, 13 NW 6th Ave., with Force Publique, on Sunday, Aug. 23. 9 pm. $13. 21+.
WWeek 2015