Between Science and Music. Interview with José Franco

Carlos Maza: We want to get to know this side of yours, the one that exists apart from your scientific side, your musical side; we want to understand why so many scientists have this relationship with art, in your case, with literature and music. So, we want to ask: Where does that interest come from? How do you reconcile science with music?
José Franco: I think there is nothing special about it. There’s a saying: “Everybody has a bit of a musician, a bit of a poet and a bit of craziness.” I think this is entirely true. In my case, music has been with me during my whole life. My father played the piano and the guitar; he enjoyed playing music and singing and also making everyone else sing. So, I have this picture of a performance from when I was little that pleases people and makes them get along. I have good memories but also some very bad ones, since my father loved opera, he made me listen to it so he ended up vaccinating me against it. I hated opera for so long. It wasn’t until I got older that I started to enjoy it. But it was too late: I can’t say that I’m a fan. There are things that I simply can’t understand; they don’t move me. For example, Wagner, who is an opera giant, the “cream of the crop” for opera enthusiasts, doesn’t move me. Rather than learning from it, I just enjoy opera occasionally.

Putting that aside, music has always been part of my life, even because of situations signed by adversity. I had an accident when I was little: a truck ran over me when I was about five years old. I broke two ribs, a collarbone, and the hipbone and I had to remain immobilized, wearing a cast for a good couple of weeks. After my recovery, my muscles had become weak: I had to learn from crawling to walking all over again to have a normal life back. My parents were apprehensive about my safety because I was a really naughty kid—the truck accident was basically my fault: I was making mischief—so they sent me to live with my grandmother, in Ixtepec City, in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, where my mother’s family is from. I went there to the kindergarten and attended the first elementary school years.

My grandmother had a stand at Ixtepec’s market. After school I used to visit her there, not so much because of her, but because of an aunt who had another stand next to my grandmother’s, where she sold totopos (tortilla chips) and cheese, and she indulged me with a good piece of cheese and a big totopo. There was a jukebox that played popular music of the time; we’re talking about the 50s. It played the greatest hits: Celia Cruz, Bienvenido Granda, Beny Moré, and so on. This music remained with me during that time. I liked joyful, upbeat, tropical music, with the sound of the Caribbean, so I got used to Mexican and Latin American popular music. Trios, cha-cha-chá, danzón, mambo, you know… I enjoyed it a lot. For example, I perfectly remember Pedro Infante’s songs. So, when I got back to Mexico City, popular music was what I liked the most. Opera? Forget it!.

CM: While living in Ixtepec, did you have any contact with local folk music, with traditional music?
JF: Yes, with songs in Zapotec, of course! The river that flows through Ixtepec, Río de los Perros (River of Dogs), Guigu Bi’cuu in Zapotec, had songs about it, about its turtles and so on, besides famous songs like “La Sandunga” and “Dios nunca muere” (“God Never Dies”). I listened to them but couldn’t understand them. My grandmother spoke Zapotec, but she talked to me in Spanish. Of course, when she got mad at me, she cursed in Zapotec, and thus I learnt some Zapotec curses. Anyway, when I got back to Mexico City, I had this crush for popular music, and when I was in middle school, I learned to play the guitar by myself.

CM: So, you never studied music formally?
JF: No, not at all. I learned to play the guitar because I lived in Tlatelolco, and there were many kids who played it. It was cool to see them play, and I paid attention to how they placed their fingers, so, little by little, I learned to play some chords. Events that I recall well, the kind that mark you, were the eves of Mother’s Day, when the kids would organize to serenade mothers. And there you have me going with them; that became a training: playing the same songs, the same boleros all night long, from house to house. Then, on the way, some half-drunk person would approach and say: “Hey, my wife is the mother of my children; let’s serenade her.” And that happened all night long! There was a lot of audience for that kind of thing in Tlatelolco. Sometimes dawn came and we hadn’t finished visiting all the mothers because, of course, when you went to a house and played a couple of pieces, people would always insist on offering you something: “Don’t you want something to drink, something to eat?” That would make the visits last longer. It’s a very cool memory because that’s how I got obsessed with playing and pleasing the people who would listen.

YOU HAD TO PLAY ROCK PIECES IN ENGLISH, AND IN ORDER TO PLAY ROCK IN SPANISH, ONE HAD TO TRANSLATE THOSE PIECES, SO IT FELT LIKE YOUTH MUSIC WAS EMASCULATED

When I was still in middle school, I created my first rock ’n’ roll band. It was a fuss because I had no money. Getting the instruments—electric guitars, amps and drums—was such a feat, but we did it, and we played on birthday parties.

CM: How did you end up playing rock ’n’ roll after enjoying music that was popular in the radio?
JF: Rock ‘n’ roll was the music of the youth at the time. On the one hand, there was the music developed in the United States, with great icons like Fats Domino, Elvis Presley, and Bill Haley. Then, on the other side, English and Irish groups began to appear, headed by The Beatles and the Rolling Stones. I remember listening to “A Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum or “Gloria” by Van Morrison; It was indeed like glory! There were also the vocal groups that created the Motown sound, and people like Johny Rivers, singing ballads. Repertoire was broad and we played all that stuff. When I got into high school, a more confrontational rock ’n’ roll emerged, with The Doors and all the people that came into the spotlight during the psychedelia. When I entered the Faculty of Sciences at UNAM, I loved to play rock ’n’ roll. I played in various bands when I got into the faculty—even in coffee shops—with people older than me (I was something like the pet, the youngest one). I played the guitar, and if they weren’t paying enough attention, I even sang. I played in many bands that were formed and then disappeared.

Then, I went to the United States to pursue my Ph.D. When I got there—the music was already part of me—I realized that most kids were better at playing rock ’n’ roll than I could imagine. So, a group of classmates at the University of Wisconsin at Madison—including Americans, Mexicans, and even a Spaniard—and I decided to start a band because. It was a natural outcome of the Latin American Students Society that we created. We began by organizing peñas, or Latin events, where those who knew how to play an instrument played it; those who knew how to recite poetry recited it; those who knew how to dance traditional dances from their places or origin, danced. These Latin peñas became bigger and bigger, and more and more people attended them every time. We started a band that became really popular, a band that we identified as playing Latin music but that played original music: Sotavento. We even recorded a record. It was a band of 10 people of different ages, nationalities and academic interests. What brought us together was music. And, since nobody played Latin music, we became successful. This was between 1980 and 1982; in 1983, I came back to Mexico.

CM: Those were times when South American music was present throughout Latin America. Andean music was pretty popular, wasn’t it?
JF: It was a crucial moment in Central America too, because the Sandinistas were taking power in Nicaragua then. We organized events to benefit these causes. There came a time when we were playing Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and sometimes even Sundays. I was doing my Ph.D., and some professors were slightly annoyed; they said: “This one is never going to finish.” But other professors did like my music; even my thesis tutor, the great Don Cox, came to see us play and was the biggest fan. Fortunately, I was the first of my generation to get their degree. I had a grant from the National Council for Science and Technology (CONACYT, Spanish acronym). This gave me an advantage over my classmates since they had to work in order to earn a living. They worked as teachers or did half-time jobs in libraries or restaurants. In contrast, the grant allowed me to spend time playing music. The friends I played with were very talented. We recorded a record, financed by ourselves which you just won’t be able to find.

CM: Did you ever think of setting aside your career in science to become a musician?
JF: When I started studying physics, this dilemma crossed my mind. But, as I said, I was already playing in nightclubs with these groups, and the atmosphere was very bad; it was not very pleasant, let’s say. It was okay to party, for five minutes, but nothing more. Besides, inventiveness was not flowing. You had to play rock pieces in English, and in order to play rock in Spanish, one had to translate those pieces, so it felt like youth music was emasculated. Of course, I enjoyed the experience, being acknowledged by friends, girls and boys… I used to have a great time, but at the end of the day, there was no perspective of a future life; I couldn’t see it. Although I had this idea in mind for a little while, I never really considered it seriously, and at a given time, I said: “That’s enough.”

CM: Were you a professional? Did you ever get paid for playing music?
JF: Well, I earned a few cents, but nothing more. I never made a living from music, and, honestly, I wasn’t that interested in trying it. During the first three or four years of my bachelor’s degree, I didn’t have the best academic performance; in fact, I took few courses and didn’t pass those I passed with the highest grades. One day, I decided that it was time to change and focus on finishing my degree. I never stopped playing but it has always been a hobby.

While pursuing my Ph.D. in the United States, we played original music with Sotavento… You have no idea how comforting and pleasant it is to do what you love. From a serious musical perspective, what we did was very simple, but it was our creation. I enjoyed the music we created a lot. I finished my Ph.D., and without thinking much about it, I returned to Mexico, to UNAM. The band still played for a while, more or less like it did before I left it. Little by little, it changed. The band still plays, but they’re now only two people left. One of them is a Mexican with a very Mexican name, Pancho López; he studied medical physics and is an expert in that area. The other member, Raquel Paraíso, is a Spaniard who plays the violin and is an expert in music from the coast. They both live today in Xalapa. Pancho provides consultancy on medical physics, and Raquel is a full-time musician. She has worked on recovering and studying music, particularly that from La Huasteca and Veracruz. They still compose songs.

CM: Tell us about Carbono XIV, the band in which you have been playing for a while. How did it start? What music do you play?
JF: When I returned to Mexico, I tried to focus on what I was doing, on my research. Some friends started a band. These people were devoted to scientific dissemination and called their band Orificio (“Hole”); José Paredes, Pacho, from La Maldita Vecindad, was a part of it. So I played for some time with them, and then they continued. I devoted myself to my research and quit music for a while until, one day, Ricardo Mayer (who sadly has passed away), a cousin of my wife, Claudia, told her that he liked rock ’n’ roll and that he had a band. We got together; we started rehearsing and playing oldies from the first days of rock ’n’ roll. Ricardo was a great frontman, he had charisma, he did his best, and he sang. And I basically devoted myself to playing the bass. Multicultural communication was a topic we loved.

I BELIEVE THAT IT IS OUR AESTHETIC SENSE THAT RELATES MUSIC WITH GENERAL KNOWLEDGE: MATH AND ASTRONOMY

So, we started to play in some reunions. And we had to name the band. We got together at a Sanborn’s coffee shop and started thinking about names. Each time someone mentioned a name, it was more ridiculous than the previous one. After a while, sitting next to the window in that Sanborn’s, we saw a No Parking sign. I suggested jokingly: “What do you think of ‘No Estacionarse’ (Spanish for No Parking)?” And this was music to their ears compared to the other absurd names we were bringing up. Everybody liked it and, bam! this was our name: No Estacionarse. And what was the meaning of the name? That we’re evolving all the time, we will never stay in one place.

We played together for a while until Ricardo’s death. He got cancer and the fire became extinguished because he was the frontman, singer, and leader. We did a pause until a good friend of mine, Carlos Carbajal, who was a luthier for rock players introduced me to some of them. Master Carlos Carbajal, who also passed away recently, crafted guitars and bass-guitars for everyone. He was an incredible talent too. I met him when I lived in Tlatelolco, where we did many crazy things, like going to parties to which we were not invited. We would arrive with our instruments and played and hooked up. We had a great time. We stopped seeing each other for a long time, and when I got back from the United States with my Ph.D., he had a workshop, and everybody went to him to get their guitar fixed or get a new one. One day, in his workshop after Ricardo’s death, he told me: “I have a friend, Fernando Palma. He’s a good singer and guitar player and would like to start a band.” We started to get together with other friends in Carlos’ workshop and formed a new band. After rehearsing for a while and playing in some places, once again, we arrived at the point of saying: “What will be the name of the band?” One day, during a dinner, I asked for name suggestions. A niece who had just returned from Argentina said: “What about ‘Penne alla Putanesca’?” We laughed our heads off; that name was going to lend itself to misunderstandings. Then my daughter, a chemist, told me: “You are all very old; why don’t you call the band Carbono XIV?” I loved it and suggested the name to the others, and they also liked it. And that’s how Carbono XIV was formed, and we played in various places.

During the pandemic, it stopped working. Fernando Palma, a great singer who has studied and worked on his voice (not that he sings opera, but occasionally he sings with serious opera singers doing duets and the like) went to work at Apple Mexico during the pandemic. Then he was sent to the United States, so right now, I’m an orphan musician. Carbono XIV has not played since before the pandemic.

CM: We found some videos of Carbono XIV on YouTube. Do you authorize us to link them to this interview?
JF: If they sound good, I do. They usually have a lousy sound and that would be detrimental to your publication and our prestige.

CM: Your work as an astronomer, the research and scientific dissemination you do, is a fabulous job. Before concluding this interview, I wanted to ask: Is there a solid relationship between music and science? Is there a harmonic or rhythmic foundation in space?
JF: No, but it depends on how you want to see it. When philosophical schools appear in ancient Greece, and myths are replaced by reason and verifiable evidence, ideas begin to shape about harmony, mathematics, music, astronomy, in an effort to make the world have sense. Scales in music had specific mathematical relationships, like bodies in the cosmos and thinking about relationships between planets, geometric figures and music was a natural approach. I believe that it is our aesthetic sense that relates music with general knowledge: math and astronomy. A neurologist may be able to give us a different, more profound vision of the way we understand things.

CM: Music is often used as a metaphor for what happens in space, isn’t it? We talk about a harmony of celestial bodies. Is it a helpful metaphor for the dissemination of science?
JF: Of course. For example, my book Alunizaje (Moon Landing) was thought of as a book of both science and art [see box].

CM: Lucía Hinojosa’s illustrations are beautiful and very clever in approaching the moon’s movement on a pentagram. It’s pretty suggestive
JF: Santiago Fernández and Paola Morán from Turner publishing house invited me to write a book for the 50^th anniversary of the human landing on the moon. I told them: “I’m not a writer, so let’s see what can be done.” I kept thinking about the profile or personality I wanted the book to have. I wanted to talk about science but also about history and mythology. And I also wanted art, poetry, literature, painting to be there. One day, in some conference, Lucía told me: “Pepe, you’re an astronomer; take a look,” and she showed me her idea of moving the moon over these lines like a pentagram. “Wonderful! I’m just writing this book.” And that’s how the book was born.

CM: Let me tell you the story of when I bought it: I went to look for it in a Fondo de Cultura Económica bookstore and couldn’t find it. How is it possible they don’t have this book if it has just come out from a well-distributed publisher? Then the guy who was serving me looked it up in the database of another bookstore, El Sótano, and found that in Fondo de Cultura Económica’s database, they had misspelled the title as “Aluzinaje”!
JF: Yes, I get it perfectly!

CM: So, if someone says they can’t find your book, now you know the reason.
JF: Well, writing it was totally like an allucination.

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