On Tejano Music 11: Catholic Roots, and Performance Spirit

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/10/25

A seasoned Musician (Vocals, Guitar and Piano), Filmmaker, and Actor, J.D. Mata has composed 100 songs and performed 100 shows and venues throughout. He has been a regular at the legendary “Whisky a Go Go,” where he has wooed audiences with his original shamanistic musical performances. He has written and directed numerous feature films, web series, and music videos. JD has also appeared in various national TV commercials and shows. Memorable appearances are TRUE BLOOD (HBO) as Tio Luca, THE UPS Store National television commercial, and the lead in the Lil Wayne music video, HOW TO LOVE, with over 129 million views. As a MOHAWK MEDICINE MAN, JD also led the spiritual-based film KATERI, which won the prestigious “Capex Dei” award at the Vatican in Rome. JD co-starred, performed and wrote the music for the original world premiere play, AN ENEMY of the PUEBLO — by one of today’s preeminent Chicana writers, Josefina Lopez! This is JD’s third Fringe; last year, he wrote, directed and starred in the Fringe Encore Performance award-winning “A Night at the Chicano Rock Opera.” He is in Season 2 of his new YouTube series, Rock God! J.D. is a native of McAllen, Texas and resides in North Hollywood, California. 

In this interview with Scott Douglas Jacobsen, Mata traces the intertwining of Tejano music and Catholic culture. He links the formation of the choir and European dance rhythms to Tejano’s keyboard-forward sound, and views Mass, chant, and performance as parallel rituals. Mata distinguishes artistic “possession”—the transport of music—from literal demonic possession, citing Ozzy Osbourne’s theatrics and his own commitment to sobriety. He notes church festivals, rosaries onstage, and priests offering blessings (and sometimes singing “Volver, Volver”) as lived connections. Above all, he champions responsibility in lyrics and conduct, framing Tejano as romantic, redemptive, communal, and spiritually luminous.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: You’re a practicing Catholic and have been a choir director for a Catholic church for about 25 years. There are deeper aspects of the Catholic faith that clearly matter to you. How do you build these more esoteric aspects of the faith into your Tejano music?

J.D. Mata: Catholic life and Tejano music have grown up together. I was one of the early Tejano artists and a practicing Catholic, so I’ll share the correlations I’ve seen—strictly from experience.

Here’s how I’ll start. When I formed my first Tejano band, I emphasized that a modern Tejano sound needed drums, guitar, bass, and keyboards or synthesizer. Synths and keyboards became prominent in Tejano during the 1970s La Onda Chicana era, as large orquesta-style bands replaced some accordion-and-horns textures with electronic keyboards. Later groups like Mazz cemented that keyboard-forward sound.

I’ve been a choir director for most of my life—60 now, and I’ve sung in choirs since I was 12. At 16, I directed my parish choir. A younger pianist asked to join; he had raw talent, so I brought him into the choir and, when I formed the band, onto keyboards. We’d rehearse the choir first, then the Tejano set after.

That’s where the association shows up: a lot of Tejano musicians cut their teeth in Catholic church choirs. Catholicism is culturally predominant in many Tejano and Mexican communities, and the repertoire itself reflects the same European—mainly German, Czech, and Polish—dance-music DNA, particularly polka rhythms, that shaped conjunto and Tejano.

For context, “Tejano” originally referred to Texans of Mexican descent. As a music label, it gained broader currency in the late 20th century alongside the rise of orquesta Tejana and La Onda Chicana.

Jacobsen: Which was the case with you—your first gig was playing in church. Can you share your story of how you became a musician through the Catholic Church?

Mata: My story begins in the seventh or maybe sixth grade, during my CCD class—what many people now call religious education. One of the nuns came into class and said, “JD, can we speak to you? You need to come with us.” I thought, What did I do wrong? I loved CCD, and I did really well in it.

She brought me to her office and explained that they had heard I played guitar. I had just started learning. She told me there would be choir practice next Saturday before CCD class, and handed me a permission slip for my mom. They didn’task me—they summoned me. At the time, I was shy, not very skilled, and anxious. I told my mom, “The nuns recruited me for choir, but I don’t think I can do it. I’m too nervous.” My mom said, “Okay, you don’t have to. But you have to call the nun yourself and tell her.”

Forty-eight years later, here I am. Even though I’m on sabbatical now, that was the start. God doesn’t always pick the best people to do his work, and when I was chosen, I was far from the best. But I’ve been loyal and faithful ever since. For many years, I served without pay. Eventually, at St. Charles Borromeo in North Hollywood, I was paid to direct the choir for the Spanish Mass, where I led between 15 and 30 members.

My point is this: many artists like me had their first gig in church. From there, musicians would often branch out—if not into rock bands, then into Tejano bands. That was the pattern in my generation.

The second connection is in the music itself. Tejano lyrics often carry religious connotations. Many songs speak of God’shelp during difficult times. There’s a romantic element, but also a sense of mystery—very much like Catholicism itself.

The Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit. In Tejano music, themes of death, faith, and the hope of going to heaven are often found. Many songs in the Tejano market address prayer, asking God for help during difficult situations, or honouring the Virgin Mary. These themes are close to our hearts. You’ll often see Tejano artists wearing rosaries. Technically, you’re not supposed to wear them as jewelry, but they’ve become part of stage wardrobes. That’s another connection between Catholicism and Tejano.

And look at church festivals—who do they hire? Tejano bands. Undeniably, Catholicism and Tejano music are deeply intertwined. There’s a strong correlation between them.

Jacobsen: How does that connection lean into the dramatis personae—the sense of self and role—during performance or even in practice? Within your theology, the line can blur between performance as play-acting and performance as something more spiritual.

Mata: That’s a perfect point. Catholicism is full of mystery and symbolism. Think of the Eucharist: the bread becomes the body of Christ, the wine becomes his blood. The liturgy has multiple parts—the liturgy of the Word, the liturgy of the Eucharist, and, I would say, the liturgy of music.

Music itself can impact someone so profoundly that it feels almost like possession. It frees you, it lifts you, it gives you transcendence—almost like a spiritual opioid. In Catholicism, that freedom is tied to salvation, the sense of being free from evil and bound for heaven.

In that sense, the singer can take on the role of the priest. A powerful singer isn’t just performing; he’s preaching—the gospel according to Tejano. It’s the artist’s own book, expressed through song. Sometimes the music even feels monastic, like a Gregorian chant, with the audience singing along in unison.

The Mass itself is a kind of performance: an expression of love, of peace, of mystery. The most successful Tejano artists—like Selena—draw people in with that same sense of mystery. There’s something about them, an ineffable quality you can’t quite name, that feels magical, almost from another realm.

Jacobsen: I see that connection with the mystery of the Catholic Church. Now, as I learned, there is an International Association of Exorcists. They were founded in the early 1990s by Father Gabriele Amorth and Father Jeremy Davies. Some sources cite 1990, while others cite 1994. The organization doesn’t just organize and train exorcists; it also raises awareness about the issue. I’ve seen this reflected in Catholic media, including podcasts that bring them in for discussion.

It’s not purely Catholic in practice—though founded and led by Catholics, the membership also includes Anglican and Orthodox clergy. It functions as an interfaith organization in some respects. All exorcisms, of course, must be done with the express consent of a bishop, the local ordinary, or the Vatican.

Let’s take this formalized structure and build it into individual artistic expressions. Typically, when someone thinks of calling an exorcist, it’s because something is very wrong—it’s not a positive occurrence. How do you draw the line between artistic expression as a type of “possession” and literal possession? Could you give examples, perhaps from famous performers?

Mata: For instance, take Ozzy Osbourne—the late Ozzy Osbourne, known for biting the head off a bat onstage. That was theatrics, plain and simple. If you watch The Osbournes television show, you see he’s actually empathetic, deeply cares for his family, and has a big heart. His issues came from drugs, not demonic possession.

So, that line between performance and possession is clear. In Tejano, as in other genres, the “possession” we talk about in art is a metaphor—it’s about being overtaken by the spirit of music, not an actual supernatural event.

Drugs and alcohol can really alter the choices you make. Decisions under the influence are often decisions you wouldn’tmake sober. That was Ozzy Osbourne’s main problem. Much of the crazy stuff he did—like biting the head off a bat—he probably wouldn’t have done sober.

The whole bat incident started earlier. He once walked into a record-company meeting and, to make a statement, bit the head off an actual dove. After that became public, people started throwing things—dead animals, fake animals—onto the stage. One night, someone threw a bat. He thought it was fake, picked it up, and bit it. Only then did he realize it was real. That’s how that happened.

When it comes to possession and music, you must be cautious. You can open yourself to dark influences—just like playing with a Ouija board. If you believe there are demons and evil in the world, it’s possible to invite them in. For the sake of discussion, we can assume that premise.

As a musician—this applies to all genres, but since we’re talking about Tejano—you have to be mindful of your lyrics and your behaviour. If the lyrics get too dark, if you drink too much, you may open yourself up to evil spirits entering your psyche and soul.

I can only speak for myself, but there have been times when artists in the Tejano industry may have experienced something like demonic possession. That’s speculation on my part, but when you see destructive or “evil” behaviour onstage or offstage, it’s worth looking at the lyrics of their music, their mindset, and whether they may have opened themselves up to something darker.

By and large, Tejano music is beautiful. It’s a light to me. I believe it’s God’s gift—because it has lasted so long and continues to this day, I feel God favours it. More than anything, it makes people happy.

But as an artist, you have a responsibility to be careful not to tap into darkness. In any profession, you can open yourself up to portals of evil, of demonic possession. With music—through lyrics, performance, even the way you dress on stage—you need to be mindful. Dressing provocatively with the intent of luring people for the wrong reasons can open the door to darkness. That can lead to habitual drug use, and that, in turn, spills into personal life and can destroy someone.

That has happened. For me, I definitely went through my battles with the dark side, but I haven’t had a drink in 23 years—not a drop. The war with the dark side is much easier to win when you’re sober.

Jacobsen: How does this show up in perversions of Tejano? How does it show up in lyrics?

Mata: It could show up in lyrics. But by and large, Tejano lyricists are positive. They speak mainly about love, heartbreak, and redemption. They’re nowhere near as potentially toxic as, say, rap.

Sometimes you have to express yourself in your own way. I’m not knocking rap—sometimes that’s the best way to express yourself because that’s the language of the streets, and that’s rap. But in terms of Tejano artists, I can say, at least from my frame of reference, my lyrics were pretty clean. Minimal foul language, very little in the way of heavy sexual connotations—mostly about love, heartbreak, and redemption.

So I’d say Tejano lyrics get an A+. They’re really well thought out. They tell stories, and most are poetic in nature. It’srefreshing.

Jacobsen: Have you ever needed to call a priest?

Mata: No, never. Within the Tejano industry, no. We’ve called priests, but only to sing on stage.

Jacobsen: What song do they sing?

Mata: Oh, you know what’s very popular? Volver, Volver. It’s not a Tejano song per se, but Tejano bands always cover it. It’s basically the Tejano national anthem. Every artist, every conjunto band—everyone covers Volver, Volver. So when priests come up and sing with the band, they usually sing that song.

So in terms of priests and Tejano music, from my experience, it’s always been about blessings, not exorcisms. I don’tknow of any Tejano artist who has ever had an exorcism performed. 

Jacobsen: That would make an interesting movie, though, featuring Oscar Solis.

Mata: Also, priests are often called when Tejano bands go on tour. They’ll bless the vehicle for safe travel and a merciful journey. That’s the central role I’ve seen priests play.

Jacobsen: How many of those interactions or emergency calls have you observed?

Mata: Black Sabbath—that band with Ozzy Osbourne—the way they got their name is interesting. They used to practice across the street from an old theatre. They noticed that whenever the theatre showed horror films, that was when it drew the biggest crowds.

And so they thought, “Whoa.” That’s when they realized: it was never that they wanted to form a band of the occult. But Ozzy and his bandmates said, “If horror movies draw crowds, maybe if we record ‘horror music,’ that’s how we’ll get people to follow us.” Hence the name Black Sabbath—they’d seen the film Black Sabbath and took the name from it. There was never an intent to be actual followers of Satan. It was all an artistic, theatrical choice.

But what it does is influence people. Impressionable listeners—especially those who have been hurt by the church—can interpret it differently. Many people, what we sometimes call “recovering Catholics,” have been hurt by individuals within the Catholic Church. The doctrine, to me, is solid, but people are people. Priests, nuns, and church workers are human; some have abused their power and hurt others. Consequently, people associate that hurt with Catholic doctrine itself, even though the teaching may not be the cause of the problem.

My point is: when people have been hurt, not only in Catholicism but in any faith, sometimes they turn to darkness as an alternative. Bands like Black Sabbath never intended to worship the devil. Other bands use similar theatrical devices. But people are influenced by their heroes. They may follow paths of darkness and consequently reach dark outcomes. “Play dark games, get dark prizes,” right?

Without a doubt, heavy metal has an aesthetic—darkness, gothic imagery—that can create an atmosphere where, even if people don’t actually worship Satan, they’re still immersing themselves in that world. And if you put yourself in that situation, you could open up a vortex, a portal, that sets you up for evil possession manifested through evil behaviour. Then maybe you need an exorcism. It’s rare, but possible.

I believe in God. I have a higher power that I call God—and I call him God because that’s his name. If I invoke God and the Holy Spirit, then I am free. In the music industry, the filmmaking industry, wherever I am, as long as I invoke the name of God, I can push away demonic spirits and darkness.

Jacobsen: Thank you for the opportunity and your time, JD.

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