Popular mariachi singer, and his vibrato voice, silenced at age 43

Raoul Javier ‘Charro’ Hernández – who taught himself to play the guitar and shared an oversized passion for mariachi music with a zest for life with anyone he met – died Monday at the age of 43.

Friends remember Hernández as a “bigger than life” persona who loved selfies and social media.

A social worker by profession, Hernández was known as a performer who loved the music of México but also had a pulse on American fads before they became popular.

Years before late night show host James Corden popularized ‘Carpool Karaoke,’ Hernández and longtime friend Sonia Santana were flooding social media with 1-minute clips of their lip sync efforts.

“We would go out to eat and then we would always take a selfie,” recalled Santana, a counselor at Fresno City College and a singer. “He loved selfies, so we would do that.”

From that, the karaoke clips evolved.

“Everyone loved it,” said Santana. “So every time we would see each other, we would make it a point to do a video of us singing. People started asking for them.

“They’re the stupidest videos ever, and we would start laughing.”

Hernández, said Santana, did have a serious side when it came to social work.

In 2010 when he graduated from Fresno City College, Hernández told Vida en el Valle he was working for the Fresno County Office of Social Work when his lack of a college degree stymied his progress.

He recalled taking a 3-year-old boy to see his mother in jail.

“That really broke my heart,” said Hernández, who called that jailhouse trip life changing. He went on to earn a degree in social work from Fresno State.

“I have to do this now so I can protect the next 3-year-old struggling to be heard,” said Hernández, a graduate of Roosevelt High School where his love for mariachi music began.

Hernández moved from job to job, the latest as events coordinator at a senior housing site. “He was like a tumbleweed, just rolling along,” said Santana, who added that every place he worked at loved him.

“Just last week, he had me give a recommendation for a new job as outreach specialist for an agency,” said Santana. “All his jobs were social work related.”

One constant in his life was music.

He sang with various mariachi groups. Other times, solo.

He collaborated with author Tim Z. Hernández in tributes to the 28 Mexican nationals and four crew members who died when the DC-3 airplane they were traveling in fell out of the sky above Los Gatos Canyon near Coalinga in 1948.

“I’m shattered by the news that my homey, my brother and long-time collaborator has passed away unexpectedly,” the author of ‘All They Will Call You,’ a book about the plane crash.

The two recorded an album of poetry and music in 2000.

“He was a vital part of the ‘Plane Crash at Los Gatos’ performance,’ and we had plans to take the show to many more cities across the country,” said Tim Z. Hernández in a Facebook post. They are not related.

The author, now a creative writing professor at the University of Texas at El Paso, said the singer’s “beautiful and unapologetic voice will forever echo in my head and heart.”

“His spirit will live on in all who called him a friend.”

That voice, along with his skill at playing various instruments, made him stand out as a mariachi, said longtime friend Marisa Orduño.

“He had this really great voice, and he would like to hit the high notes,” said Orduño, who played with Mariachi Reyna de Los Ángeles, founded Mariachi Mujer 2000 and started her local group Mariachi Universal.

“He would hit those high notes and get a really nice vibrato,” said Orduño. “He could just hold it for days, you know. That would definitely get people’s attention. He liked the motto ‘Go Big or Go Home.’”

Hernández could play the guitar, the guitarón and the vihuela, which made him a plus for any mariachi he would play with, said Orduño.

She met Hernández when she would substituted at Roosevelt High where Hernández was a student. He had that voice back then, she said.

Orduño said Hernández “had a heart of gold.” She recalls December 2020 in the middle of the pandemic shutdown and not celebrating her birthday. Hernández showed up with a birthday cake for her.

“He was thoughtful enough to do that so that I didn’t spend my birthday alone without a cake,” she said. “If he cared about you, you would know; and if he didn’t, you would also know.”

Santana met Hernández 17 years ago when she was looking for a guitarist.

“We just clicked. We went through literally each song once, and we had it,” said Santana. “Ever since then we were inseparable.”

He was more than a musician, she said.

“He had a heart of gold,” said Santana. “At Christmas, he would show up with all these super overpriced gifts. I would ask him, ‘Why do you do this?’”

His response: “I don’t have family. I just have my mom and my aunt.”

“That was his way of showing love,” said Santana, who last saw Hernández for a meal a week ago.

“It was just a different conversation. It was a heart-to-heart talk. We cried. We laughed,” she said. “He told me, ‘I just want to find love. I want to get married. I don’t care if I have to marry a woman, I just want to get married and have kids.’

“He really wanted to be happy.”

Santana said Hernández, who was gay, “was just a shining star” who did have his struggles. “There was a lot of depression there too.”

In his last Facebook post, which was on New Year’s Day, Hernández wished that 2022 “be filled with familia, friends, laughter, dancing, music, and, most importantly, love.”

“If we see each other out somewhere, whether I’m performing or in passing, let’s say hi to each other and take a selfie so we can build memories and cherish the moment.”

Hernández is survived by his mother, Carmen. Funeral services are pending.

Esta historia fue publicada originalmente el 12 de enero de 2022, 0:18 p. m..