Cleto Escobedo III Remembered by ‘Jimmy Kimmel Live’ Bandmate

Jimmy Kimmel Live! was struck by tragedy as a bandleader this week Cleto Escobedo III died of an unknown illness. “To say we are heartbroken is an understatement,” Kimmel said in a statement. “Cleto and I have been inseparable since I was nine years old. The fact that we had to work together every day is a dream that neither of us ever imagined would come true.” (Watch Kimmel’s 22 Minutes monologue tribute here.) The performance was also a dream for Jimmy Kimmel Live! keyboardist/musical arranger Jeff Babkowho worked with Escobedo for more than thirty years, and considered him one of his best friends. Babko jumped on the phone Rolling stone to look back on their time together.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a night of television like Jimmy’s monologue. It was something different. We all felt a lot, and I think it really showed what kind of family Jimmy created there. If it’s not a true blood family, it’s one step away. It’s quite deep. And now that Cleto is gone, it all hits hard. These events – the good and the bad – show our little show family closest. It doesn’t make it easy.

I met Cleto in 1994. I was fresh out of college and on my first tour with Julio Iglesias. We played a few times a year at Caesars Palace in the old Circus Maximus ballroom, the last of the old Vegas halls still standing. Cleto’s father was the valet, the butler backstage. Sammy Davis Jr. had given him that job years earlier, and Julio absolutely loved him. Cleto Sr. spoke Spanish and understood Julio in a way that most people didn’t: his needs, his personality. He immediately introduced himself to me, the nicest guy, and he treated us as musicians with this deep respect, while most people treated us as help. Only later did I learn that he had been a musician himself, which explained everything.

Every time I was backstage, Cleto Sr. said. to me, “You need to meet my son. He’s in LA. He’s new in town. You’re the LA guy.” And then I came home and started following this band, Cecilia Noel and the Wild Clams. Wild is an understatement. Part Latin, part funky LA music, part simulated sex show, part complete madness. Monday nights, Thursday nights – I was there every chance I got. Cecilia eventually asked me to join; I didn’t need a rehearsal. I had memorized the entire show just by being in the room.

Editor’s Choices

And Cleto Jr. was in that band. Singing, playing the saxophone. We really built a bond there. One night after a show we all ended up at Jerry’s Famous Deli in Studio City. Cleto held court with the backup singers, telling horrible stories about his ex-girlfriend, animated, loose and hilarious. And I remember thinking: How come I don’t know this man? He liked the way I played, especially the wah-wah pedal I used on keyboards. We actually found each other straight away – we clicked straight away. We became inseparable from that Jerry’s Deli moment.

We started doing everyday life together: commercial auditions for Cotton where the entire 13-piece band was put into a small casting office (the band didn’t get the spot, but the fat trumpet player did, which we thought was hilarious). We were devastated together. If one of us needed $100 to get through the weekend, whoever had it would borrow it. We ended up in the same apartment complex: he was downstairs, I was upstairs. We hung out with each other all the time. We put on a little act at Café Cordiale on Ventura Blvd. in Sherman Oaks, where he played twice a month for six years. He was too modest to make a fool of himself on stage, and I had no problem doing that for both of us. That little band became the core of the Cletones.

By the early 2000s, our Cordiale gig had become something of a valley sensation: part middle-aged pick-up joint, part hanging musicians, and completely packed. It was rumored that Jimmy Kimmel would get his own show next The men’s show ended. One evening Jimmy came in [executive] ABC’s Lloyd Braun. We did our act: R&B, Stevie Wonder, Rufus, some bizarre rock ‘n’ roll humor from the Borscht Belt. Lloyd stayed for three songs, smiled and left. Before we knew it, we had a gig. This was at the end of 2002.

Related content

Cleto was dating Marc Anthony at the time, and I was touring and working with Toto The Martin Short Show. But the call came: help open up the show, figure out the music. We all knew that most shows aren’t built to last – three weeks and beyond. But we knew we loved Jimmy, and we knew we loved Cleto. We were all inside.

The early days of Kimmel were chaos. Total party. The green room was a treat. The show tried to be late at night Real was in Hollywood, which turns out to be unsustainable. We would have a collection of three weeks, six weeks, nine weeks. The smell of pizza during the rehearsal meant celebration: we were renewed again. That’s how we lived. Two years later it started to feel like we might stay.

Cleto had zero experience as a band leader. No. If you asked him, he’d say, “I just hired the worst motherfuckers I know and hoped for the best.” And that’s exactly what he did. Thank goodness, Toshi [Yanagi],and I had done it Martin short showthe Wayne Brady Showa few pilots – we had enough TV tricks to keep the train on the track. And Cleto trusted us. Always. He hired people he knew knew more than him, which made him the best kind of leader.

Seeing him with his father was something beyond words. His father had hung up the phone to get a steady job, to start a family. He hung up his dreams. So when he picked up that horn again – because his son gave him the platform he deserved – it was powerful. Music did what words could never do. It was soul-to-soul transmission. All of us – me, Toshi, Junior – we’re just kids. That bond with a parent is deep. All three of them had this magical triangle. When Senior played with Junior, it was like seeing someone step back into the life they were meant to live.

Musically, Cleto loved groove. He liked Stevie Wonder, Rufus, Donny Hathaway, Tower of Power, Sting. He loved the truth. His playing was soulful, sincere – no math, no patterns, no cerebral braggadocio. Just purpose and soul. Every note meant something.

We had a deep connection early on Late Night with David Letterman —Paul Shaffer, Steve Jordan, Hiram Bullock. If you shared that OG Letterman DNA, you immediately understood each other’s humor, timing, worldview. Letterman was our connective tissue. It quickly led me to his life, and honestly to Jimmy’s.

As the show evolved, our music evolved. Early on we tried to steal the KROQ playlist – Queens of the Stone Age, Foo Fighters – instrumental versions that kept the energy young. But as the show grew, we started to delve into what two saxophones should do. A little more stylish, a little jazzier. And Cleto always trusted me to write music that reflected what we were good at. He gave us freedom. If I had to miss a show to record a film score, he would insist I go. “You never know how long a show will last,” he would say. He was never threatened. He just wanted his people to shine.

And now – now that he’s gone – it’s hard to imagine coming back without him. For decades, Toshi, Cleto and I could communicate entire conversations with a single look. Cultural contrasts, but a family with only children. One of us is now missing.

The ending was cruel. He got sick, and I won’t go into details, but I have never seen doctors and nurses love a patient the way they loved him. He knew every RN, every tech, every doctor. Even when he couldn’t communicate, they experienced Cleto through us. They felt his spirit. I have never seen medical professionals fail like this. It was a testament to him: his kindness, his light.

Jimmy got everything right in that monologue, except for one thing: it was a BB gun, not a shotgun, that shot down fliers. Cleto corrected that story eight times. But Jimmy painted the picture. Cleto was modest. He wanted respect, but hated attention. Difficult place to live. Those who knew, knew. And he got his flowers.

Popular stories

Standing next to his father during that monologue… ​​I’ve never had to try so hard to be the strong one. His father showed up in a suit, with his horn, ready to play. We played Grover Washington – the solo that Cleto had played saxophone in his hospital bed a week earlier. We played a song that Cleto and I wrote for his mother 30 years ago. And we were going to play ‘Hard Times’ by Ray Charles. I said to Senior, “That’s kind of your song, can you play it? I thought we were going to play it without sax, just as a tribute to you guys.” And his father said, “You know, Jeff, I always hoped he would play this when I died. This is wrong. It shouldn’t have happened this way. But I have to play this for Junior.” And he played like I’ve never heard anyone play before.

So we know this wasn’t by choice. He fought to the bitter end to stay here for his family. Last night his wife said, “I never wanted to do this alone.” And I said, “You can’t be less alone.” He has built friendships throughout his life – deep, broad, loyal friendships. A chosen brotherhood. And I’m so lucky to be his friend.