Tag: miguel machado

Bad Bunny’s “Debí Tirar Más Fotos” Tells Puerto Rico’s History

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The opening track of Bad Bunny’s sixth studio album, “Debí Tirar Más Fotos,” which was released on Jan. 5, doesn’t begin in the way many of us have come to expect typical reggaetón songs to start. There are no heavy synths underlining the intro, no plucky “wite” melody (how Puerto Ricans refer to the iconic melody sampled from Jamaica’s “Bam Bam” riddim), and no pounding dembow bassline. Instead, “Nuevayol” opens with a sample from the salsa classic “Un Verano En Nueva York” by El Gran Combo, the first sign we are in for something different. And by the time the album’s 17 tracks are through, we’ve been taken on a tour through Puerto Rico’s rich musical history. This is Bad Bunny’s most Puerto Rican and emotionally vulnerable album yet, where he uses the island’s musical soundscape as a canvas to comment on its many sociopolitical issues while cultivating the musical terroir of Puerto Rico’s future.

“Debí Tirar Más Fotos,” which translates to “I should’ve taken more photos,” comes at a crucial time for Puerto Ricans, both on the island and throughout the diaspora. With the same administration that has helped lead the island into corruption and decay about to take office yet again, there is no guarantee that our traditions or way of life won’t be directly impacted. Such is the march of time, and the impact of over 500 years of colonization cannot be understated.

Bad Bunny, born Benito Antonio Martínez, seems to understand this better than most. The album is framed loosely by the idea of the singer entering the new year alone, reflecting on a lost love, which can easily correlate to the loss of agency, sleep, and a promising future many Puerto Ricans are grappling with. Our beaches are slowly being poisoned. Our lands are being sold to crypto billionaires. And our lights still won’t stay the fuck on.

Given these circumstances, it’s not hard to see how the nostalgia of the past can serve as an escape. But Martínez, while his character might be drinking pitorro and reminiscing about an ex, isn’t getting lost in nostalgia. He’s using it to bridge the gap between the island’s past and its future. While the opening track starts with a salsa sample, which shouts out Puerto Rican legends like salsero Willie Colón and the owner of the last standing Puerto Rican social club in NYC, Maria Antonia Cay (known as Toñita), the second song on the album, “Baile Inolvidable,” sees Martínez harmonizing in his typical urbano cadence over the horns, keys, and typical salsa orchestration provided by Libre de Musica San Juan. This is followed by tracks borrowed from less commercial genres, such as bomba y plena, música jíbara, and bachata. However, while the sonic landscape of “DTMF” owes much to the island’s past, the voices it features are primed to shape the island’s musical tradition for years to come.

Puerto Rico’s next big thing, RaiNao, is featured on the track “Perfumito Nuevo,” a sexy, upbeat reggaetón number with pulsing, alternating dembow rhythms that are perfect for a day-trip across Puerto Rico’s sunbaked carreteras. The very next track, “Weltito,” calls in assistance from up-and-coming Latin jazz, tropical fusion quartet Chuwi.

Martínez might be a once-in-a-generation superstar, but he’s always understood that he is part of a bigger musical tradition, one that includes greats like Hector Lavoe, Andres Jimenez, Olga Tanon, Big Pun, Tego Calderon, and many more. And with that comes a certain responsibility. Martínez knows that any artist he features will be springboarded into the spotlight, and he uses his platform accordingly to ensure that the tradition continues long after he’s gone.

There’s been a “recent back to the roots” movement sweeping across the underground scene in PR, with new artists experimenting with more traditional sounds, which the artists featured on the album, including Chuwi, Rainao, Omar Courtz, and Dei V are all a part of. Even Rauw Alejandro stepped up to embrace a more classic style and pay homage to the diaspora on his last album with a cover of ‘Tú Con El” by Frankie Ruiz. So it’s no surprise that after “nadie sabe lo que vas a pasar mañana,” the trap masterclass that was his last album, Martínez’s latest project would have him going in a more eclectic direction and using his platform to help push the island’s sound in that direction.

But in many ways, Bad Bunny is also kind of an anti-superstar. Whereas being a pop star often means trading in a more cultivated sound for something that appeals to the masses, Martínez has done the opposite. The more his fame has grown, the more his musical trajectory has diverged from typical pop stardom, leading him down the path of auteur and activist similar to hip hop artist and rapper Kendrick Lamar. Similarly, as his fame has grown, his albums have become less accessible and more insular. “DTMF” is not an album that caters to outside audiences. It’s not meant to appeal to tourists, something the artist touches on in the track “Turista,” a cautionary tale about falling in love with the superficial but being unwilling to accept or live with a person’s or, in this case, a place’s imperfections.

But maybe the most impactful track on the disc is “Lo Que Le Paso a Hawaii.” On it, Bad Bunny examines the similarities between Hawaii and Puerto Rico, how both were made U.S. territories in 1898 and how the transition from colony to statehood has served the American interests while raising the cost of living and marginalizing native Hawaiians. It is an eerily similar parallel to what Martínez sees occurring today in Puerto Rico: the influx of American ex-pats, the gentrification of cultural centers, and the government’s push for statehood. It’s no wonder the artist was brought to tears on a recent visit to San Juan. The album is filled with bittersweet sentiments like these.

If “Un Verano Sin Ti” was a love letter to Caribbean culture (Spanish and non-Spanish speaking alike), and “nadie sabe lo que va a pasar mañana” was an homage to the street life of Puerto Rico, then “DTMF” is a celebration of who we are as people, a testament to our grit, and our contribution to music as whole. Sure, the traditional genres are well represented here, but there are also touches of house and spoken word, which remind us of the roles we’ve played in elevating those arts.

Martínez is wielding nostalgia as a weapon here, taking aim at those who would see us pushed off our lands and erased from history, and he’s doing it in the most Puerto Rican of ways: by making noise. And in the process, he’s fully come into his own as an artist and visionary. And that vision puts his island and his people front and center in everything he does. As he says on one of my favorite tracks from the album “EoO”: “You’re listening to Puerto Rican music. We grew up listening to and singing this. In the projects, in the hoods. Since the 90s, the 2000s until forever.”

Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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January 8, 2025
How the 2024 Presidential Election Could Shape Puerto Rico’s Future

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With both the 2024 Presidential election and the Puerto Rican Gubernatorial election rapidly approaching, citizens of the Caribbean island once again found themselves in a delicate position and in the headlines. Donald Trump’s latest rally was filled with the kind of hate we’ve come to expect. However, Latinos and Puerto Rico were specifically singled out this time, with comedian Tony Hinchcliffe comparing the island to a “floating pile of trash” after commenting that Latines “don’t pull out.” Not only did these comments alienate Puerto Ricans, but they also seem to have bolstered support for Vice President Kamala Harris among the community, as only hours later, she received late-game endorsements from Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez, and current global phenomenon Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio — AKA Bad Bunny. And while the self-proclaimed “biggest star in the world” is no stranger to political action, prior to his endorsement, his efforts had been more focused on the heated race for the governor’s seat on the island.

At the beginning of the month in Puerto Rico, drivers passing over the freeways of San Juan were greeted by a surprising political message that pulled no punches: “Quien vota PNP, no ama a Puerto Rico,” which in English translates to, “Anyone who votes for the PNP doesn’t love Puerto Rico.” The billboard was accompanied by two others around the municipality with equally condemnatory messages for the PNP, the conservative Puerto Rican political party up for reelection for the governorship this November.

At first, the messages seemed like just another round of political gamesmanship by underdog challengers looking to turn the tide of the election against the incumbent. It was later revealed that the ads were Bad Bunny’s handiwork. Fresh off the release of his politically charged single “Una Velita,” the Puerto Rican reggaetonero was setting his sights on Puerto Rico’s ruling party. And now, he’s entered into American politics hoping to sway the other half of the equation that determines Puerto Rico’s future.

But to understand what’s at stake and why Bad Bunny’s attack on the PNP and endorsement of Harris are so important, you have to understand what has been going on in Puerto Rico over the past seven years. In 2017, the island was decimated by Hurricane Maria. Almost 3,000 Puerto Ricans lost their lives, 97 percent of the island’s power grid was destroyed, and the inept response by both the local and US governments saw emergency relief funds misallocated or outright blocked by the Trump administration.

Frustration from these events led to the ousting of disgraced governor and PNP poster child Ricardo Roselló in 2019. But the victory for his opponents was short-lived. Somehow, the majority of Puerto Ricans weren’t tired enough of getting screwed over by their own government and elected Pedro Pierluisi, also of the PNP, as governor in 2020. All the while, the island’s electrical grid has continued to falter. Blackouts continue to be the norm, sometimes leaving hundreds of thousands without power for days, and islanders have seen their energy costs soar. If you’ve been on TikTok lately, you’ve seen that island schools are in disrepair.

So, going into the 2024 elections, there is an undercurrent of frustration that has been boiling over for seven long years. And Bad Bunny is far from the only artist on the island using his platform to call for change. Artists like Residente and Rauw Alejandro have also been vocal about wanting to see the end of a two-party dichotomy of the PNP and PPD. Both artists support the newly formed party La Alianza, a leftist alliance between the two anti-colonial parties, the PIP and MVC. Others, like future superstar RaiNao, have taken to social media to animate the youth and give messages of hope while also shedding light on the fear-mongering and dirty politicking going on.

But even as they do, a greater question looms on the horizon because no matter who wins this election, Puerto Rico’s future as a state, a colony, or an independent nation hinges on the island’s relationship with the United States and whoever leads it. And that is an election that Puerto Ricans on the island can only watch and wait for the outcome. This is why Anuel and Nicky Jam coming out in support of Donald Trump — even going as far as to show up at his rallies — has been such a big deal.

Puerto Ricans on the island can’t vote. But the diaspora on the mainland can. The policies that the president of the United States sets can have more of an impact on the quality of life on the island than the ones set by the local government. For example, in 2023, when a group of Puerto Rican journalists demanded that the Financial Oversight and Management Board — a US entity that oversees and approves matters related to the colony’s budget — make information relating to financial reports, communications, and other important economic data available to the people, the US Supreme Court ruled that the board could have “sovereign immunity.” It, therefore, did not have to comply with the request. While the board has reduced the overall debt by a large amount, it has done so at a high cost to the people, with austerity measures that have impacted public services, as well as federally funded healthcare programs across the island.

So yes, no matter what happens during the island’s elections, nothing will change overnight. The US still holds a lot of the cards. But the PNP and PDP’s grip on power has done nothing but dig the island deeper into debt, deeper into disrepair, and deeper into the pockets of foreigners who come giving nothing and taking everything. It has not provided any opportunity for a clean political slate. And if we can clean house, remove corrupt politicians, and put the country on a path forward, then we’ll be able to negotiate our ultimate political fate from a position of power.

Puerto Rico is the oldest colony in the world. Since 1493, we have been passed from one colonial overlord to another, our resources are taken to enrich everyone but our own citizens, watching as our sister colonies all achieved the reality of independence that has forever eluded us. These latest elections won’t change the course of Puerto Rico’s fate overnight, But in the long run, they will decide whether things get better or worse. With a Harris presidency, we get a Democratic President who is more likely to listen to a Puerto Rican base that largely tracks Democrats. A Trump Presidency almost ensures that the way Puerto Rico has been treated by its colonizer continues. Meanwhile, on the island, a PNP win basically ensures that Puerto Rican life continues on the downward spiral it has for decades. But should La Alianza win, it might not solve all of our problems. It might resolve the issue of our status. But it gives us a chance for progress, the chance to walk into a future written by Puerto Rican hands.

Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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October 29, 2024
Latine Celebs Are Flipping the Script on Code-Switching, and We’re All Following Suit

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I had just sent a voice note to my friend when a curious feeling came over me. “Let me listen back to it,” I thought to myself. As I did, an even stranger feeling came over me, a lack of recognition of my own voice. You see, I’ve been code-switching so long that sometimes I’m unsure where the real me begins. Obviously, this was my friend, so I was being genuine in my language. However, as someone who has been a professional for many years, as well as an academic, the voice that I heard on playback was just one of many. And for a lot of modern-day Latines, this is another aspect of the identity politics we have to reconcile with. That’s why it’s refreshing to see that recently many Latine celebs have been more candid about the pressure they’ve felt to code-switch or “talk white” and are openly rejecting the practice to embrace their authentic selves.

This is no doubt due to the current selling power Latines are enjoying on a global level. Buoyed by the popularity of reggaetón and Latin trap, Latin music as a whole is outpacing other markets with artists like Bad Bunny becoming global stars despite refusing to do music in English. For the past couple of years streaming services like Netflix have been investing heavily in dramas like “Casa de Papel,” “Narcos,” and, most recently, “Griselda,” starring Colombian actress Sofía Vergara. But you don’t have to go back too far to track down a time when this wasn’t the case.

In the early 2000s, the idea that music sung predominantly in Spanish could be successful in the English-speaking market seemed absurd. During that time, you’d also have been hard-pressed to find shows featuring Latine leads or focused on issues in and around our communities. This meant that to have a shot at success, many up-and-coming stars had to approximate whiteness.

Marc Anthony, Ricky Martin, and Thalia all released English-language crossover albums, catering to the US pop market. Puerto Rican actor Freddie Prinze Jr. has spoken about how rare leading roles written exclusively for Latines were at the time. Now, given the current acceptance of Latinidad, he’s more open than ever about how proud he is of his heritage. And to hear him talk today is to hear a more authentic person stripped down, complete with all the twangs and inflections code-switching so often tries to cover up. You can hear it in this interview he gave to “The Talk” while on a press tour.

But it’s not just Prinze. Recently, a video of Mario Lopez eating some food with a friend went viral for the candid nature of his speech. When I was younger, my parents and I would watch the actor on “Access Hollywood,” and the way he talked always felt performative to me. Seeing this side of Lopez in this footage, however, was refreshing. It’s nice to know that deep down, at his most relaxed, he’s just another homie. Now, that’s not to say that code-switching is always performative. Personally, I’ve always thought of being able to code-switch as a resource, one that allows me not to blend in but to be understood by people who normally wouldn’t understand me.

Over the years, I’ve developed a plurality of accents. I’ve got my Nuyorican accent that comes out when I’m around my family and cousins. Then there’s my Puerto Rican accent that comes out when I’m on the island, stretching the syllables of English-language words so that they fit into Spanish. And then there’s my academic side that comes to the table prepared with his $20 words. Years ago, I used to think that having these sides to me made me fake and that I wasn’t really Latine or Caribbean enough. But now I’m realizing that everyone’s authenticity is different and being Latine doesn’t mean being one thing. I’m reminded of the great Desi Arnaz, who never downplayed his heavy Cuban accent. For Arnaz, authenticity became an asset, and it’s no wonder that he was the first Latine to cohost an English-language television show in the US. I see parallels to him in Salma Hayek and Vergara, two amazing actors in their own rights who have always embraced their accents and whose stocks have risen because of it.

On the opposite end of the spectrum you have Latines like John Leguizamo, whose heavy New York City accent made it easy for casting agents to offer him stereotypical roles like junkies and criminals. But rather than taking on those roles or code-switching, he simply owned it and carved his own path through Hollywood, even getting the chance to deliver Shakespearean prose in his trademark accent as Tybalt in Baz Luhrmann’s “Romeo + Juliet.”

Today the groundwork that these Latine icons have laid has set the tone for many of us to reclaim our authenticity and do away with code-switching. Sometimes that looks like speaking with our true accents or using the vocabulary that comes most naturally to us. But we also see it in the way many of us have stopped anglicizing our names or are more willing to express ourselves in Spanish or Spanglish. For example, I love the way Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez pronounces her name every time she introduces herself, even though Spanish isn’t her first language. I love the way Oscar Isaac and Pedro Pascal break down their full names in this interview with Wired because it shows that our Latinidad is something we always carry with us.

At the end of the day, being Latine means being part of a group for which no one size fits all. And I’m glad to see that we’re no longer feeling as much pressure to squeeze ourselves inside boxes that strip us of our sazón, whatever flavor that may be.

Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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September 16, 2024
Tell Me Más: Elsa y Elmar Gets Candid About Mental Health and How It Impacted Her Album “PALACIO”

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In our Q&A /feature series Tell Me Más, we ask some of our favorite Latine celebs to share some inside info about their lives and some of the ways they are prioritizing their mental health. This month, we spoke with Colombian rising star Elsa y Elmar about dealing with burnout, safeguarding her mental health, and how all this impacted the process of creating her latest album, “PALACIO.”

Elsa Margarita Carvajal is no stranger to success. Better known by her stage name, Elsa y Elmar, the Latin Grammy-nominated singer has been making waves in the music scene for more than a decade. But with her latest album “PALACIO” releasing on August 30th, and on the brink of hitting the road for her biggest tour yet, Carvajal is poised to reach a whole new level. To reach that level once meant putting in many years on the indie circuit and playing solo in bars trying to connect to people who had never heard of her. And even though her unknown indie artist days are behind her, the singer admits that the pressure remains. Carvajal says that pressure can be both good and bad. On the one hand it can push artists to achieve bigger and better things, reaching the levels previously reached by their idols.

But on the other hand, the constant pressure to push for more and compare oneself to their peers or those who came before can be detrimental from a mental health perspective. The songstress says that she sometimes found herself in a constant state of work, thinking about what more she can do. This led her to take a much needed break to recharge after her last album “Ya No Somos Los Mismos.” However, in the intervening two years, the singer-songwriter has learned valuable lessons about self-care, understanding when she needs to be “on” and when she needs to take time for herself. From this mentality and two years of no labels and A&Rs asking her for new music or what she was going to do next, Carvajal was able to bounce back from her bout of burnout with her new disc “PALACIO.” The album is the first to be released on her new label, Elmar Presenta, and tackles various challenges many of us deal with on a daily basis. In a recent interview, she sat down with PS to talk about mental health and creative pressures and dive into some of the sentiments behind the project.

PS: You’re about to perform in your biggest venue ever. How does it feel getting to this point in your career?

Elsa y Elmar: You know, it’s really interesting because all the odds were against me. I’m not from that generation of women in pop like Belenova, Julieta Venegas, and Natalia Lafourcade. And I’m also not an urbano artist. I’m an artist that, since day one, the people I’d work with would say, “I don’t know where you fit in. I don’t know how to explain [your sound], whether you’re indie or alternative.”

PS: What are some things that might surprise people about the reality of being a professional musician?

Elsa y Elmar: It’s physically and mentally taxing and requires a lot of patience . . . I feel like I’m always on.

PS: How have you learned to balance the pressure to be creative with the need to turn off and indulge in self-care?

Elsa y Elmar: I try to take maximum advantage of the periods when I’m feeling most creative and make as many ideas, songs, and videos as I can because I know at any given moment, there’s going to be a dry spell. But I also try to take advantage of that time when I’m not feeling as creative, and not stress, trusting that the creativity will return.

PS: What were some of the factors that led to your two-year hiatus?

Elsa y Elmar: I was tired of the bureaucracy, of the expectations, of working with the big labels, of just chasing the carrot. I decided that if I was going to chase any carrot, it was going to be my carrot.

PS: The album is filled with songs that tackle real-life issues. But maybe the song that has attracted the most attention so far is “Entre Las Piernas,” a song celebrating menstruation. What inspired you to tackle a topic that, to some, is still considered taboo?

Elsa y Elmar: Being honest, the subject hadn’t really crossed my mind as song-worthy, until one day it just hit me that half of the population of the planet bleeds once a month. And even today in 2024 it’s a subject that’s still taboo, that still grosses people out, and we’re not supposed to talk about…and I just thought “thousands of love songs have been written and no one’s written about this topic that’s so common?”

PS: On another standout on the album, you apply incredible sensitivity to the “mini heartbreak” of being left on read with the song “Visto” — a uniquely digital problem that the singer manages to make feel timeless. Why did you think something as simple as being ignored via text can be so painful?

Elsa y Elmar: I mean, obviously there are legitimate reasons that people get left on read . . . but what I’m talking about in the song is when you’re being vulnerable with someone and they leave you on read, and that feels horrible, to not understand why the other side of the conversation rather than communicate what they feel, eliminates the possibility of communication and leaves you with a mountain of questions and self-doubt.

PS: Lastly, for those who might be going through what you’ve passed through in the last two years — heartbreak, pressure to create, being left on read — can you give them any advice on how you kept yourself centered?

Elsa y Elmar: The other day I was listening to a little chat and [heard something] that struck me as very beautiful. If a problem has a solution, it’s no problem. And if it doesn’t have a solution, it’s no problem.

Whether it’s her interviews or her work, Carvajal’s vulnerability comes across effortlessly. And yet, she also understands that for many of us, vulnerability is a challenge in these modern times. But if she’s learned anything over the past two years, it’s that in order to make space for love, work, or anything else, we first have to make space for ourselves, make space for ourselves in our “PALACIO.”

“PALACIO” drops on August 30th.

Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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August 27, 2024
Latin Dance Nights Are Helping Me Reconnect to a Time-Honored Tradition

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Getty/Illustration by Keila Gonzalez
Getty/Illustration by Keila Gonzalez

Ask anybody from New York, and they’ll tell you that summers in the city are special. They are so special that they’ve been immortalized in great works of literature, cinema, and songs for decades now. Perhaps most famously on the Latine side of things, El Gran Combo’s “Un Verano En Nueva York” stands as an ode to New York City summer and everything it brings with it: street festivals, block parties, boat tours, beach days. And for many Latines in the city, summertime marks the return of a time-honored tradition: Latin dance nights.

As a kid, my father had my sister and me on the weekends, and he would take us down to South Street Seaport for salsa night. This was before the recent renovation, back when the Fulton Fish Market still operated out of downtown and would fill the air with the strong scent of tilapia, salmon, and sea bass. But as you got closer to the water, the scent dissipated, and the rhythm of the clave got stronger. You’d pass Pizzeria Uno and the now-defunct bar Sequoia, turn a corner, and boom, a dance floor full of NYC’s best steppers, the bass thick enough to swim through.

These parties are an important part of maintaining the culture, language, and political power we’ve seen dwindle as rents have soared.

Those Latin dance nights were a formative part of my childhood. Not because I learned how to dance there (I still haven’t fully), but because of the experience of the community they provided, the enclave of Latinidad that enveloped you when you walked in. It was like a big family, where faces you hadn’t seen in years would bob up and out of the crowd. I still have good relationships with all my dad’s friends (who are now in their 60s) because of those Latin dance nights. I still remember the many times my parents — separated for years at that point — would bump into each other by chance at an event or party, and the more difficult aspects of their relationship would be forgotten as they spun their way through a song or two.

But this summer, rather than reliving those fond memories, I plan to make my own and go to as many Latin dance nights as possible. Toñitas 50th Anniversary Block Party in June was a sight to behold. Amid the clash of boutique restaurants and three-story brick buildings in South Williamsburg, Grand Street was packed with gyrating bodies swaying to the rhythms of salsa and reggaeton. Vendors from all over the city, such as La Fonda, served up Puerto Rican staples, while others provided classic Caribbean refreshments such as coco frio; DJs and live bands played in the background. It was a day that felt like you were in old New York City.

The Toñitas 50th Anniversary Summer Block Party Is a Form of Resistance

But while Toñitas was a legitimate throwback, two other organizations, Perreo 2 the People and La 704, have been hard at work trying to bring the future sounds of Puerto Rico to the Big Apple. Two times in as many months, the collectives have hosted perreo parties at Starr Bar in Bushwick, showcasing the next generation of island talent. More than being a platform for up-and-coming artists like Bendi La Bendición, Taiana, Keysokeys, and Enyel C, the parties also serve as a bridge between diaspora and the motherland. At a time when Puerto Ricans are vanishing from the city we helped build, these parties are an important part of maintaining the culture, language, and political power we’ve seen dwindle as rents have soared. And for me, they represent a kind of homecoming.

I’ve been a professional of color for many years now, navigating the ups and downs of the corporate world. As I have, I’ve found that new environments and opportunities opened up to me, taking me far away from my concrete beginnings. Working in tech meant nights filled with craft beer, ping pong, and karaoke. Advertising led me to the snowy-covered streets of Buffalo, where decades-old pubs and ritzy fine dining mingle on Main Street. However, the more ingrained I became in corporate culture and the more I looked for out-of-the-box experiences, the further away I drifted from the humble Latino parties that sustained me in my younger years. We didn’t need a lot to have fun, no top shelf liquor or fancy appetizers. We just needed a beat and a dance floor.

Now that I’m older and wiser, I’m looking forward to getting back to my roots, to getting back and giving back to my community, and getting back a piece of myself I had long ago put away. And maybe I’ll finally become the salsa dancer I always wanted to be.

Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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July 11, 2024
Jay Wheeler’s Abuela Helped Make Him One of Reggaetón’s Most Romantic Voices

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For many of us, our relationship with our grandparents can serve as a bridge to the past, often linking our crucial developmental years with the wisdom and customs of the generations that came before us. For Jay Wheeler, the connection he shares with his grandmother, Clara Luz, is something he cherishes. It has helped mold him into the man and artist he is today.

“One of the most beautiful treasures I have in my life is my abuela,” Wheeler says. “She’s a person that loves to go out, who loves to party, and I’m lucky to still have her with me and have her healthy.”

But along with being the life of the party, his grandmother has helped instill many of the values that guide the singer — who’s been hard at work ushering in a new brand of romantiqueo with his albums “Emociones” and “Emociones 1.5.”

“She taught me to be respectful, to always be empathetic to people, and to have a healthy fear of God. I’m a person who believes very strongly in God, thanks to her,” the singer says, adding that she also taught him to “just be loving with the world.”

That caring disposition is something that comes across in his music and his interactions with fans and the media. Wheeler once mentioned that he tries not to wear sunglasses because he wants his fans to be able to see his eyes. On the musical front, DJ Nelson’s protege is in high demand to bring old-school crooner vibes to the new wave of trap and reggaetón. His latest offering, “Musica Bueno Para Días Malos,” is a futuristic ride through the ups and downs of love. However, the singer recently found the opportunity to tackle a different genre when he released a cover of the classic song “Piel Canela.“

“I was actually really nervous because I know it’s a classic, that it’s something that you don’t want to mess up,” he says. “So, my intention was never to make a better version or anything like that. My intention was just to make my version of a classic song — one that reminds me of my grandmother. “

The opportunity to cover the song came about as part of a collaboration with McDonald’s. The fast food giant is hard at work promoting their new “Grandma McFlurry” and offering fans a chance to meet the reggaetonero to sweeten an already sweet deal. For Wheeler, however, not only does he get to cover a timeless classic, but he also gets to honor his abuelita, who he also credits with helping cultivate his love for music through her own passion for song and dance.

“My grandmother always wanted to be a singer . . . and that inspired me. From a very young age, she instilled [that desire] in me. And she always wanted to be famous,” Wheeler laughs. “[To this day,] if you give her a stage and microphone, she’ll dance and sing.”

The singer recalls a childhood video of him and his abuela singing and dancing like two superstars. Fast-forward to today, and Wheeler is on track to be just that — the McDonald’s campaign a testament to his rising star and marketability. As part of the marketing campaign for the Grandma McFlurry, Wheeler and his grandmother got the chance to film a commercial together, advertising the new snack and the TikTok competition that goes along with it. So his abuelita is finally getting her time in the limelight.

So, what’s next for Wheeler and Grandma Clara Luz? Wheeler is currently on tour, and his next stop is a concert performance at The Theatre at Madison Square Garden, where he’ll cycle through his repertoire of reggaetón hits and trap bangers the week after Puerto Rican Weekend. But while cantando urbano is his bread and butter, the singer hasn’t ruled out further experimentation with classic genres.

“I’m open to doing anything when it comes to music. There’s no limit. I’m always going to challenge myself to do everything,” Wheeler says.

“Obviously, not everything is going to suit me, but I’ll always try,” he adds. “I’m very open to everything, to doing rock music, classic music, whatever. I’m always going to try and give it my touch — my best shot.”

Along with switching up genres every now and again, the singer has also been known to collaborate with his wife and fellow singer, Zhamira Zambrano. So, maybe a duet with his abuelita will also be in the cards sometime in the future. Whatever he chooses to tackle next, his grandmother will be there, looking on with pride, knowing that her passion was the push toward the bright future Wheeler is currently living.

Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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June 14, 2024
Rauw Alejandro and Peso Pluma Are Taking the Stage at Gov Ball — and It’s About Time

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Rauw Alejandro and Peso Pluma are set to take the stage at the 2024 Governor’s Ball in NYC between June 7 and 9. While Becky G and J Balvin performed at the music festival in 2022 and 2021, respectively, this year marks the first time that two Latin music acts are headlining on separate days. And it’s about time.

Since the 1940s and ’50s, when cha cha and mambo took the US by storm, the mass appeal of Latin music has been undeniable. With its mix of West African and Spanish rhythms, the music is inherently danceable, which no doubt has helped genres like salsa and reggaetón break down the language barrier. You don’t need to know what Bad Bunny‘s saying to be able to move to the beat. And yet, for a long time, Latin and African artists could only be found at music festivals that catered to those demographics specifically. This is no longer the case, as major music festivals have recently started including more Latin acts in their lineups.

In 2023, Bad Bunny became the first Spanish-language artist to headline Coachella, where Eladio Carrión and Anuel AA also appeared. That same year, iLe, PJ Sin Suela, and Los Rivera Destino performed at the SXSW Music Festival. In 2024, Coachella doubled down on the Latin acts, inviting both Peso Pluma and J. Balvin. And the trend doesn’t seem to be stopping.

But why has it taken so long for major festivals to get the message that our music is so fire? Back in the 1970s, the Fania All-Stars proved that music sung entirely in Spanish can have global appeal. The reggaetón boom of the early 2000s became a cultural phenomenon that saw the genre play on both English and Spanish-language radio. So what gives? Well, I have a simple hypothesis: money.

It’s no secret that Latin music has grown exponentially over the past decade, outpacing the overall growth of the music industry by a wide margin. While made for our communities, our music is no longer limited to them. I remember when I was a kid, watching all the new reggaetón videos would drop on mun2. Now, I go on YouTube, and all the latest music videos have English subtitles. It goes to show how far we’ve come when it comes to making commercially viable music. But more than that, having Latin and African headliners at major festivals taps into the power of the communities behind them, introducing some much-needed sazón. Not only does it bring in a more diverse audience to the festival scene, but given the current state of live music, it also grows these artists’ audiences while pumping up lagging ticket sales.

Both Jennifer Lopez and Bad Bunny were trending recently due to lower-than-expected ticket sales. So, no, Latin artists aren’t immune to overall industry trends. Back in April, Coachella also made headlines for decreasing ticket sales. But I wonder if bringing Latin artists to music festivals might just solve the issue.

Touring is inherently expensive. For successful artists to tour, they must invest a lot of money in visual effects, travel logistics, crew, and more. It’s part of the reason bigger artists are limited to perform at arenas and stadiums that pack 30,000-plus fans and charge exorbitant prices for tickets. The way festivals are set up, however, while the initial ticket prices might be higher, music lovers get multiple nights and experience multiple acts for the cost. This immediately expands the target audience and offsets the cost of the show. Latin and African artists get to perform in front of a mixed crowd of both die-hard fans and newcomers who are more open than ever to receiving their music, increasing the value of their brand without having to incur all the costs of putting on the show themselves. It’s a win-win for everybody.

But apart from the monetary incentives, what Latin and African artists really bring to music festivals is unrivaled energy. Our cultures are predicated on all-night parties and dancing. Look at what Bad Bunny and Burna Boy did in their respective Grammy performances. Combining traditional cultural elements and instrumentation, catchy lyrics and melodies is a winning formula that our musical genres have perfected over decades. The result? A sound guaranteed to turn even the stuffiest festival atmosphere into a full-on vibe. I can only hope that the inclusion of these artists isn’t solely a fad, but a sign of greater diversity to come.

Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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June 7, 2024
How Erik Rivera Uses Comedy to Heal and Help Others

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For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians and creators we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life’s most significant challenges. Read the pieces here.

Erik Rivera’s life is good. Joining our Zoom session from his Los Angeles home, the writer, actor, and comedian is all smiles beneath a worn baseball cap. Maybe it’s that sunny weather Angelinos are always bragging about. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s worked hard to achieve what he has now: a respectable career, a stable marriage, and two wonderful boys. Either way, the contrast between where he once was and his current status isn’t lost on him, even if it is lost on his kids.

“My kids have no idea how good they have it,” the comic says with a laugh.

Growing up as the child of a Puerto Rican father and Guatemalan mother in New Rochelle, NY, Rivera knows the value of a dollar all too well. He spent his younger years navigating between his parents’ immigrant sensibilities and the pressures of American life. Unsurprisingly, that dichotomy is something that Rivera has been able to mine for comedic gold, incorporating it into his stand-up along with other aspects of his life, like his interracial marriage and what it’s really like raising two boys. But, despite a lifelong love for stand-up, comedy as a career wasn’t something that Rivera saw in the cards.

“When you come from immigrant parents, you don’t know that that’s a career. You’re hammered into the usual, like doctor, lawyer, and told, ‘Do something that’s consistent and brings in consistent money,’” Rivera says. So Rivera planned to attend Pace University to pursue a degree in communications. Then 9/11 happened.

“[After 9/11], they reopened [the school] because they had been using the campus as a triage center. And I remember going back, and it was just this eerie feeling. There was soot everywhere. We’re watching trucks bring debris out daily. Kids were just not feeling comfortable,” Rivera recalls.

In an attempt to escape the morbid atmosphere, Rivera and a friend went to a comedy club, which they were shocked to find packed.

“People wanted to forget,” the comedian says plainly. Then, the idea came to him to organize a comedy night on campus and give his fellow students the opportunity to come together and heal through laughter.

“Stand-up comedy is such a pure art form . . . no matter what you’re going through in your day, you come out to a show, and for an hour and a half, those problems you have, you leave them at the door, and you have a good time,” Rivera says. “Yeah, they’ll still be there [when you leave], but you get to relax and release.”

But while helping others through their trauma by organizing comedy shows was great, a part of Rivera wanted more. As a kid, he’d seen John Leguizamo’s “Mambo Mouth,” which immediately sparked something in him. Here was somebody from his culture, talking about things he could relate to. Now, as an adult, organizing stand-up nights and rubbing elbows with comedians, he has had the chance to tell his own story and use it to help people come to terms with theirs.

“I remember there was one night sitting [at a comedy show], and it was the first time I saw how the rabbit was pulled out of the hat. Like, I saw the setup, I saw the punchline, I saw how the guy was leading the audience one way and playing with their emotions of feeling frustrated, of anger, and releasing it with laughter,” he says.”I was like, ‘I think I can do this.’”

A month later, he was onstage at a club called Hamburger Harry’s in Times Square. For most of us, the thought of just jumping into the deep end like that would be unfathomable. But for Rivera, it’s what makes stand-up special. It’s not just about telling jokes, but about putting yourself out there — exposing your pain and hardships in service of the audience.

“Look, you can get up there and write jokes; there are amazing joke writers out there,” Rivera says. “But [the real connection comes] from the vulnerability. Yeah, we find it through stereotypes, but there’s also that vulnerability of ‘hey, this is happening to me,’ and people can relate to that.”

For him, comedy is an outlet, a way to explore certain aspects of his life that aren’t always neat or pretty, whether it’s his mother-in-law suggesting having a Mexican mariachi band for Rivera’s rehearsal dinner or making a point to keep the fridge stocked with guacamole just for him. Exploring these issues on stage allows him not only to process them in a healthy way, but also take the audience on the journey with him.

This is why stand-up comedy has traditionally been such a path to success for oppressed or marginalized communities. Our hardships can make for a good laugh that helps lighten the load we carry. But channeling that pain can be tricky. Rivera admits he’s made the mistake of trying to explore certain traumas before the wounds have fully healed — specifically, his father’s passing from Parkinson’s disease.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, when I first started doing that story on stage, it was dicey. I wasn’t ready to start talking about it,” he says.

But then something beautiful happened. The more Rivera worked on the material, the more he refined the story about his father, and the more people started coming up to him after his shows to thank him and tell him they were going through something similar.

“Anytime you’re going through something, you feel like, ‘I’m the only one going through this.’ We’re all going through it; it’s just that nobody talks about it,” he says.

For this reason, writing has become a part of Rivera’s healing process. Even if he hasn’t gotten the distance from what he’s going through, even if he can’t see the funny just yet or isn’t ready to bring it to the stage, his mind is always working it over on the chance that someday he’ll be able to share it. He journals frequently, seeing it as a kind of “map” of how he gets through difficult times. The comedian also mentions the important role running plays in helping him process his thoughts.

“Everybody should have some kind of quiet time or meditation or something to get you out of your own head and your own space,” Rivera says.

Whether it’s working through material on stage or running in the fair weather of Los Angeles, Rivera has his. Throughout our conversation, he exudes a kind of self-assuredness that comes from working on his bits, which is actually him working on himself. Now, he’s ready for what comes next, even if it’s not necessarily comedy.

“You always have to evolve, man,” he says.”You have to do everything, you have to write, you have to direct. The more tools you have in your toolbox, the harder it is for them to say no to you.”

Rivera does all of that. During the pandemic, he wrote an animated show he’s looking to shop around in the future. And while he still loves comedy and shares that it will always be how he heals and helps others heal, he also admits that there are more ways to tell the stories that matter.

“Having kids changed my perspective on everything,” he says. “Watching television and not seeing the representation there, where my kids aren’t even seeing themselves . . . now I’ve sort of pivoted to, let’s write these next TV projects so we can see ourselves there.”

Rivera wants to see more than just the stereotypical Latine narratives about “border crossing trauma” or “we gotta save the taco shop.” He just wants to see regular shows about Latines as regular people with regular problems, working through those problems the same way he has and continues to do.

“That’s my next goal in life, to make these shows that people can laugh at and watch together and vibe with and just happen to have Latinos in them,” he concludes.

Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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May 6, 2024
Jennifer Lopez’s Viral “the Bronx” Controversy Proves Younger Latines Don’t Find Her Authentic

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Jennifer Lopez has been busy. In case you missed it, the Puerto Rican singer, dancer, and actor released not one but three complementary projects to kick off the year. There’s her “This Is Me . . . Now” album; a video companion/musical to said album, “This Is Me . . . Now: A Love Story”; and a documentary that dives into said love story, “The Greatest Love Story Never Told.” It was an ambitious undertaking, no doubt. And one that has her being dragged across TikTok, Instagram, and X (formerly Twitter).

Part of the controversy lies in how Lopez represents herself and her native borough of the Bronx. In one scene from the documentary, Lopez tussles her curly hair while looking in the mirror and says, “It reminds me, like, when I was 16 in the Bronx, running up and down the block. Crazy little girl who used to fucking be wild and no limits, all dreams.” TikTok quickly jumped on this small clip, with many users commenting on how contrived the scene felt. One user noted it allegedly took numerous takes to get the finished shot. From there, it wasn’t long before social media started to mine Lopez’s old interviews for any hint of inauthenticity.

In a resurfaced clip from Vogue’s “73 Questions” series, Lopez shares her childhood bodega order of “ham and cheese on a roll with an orange drink . . . and a small bag of chips.” This clip, too, has been flamed on social media as New Yorkers demand to know exactly what orange drink Lopez is referring to. Others have remarked it’s such a generic order that Lopez can’t be as bodega-bred as she claims.

And then, of course, there’s the nail in the coffin: an old clip from 2014 making the rounds on social media that shows Lopez pulling up to her old house in Castle Hill, and the current resident having absolutely no idea who she is.

It’s not that Lopez isn’t from the Bronx — of course, she is. No one can take that away from her. It’s that the image she portrays, one of a tried-and-true Bronx girl who made it to Hollywood while staying true to her roots, comes off as disingenuous. Many think she’s using the borough for relevance in an age that values authenticity more than anything. But how did she become so seemingly disconnected from the people she supposedly represents?

Growing up in a Puerto Rican household meant Lopez could do no wrong. She was the Fly Girl who made it big. She was Selena. And when her debut album, “On the 6,” dropped, my mom had it on repeat, singing along to every word. For my mom, Lopez symbolized success. For many heads from that generation, that’s what success was — not so much repping your hood, but representing the fact that you made it out of your hood.

Today, however, that’s not enough. That’s why Lopez’s actions are often perceived as self-serving. In part, it’s a generational difference. This is evidenced by the fact that so few of her recent critics knew what she meant by “orange drink.” For the record, I’m pretty sure she was referencing the 25-cent “quarter waters” that were a staple of bodegas back in the ’90s (you’d be hard-pressed to find them now). They didn’t have a proper name; you just asked for the color. But, bodega order aside, the fact that Lopez had to rebrand her tour amid slowing ticket sales shows how much public opinion has waned for a star who once sold out Vegas residencies with frequency.

In this light, it’s unsurprising that people from the community and even her fans are skeptical of how she reps the Bronx — an attempt to delay the sun setting on an incredible 30-year career and energize the masses. But it’s not enough to claim NYC as your birthright and expect New Yorkers to show up. Here, trust and loyalty are won the hard way. You have to put the city on your back, elevate it, and actively participate in the culture.

Cardi B made headlines when she donated $100,000 to her old middle school in the Bronx. Fat Joe helped organize a fundraiser for families affected by the 2022 Twin Parks fire, and he’s well-known for routinely giving back to the community. And J Lo? Well, that’s the thing. She has. In 2014, she announced a partnership with Montefiore Medical Center in the Bronx to establish The Center for a Healthy Childhood, which aimed to improve children’s health and overall nutrition in the surrounding communities.

But for many of us, the occasional philanthropic stint isn’t enough. And the fact that it’s been 10 years since her last major contribution to the borough doesn’t help Lopez’s case. Neither does the fact that she danced her way to an acting career, singing career, and millions of dollars along the way, but she hasn’t opened a single dance academy to help others do the same. I think a Jennifer Lopez-branded dance academy in the heart of Castle Hill would be a no-brainer and would help her improve her current standing in the community.

That being said, Lopez isn’t obligated to satisfy anyone’s expectations but her own. And there are plenty of A-list New Yorkers who do less for their respective boroughs and are subject to far less criticism. At the end of the day, however, Lopez is unique in that she understands and cashes in on the social clout that comes with being from the Bronx. She understands that it distinguishes her from the majority of the Hollywood elite — she’s someone who isn’t supposed to have a seat at the table, yet now enjoys the same privileges as her silver-spoon counterparts.

I once had a friend tell me that the hood is something no one can take from you. It’s hardwired into you, regardless of what you achieve. The lessons the streets teach are lessons for life. I truly believe that. And I’m sure Lopez does, too. In her eyes, she’ll always be Jenny from the block, regardless of what any of us have to say.

But I also believe there’s no such thing as playing both sides. As someone who has slowly watched their neighborhood disappear because of gentrification and has had the landscape of his memories shift with each passing day, I wish I had the money to do something about it. And if I ever found myself in that position, in a position to give back, I would.

Johanna Ferreira is the content director for POPSUGAR Juntos. With more than 10 years of experience, Johanna focuses on how intersectional identities are a central part of Latine culture. Previously, she spent close to three years as the deputy editor at HipLatina, and she has freelanced for numerous outlets including Refinery29, Oprah magazine, Allure, InStyle, and Well+Good. She has also moderated and spoken on numerous panels on Latine identity. .

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April 3, 2024
Shakira Thinks the “Barbie” Movie Is Emasculating — Here’s How She Missed the Point

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There’s no arguing that Shakira is a feminist icon. Entering the year on the heels of a very public split from her long-term partner and the father of her two sons, Gerard Piqué, she managed to take a painful experience and turn it into a shared triumph. Her latest studio album, “Las Mujeres Ya No Lloran,” is a testament to independence and the strength that comes with it. It’s a sentiment that many, especially women, will be able to relate to. In her recent Allure cover interview published on April 1, Shakira delves into what that strength looks like and what it means to be a woman healing today. But one thing that stood out from the interview was the singer’s controversial take on another feminist pop culture pillar: the “Barbie” movie.

Shakira shares her sons “absolutely hated” the film because they “felt it was emasculating.” “I like pop culture when it attempts to empower women without robbing men of their possibility to be men,” the singer says.

And while part of me understands that reaction, I cannot help but respectfully disagree with her. Feminism isn’t just a theory, it’s a practice, and different people practice it differently. Shakira not liking the “Barbie” movie doesn’t make her less of a feminist. However, her opinion of the film is one shared by a vocal minority, and one I’ve heard reiterated by a lot of men (and right-wing politicians like Ted Cruz), many of whom won’t even see a “girl’s movie.”

So, as a man who not only thoroughly enjoyed “Barbie” but found the message to be more subtle than “men suck, women are better,” I wanted to examine how so many people could misconstrue Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach’s script. For starters, the movie doesn’t portray men as bubbly and shallow characters just for the sake of emasculating them. The movie portrays them as what they are: victims. The Kens have been robbed of any real agency and opportunity to be anything more than eye candy by Barbieland’s matriarchy, a system that, conversely, places women in every major role throughout society. Sound familiar? It is the exact opposite of a patriarchy and yet still manages to achieve the same results: oppression of the opposite sex.

Yes, much of the Kens’ dilemma and ensuing takeover of Barbieland sees the dumb dial turned up to the max — taking the piss out of machismo culture. But at its core, it’s a commentary on the importance of being valued on a societal level. At every corner, the Kens are marginalized in the society they serve. This puts them at odds with the Barbies — not with women. Instead, the Kens’ struggle is meant to parallel the struggle women experience in real life. It also shows how patriarchy can be destructive for the men it empowers.

By adopting patriarchy, the Kens rope themselves into accepting the often rigid criteria to which men must conform to be considered manly. Hence, the overabundance of cowboy hats, trucks, horses, and Mojo Dojo Casa Houses, regardless of whether or not the individual Ken has an affinity for these things. They gain power, yes, but they are still denied individuality, only this time by their own hand.

Shakira mentions that “men have their purpose too” and that “she wants her sons to feel powerful . . . while respecting women.” But this is exactly the note the movie ends on. For the first time, the Kens are allowed to decide what their role in society will be. And for the first time, it won’t be centered around supporting the Barbies’ wants or needs, but instead on what they want for themselves.

But what about the notion that the movie “emasculates” the men? Sure, the Kens could have had more depth than having “beach” as a job, but I don’t think it would have been as funny or as effective an allegory for the loss of agency that comes with oppression. I didn’t find it emasculating. But I do find the uproar around it telling.

As an afropuertorriqueño, I don’t often benefit from narrative plurality, or the existence of a multitude of films, shows, or other media that showcase my people in a variety of different roles and perspectives. But as a man? Absolutely, I do. I can turn on my TV right now and find a movie about a badass killing machine who loves dogs (“John Wick”), a show about a physically lacking, neglected child who uses his wits to outsmart and outlive multiple empires (“Game of Thrones”), a movie about a reluctant savior who inherits his mother’s magic and his father’s kingdom and uses both to become a literal fucking messiah (“Dune”), and the list goes on. Narrative plurality means that there are enough positive depictions of characters like us that the negative depictions don’t hold as much weight. Or at least you’d think.

But you make one movie in which the men — or in this case the Kens — are portrayed as superficial accessories in constant competition for the affections of a woman and have no purpose other than to service her desires, and it undoes all the rest of it. Perhaps, in the same vein, we should consider the impact of the negative portrayals of women and people of color on screen.

Johanna Ferreira is the content director for POPSUGAR Juntos. With more than 10 years of experience, Johanna focuses on how intersectional identities are a central part of Latine culture. Previously, she spent close to three years as the deputy editor at HipLatina, and she has freelanced for numerous outlets including Refinery29, Oprah magazine, Allure, InStyle, and Well+Good. She has also moderated and spoken on numerous panels on Latine identity. .

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April 2, 2024
Tell Me Más: Alex Ferreira Talks Fatherhood, New Music, and the Importance of Making Music With Passion

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In our Q&A /feature series Tell Me Más, we ask some of our favorite Latine artists to share some inside info about their lives and habits, revealing everything from their most recent read to the songs that get them hyped. This month, we trekked out to Joe’s Pub in the historic East Village to see Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Alex Ferreira take the stage and chatted with him about his latest project, fatherhood, and how he’s balancing the two.

Alex Ferreira’s dressing room at Joe’s Pub is small and sparse, without much in the way of personal belongings or even instruments. There’s a guitar case to one side, a knapsack nearby on a leather chair, and the singer himself sitting sideways in front of the lighted vanity — his trademark curls falling in front of his face. It’s a stripped environment, a fitting one given that later in the evening Ferreira will hit the stage with just a guitar and a soundboard and take the crowd on a full spectrum journey of love, heartbreak, and everything in between. But right now, he’s smiling, seemingly in his element: in a back room, in a big city, while on the road.

“I love touring. I love going to different countries, meeting different people. It’s such an inspiration for me,” the artist tells PS.

As a completely independent artist, Ferreira understands that he’s incredibly fortunate to be able to live off his music. But that often comes with long stretches far away from home, so it’s good that he loves to tour. This current tour has seen him on the go since last year. He’s performed all over Spain and has upcoming stops in Mexico. His two-night stint in New York caps the US section that had him in Miami and Puerto Rico. However, having recently become a father, Ferreira admits that he doesn’t have much time to hang out in these places like he once did.

“I want to be with my daughter. I feel like this is a very important time in her life, her first year . . . the responsibility I have as a father is much greater than that of my artistic life,” he says.

This is especially true since, in his artistic life, Ferreira is pretty well-established. Having made waves since 2010 with a singer-songwriter style that incorporates a healthy dose of experimentation and genre-bending, he knows who he is as an artist. And his fans do too.

Later on in the night, the crowd will swell in unison, singing along with the crooner in such a natural way that it seems rehearsed. That’s the kind of musician Ferreira is known for. It’s music that can make the room small. He’s cracking jokes one minute and, the next, singing with such vulnerability that it’s hard not to be moved.

Yet, at home, he is still adjusting to his role as a father.

“Everything is new. Every stage of the process brings a new challenge. Every stage is a learning process and there’s no manual, no university to tell you these things. You learn on the fly,” Ferreira muses.

One such challenge? Finding the time to write and work on his upcoming album while being a full-time dad.

“Before, I could — and I hate this word but — I could procrastinate a little. Now I can’t,” he says. “If I have one hour to work, I can’t waste time. So now my creative process is much more efficient.”

He now views composing, like going to the gym. To get it done he needs a little bit of consistency, dedicating a few hours out of the day to play, write, and practice before he can put pen to paper and come up with a song.

But that doesn’t mean that making music has become just another exercise for the veteran artist. Talking about his upcoming project, “Versiones Para El Tiempo Y La Distancia Vol. 2,” Ferreira shares that he wants to continue to refine the sound he’s been crafting over the last decade while also experimenting further with blending elements of rock, bachata, and other genres into a unique experience. We can expect more of this from his upcoming album.

“In a similar way to how fatherhood is a process of change, I think my career and my discography can also be seen in that light. I like to have a little doubt, to not know what I’m going to do,” he says.”I’ve also realized that my fans don’t come with that prejudice of, ‘Oh, he’s a singer-songwriter, everything is going to sound the same.’ The people who come to see me know that I’m not committed to any one genre. The common denominator is my voice. My lyrics.”

Ferreira possesses an uncanny ability to peer into the connections we all share and transpose them into poetry. In “Me La Saludan” he uses sarcasm to express the weight of wounds that have yet to heal. On his new track, “De Verdad” he pleads for love in all its complexity. Love “as a decision,” the artist muses.

The official version of the song is a jazzy, upbeat fusion. But on stage, in Joe’s Pub’s small theater, Ferreira turns it into a touching, acoustic ode to the long run — a relationship measured not in days or months, but in the moments that make up a life together. Even if you’ve listened to his music for years, hearing him perform live is an experience. His voice takes on a quality that doesn’t translate through speakers, it’s more vulnerable, more dimensional, and able to not only touch but bring the audience closer.

It’s this ability to tap into emotion, to expose life’s raw nerves with tenderness, while at the same time cracking jokes on stage, that has led to Ferreira’s enduring success and relevance, even as the industry experiences an indie boom. Silvana Estrada, Daniél, Me Estás Matando, Guitarricadelafuente — these are today’s Latin music indie darlings. Ferreira has worked with many of them. The members of Daniél, Me Estás Matando were a part of his band at one point. But when asked about his role or standing in the current scene, Ferreira, despite his legacy and achievements, maintains his humility.

“I’ve never thought of it in terms of a role . . . for me [Latin music] is like a chain and I think that I’m just another link in that chain,” he says.”I think it’s so cool that this music can connect with not just first-gen Latinos, but second and third-gen as well, Latinos that don’t even speak Spanish, people that don’t even speak Spanish. For me, it’s a pleasure to be a part of that, like a little grain of sand.”

It gives Ferreira joy seeing his friends and the artists that have come after him find so much success. But he is also wary of the direction of the industry as a whole with everything moving towards songs created in minutes to achieve virality rather than expression.

That’s not to say that he’s anti-electronic. Ferreira has often added electronic elements to his music and is a fan of experimentally-minded artists like James Blake and Bjork. He’s more concerned about the use of things like autotune and AI as a shortcut to artistry rather than as a means to enhance it.

“When everything starts to sound the same, when the beats are all the same, with the same musical structure, with the same effects, and the same melody, I feel like that’s when the machine wins,” he says.

But until then, he has faith in the process of making “imperfect art” and has some sage advice for those looking to make it in music in the current climate.

“Everyone always wants more than they have. Don’t fall into that dynamic. Make music because it’s your passion, because you love it, [and] because you can’t live without it. Because, as a business model, there are better ones out there,” Ferreira says with a wink and a smile.

Read on to find out about Ferreira’s morning ritual, who his favorite artist of the moment is, and his secret to finding peace.

PS: What is your morning ritual?

Ferreira: Coffee and music. If I don’t have my coffee I’ll have a stroke.

PS: If you had to choose just one place to spend the rest of your days, where would it be?

Ferreira: Madrid

PS: Who is your favorite artist at the moment?

Ferreira: Adrianne Lenker.

PS: You have a song called “Sonrisa Valiente.” Who in your life would you say has the most valiant smile?

Ferreira: My daughter.

PS: What’s your method for finding peace?

Ferreira: Music. Singing it, playing it, listening to it, whatever it happens to be, is therapeutic for me.

PS: The best part of being a father?

Ferreira: Connecting with my inner child again. Tapping into that childishness that we lose in life.

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Miguel Machado

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March 26, 2024
The Undeniable Influence of Black Latine Artists on Latin Music

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Black. It is the color that absorbs all colors, the shade that holds the sun’s warmth as it moves east to west. It is the color of a people, not just African but Caribbean, Middle Eastern, American, and more. But it is also music: the color at the center of the trumpet’s brass ring, the shadow that fills the club when the lights get low and the party begins. Over the decades, Latin music has built a reputation for being wildly popular, no doubt in part due to its danceable nature. But what often gets lost in the conversation is the contribution that Black Latines had in cultivating the sound that, today, many of us regard as uniquely “Latin.”

As a kid, I was guilty of just that. It wasn’t until years later that I came to understand the importance of claiming my Afro-Puerto Rican heritage and how it shaped not only my identity but also the rhythms that moved me. Yes, that’s rhythms, plural. From salsa to cumbia to reggaetón, an undeniable Africanía drives these genres. And it’s just as much a part of our music’s DNA as the language we sing it in.

The Rise of Machito, Afro-Cuban Jazz, and La Clave

We can’t talk about the influence of Black Latines and not mention Machito. Frank “Machito” Grillo, along with band director Mario Bauzá, pioneered the sound of Afro-Cuban jazz in New York City in the 1940s. They took the Big Band format that was popular at that time and added conga, bongos, and timbales.

These instruments are staples of traditional African music and provide Latin jazz with signature percussive elements and rhythmic structure. These elements would later become the foundation of salsa music, which evolved from son montuno and Latin jazz; it upped the tempo but kept the African fundamentals, especially “la clave.”

Growing up, my mother used to tell me that la clave was the heartbeat of salsa and, therefore, it was our heartbeat as well. However, while I thought of the clave as something uniquely Latino, the origins of the iconic “ta, ta, ta . . . ta, ta” began in Africa; la clave is an essential part of traditional African music. And even as the first slaves were ripped from their homes and crossed the Caribbean Sea with nothing but a lifetime of servitude awaiting them, la clave came with them. It was as simple as taking two sticks and knocking them together in rhythm, and it would become a staple of the music they produced. It would also eventually embed itself in Latin Caribbean music — not just salsa and son montuno, but other genres as well like danza, rumba, and mambo.

Similarly to jazz in the US, these musical genres would become an avenue to success for Black Latines worldwide and give rise to artists that would forever change the game, like Cheo Feliciano, Celia Cruz, Roberto Roena, Mongo Santamaría, and “El Sonero Mayor” Ismael Rivera.

The African Origins of Merengue, Cumbia, y Más

But it’s not just salsa and its predecessors that are heavily influenced by our African ancestry. Merengue, as we know it today, has its roots in the leisure time given to slaves, during which they would imitate the balls and ballroom dances of their European masters, creating something entirely new in the process. This music would remain mostly confined to the Dominican Republic until the 1930s when pioneer Eduardo Brito brought the music to New York. During the 1960s, merengue would experience another surge in popularity as Dominicans migrated en masse to the city, and Afro-Latino merengueros like Joseíto Mateo would help bring the art form to new heights.

Cumbia music, like merengue, has its origins in dances practiced by the slaves brought to Colombia. Over the years, it evolved to incorporate traditional European instruments and became popular across Latin America. While the sound became extremely popular during the ’90s thanks to pop artists like the late Selena Quintanilla and others, it’s important to remember that the first person to record a cumbia song was the Afro-Colombian artist Luis Carlos Meyer.

Yet another example of this fusion of African and European is the Mexican folk genre of son jarocho. It’s a staple of the Caribbean town of Veracruz, and I first heard of it when I interviewed singer-songwriter Silvana Estrada. When asked about her unique style and influences, the Veracruzan songstress spoke at length about the town’s African history and how it led to the creation of son jarocho’s unique sound.

Before Reggaeton, It Was “La Música Negra”

Before it was known by its current name, reggaetón went through a series of names and transformations. Reggae en español, melaza, underground, rap y reggae —the list goes on. But maybe the most fitting name for it was “La Música Negra.” Not only did this name epitomize the status of the underground movement that was burgeoning in the barrios, but it also identified it as a product of the Black Latines and Afro-descendientes that lived in them.

From El General and Nando Boom in Panama to DJ Negro and Tego Calderón in Puerto Rico, many of the genre’s pioneers in the ’90s and early 2000s were Black Latines. But beyond just the faces that flashed across the television during the music videos, the music itself was inherently African. Pulling from American hip-hop and Jamaican dancehall, reggaetón saw the European elements of Latin music scaled back in favor of an emphasis on heavy percussion. The dembow itself, though taken directly from riddims created by Jamaican producers, correlates with rhythms already found in traditional African music and Caribbean genres (such as Puerto Rican bomba).

The Issue of “Blanqueamiento” and the Invisibility of Black Latines

African influence has been a part of Latin culture since the very beginning, and that’s not even bringing Spain’s mixed African heritage into the mix. And yet today, if we look at all the genres mentioned above, we see that what started as Black music sung by Black artists has become progressively lighter. Reggaetón is a prime example of this, with artists like Karol G, J Balvin, and Bad Bunny all being lighter skinned. For this reason, remembering the African contribution to our music and our culture in its entirety is incredibly important. We must pay homage to the pioneers of these genres and also make space for today’s Black Latine artists to grow alongside their lighter-skinned counterparts.

Because at the end of the day, from the lightest to the darkest of us, our African heritage is something that we share; it connects us. And as we see when we take a closer look at our music, Latin music IS Black music. It’s high time we recognize it as such.

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Miguel Machado

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February 27, 2024
Tell Me Más: Grammy-Winning Goyo’s Rise to Fame Has Been a Win For Afro-Latine Artists

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In our Q&A /feature series Tell Me Más, we ask some of our favorite Latine artists to share some inside info about their lives and habits, revealing everything from their most recent read to the songs that get them hyped. This month, Grammy-winning artist Goyo, a member of legendary group ChocQuibTown, drops in to talk about her latest turn as a solo act, Afro-Latine representation, and what she’s got in store for us in 2024.

As reggaetón, afrobeats, and trap become global, their distinct sounds and formulas become more cemented. However, rapper and singer Goyo has always defied the confines of a single genre. As a member of the award-winning group ChocQuibTown, the sound that she helped craft along with her brother Miguel “Slow” Martinez and Carlos “Tostao” Valencia, combined elements of traditional African percussion, Colombian folk, hip-hop, dancehall, and reggaetón. Now, as she continues her musical journey, this time as a solo artist, Goyo still finds it difficult to put a label on exactly what her sound is.

“The truth is that it’s difficult for me to classify myself as one single thing . . . I can easily do a song that’s straight hip-hop or a song that’s straight folkloric. It’s part of what I am,” says the artist.

When she first arrived on the scene, it was just as difficult for the industry to classify her and her fellow group members. They won their first Grammy under the rock/alternative category for the song “De Donde Vengo Yo,” as there was no urbano category at that time. But since that time, the genre has exploded allowing young artists from barrios across the globe to chase their dreams and allowing female emcees to show what they are capable of.

Yet, despite this influx of new talent, there is a fluidity and maturity to Goyo’s sound that immediately sets her apart.

“Within the urbano movement, hip hop, rapping, singing, that’s where I feel most comfortable,” she tells POPSUGAR.

For long-time fans of ChocQuibTown, this should come as no surprise, as Goyo’s talent for melodic hooks and precise lyricism has been evident since ChocQuibTown’s debut album “Somos Pacifico” in 2006. However, now that the spotlight is solely focused on her, she’s able to fully embrace her versatility, crafting songs and exploring concepts that highlight a more personal journey.

“With ChocQuibTown, what we wanted to do was put Chocó on the map, to vindicate our culture, and in some way say that ‘hey, we’re here.’ We’re representing our hood.”

“With ChocQuibTown, what we wanted to do was put Chocó on the map, to vindicate our culture, and in some way say that ‘hey, we’re here.’ We’re representing our hood,” Goyo shares. “The difference now [as a soloist] is the experience, everything that I’ve lived, showing everything that I am as a versatile woman.”

It’s a journey that has many parallels with a certain hip-hop legend and one of Goyo’s idols: Ms. Lauryn Hill. Both were the sole female members of powerhouse rap groups. Both burst onto the scene to immediate acclaim and not only could harmonize and provide R&B elements to compliment their male group members’ raps, but they were also powerhouse spitters in their own right. The similarities aren’t lost on Goyo as she admits to looking to Ms. Hill, not only as a source of inspiration but a teacher of sorts, helping her build confidence as a young emcee.

“For me, she’s a teacher in the way that [listening to her music] was able to rid me of a lot of fear and allow me to be myself when it came time to write [my verses],” Goyo says.

Along with Hill, Goyo mentions Foxy Brown, and Rah Digga as major influences. On the Latin side of things, artists like Tego Calderon, Celia Cruz, and Grupo Niche have all had a tremendous impact on her.

“I grew up surrounded by music, my mother and my aunts always singing in the house. So while I was growing up influences would always come to me from all different sides,” she recalls.

These different sides were something she got to showcase in the HBO special, “En Letra de Otro,” where she put her spin on classic songs like Don Omar’s “Otra Noche” and Tito Puente’s “Oye Como Va.” But don’t get it twisted, these weren’t just Goyo’s interpretations of classics. She truly made them her own, rearranging them with completely original lyrics and beats.

Now, she’s ready to follow up that project with a new album of all original tracks. And if the first two singles are anything to go by, Goyo is using the deep waters of the urbano genre as her playground.

“Tumbao” gives reggaetón de la vieja vibes with its simple dembow and traditional percussion elements. Insomnia on the other hand is a complete 180. Produced by hip-hop producer IllMind, it starts with a heavy rock riff before leading into some snappy snare drums and driving a Jersey-style bassline over which Goyo flows between a melodic chorus and more pointed raps with ease.

“Within the creative process, it’s important to have a concept, a beginning, and an end,” she says.”But in rap, sometimes you’ll have a punchline that doesn’t have anything to do with the concept but you can make it connect with the next verse. It’s a beautiful game and it’s the thing I most enjoy, that it’s not rigid. That I can start a song melodically and when I get bored, switch to rapping.”

But despite the growth that she’s undergone and despite her career entering a new chapter, Goyo affirms that she’s still the Goyo her fans were introduced to back in 2006. And as an Afro-Colombiana in a genre that, despite its Afro-Latine origins, has become increasingly whitened, she understands that the representation that she’s championed ever since her ensemble days is just as important now as it was in the earlier days of her career.

“I think that the process [by which Afro-Latines find success] is a process that takes time, that maybe in my generation, I won’t see as many changes as the next generation will, but [the work is being done],” she says.”And the important thing is that we are conscious of that work . . . that we understand where we come from and take beauty from that … so that we can keep advancing and make the load lighter for [future generations].”

When it comes to lightening the load, Goyo has played a significant role since stepping onto the world stage. Not only did she help put the historically Black neighborhood of Chocó on the map, but her continued success helped to make room and provide a blueprint for the next generation of Afro-Latine artists, showing them that commercial and critical success is possible while still staying true to your sound and where you come from.

Yet, for an artist who has already achieved so much and stands as an inspiration to her people, Goyo wants her fans to know that she’s still got more to achieve at this stage of her career and is looking forward to bringing them along for the ride.

“We’re putting a lot of love into the album, “La Pantera,” and I hope that the fans like it and connect with [it] . . . ,” she says. “Something I’ve always wanted to achieve is to have a solo album — to perform, to tour as a soloist and reconnect with the fans who have followed us and also to find along this new route more people to accompany me in the process. Now, I’m able to materialize that dream.”

Now that we’ve got you hyped for Goyo’s upcoming project, keep reading to get the deets on who she’d like to collaborate with, what she’d be doing if she wasn’t rapping, and what she does cuando la insomnia se la pega.

POPSUGAR: Where is your happy place?

Goyo: Wherever my family is.

POPSUGAR: What song would you play to get the party started?

Goyo: Blessings (Remix) by Victor Thompson.

POPSUGAR: What do you do when you can’t sleep?

Goyo: Write. Read.

POPSUGAR: Who’s your most listened to artist right now?

Goyo: Fridayy. I’m crazy about Fridayy

POPSUGAR: Which artists would you like to collaborate with in the future?

Goyo: Don Omar. Tego Calderon. And Eladio. He goes super hard.

POPSUGAR: If it wasn’t music, what passion would you dedicate yourself to?

Goyo: Writing.

POPSUGAR: What was the best thing about being in a music group?

Goyo: Being the only woman.

POPSUGAR: What was the most difficult thing?

Goyo: Being the only woman.

POPSUGAR: Finally, how would you define the word “Tumbao”?

Goyo: Tumbao is that special something that I have and that you have but is different for everyone.

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Miguel Machado

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February 23, 2024
The Ewing X Yandel Collab Celebrates the Latine Community's Love For Sneaker Culture

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Jordan Keyser
Jordan Keyser

Uptowns. Jordans. Foams. Classics. Maxes. Gazelles. Stan Smiths. In today’s world, these aren’t just sneakers — they’re cultural legends. These iconic kicks helped elevate what began as a daily aspect of life for Brown and Black folks living in inner cities to a global culture. But as the masses have embraced sneaker culture and streetwear, the roots and the people at the heart of the movement tend to get overlooked. In their latest collaboration with reggaetón superstar and legend Yandel, Ewing Athletics and Product Line Manager, Jonas Guerrero are trying to change that, by paying homage to a community that has worked alongside the Black American community in elevating sneakers to becoming the art form that they are today: Latines.

“As a Latino, I’ve always been big on [shining] light on our community. I want to tell Latin stories,” the 37-year-old designer tells POPSUGAR.

Telling Latine stories through sneakers is a sentiment that Guerrero admits, that even to him, at times sounds ironic. After all, sneaker culture has its roots in hip-hop, an art form that has included contributions from Latines since its inception. But, akin to the way genres like rap and reggaetón have become more commercial over the years, Guerrero has observed a similar transformation in the sneaker game.

“Before it used to be more about individuality, standing out, you know, having a voice. Now, it’s all monetary,” he adds. “You can have x amount of money and buy anything, whereas before you had to know someone to know where to get it.”

But while Guerrero brings that old-school passion and mentality to his work, his latest sneaker design, the Ewing x Yandel Rogue, which is set to drop in early 2024, bridges the gap between the past and future. Guerrero cites the Nike Mag, a shoe he refers to as the “holy grail” of sneakers, along with reggaetoneros Wisin y Yandel’s classic album “Los Extraterrestres,” as influencing his design process and getting him into a more alien, futuristic mindset. This is reflected in the Yandel Rogue’s gray, white, and scuba blue colorway.

“It’s a shoe for the future,” he says. And at a time when Latine artists like Bad Bunny have become some of the biggest stars in the world, a collaboration with an icon like Yandel, who not only remains relevant but helped reggaetón reach global heights, is a fitting way to acknowledge where Latines are going while honoring the many contributions our culture has made to street style over decades. The Puerto Rican artist has been having quite a successful year. Yandel became a two-time nominee at the 2023 Latin Grammys, recently signed a deal with Warner Music Latin, and also made history at the Empire State Building in New York by becoming the first Latin act to perform at the venue during Hispanic Heritage Month.

“A big portion of [the Ewing Athletics] consumer base is Latino. And while we’ve done all these rap collabs, I wanted to pitch something based on Latin music.”

“A big portion of [the Ewing Athletics] consumer base is Latino. And while we’ve done all these rap collabs, I wanted to pitch something based on Latin music,” says Guerrero. So he pitched them the Yandel collab. And as fate would have it, the reggaetonero was already a fan of the brand, having purchased a pair of Ewing Athletics kicks a week prior.

“I’m a big fan and collector of sneakers and a big fan of NY Knicks legend and NBA Hall of Famer Patrick Ewing. Now, I get to have my own shoe in collaboration with one of the shining stars in the sports world,” Yandel states in a recent press release.

But for Guerrero, who is Puerto Rican and Dominican, this project is more than just a collaboration with an artist he grew up idolizing. It’s the culmination of everything he is — his story. The child of first-generation immigrants, Guerrero grew up in the Bronx. Unable to afford the more expensive brands like the Jordans and Nikes his peers were wearing, he would take markers to draw his own “Jordan” or “23” on his Filas and British Knights. As he got older, his creations became more complex with bandana print and or knock-off Gucci print.

“I was trying to make it my own,” he says.”I’ve always been into sneakers and individuality. I’ve always been unique and wanted things a certain way.” But despite this early penchant for customizing kicks, Guerrero never thought that he’d be in a position to design his own.

“My goal was never to be a designer. I always thought, ‘I’m a poor Dominican kid from the Bronx, I can’t be a designer.’”

“My goal was never to be a designer. I always thought, ‘I’m a poor Dominican kid from the Bronx, I can’t be a designer,’” Guerrero admits. Not only did he not have the right college degree for it, but he also never saw people like himself in those positions. Fortunately, he was able to beat the odds and leverage his passion for kicks into an internship at Complex Magazine, where he wrote about sneakers. This opportunity would eventually lead him to Ewing Athletics.

“With time, as the people here started seeing what I was capable of, they gave me an opportunity,” Guerrero recalls. That opportunity started small, giving his opinion on new samples. But his earnest passion for sneakers was evident, and eventually led to more responsibility and the opportunity to turn his creative vision into a reality. Even so, Guerrero is candid about his struggles with imposter syndrome and having to work to overcome them.

“It’s something that’s been difficult for me because, like I said, I never saw myself doing what I’m doing now. A lot of it was not believing that I could do it. Now, I know what I bring to the table,” he says. “I go super hard, and I don’t take it for granted because I know that this could all end in an instant.”

With that mentality, Guerrero knew that it was important to nail the collaboration with Yandel, not just for himself, but for the brand that believed in him and their customers. The Yandel Rogue marks the biggest Ewing collab so far, and it’s also the brand’s first time partnering with a Latin music star. Therefore, Guerrero felt extra pressure to do his due diligence and tell the story as best as he could. And that meant telling it in Spanish.

“When you open the box, the comic that comes with it is in full Spanish. The little hang tag that comes on the sneaker is in full Spanish. It’s something that we’ve never done before. It’s us telling our story through the sneaker,” says Guerrero.

And at the end of the day, the narrative of that story doesn’t belong to any one person or group. It’s the story of the underdog. It’s Patrick Ewing’s story, who put the city on his back and is forever loved and honored even without bringing back a championship. It’s Yandel’s story, going from being a barber in the town of Cayey, Puerto Rico to being one of the most successful Puerto Rican artists of all time. And it’s Guerrero’s story, every immigrant’s story, really, of people coming to a big city full of danger and promise and finding a way to make it. But even with a successful collaboration under his belt, Guerrero knows that he can’t stop pushing, and that success is not something you achieve, it’s something you do every day.

“I just want to inspire the youth, you know, people that look like us,” he says. “You know, like it’s never too late. You can’t put an age on success.”

The Ewing x Yandel Rogue will be available for purchase at 10 a.m. ET on January 5, 2024, via ewingathletics.com and yandel.com.

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Miguel Machado

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December 26, 2023
Tell Me Más: Gyanma Is Breaking All of Reggaetón’s Rules

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Image Source: Joseph Rivera/Illustration by Aly Lim

In our Q&A /feature series Tell Me Más, we ask some of our favorite Latine artists to answer the questions only their BFFs know about them, revealing everything from their most recent read to the songs that get them hyped. This month, indie rap wondercon Gyanma drops in and gives us his take on the current state of Puerto Rico’s music scene.

In Puerto Rico, reggaetón is king. And while that fact has given multiple generations plenty of opportunities and anthems pa’ perrear, it’s also meant that alternative sounds, or even music that was reggaetón-adjacent, didn’t get much love outside of the underground. But today, even amidst a new trap wave and a resurgence of the old school-reggaetón sound, a new guard of up-and-coming emcees is shifting the paradigm on the island. They are fusing genres and making music that breaks from the established formula. Case and point: Gyanma, a tongue-in-cheek lyricist from Bayamón using his witty bars and R&B-soul style on a genre more closely associated with the streets.

“Reggaetón specifically, that world is very much from the streets,” the 29-year-old emcee tells POPSUGAR in a mix of English and Spanish, both of which he is fluent in. “And a lot of times it’s like you have to be approved by the streets to make use of the international trampoline that Puerto Rico can be. But if you’re not, you’re what they call here ‘los loquitos.’”

“Haciendo la música de los loquitos” or “making crazy people music” is a saying thrown around by purists in Puerto Rico to disparage genres and subgenres that fall outside of what has become a pretty stringent formula for making hit records over the past decade. But as artists like RaiNao, Tommy Blanco, and Pink Pablo continue to build followings and headline shows in historic neighborhoods like La Perla and Santurce — barrios where reggaetón legends like DJ Negro, Arcángel, De La Ghetto, and more cut their teeth —it is becoming clear that “los loquitos” are making an impact.

“It’s trippy because now, the music of los loquitos is what a lot of mainstream artists are trying to emulate,” Gyanma says.”So [it just shows you that] sometimes you have to prove yourself in other ways and do the most to get the respect.”

For the artist — whose real name Gyan Henriquez Rodriguez — proving himself meant leaving the island and starting from the ground up at Berklee College of Music in Boston.

“Before going to Berklee, I wasn’t formally trained in music. I was very intuitive and could play by ear . . . but I was more of a songwriter. My voice was my instrument,” he shares.

Gyanma grew up in a musical household. His father is also a musician so by the age of 12, the young emcee was writing songs and learning to play the guitar, violin, and piano. But his time at Berklee would see him expand his knowledge of music fundamentals. It would also be the place that cemented his love for hip-hop. Prior to his time there, Gyanma describes his musical trajectory as being more of a singer-songwriter. It was at Berklee that he discovered his penchant for writing raps.

“I really got into like Kendrick, Frank Ocean, more hip-hop and R&B. And that kind of started shaping my sound,” he says.

It’s a sound that the artist says has come a long way. After graduating from Berklee before the latest Latin Boom and the success of the SoundCloud generation, Gyanma originally wrote his rhymes in English. But eventually, he realized that his wordplay in Spanish was stronger and had to ask himself why he was continuing to, “dribble with his left hand,” as he puts it. After six years in Boston, Gyanma headed back home, determined to share his music with his people and build an organic following in Puerto Rico. And so far, he’s been successful at doing just that, lacing smooth vocals and poetic lyrics over handcrafted beats that incorporate everything from funk to disco to jazz to create the kind of seductive vibe that is making musicheads take notice.

His latest project is an EP with long-time collaborator and equally talented co-emcee Enyel C, “Duo Deleite.” Over the course of eight tracks, the two high school friends craft an album that sounds like star-soaked nights and palm-tree-lined boulevards, capturing the essence of island life while pushing the soundscape associated with it — something Gyanma feels is necessary for a thriving, healthy music scene.

“It’s no hate, but I feel like the market here feels really saturated because a lot of people are doing the same thing,” the rapper says. “A lot of it sounds like the same type of beats, the same type of energy, you know.”

That’s why, along with developing his own career, he also helps aspiring local artists develop theirs. The brainchild of another close friend, Raúl Santos, ALAS (Ante La Adversidad, Sigue) has grown from an event planning partnership between the two into a hybrid record label, recording studio, and talent incubator.

“A lot of people come with very raw potential and raw energy that at the end of the day still needs developing . . . We try to help them shape their sound, tell them how to start off their projects, [and] how to start off their career,” Gyanma says.

The project also speaks to the Puerto Rican ideal of auto-gestion which roughly translates to self-management. Auto-gestion reflects an attitude of self-sufficiency that islanders have had to develop in the face of natural disasters and government corruption — learning to elevate themselves rather than wait to be elevated. So, it makes sense that ALAS really came into its own during a global crisis.

“ALAS was a pandemic baby,” says Santos. “It’s [me and Gyanma’s] response to everything we lived through during our 20s here in PR . . . trying to live and create through hurricanes, corrupt government, pandemic, etc. Through our music and events, we embody a message of independence and perseverance ”

As a label and incubator, the guidance ALAS provides is tailored to each artist. Sometimes it’s production-oriented, sometimes it’s about crafting the visuals around a project (along with the recording studio in Santurce, ALAS also runs a photo studio), and sometimes it’s more managerial. But the goal is always the same: help young artists overcome the hurdles of the music industry while making good music.

Santos sees this approach as continuing to cement their position in the industry and help bring new color to the Latin music soundscape while helping artists carve their own paths. And for Gyanma, that path is one of many hats, as he guides not only his own career, but helps push the alternative scene from behind the scenes as an artist, producer, and label owner. It’s no wonder that, since returning to the island, he’s been able to cultivate a faithful following of fans, collaborating with like-minded peers and alt-perreo hitmakers such as RaiNao.

“We might not have the biggest number of digital followers, but our events are very well-received. We have good turn out. It’s very grassroots, very organic,” he says.

Making everything organic, making everything flow, seems to be the guiding principle by which Gyanma conducts himself. For instance, one of the tracks off the “Duo Deleite” project, “To lo Gantel,” switches seamlessly towards its end from a kind of California G-funk-inspired song to a throwback reggaetón de la mata and it just works. But organic also describes his approach to the future. He’s gotten some offers from record labels but says it has to make sense — the deal has to be right. Until then, he’ll keep feeding the people with a steady supply of EPs, two of which are on the way: a 3-track pure perreo project and another more experimental project that pulls from anime and kawaii culture.

“I’ve always loved EPs. I can’t really think of things as a single, I always have to be like ‘OK, so what’s the project that’s coming with it?’” Gyanma says,

But no matter the project, subject matter, or genre he chooses, fans can be assured that the end result will have that quintessential Gyanma touch, his sometimes dirty, sometimes poetic lyrics, and sound like nothing else out there.

And now that you’ve got Gyanma and his partner Enyel C on your radar, keep reading to find out who he’s got on his personal playlist, what he’s been watching lately, and more.

POPSUGAR: How do you take your coffee?

Gyanma: Oat milk and brown sugar.

POPSUGAR: What show or anime are you watching right now?

Gyanma: I’m finishing “Naruto” right now, but I also just finished “Moving,” a K-Drama about superheroes.

POPSUGAR: What album or artist are you obsessed with right now?

Gyanma: Jordan Ward.

POPSUGAR: Describe your music in one word.

Gyanma: Fire.

POPSUGAR: What’s the best thing about being an up-and-coming artist?

Gyanma: Being creative as a job.

POPSUGAR: What’s the worst thing about being an up-and-coming artist?

Gyanma: Being creative as a job.

POPSUGAR: Who do you want to collaborate with most?

Gyanma: Tainy would be dope.

POPSUGAR:Finish the sentence: Puerto Rico está . . .

Gyanma:Caluroso🔥🔥🔥

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Miguel Machado

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October 16, 2023

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