(Click here for the Spanish version titled "Nina, la feminista bandolera" published in today's El Diario/La Prensa, Wednesday, June 20.)
Nina, the feminist bandolera
In last week’s column, I was wondering about the pleasures many women are deriving from reggaeton’s sexual aggressiveness.
Nina La Bandolera, one of my favorite reggaetonic bloggers, gives us a few clues in “The Death of Reggaeton”: “We LOVE when a man wants us and doesnt croon at us but comes at us full-force, cockdiesel and aggressive as all hell. Maybe not in the office or at school, but thats what music is for. We can safely experience that.”
Obviously, Nina likes the agresivo approach. But hold up! She’s not into agressiveness 24-7. She’s not into algarete agressiveness. What’s appropriate on the dance-floor, is not necessarily appropriate at school or at work.
According to Nina, music and dance are spaces for pleasure and play where masculine aggressiveness is an aphrodisiac, where women celebrate that aggressiveness as part of sexual fantasy. In that case, aggressiveness is a consensual performance, an improvised theater piece that can only take place in a “safe space” and in a context of mutual respect.
“Of course we dont want to be seen as mere objects,” writes Nina. One thing is to celebrate yourself as a “sexual creature,” and another is to be reduced to a mere sexual object.
Our society frequently has demanded that women behave “decently” and “with decorum” as pre-conditions for being respected. Pues no, argues Nina. Respect should not be dependent on how lascivious on the dance-floor or promiscuous in bed a woman is.
Nina is in illustrious company in making those arguments; author Joan Morgan who popularized the term “hip-hop feminism” is the most prominent example. She proposed a “feminism brave enough to fuck with the grays,” brave enough to explore internal contradictions, brave enough to acknowledge how women in general (and each of us as individuals) are often complicit with patriarchy partly because we are unwilling to give up its benefits.
And, speaking about feminism, Nina can certainly be considered part of what Jillian M. Báez describes as “reggaeton feminism” in an article titled “‘En mi imperio’: Competing Discourses of Agency in Ivy Queen’s Reggaeton” published last year in the Center for Puerto Rican Studies Journal.
I hope Nina will forgive me if, like many other women, she doesn’t like being called a feminist. I’m using the label, among other reasons, because I find it to be useful shorthand. But in the end, the label has much less importance than the ideas. And at the level of ideas, I see in Nina a desire to grapple with gender dynamics in all their complexity, a desire not to blame but to transform. I see in her a playful, much-needed reggaetonic feminism.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Does she like it "agresivo"?
(Click here for the Spanish version titled "¿A ella le gusta agresivo?" published in El Diario/La Prensa last Wednesday, June 13.)
Does she like it "agresivo"?
Last Saturday, June 9, I was at the Bling Blineo concert sponsored by radio station La Kalle. There, before a not-quite-full house, performed Jowell & Randy, Tito El Bambino, Héctor El Father, El Torito, Victor Manuelle, Wisín y Yandel, Don Omar, and others.
Sitting with a friend in the nosebleed seats but thanks to the giant screen focused on the artists on stage, I had a great time enjoying the music, criticizing all of the many things that just begged to be criticized, and observing the reactions of the audience around us.
One little detail caught both of our attentions. As usual, the reggaeton headliners had dancers with them almost at every moment. What was not usual was the humble role played by the female dancers compared to the starring role played by the male dancers. In many occasions, the women onstage danced along the margins of the main action while the male dancers, often shirtless, would gather tightly around the singers/rappers, suggestively humping the air to the sounds of the fiery howls coming from the women in the audience.
That strong display of macho beauty and erotic energy from the stage, accompanied by so many songs aimed to make the females hot, left me thinking, among other things, in the pleasures that women are deriving from this musical genre. (I'll leave the male social/sexual bonding aspects of this all for another time.)
Reggaeton is often criticized for its sexism and/or sexual agressiveness. What is fascinating is that it is precisely its agressiveness that atracts many women. "A ella le gusta agresivo/Que la calienten con dembow… Dale más látigo" (She likes it agressive/She likes to be made hot to the sounds of dembow... Give her more of that whip), as Jowell & Randy sang that night.
Now I can't stop thinking about all that attracts women to these sado-masochistic images and fantasies. And, as I've asked myself plenty of times before, I wonder if (and how) sexual explicitness can be untangled from sexism; I wonder if (and how) we can participate in power games on the dancefloor or in bed, but, once the game is over, to be able to leave those dynamics behind.
I think it's possible. I'm just not quite sure how.
(For Nina la Bandolera's insightful blog post that touches on similar topics. Click here.)
Does she like it "agresivo"?
Last Saturday, June 9, I was at the Bling Blineo concert sponsored by radio station La Kalle. There, before a not-quite-full house, performed Jowell & Randy, Tito El Bambino, Héctor El Father, El Torito, Victor Manuelle, Wisín y Yandel, Don Omar, and others.
Sitting with a friend in the nosebleed seats but thanks to the giant screen focused on the artists on stage, I had a great time enjoying the music, criticizing all of the many things that just begged to be criticized, and observing the reactions of the audience around us.
One little detail caught both of our attentions. As usual, the reggaeton headliners had dancers with them almost at every moment. What was not usual was the humble role played by the female dancers compared to the starring role played by the male dancers. In many occasions, the women onstage danced along the margins of the main action while the male dancers, often shirtless, would gather tightly around the singers/rappers, suggestively humping the air to the sounds of the fiery howls coming from the women in the audience.
That strong display of macho beauty and erotic energy from the stage, accompanied by so many songs aimed to make the females hot, left me thinking, among other things, in the pleasures that women are deriving from this musical genre. (I'll leave the male social/sexual bonding aspects of this all for another time.)
Reggaeton is often criticized for its sexism and/or sexual agressiveness. What is fascinating is that it is precisely its agressiveness that atracts many women. "A ella le gusta agresivo/Que la calienten con dembow… Dale más látigo" (She likes it agressive/She likes to be made hot to the sounds of dembow... Give her more of that whip), as Jowell & Randy sang that night.
Now I can't stop thinking about all that attracts women to these sado-masochistic images and fantasies. And, as I've asked myself plenty of times before, I wonder if (and how) sexual explicitness can be untangled from sexism; I wonder if (and how) we can participate in power games on the dancefloor or in bed, but, once the game is over, to be able to leave those dynamics behind.
I think it's possible. I'm just not quite sure how.
(For Nina la Bandolera's insightful blog post that touches on similar topics. Click here.)
Thursday, June 14, 2007
50 Cent and His “Amusement Park”
Click here for the Spanish original published in El Diario/La Prensa on June 6, 2007.
50 Cent and His “Amusement Park”
A few weeks ago, Fifty Cent’s video “Amusement Park” premiered. (No sense in providing a description of the video like I did in the Spanish print version, since I can post the video below.)
If you’re in no mood to watch the whole video, here’s the summary: Gorgeous video models writhe and shake as Fifty promises sweet pleasures to you, the listener (if you’re a woman), and all your (girl)friends.
The day the video premiered on BET’s 106 & Park, Fifty was the show’s special guest. Host Rocsi asked if he worried about being accused of disrespecting women, considering the recent and feverish national debates regarding sexism and hip-hop.
Fifty looked at Rocsi, innocence and surprise engraved on his face, and explained that the video was not an insult to women. On the contrary!, he said. It was a compliment: women are just more beautiful than men.
Ugh! Why do so many only see the world through the narrow tunnel of their own desires (and social indoctrination)? Fifty, in that regard, is certainly no exception.
The irony is that, in the video, Fifty’s naked chest is pre-packaged as eye candy just as much as the models are. Fifty is neither more nor less beautiful than them. The only difference is that they are many, interchangeable, individually expendable; while Fifty, though just as luscious, is the single, virile epicenter: irreplaceable.
50 Cent and His “Amusement Park”
A few weeks ago, Fifty Cent’s video “Amusement Park” premiered. (No sense in providing a description of the video like I did in the Spanish print version, since I can post the video below.)
If you’re in no mood to watch the whole video, here’s the summary: Gorgeous video models writhe and shake as Fifty promises sweet pleasures to you, the listener (if you’re a woman), and all your (girl)friends.
The day the video premiered on BET’s 106 & Park, Fifty was the show’s special guest. Host Rocsi asked if he worried about being accused of disrespecting women, considering the recent and feverish national debates regarding sexism and hip-hop.
Fifty looked at Rocsi, innocence and surprise engraved on his face, and explained that the video was not an insult to women. On the contrary!, he said. It was a compliment: women are just more beautiful than men.
Ugh! Why do so many only see the world through the narrow tunnel of their own desires (and social indoctrination)? Fifty, in that regard, is certainly no exception.
The irony is that, in the video, Fifty’s naked chest is pre-packaged as eye candy just as much as the models are. Fifty is neither more nor less beautiful than them. The only difference is that they are many, interchangeable, individually expendable; while Fifty, though just as luscious, is the single, virile epicenter: irreplaceable.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
50 Cent y su "Parque de diversiones"
Here is a slightly longer version than the one that appeared in El Diario last Wednesday, 6-6-07. I'll post the English translation soon.
50 Cent y su "Parque de diversiones"
Raquel Z. Rivera
Hace un par de semanas se estrenó el video musical titulado "Amusement Park" (Parque de diversiones) de uno de los más populares chicos malos del hip-hop comercial: Fifty Cent. A continuación un resumen de los primeros segundos del video:
Luces de neón parpadean al son de una melodía juguetona y sexy, con un leve eco de música de circo. Retumba la percusión digital y aparece una rápida sucesión de hembrunos caramelitos visuales semi-desnudos.
Una voluminosa chica sonríe recostada en el piso con su pelo arrubiado y peinado estilo años veinte; otra baila muy seductora con la espalda pegada a un espejo; otra de preciosos ojos gatunos está de rodillas en la arena y empinando verticalmente su escultural nalgaje; otra monta un caballito de carrusel vestida en traje de baño; otra maneja un "carrito loco" con camisa de brillo dorado y piernas abiertas.
La cámara por fin se detiene sobre una joven de piernas esbeltas coronadas por un minúsculo pantaloncito rojo. Su torso gira ágilmente sobre el eje de sus caderas, soltando destellos de piel caoba y larga cabellera serpentina.
Ya una vez comienza el clásico patrón percusivo del hip-hop, aparece por un segundo el protagonista, el único varón del video: piel perfecta de reluciente color ébano y media sonrisa de nene malo. Con sensual convicción declara su nombre: "Fifty." Y la muchacha del pantalón rojo cae de rodillas, postrada en rendición frente al deseo que inspira la mera mención del apelativo del artista.
El resto del video sigue la misma línea: las modelos se contonean mientras Fifty promete dulces placeres, para ti (si eres mujer) y todas tus amigas.
El día que se estrenó el video, Fifty era el invitado especial del popular programa 106 & Park del canal televisivo BET. Rocsi (Raquel Díaz), una de las conductoras del programa, le preguntó si no le preocupaba que lo acusaran de faltarle el respeto a las mujeres, luego del debate nacional que se ha formado sobre el sexismo en la música hip-hop.
Fifty la miró sorprendido, con cara de inocente, y explicó que el video no era un insulto sino un cumplido para las mujeres: las féminas sencillamente son más bellas que los hombres; a todo el mundo (incluso a las mujeres heterosexuales) les gusta mirar a mujeres bellas; es por eso que en nuestra sociedad se vende de todo a través de las caras y cuerpos de las mujeres. Todo lo anterior no tiene nada de malo, según Fifty.
¡Qué fastidio!, pensé yo. Lo que es ver todo a través del estrecho túnel del deseo propio y la indoctrinación social. Lo peor es que, igual que Fifty, tantos otros y otras piensan lo mismo. Mis propios estudiantes universitarios me han dejado boquiabierta al manifestar ideas parecidas.
Lo irónico es que el musculoso torso desnudo de Fifty es tan caramelo visual como los cuerpos femeninos del video. Fifty no es ni más ni menos hermoso que las modelos. La diferencia es que ellas son muchas, intercambiables, sustituibles. Él, aunque igual de suculento, es el único macho epicentro.
50 Cent y su "Parque de diversiones"
Raquel Z. Rivera
Hace un par de semanas se estrenó el video musical titulado "Amusement Park" (Parque de diversiones) de uno de los más populares chicos malos del hip-hop comercial: Fifty Cent. A continuación un resumen de los primeros segundos del video:
Luces de neón parpadean al son de una melodía juguetona y sexy, con un leve eco de música de circo. Retumba la percusión digital y aparece una rápida sucesión de hembrunos caramelitos visuales semi-desnudos.
Una voluminosa chica sonríe recostada en el piso con su pelo arrubiado y peinado estilo años veinte; otra baila muy seductora con la espalda pegada a un espejo; otra de preciosos ojos gatunos está de rodillas en la arena y empinando verticalmente su escultural nalgaje; otra monta un caballito de carrusel vestida en traje de baño; otra maneja un "carrito loco" con camisa de brillo dorado y piernas abiertas.
La cámara por fin se detiene sobre una joven de piernas esbeltas coronadas por un minúsculo pantaloncito rojo. Su torso gira ágilmente sobre el eje de sus caderas, soltando destellos de piel caoba y larga cabellera serpentina.
Ya una vez comienza el clásico patrón percusivo del hip-hop, aparece por un segundo el protagonista, el único varón del video: piel perfecta de reluciente color ébano y media sonrisa de nene malo. Con sensual convicción declara su nombre: "Fifty." Y la muchacha del pantalón rojo cae de rodillas, postrada en rendición frente al deseo que inspira la mera mención del apelativo del artista.
El resto del video sigue la misma línea: las modelos se contonean mientras Fifty promete dulces placeres, para ti (si eres mujer) y todas tus amigas.
El día que se estrenó el video, Fifty era el invitado especial del popular programa 106 & Park del canal televisivo BET. Rocsi (Raquel Díaz), una de las conductoras del programa, le preguntó si no le preocupaba que lo acusaran de faltarle el respeto a las mujeres, luego del debate nacional que se ha formado sobre el sexismo en la música hip-hop.
Fifty la miró sorprendido, con cara de inocente, y explicó que el video no era un insulto sino un cumplido para las mujeres: las féminas sencillamente son más bellas que los hombres; a todo el mundo (incluso a las mujeres heterosexuales) les gusta mirar a mujeres bellas; es por eso que en nuestra sociedad se vende de todo a través de las caras y cuerpos de las mujeres. Todo lo anterior no tiene nada de malo, según Fifty.
¡Qué fastidio!, pensé yo. Lo que es ver todo a través del estrecho túnel del deseo propio y la indoctrinación social. Lo peor es que, igual que Fifty, tantos otros y otras piensan lo mismo. Mis propios estudiantes universitarios me han dejado boquiabierta al manifestar ideas parecidas.
Lo irónico es que el musculoso torso desnudo de Fifty es tan caramelo visual como los cuerpos femeninos del video. Fifty no es ni más ni menos hermoso que las modelos. La diferencia es que ellas son muchas, intercambiables, sustituibles. Él, aunque igual de suculento, es el único macho epicentro.
Los sueños incumplidos del reggaetón
Click here for my El Diario/La Prensa column published 5-30-07 titled "Los sueños incumplidos del reggaetón" (Reggaetón's unrealized dreams).
Friday, May 25, 2007
The future of reggaeton
(For the version in Spanish published in Wednesday's El Diario/La Prensa, click here.)
Last Sunday, the Miami Herald published an article titled "Reggaeton's unrealized dream."
Since Daddy Yankee had his hit "Gasolina," quite a few articles have come out in the most important newspapers in the nation (Los Angeles Times, New York Times, etc.) debating about the present and the future of this genre. Some have said reggaeton is dying. Others have said that reggaeton is dead. Still others have assured us that it's only hibernating.
Jordan Levin, author of the Miami Herald article, argues that reggaeton has reached a moderate and stable level of popularity—a plateau—but that its fortunes can change at any moment.
Levin says that the history of hip-hop (rap, in this case) can help us understand reggaeton's trajectory better: hip-hop spent its first decade (1970s) as an underground phenomenon, then had approximately a decade of successes, failures and folks speculating about its future (1980s), and it wasn't until the 1990s that it secured its spot as one of the darlings of global pop music. That's why, Levin says, considering the small amount of time reggaeton has had as commercial music, it's not strange at all that it's future seems so murky.
What attracts me the most about Levin's arguments is the idea that today's commercial hip-hop music can serve as a mirror for reggaeton's future.
"Will gentrification spoil the birthplace of hip-hop?", asks a New York Times headline from last Monday in an article dedicated to the fate of the building (and the neighborhood) where DJ Kool Herc threw the party that many credit as marking hip-hop's beginning.
Taking that headline as a mirror for the future of reggaeton we can safely predict that a few corporations and a tiny number of artists will keep making juicy profit$ from a music packaged and marketed as ghetto or "barrio" raw material. Meanwhile, the barrio (whether we're talking Santurce, Piñones, East Harlem, Bushwick, or the South Bronx) will be plagued by the usual problems: gentrification, displacement, police brutality, high dropout rates...
That would be reggaeton's true "unrealized dream." And we would all be guilty of its unfulfilled promises.
Last Sunday, the Miami Herald published an article titled "Reggaeton's unrealized dream."
Since Daddy Yankee had his hit "Gasolina," quite a few articles have come out in the most important newspapers in the nation (Los Angeles Times, New York Times, etc.) debating about the present and the future of this genre. Some have said reggaeton is dying. Others have said that reggaeton is dead. Still others have assured us that it's only hibernating.
Jordan Levin, author of the Miami Herald article, argues that reggaeton has reached a moderate and stable level of popularity—a plateau—but that its fortunes can change at any moment.
Levin says that the history of hip-hop (rap, in this case) can help us understand reggaeton's trajectory better: hip-hop spent its first decade (1970s) as an underground phenomenon, then had approximately a decade of successes, failures and folks speculating about its future (1980s), and it wasn't until the 1990s that it secured its spot as one of the darlings of global pop music. That's why, Levin says, considering the small amount of time reggaeton has had as commercial music, it's not strange at all that it's future seems so murky.
What attracts me the most about Levin's arguments is the idea that today's commercial hip-hop music can serve as a mirror for reggaeton's future.
"Will gentrification spoil the birthplace of hip-hop?", asks a New York Times headline from last Monday in an article dedicated to the fate of the building (and the neighborhood) where DJ Kool Herc threw the party that many credit as marking hip-hop's beginning.
Taking that headline as a mirror for the future of reggaeton we can safely predict that a few corporations and a tiny number of artists will keep making juicy profit$ from a music packaged and marketed as ghetto or "barrio" raw material. Meanwhile, the barrio (whether we're talking Santurce, Piñones, East Harlem, Bushwick, or the South Bronx) will be plagued by the usual problems: gentrification, displacement, police brutality, high dropout rates...
That would be reggaeton's true "unrealized dream." And we would all be guilty of its unfulfilled promises.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Reggaetón en el salón
Click here to access my column in today's El Diario/La Prensa, titled "Reggaetón en el salón" (Reggaeton in the Classroom). For an earlier, longer version in English, click here.
Friday, May 04, 2007
"Bemba Colorá" and the "Black Girl Painted White"
In response to my previous post "From White to Mulata: The Darkening Powers of Reggaeton,” David mentioned the LG and Cyn collaboration “Bemba Colorá,” produced by Danny Fornaris. (Thanks, David, for pointing me to it.)
LG:
Tú eres una negra rubia, pintá de blanca (You are a blond black girl, painted white)
Con la bemba colorá, black from the back (With thick red lips, black from the back)
Tú eres una negra rubia, pintá de blanca (You are a blond black girl, painted white)
La reina de la rumba y el meneo te encanta (The queen of the rumba and you love to move)
Cyn:
Epa, tengo la bemba colora (Hey, my thick lips are red)
Soy la negra jabá (I’m the high-yellow black girl)
LG:
Revuelca las caderas pa’ sentirte, negrita (Move your hips so I can feel you, black girl)
Revuelca las caderas pa’ sentirte, blanquita (Move your hips so I can feel you, white girl)
Revuelca las caderas pa’ sentirte, rubiona (Move your hips so I can feel you, blondie)
Revuelca las caderas pa’ sentirte, jabá [...](Move your hips so I can feel you, high-yellow black girl) [...]
Narizona, pero que linda es (Big-nosed but pretty)
Eres bembona, pero que rica es (Tick-lipped but pretty)
Eres culona y tu booty clap excita (Big-assed and your booty clap excites)
A hombres como yo [...] (Men like me)
I’m taking corrections to the lyrics. Am I mishearing? Part of me definitely wants to be.
Not to let LG off the hook, but a post on the racial/sexual implications of his lyrics need a lot more time and careful thought than I can put in right now.
But, frankly, what I most hope to be mishearing are Cyn's lines. “My thick lips are red/ I'm the high-yellow black girl.” It sounds to me like nails on chalkboard coming from lips and skin that—like mine—enjoy the privileges of whiteness in a racist society.
LG:
Tú eres una negra rubia, pintá de blanca (You are a blond black girl, painted white)
Con la bemba colorá, black from the back (With thick red lips, black from the back)
Tú eres una negra rubia, pintá de blanca (You are a blond black girl, painted white)
La reina de la rumba y el meneo te encanta (The queen of the rumba and you love to move)
Cyn:
Epa, tengo la bemba colora (Hey, my thick lips are red)
Soy la negra jabá (I’m the high-yellow black girl)
LG:
Revuelca las caderas pa’ sentirte, negrita (Move your hips so I can feel you, black girl)
Revuelca las caderas pa’ sentirte, blanquita (Move your hips so I can feel you, white girl)
Revuelca las caderas pa’ sentirte, rubiona (Move your hips so I can feel you, blondie)
Revuelca las caderas pa’ sentirte, jabá [...](Move your hips so I can feel you, high-yellow black girl) [...]
Narizona, pero que linda es (Big-nosed but pretty)
Eres bembona, pero que rica es (Tick-lipped but pretty)
Eres culona y tu booty clap excita (Big-assed and your booty clap excites)
A hombres como yo [...] (Men like me)
I’m taking corrections to the lyrics. Am I mishearing? Part of me definitely wants to be.
Not to let LG off the hook, but a post on the racial/sexual implications of his lyrics need a lot more time and careful thought than I can put in right now.
But, frankly, what I most hope to be mishearing are Cyn's lines. “My thick lips are red/ I'm the high-yellow black girl.” It sounds to me like nails on chalkboard coming from lips and skin that—like mine—enjoy the privileges of whiteness in a racist society.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
From White to Mulata: The Darkening Powers of Reggaetón
Jowell & Randy have a song out called "Es Mala." Tito, a DJ and a student at Wesleyan University, has the following sharp, sharp observations to make:
Hey Raquel,
Have u heard the song "Mala Es" by Jowell & Randy off of Don Omar's "El Pentagono" ? It's definitely worthy of discussion... Here a some of the lyrics:
"niña niña niña blancaa..
te ponen reggaeton y cambia a mulata
niña niña niña niña blancaa..
te ponen reggaeton y cambia a mulata
tu eres bien mala , bien mala
se te nota en la cara
tu eres bien mala
y cmo el diablo mala ati se te nota en la cara
yo soy el que te motivo la falda
mirandote bien con esa falda blanca
tu estas dura sin duda y que nalga
mai tu me mata
esta noche yo te cambio de blanca a mulata ma"
Seems as if all the desired Women in Reggaeton are "mulattas" or in this case all Women are simply transformed into mulattas as a result of the dembow. Seems to me that Reggaeotn's attitude towards Women is increasingly not only sexualized, but also racialzed.
[...]
I sent the song to you via e-mail. I think that Reggaeton follows the narrative of the "mulatta" lust found in other genres, but I find that Reggaeton in comparison to other genres is becoming more & more explicitally sexually. Whereas before artists might have used a code word or some type of other word to maybe dumb-down their true sexualized & demeaning lyrics, artists are now becoming more & more direct, vulgar, & explicit. Even something as simple as going from saying "amor" to "sexo" makes the angle more sexualized for Reggaeton. Not to mention that "perreo" is a term derived from animals & is directly related to sex, so I think Reggaeton comprises a sexual culture to it, that is to say, that to listen & like reggaeton is somewhat naughty or sexual for a female & empowering & dominating for males. I think the "mulatta" is the idealized woman in reggaeton & this is evident from the music videos to artists simply sayin "ay mulatta" etc. in their songs. The issue for me is that when you take a musical genre that in my opinion is viewed as & is very sexualized & attach notions of race to it you you create a racialized & sexualized "subject" in those you are portraying & seeing as Women have very little agency in the Reggaeton world, this representation is pretty much upheld in PR society both on the island & in the states.
[...]
I think reggaeton has been raunchy & explicity all along, but I think the lyrics have reverted back to the "Reggeaton Sex" days of Underground. I think that "raunchiness" & degradation have become more mainstream & therefore are seen as less scandalous & more acceptable to society, so I think it has questioned our value as a community. The fact that Reggaeton outright refers to sexual references & acts & is accepted as mainstream Puerto Rican culture posing an interesting cultural issue for me. Now you can go to Puerto Rico and see young girls singing "dame con el palo, " & they're parents paying no mind to it, which I think is crazy. In the beginning of Reggaeton I found the lyrics to be much more raunchy, violent, & drug-related. Then maistream Reggaeton came along, switched the "sexo" to "amor" & the "nenas" to "gatas." I think these sudle changes in language allowed Reggaeton to be more successful in the mainstream, but now a lot of artists are moving back to the original lyrics because they already have a stable fan base. I mean, look at someone like Tony Dize, if you translated osme of his songs into english, they could put even 50 Cent to shame with the blatant sexual references & degradation of women.
-Tito
Thank you so much, Tito, for sharing your thoughts.
I'm wondering: What do other folks think?
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
My column in today's El Diario / La Prensa: "La otra cara del hip-hop"
Click here for my column in today's El Diario / La Prensa titled "La otra cara del hip-hop."
Monday, April 30, 2007
Airing tonight: my interview on María Hinojosa's show "La Plaza"
A few weeks ago, I had the honor of being interviewed by award-winning journalist María Hinojosa. The focus of our dialogue was my writings on hip-hop and reggaeton.
The show is called "La Plaza: Conversaciones con María Hinojosa" and will air tonight at 9pm on PBS' Spanish-language V-me. (Cable: Time Warner NY 812; Cablevision 199; Comcast in NJ 242)(Digital: 13-3)(For channel information outside NY/NJ, click here.)
For more information about the show, click here.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Reggaeton in Education and Activism?
If you google "hip-hop education," you get approximately 14,600 items. The first one, very appropriately, is the H2Ed website, an organization whose mission is "to serve educators and those committed to reaching youth through Hip-Hop culture [...] under the premise that Hip-Hop, the most influential cultural force today, has the power to educate, inform and empower today's youth."
If you google "hip-hop activism," you get approximately 44,700 items. Says Jeff Chang: "'Hip-hop activism' is a term [...] meant to show that hip-hop culture could both reflect a social critique and become a unifying force to enact change. The idea of hip-hop activism has since been embraced by young organizers, thinkers, cultural workers and activists to describe their generation's emerging work for social justice. It describes a broad range of social change practices, including youth organizing, cultural work, arts education, popular education, intercultural exchanges, youth development, and celebrity projects and events."
But type in "reggaeton activism" in google and you get... nothing.
Type in "reggaeton education" and you get 48 items—none of them referring to integrating reggaeton into classrooms and/or promoting education through reggaeton.
Considering the HUGE activist and educator networks related to hip-hop, I'm trying to connect with folks who are doing parallel work in terms of reggaeton.
Any leads?
Friday, April 20, 2007
Again, the Machetero Nikes
Dear Danny,
You’re right. In my first blog about the Machetero Air Force Ones, I didn’t comment on my reaction to the sneakers beyond saying it was painful to see Filiberto’s face on them. I didn’t elaborate because I didn’t want to rant.
But then you wrote that email clearly stating your position and wanting to know mine. You asked: “Why was it so painful to look at those sneakers?” I’ll answer by allowing myself to go into the rant I initially thought I should avoid. So here goes. Take it with a grain of salt: Like everyone else, I’m a walking tangle of contradictions.
When I first saw Filiberto on those sneakers, I had to pause for a few seconds. My skin prickled and I felt a mix of anxiety and pain at the mouth of my stomach.
Looking at the sneakers: I was faced with the image of that awe-inspiring man known as Filiberto, with all his flaws and his merits, who died a tragic death in the midst of tragic circumstances. He was a man I only saw from a distance, most often on TV and newspapers. I saw him in person only once, during his 1989 trial at the Old San Juan Federal Court. He irradiated dignity, composure and eloquence as he presented his own legal defense (he refused a layer). Later that same night, I saw his shadow flashing a light from his prison cell window—a greeting to the crowd of his supporters gathered on the street below. Filiberto was a myth of our times, a man whose death I cried over not knowing exactly why. It was not precisely that I was a Filiberto devotee, though I certainly admired his strength and his standing by his principles. When he died, I felt as if my uncle or a close friend of my family had passed.
Still looking at the sneakers: I was shocked at seeing Filiberto’s face emblazoned on those ridiculously expensive sneakers made by folks who get paid dirt. Those Nikes, among many other consumer items, represent "cool" in our society. Those sneakers are even tied into people's identities and sense of worth. Nikes are one of the many items for sale that inspire folks to trample others on the way to the store shelves, one of those items that people are willing to stand in line overnight for. Frankly, I despise those sneakers and what they represent.
I intend no disrespect to fashion buffs and sneaker connoisseurs. This is certainly not a judgment of Nike fans. The artist himself says he chose the Air Force Ones to grapple with his own attraction to the shoe. But it just so happens that I do not find sneakers appealing at all. It also just so happens that I’m fashion illiterate.
My visceral reaction to the Machetero Air Force Ones is partly related to politics, partly related to personal history and partly just a matter of taste.
Once upon a time, I was a teenager in Puerto Rico. Like most other teenagers around me, I was obsessed with designer labels and being cool. I was ashamed of my struggling single mom and what she couldn't get for me.
I never got into sneakers. I don't get "sneaker culture." But I understand a reasonable facsimile in the designer labels (Esprit, Jordache, Benetton) I lusted after in my teens.
My reaction to the Machetero AF1s has much to do with the anger I feel over all the time and energy I spent on a useless attempt to make myself happy by buying items that I thought would make me cool. Now I'm a grown woman who is in a different place but remembers wasting so much effort on looking for happiness where happiness is impossible to find. And, sometimes, I feel like screaming... PLEASE LETS JUST STOP WASTING OUR TIME BUYING ALL THIS USELESS SHIT.
At the most basic level, the pain I felt over Luciano’s Nikes has to do with my shock over seeing Filiberto's face on what I consider to be one of the ultimate examples of overpriced, overrated, ugly merchandise.
But, then again, my sense of style matters little in the larger picture. The fact is many people in the know revere Nikes, not only for their beauty, but also for practical reasons. AF1s fans say they are amazingly comfortable. And, after all, most of us wear something on our feet most of the time. So, since we do have to buy footwear, and since many will buy AF1s as their footwear of choice, then why not wear AF1s that have symbols of social-consciousness or national pride, like the Filiberto Uptowns?
I’m not saying yes or no, wrong or right. I’m just venting on my initial reaction to them.
The implications of the Machetero AF1s go way beyond the specific evils of the Nike empire or the peculiarities of Filiberto Ojeda Rios as a man and as a symbol of Puerto Rican nationalism. For me, these Nikes represent the crossroads where our consumerist obsessions, politics and fashion meet.
Fashion and politics. Social justice and consumption. We all walk (and stumble over) the line.
As Bryan Vargas wrote in a blog comment, Miguel Luciano has long been exploring these issues in his work. For example, take the image below titled Exterminio de Nuestros Indios (Extermination of Our Indians), acrylic on paper, 2005.
Though I have been a fan of Luciano’s work for a while, it was his Pure Plantainum project that blew my mind since it connected so closely with the issues that I write about in terms of youth culture and popular music.
But neither plantains nor bling can evoke for me the violent gut reaction that Filiberto’s face on the AF1s does. Except, that is, for this photo from the Pure Plantainum series:
Once the plátano bling is on the boy, Pure Plantainum stops stimulating my brain; it just stops my heart. There, for me, is the human face of the tragedy. Just like Filiberto’s face on the Machetero AF1s.
I’m grateful to Miguel Luciano for jabbing his finger into our open wounds—like a good artist should.
And I’m grateful to you, Danny, and to all the other folks who have emailed me or posted comments on this blog for making me question and fine-tune my ideas and strategies for action.
un abrazo,
RZ
You’re right. In my first blog about the Machetero Air Force Ones, I didn’t comment on my reaction to the sneakers beyond saying it was painful to see Filiberto’s face on them. I didn’t elaborate because I didn’t want to rant.
But then you wrote that email clearly stating your position and wanting to know mine. You asked: “Why was it so painful to look at those sneakers?” I’ll answer by allowing myself to go into the rant I initially thought I should avoid. So here goes. Take it with a grain of salt: Like everyone else, I’m a walking tangle of contradictions.
When I first saw Filiberto on those sneakers, I had to pause for a few seconds. My skin prickled and I felt a mix of anxiety and pain at the mouth of my stomach.
Looking at the sneakers: I was faced with the image of that awe-inspiring man known as Filiberto, with all his flaws and his merits, who died a tragic death in the midst of tragic circumstances. He was a man I only saw from a distance, most often on TV and newspapers. I saw him in person only once, during his 1989 trial at the Old San Juan Federal Court. He irradiated dignity, composure and eloquence as he presented his own legal defense (he refused a layer). Later that same night, I saw his shadow flashing a light from his prison cell window—a greeting to the crowd of his supporters gathered on the street below. Filiberto was a myth of our times, a man whose death I cried over not knowing exactly why. It was not precisely that I was a Filiberto devotee, though I certainly admired his strength and his standing by his principles. When he died, I felt as if my uncle or a close friend of my family had passed.
Still looking at the sneakers: I was shocked at seeing Filiberto’s face emblazoned on those ridiculously expensive sneakers made by folks who get paid dirt. Those Nikes, among many other consumer items, represent "cool" in our society. Those sneakers are even tied into people's identities and sense of worth. Nikes are one of the many items for sale that inspire folks to trample others on the way to the store shelves, one of those items that people are willing to stand in line overnight for. Frankly, I despise those sneakers and what they represent.
I intend no disrespect to fashion buffs and sneaker connoisseurs. This is certainly not a judgment of Nike fans. The artist himself says he chose the Air Force Ones to grapple with his own attraction to the shoe. But it just so happens that I do not find sneakers appealing at all. It also just so happens that I’m fashion illiterate.
My visceral reaction to the Machetero Air Force Ones is partly related to politics, partly related to personal history and partly just a matter of taste.
Once upon a time, I was a teenager in Puerto Rico. Like most other teenagers around me, I was obsessed with designer labels and being cool. I was ashamed of my struggling single mom and what she couldn't get for me.
I never got into sneakers. I don't get "sneaker culture." But I understand a reasonable facsimile in the designer labels (Esprit, Jordache, Benetton) I lusted after in my teens.
My reaction to the Machetero AF1s has much to do with the anger I feel over all the time and energy I spent on a useless attempt to make myself happy by buying items that I thought would make me cool. Now I'm a grown woman who is in a different place but remembers wasting so much effort on looking for happiness where happiness is impossible to find. And, sometimes, I feel like screaming... PLEASE LETS JUST STOP WASTING OUR TIME BUYING ALL THIS USELESS SHIT.
At the most basic level, the pain I felt over Luciano’s Nikes has to do with my shock over seeing Filiberto's face on what I consider to be one of the ultimate examples of overpriced, overrated, ugly merchandise.
But, then again, my sense of style matters little in the larger picture. The fact is many people in the know revere Nikes, not only for their beauty, but also for practical reasons. AF1s fans say they are amazingly comfortable. And, after all, most of us wear something on our feet most of the time. So, since we do have to buy footwear, and since many will buy AF1s as their footwear of choice, then why not wear AF1s that have symbols of social-consciousness or national pride, like the Filiberto Uptowns?
I’m not saying yes or no, wrong or right. I’m just venting on my initial reaction to them.
The implications of the Machetero AF1s go way beyond the specific evils of the Nike empire or the peculiarities of Filiberto Ojeda Rios as a man and as a symbol of Puerto Rican nationalism. For me, these Nikes represent the crossroads where our consumerist obsessions, politics and fashion meet.
Fashion and politics. Social justice and consumption. We all walk (and stumble over) the line.
As Bryan Vargas wrote in a blog comment, Miguel Luciano has long been exploring these issues in his work. For example, take the image below titled Exterminio de Nuestros Indios (Extermination of Our Indians), acrylic on paper, 2005.
Though I have been a fan of Luciano’s work for a while, it was his Pure Plantainum project that blew my mind since it connected so closely with the issues that I write about in terms of youth culture and popular music.
But neither plantains nor bling can evoke for me the violent gut reaction that Filiberto’s face on the AF1s does. Except, that is, for this photo from the Pure Plantainum series:
Once the plátano bling is on the boy, Pure Plantainum stops stimulating my brain; it just stops my heart. There, for me, is the human face of the tragedy. Just like Filiberto’s face on the Machetero AF1s.
I’m grateful to Miguel Luciano for jabbing his finger into our open wounds—like a good artist should.
And I’m grateful to you, Danny, and to all the other folks who have emailed me or posted comments on this blog for making me question and fine-tune my ideas and strategies for action.
un abrazo,
RZ
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Reggaetónica: my weekly column in El Diario / La Prensa
This Reggaetonica blog will now have a Spanish-language print counterpart in my Wednesday column "Reggaetónica" in El Diario / La Prensa. My first column was published today and is titled "¿Porqué 'Reggatónica'?"
Friday, April 13, 2007
Meditations on sneakers and bling by Miguel Luciano
These Filiberto Ojeda Uptowns / Machetero Air Force Ones by New York visual artist Miguel Luciano come right after his Pure Plantainum series. Both projects have captured my interest because they touch on two of the top consumer items related to the hip-hop and reggaeton industrial machine: sneakers and bling.
The Filiberto Ojeda Uptowns / Machetero Air Force Ones are part of a show that opens at Bard College this coming Sunday, April 15. Also on Sunday, 2:30—4:30 pm, Miguel Luciano and other renowned New York Rican artists will talk about their work at The Newark Museum.
For me, it hurts to look at Filiberto—icon of armed struggle for Puerto Rican independence assasinated in 2005 by the F.B.I.—emblazoned all over these sneakers. I find this piece to be an insightful and deeply disturbing commentary on our consumption-obsessed lives, particularly painful in the context of Puerto Rico’s colonial relationship to the United States.
Below, is Luciano's statement on the piece:
The Filiberto Ojeda Uptowns / Machetero Air Force Ones are a customized pair of Nike sneakers that pay tribute to the assassinated leader of the Macheteros, a clandestine group of Puerto Rican nationalists who've campaigned for independence in Puerto Rico since the 1970's. Filiberto Ojeda was brutally assassinated by the F.B.I. on September 23, 2005 and has since been revered by many as the "Puerto Rican Che Guevara". A pair of Nike sneakers become an unlikely vehicle of veneration for the fallen leader that both complicate and question how nationalism and resistance are embodied within today's colonial consumerist society. Nevertheless, they engage alternative strategies towards reconstructing symbols of resistance from the objects of material desire, while questioning the commodification of Revolution. The Machetero Air Force Ones transform Nike's Swoosh logo into a ready-made Machete symbol, as the mantra of Nike's "goddess of victory" gives way to "hasta la victoria siempre".
"just do it".
Saturday, April 07, 2007
My commentary for NPR's Latino USA radio show
Click here for my guest commentary on National Public Radio's Latino USA, on April 6, 2007. It's on music blogging.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Mini-chronicle of La Sista's Show at SOBs
The woman drips charisma. And skill. And charm. Unlike her bouncing-off-the-walls energetic label mates Tres Coronas who performed right before she did, La Sista—though also full of energy—was effortlessly powerful, grounded and contained.
Her set was well chosen. She opened with the laid-back and sandungueosa “Anacaona” (the single with the video set in her hometown of Loíza). Then she went into her hilarious “Acabones de la Letra,” where the rookie irreverently makes fun of simple-minded reggaeton lyricists. Then came the (unfortunately and uncharacteristically out-of-tune) “Fruity Loops,” followed by the reggaeton/bomba fusion “Calabó y Bamboo” with its contagious hook: “No u'a coge' más un mapo/ Ya yo encampané la escoba/ Mejor búscate a otra/Que te lave bien la ropa.” (“I'm not gonna grab a mop any more/I already packed away the broom/You'd better find another woman/To wash your clothes.”) (Click here to listen to the song.) Then she went into “Rulé Candela,” a hot reggaeton track based on a traditional bomba song. (The woman can SING!) “Machúcalo”—her bachataish ode to cheating men—came next, followed by an homage to her spiritual mother “Yemayá.” Last was my favorite, “This Is My Game,” heavy on the boasting, solid on the hip hop beats.
And a random observation: Considering the weird lack of sexiness and professionalism displayed by the booty-shaking “Machete girls” that accompanied Tres Coronas for all of one song, I was struck by the playful and refreshing sensuality of La Sista’s sidekick Nandi. Throughout La Sista’s set, Nandi was her skillfull right hand man in delivering rhymes and singing. La Sista, undoubtedly the boss, at one point started singing acapella commands to Nandi to move his “batea” as she watched appreciatingly and many in the audience sighed and overheated. What got my attention was that Nandi the sexpot, was also Nandi the fierce lyricsman and singer, and he was also Nandi the indispensable second-in-command—unlike the anonymous and utterly replaceable Machete girls. (No grand conclusions from any of this yet. Well, maybe just one preliminary conclusion: Regardless of how much clothes you’re wearing, carrying yourself in a dignified manner IS key to sexy. It also greatly helps if the folks you’re working with treat you in a dignified manner.)
As I’m looking forward to her next NY live show, La Sista I’m sure will keep the "topo yiyos sudando frío."
(La Sista and a fan. Photo by Marcos Miranda.)
Her set was well chosen. She opened with the laid-back and sandungueosa “Anacaona” (the single with the video set in her hometown of Loíza). Then she went into her hilarious “Acabones de la Letra,” where the rookie irreverently makes fun of simple-minded reggaeton lyricists. Then came the (unfortunately and uncharacteristically out-of-tune) “Fruity Loops,” followed by the reggaeton/bomba fusion “Calabó y Bamboo” with its contagious hook: “No u'a coge' más un mapo/ Ya yo encampané la escoba/ Mejor búscate a otra/Que te lave bien la ropa.” (“I'm not gonna grab a mop any more/I already packed away the broom/You'd better find another woman/To wash your clothes.”) (Click here to listen to the song.) Then she went into “Rulé Candela,” a hot reggaeton track based on a traditional bomba song. (The woman can SING!) “Machúcalo”—her bachataish ode to cheating men—came next, followed by an homage to her spiritual mother “Yemayá.” Last was my favorite, “This Is My Game,” heavy on the boasting, solid on the hip hop beats.
And a random observation: Considering the weird lack of sexiness and professionalism displayed by the booty-shaking “Machete girls” that accompanied Tres Coronas for all of one song, I was struck by the playful and refreshing sensuality of La Sista’s sidekick Nandi. Throughout La Sista’s set, Nandi was her skillfull right hand man in delivering rhymes and singing. La Sista, undoubtedly the boss, at one point started singing acapella commands to Nandi to move his “batea” as she watched appreciatingly and many in the audience sighed and overheated. What got my attention was that Nandi the sexpot, was also Nandi the fierce lyricsman and singer, and he was also Nandi the indispensable second-in-command—unlike the anonymous and utterly replaceable Machete girls. (No grand conclusions from any of this yet. Well, maybe just one preliminary conclusion: Regardless of how much clothes you’re wearing, carrying yourself in a dignified manner IS key to sexy. It also greatly helps if the folks you’re working with treat you in a dignified manner.)
As I’m looking forward to her next NY live show, La Sista I’m sure will keep the "topo yiyos sudando frío."
(La Sista and a fan. Photo by Marcos Miranda.)
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
La Sista in NY at SOB's March 21
This is a show not to be missed! For some of my thoughts on why La Sista is so hot click here.Or better yet, check out the video to her single "Anacaona."
(Gallego, unfortunately, will not be there due to unforseen circumstances. But hopefully he will still do a show in NY soon.)
Friday, March 02, 2007
Bling'd: Blood, Diamonds, Hip-Hop and Reggaeton
Two days ago I finally saw VH1’s documentary Bling’d: Blood, Diamonds and Hip-Hop. It focuses on the tragedies fueled by the diamond trade in Sierra Leone and features artists Raekwon, Paul Wall, Tego Calderon and former child soldier Ishmael Beah.
The folks behind the documentary did a great job thinking through how to weave this complex history into a captivating tale. Above all, the documentary is a necessary eye-opener and extremely valuable as an educational tool.
For me, the two most provocative pieces of information offered are:
1. The huge amount of human suffering involved in producing those ridiculously expensive, tiny pieces of rock.
2. Why do we place so much value in diamonds in the first place?
A fellow artist and educator deeply concerned with the craziness of our hyper-consumerist society did not share my enthusiasm upon watching the documentary. He thinks it fell way short of its potential in advocating for folks to become agents of change. (I’ll quote his name and exact words as soon as he gives me the o.k.) He is probably right. But, at this point, I’m just glad to have at my disposal a captivating documentary that serves as a starting point for further educational work.
The hip-hop/reggaeton artists in the documentary did not all share the same initial passion for diamonds. Neither did they all react the same way to the information they got while in Sierra Leone. In the documentary and since they came back from the trip, some of them have said that consumers should demand “clean” or “conflict-free” diamonds. Others have been advocating for changes in the process of diamond production. They have said the miners slaving away for food at the beginning of the production line should get greater compensation for their hard labor. They have also argued that the countries providing the raw materials for the diamond industry should get greater economic benefits than under the present arrangement.
Tego has advocated all of the above. But, as a result of that trip, he also took his jewelry off.
He was surprisingly quiet throughout the documentary (as Sandra pointed out in the previous blog entry). But the little he did say conveyed how disturbed he was by witnessing the cruelest side of the diamond trade.
For El Nuevo Día images of Tego during the trip, click here.
In an interview with Leila Cobo, Tego said about his trip to Sierra Leone:
“I saw the way folks live over there. It’s a place full of natural resources. The government profits, the rich profit, and the people don’t even have electricity. I didn’t take my jewelry off because I saw the poverty. It was because I saw the effects of us wearing diamonds. […] I’m not asking other artists to develop that consciousness and to do the same. It’s just that I did. […]”
For Tego, the issue is not about diamonds in particular, but about flaunting wealth in general. He doesn’t think it’s right for artists to show off so shamelessly in front of fans who don’t have the same resources. (His exact words: “Le estamos estrujando el éxito en la cara a otra gente que son nuestros fanáticos y no tiene los recursos.”)
Now that’s a man with sensibility. Once you’ve seen the slave labor and the human atrocities involved in diamond production, it’s hard to look at those shiny little things and still find them attractive.
The next few show times on VH1 are:
Friday, Mar. 2 @ 12:30/11:30c AM
Wednesday, Mar. 7 @ 1/12c AM
Friday, Mar. 9 @ 1:30/12:30c PM
Friday, February 23, 2007
Tego Calderon on Black Pride
Check out Tego's article in The New York Post's Tempo magazine!
To view the Tempo version click here.
BLACK PRIDE
By TEGO CALDERON
February 15, 2007 -- Just this morning, I was listening to radio host Luisito Vigeroux talking about a movie project that I am working on which co-stars Mayra Santos Febres and he was saying, "Her? She's starring in it?"
Questioning her Black beauty.
I remember, too, when Celia Cruz died, a newscaster, thinking she was being smart, said Celia Cruz wasn't black, she was Cuban. She was pretty even though she's black.
As if there is something wrong with being black, like the two things can't exist simultaneously and be a majestic thing. There is ignorance and stupidity in Puerto Rico and Latin America when it comes to blackness.
In Puerto Rico, Spike Lee's "Malcolm X" was only shown in one theater and unlike all the other movies shown here, there were no subtitles. It's as if they don't want the masses to learn.
But it's not just here - in Puerto Rico - where I experience racism. When I lived in Miami, I was often treated like a second class Boricua. I felt like I was in the middle - Latino kids did not embrace me and African American kids were confused because here I was a black boy who spoke Spanish. But after a while, I felt more embraced by black Americans - as a brother who happens to speak Spanish - than other Latino kids did.
Because I am well known, sometimes I forget the racist ways of the world. But then I travel to places where no one knows Tego Calderón I am reminded.
For instance, when I travel first class, the stewardess will say, "Sir, this is first class," and ask to see ticket. I take my time, put my bags in the overhead, sit, and gingerly give them my ticket, smiling at them. I try not to get stressed anymore, let them stress themselves.
And the thing is that many white Puerto Ricans and Latinos don't get it. They are immune to the subtle ways in which we are demeaned, disrespected. They have white privilege. And I've heard it said that we are on the defensive about race.
Those things happen and it's not because of color, Tego, but because of how you look, how you walk, what you wear, what credit card you have. Then, they spend a couple of days with me, sort of walk in my shoes, and say "Damn negro, you are right."
When I check into hotels and use my American Express they call the credit card company in front of me saying the machine is broken. This happens a lot in U.S. cities but it's not because there is more racism there, it's because they don't know me. When I'm in Latin America, I am known, so it's different. That is not to say that there is less racism. The reality for blacks in Latin America is severe, in Colombia, Venezuela, Peru, Honduras ...
Puerto Rican (and Latin American) blacks are confused because we grow up side by side with non-blacks and we are lulled into believing that things are the same. But we are treated differently.
My parents always celebrated our history. My dad always pointed things out to me. He even left the PIP (Pro-Independence Party) because he always said that los negros and our struggle was never acknowledged.
Maelo (Ismael Rivera) and Tite Curet did their part in educating and calling out the issues. Today, I do my part but I attack the subject of racism directly.
It makes me so happy to see Don Omar call himself el negro and La Sister celebrate her blackness. Now it's in fashion to be black and to be from Loiza. And that is awesome, it makes me so happy. Even if they don't give me credit for starting the pride movement, I know what I did to get it out there.
Young black Latinos have to learn their story. We also need to start our own media, and forums and universities. We are treated like second class citizens. They tell blacks in Latin America that we are better off than U.S. blacks or Africans and that we have it better here, but it's a false sense of being. Because here, it's worse.
We are definitely treated like second class citizens and we are not part of the government or institutions. Take for instance, Jamaica - whites control a Black country.
They have raised us to be ashamed of our blackness. It's in the language too. Take the word denigrate - denigrar - which is to be less than a negro.
In Puerto Rico you get used it and don't see it everyday. It takes a visitor to point out that all the dark skin sisters and brothers are in the service industry.
It's hard in Puerto Rico. There was this Spaniard woman in the elevator of the building where I lived who asked me if I lived there. And poor thing - not only is there one black brother living in the penthouse, but also in the other, lives Tito Trinidad. It gets interesting when we both have our tribes over.
Black Latinos are not respected in Latin America and we will have to get it by defending our rights, much like African Americans struggled in the U.S.
It's hard to find information about our people and history but just like kids research the newest Nintendo game or CD they have to take interest in their story. Be hungry for it.
We need to educate people close to us. I do it one person at a time when language is used and I am offended by it. Sometimes you educate with tenderness, as in the case of my wife, who is not black.
She's learned a lot and is offended when she sees injustices. She gets it. Our children are mixed, but they understand that they are black and what that means. My wife has taught her parents, and siblings, and they, in turn, educate the nephews and nieces. That is how everyone learns.
This is not about rejecting whiteness rather; it's about learning to love our blackness - to love ourselves. We have to say basta ya, it's enough, and find a way to love our blackness. They have confused us - and taught us to hate each other - to self-hate and create divisions on shades and features.
Remember that during slavery, they took the light blacks to work the home, and left the dark ones to work the fields. There is a lot residue of self-hatred.
And each of us has to put a grain in the sand to make it into a movement where we get respect, where we can celebrate our blackness without shame.
It will be difficult but not impossible.
To view the Tempo version click here.
BLACK PRIDEBy TEGO CALDERON
February 15, 2007 -- Just this morning, I was listening to radio host Luisito Vigeroux talking about a movie project that I am working on which co-stars Mayra Santos Febres and he was saying, "Her? She's starring in it?"
Questioning her Black beauty.
I remember, too, when Celia Cruz died, a newscaster, thinking she was being smart, said Celia Cruz wasn't black, she was Cuban. She was pretty even though she's black.
As if there is something wrong with being black, like the two things can't exist simultaneously and be a majestic thing. There is ignorance and stupidity in Puerto Rico and Latin America when it comes to blackness.
In Puerto Rico, Spike Lee's "Malcolm X" was only shown in one theater and unlike all the other movies shown here, there were no subtitles. It's as if they don't want the masses to learn.
But it's not just here - in Puerto Rico - where I experience racism. When I lived in Miami, I was often treated like a second class Boricua. I felt like I was in the middle - Latino kids did not embrace me and African American kids were confused because here I was a black boy who spoke Spanish. But after a while, I felt more embraced by black Americans - as a brother who happens to speak Spanish - than other Latino kids did.
Because I am well known, sometimes I forget the racist ways of the world. But then I travel to places where no one knows Tego Calderón I am reminded.
For instance, when I travel first class, the stewardess will say, "Sir, this is first class," and ask to see ticket. I take my time, put my bags in the overhead, sit, and gingerly give them my ticket, smiling at them. I try not to get stressed anymore, let them stress themselves.
And the thing is that many white Puerto Ricans and Latinos don't get it. They are immune to the subtle ways in which we are demeaned, disrespected. They have white privilege. And I've heard it said that we are on the defensive about race.
Those things happen and it's not because of color, Tego, but because of how you look, how you walk, what you wear, what credit card you have. Then, they spend a couple of days with me, sort of walk in my shoes, and say "Damn negro, you are right."
When I check into hotels and use my American Express they call the credit card company in front of me saying the machine is broken. This happens a lot in U.S. cities but it's not because there is more racism there, it's because they don't know me. When I'm in Latin America, I am known, so it's different. That is not to say that there is less racism. The reality for blacks in Latin America is severe, in Colombia, Venezuela, Peru, Honduras ...
Puerto Rican (and Latin American) blacks are confused because we grow up side by side with non-blacks and we are lulled into believing that things are the same. But we are treated differently.
My parents always celebrated our history. My dad always pointed things out to me. He even left the PIP (Pro-Independence Party) because he always said that los negros and our struggle was never acknowledged.
Maelo (Ismael Rivera) and Tite Curet did their part in educating and calling out the issues. Today, I do my part but I attack the subject of racism directly.
It makes me so happy to see Don Omar call himself el negro and La Sister celebrate her blackness. Now it's in fashion to be black and to be from Loiza. And that is awesome, it makes me so happy. Even if they don't give me credit for starting the pride movement, I know what I did to get it out there.
Young black Latinos have to learn their story. We also need to start our own media, and forums and universities. We are treated like second class citizens. They tell blacks in Latin America that we are better off than U.S. blacks or Africans and that we have it better here, but it's a false sense of being. Because here, it's worse.
We are definitely treated like second class citizens and we are not part of the government or institutions. Take for instance, Jamaica - whites control a Black country.
They have raised us to be ashamed of our blackness. It's in the language too. Take the word denigrate - denigrar - which is to be less than a negro.
In Puerto Rico you get used it and don't see it everyday. It takes a visitor to point out that all the dark skin sisters and brothers are in the service industry.
It's hard in Puerto Rico. There was this Spaniard woman in the elevator of the building where I lived who asked me if I lived there. And poor thing - not only is there one black brother living in the penthouse, but also in the other, lives Tito Trinidad. It gets interesting when we both have our tribes over.
Black Latinos are not respected in Latin America and we will have to get it by defending our rights, much like African Americans struggled in the U.S.
It's hard to find information about our people and history but just like kids research the newest Nintendo game or CD they have to take interest in their story. Be hungry for it.
We need to educate people close to us. I do it one person at a time when language is used and I am offended by it. Sometimes you educate with tenderness, as in the case of my wife, who is not black.
She's learned a lot and is offended when she sees injustices. She gets it. Our children are mixed, but they understand that they are black and what that means. My wife has taught her parents, and siblings, and they, in turn, educate the nephews and nieces. That is how everyone learns.
This is not about rejecting whiteness rather; it's about learning to love our blackness - to love ourselves. We have to say basta ya, it's enough, and find a way to love our blackness. They have confused us - and taught us to hate each other - to self-hate and create divisions on shades and features.
Remember that during slavery, they took the light blacks to work the home, and left the dark ones to work the fields. There is a lot residue of self-hatred.
And each of us has to put a grain in the sand to make it into a movement where we get respect, where we can celebrate our blackness without shame.
It will be difficult but not impossible.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Gallego's Teatro del Barrio
Gallego is an accomplished literary figure—author of two critically-acclaimed books of poetry—AND reggaeton's resident poet. He is also a dear friend, socio of my early days as a writer in the early 1990s in Puerto Rico. I'm eager to hear his debut album, Teatro del Barrio, which drops tomorrow.
I've only heard the quirky "Imagínate," which sounds Calle 13-ish in the best sense of the phrase.
Imagínate que somos dos buruquenas y que el cura en nuestra boda sea Roberto Roena / Imagínate que somos dos uruguayos y que tú caigas preñá en la primera lluvia 'e mayo... / Imagínate que somos dos pitchers grajeándonos de noche sentaos en los bleachers .../ Imagínate que somos dos economistas que al medio día en Barrio Obrero almorcemos una mixta
And I'm looking forward to more!
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Homage to "El Filósofo," Vico C
Whether they call themselves reggaetoneros, hip-hoppers, hip-hopperos, raperos, rapeadores... they all hail Luis Armando Cruz Lozada as "The Philosopher," a founding figure of rap en español and reggaeton.
Puerto Rico-based hip hop artist Sietenueve has just put out an amazing track in Vico C's honor titled "Homenaje al Filósofo"/"Homage to The Philosopher." The song can be downloaded for free HERE!
It's a tribute beautifully executed by Sietenueve and produced by Coo-kee (mind you, Sietenueve and Coo-kee are both veterans of hip hop in Puerto Rico, in their own right).
¡Honor a quien honor se merece!
Friday, January 26, 2007
Lah Tere, Her Brother and The Legacy Circle
NOT ON THE REGGAETONIC, BUT ON THE HIP HOP TIP...
Last night, I was (once again) a lucky witness to Lah Tere’s gorgeous singing, powerful rhymes and killer smile.
She was the guest performer at The Legacy Circle’s event in the East Village. Lah Tere provided the perfect conclusion to a night devoted to fundraising for Manuela Arciniegas’s brainchild—an innovative project dedicated to empowering African Diaspora youth and adults in New York City through cultural arts education. The room was seriously buzzing with the energy of multiple generations of artists, educators and activists.
Lah Tere rolled in not only with her two partners from Rebel Díaz, but also with her “lil’ brother” who towered over her and joined her in performing a particularly moving version of “Crush.” He swayed directly behind her, crouching down to her height, chin perched attentively right above her shoulder as he provided the lyrical counterpoint and affirmation for her rhymes. As Lah Tere worked the spotlight, he seemed equal measures supportive, instigating, proud. I couldn’t stop thinking about my own lil’ brother Jorge who also has my back and is also double my size.
Last night, I was (once again) a lucky witness to Lah Tere’s gorgeous singing, powerful rhymes and killer smile.
She was the guest performer at The Legacy Circle’s event in the East Village. Lah Tere provided the perfect conclusion to a night devoted to fundraising for Manuela Arciniegas’s brainchild—an innovative project dedicated to empowering African Diaspora youth and adults in New York City through cultural arts education. The room was seriously buzzing with the energy of multiple generations of artists, educators and activists.
Lah Tere rolled in not only with her two partners from Rebel Díaz, but also with her “lil’ brother” who towered over her and joined her in performing a particularly moving version of “Crush.” He swayed directly behind her, crouching down to her height, chin perched attentively right above her shoulder as he provided the lyrical counterpoint and affirmation for her rhymes. As Lah Tere worked the spotlight, he seemed equal measures supportive, instigating, proud. I couldn’t stop thinking about my own lil’ brother Jorge who also has my back and is also double my size.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
El Gorila's Kiss
Someday soon I need to write about masculine Archetypes and Shadows in reggaeton. Sounds a little esoteric, but that's all I could think about when I went last Spring to Wisín and Yandel's concert at El Choliseo in PR.Franco El Gorila (not surprisingly signed to WY Records) recently inspired the same desire in me with one particular song.
Franco's "Toma" left me cold, but "Dame un Kiss" has had the opposite effect. The backing track I just plain like. A lot. It's melodically abrasive and steps out of the narrowest reggaeton formula.
As usual, I asked Wayne Marshall to lend me his musicological ear, to help me put into words what about "Dame un Kiss" inspires my sonic pleasures. Wayne says: "the sonic palette here clearly goes beyond the typical Luny synths. I like the surf rock guitar and the quasi-oriental melodic bits."
Wayne later had to break down what "surf guitar rock" is, but in the end confirmed my suspicions that "Dame un Kiss" hit my soft spot for heavy metal.
O.k., so musically, I think "Dame un Kiss" is hot and certainly not more of the same. But there is more… Something about the song's aggressive, porn and pop-informed lyrical sensuality disturbs and captivates me.
The lyrics are none too imaginative. And it might be precisely that average lyricism mixed with its hyper-hyper-aggressiveness that draws me in. Sure, most reggaeton artists carefully cultivate a surly hardness while failing to cultivate word-play beyond the usual formulas. Nothing new there. But Franco takes it up a notch. The best example is in the hook's offer to eat Her cherry-flavored g-string with whipped cream. The image is so straight out of the pre-packaged sexuality box that it… Distresses me? Embarrasses me? Confuses me? Seduces me? Make me empathetic for the man posing as hero and ensnared in his own Shadows?
Or is it just that El Gorila's Kiss ensnares me in my own Shadows?
Monday, January 22, 2007
Low Q on reggaeton
Two more thought-provoking postings on the state of reggaeton, this time written in Spanish by Low Q of Radio Frecuencia Subterránea:"El reggaeton ¿herido de muerte?"
"Mi renuncia al reggaeton, el día que el hip hop murió"
Friday, January 19, 2007
Bernardo Brigante and his thoughts on reggaeton
Who is Bernardo Brigante? I would sure like to know. I googled him, but came up empty-handed.
A friend recently forwarded an email he received with some provocative thoughts by Brigante. Here they go.
So What Now?
By Bernardo Brigante
It captivated Latinos in 2003, and reached the masses in early 2005. Now, with everyone all but renouncing their interest in the music, the genre of reggaeton has hit a fork in the road, and has to make the decision to sink or swim. Here is a reggaeton fan's attempt to look at the music (and its social implications) holistically.
Growing up in the 80s and 90s, I didn't know much about reggaeton outside of Playero tapes (which I hated with a passion, by the way) and El General. Being that no concrete promotional platform existed, I'd watch what was offered to me: low-budget Boricua Guerrero videos on UHF (channel 39: HTV or something like that) along with Proyecto Uno, Sancocho and DLG. Yea, I knew it was kinda corny compared to everything else I was listening to at the time (Biggie, Wu-Tang, Supercat, Mad Lion, Nas), and the artists had no style to save their lives, but they were from Puerto Rico, stirring not just immediate interest, but also a realm of mystique to their 120 BPM songs.
Eventually (and out of nowhere), being a U.S. acculturated Latino became "cool"; most notably around 1998. They called it the "Latin Explosion" (or some nonsense like that): Jennifer Lopez, Marc Anthony, Big Pun, and Ricky Martin made HUGE strides in the Anglo mainstream music scene and everyone was captured by the hype created. And then, almost as fast as we "arrived", Latinos faded back into obscurity (in terms of the American mainstream) as if we were a change of season.
Fast forward to 2004: the once-underground genre of reggaeton is flourishing amongst America's "it" demographic: the 18-34 year-old acculturated Latino who represents billions of potential dollars in buying power. Tego Calderon lead the new wave of "contemporary" reggaeton artists (Daddy Yankee, Ivy Queen, Wisin y Yandel, Nicky Jam, etc..), and a subgenre which was once ostracized within the general Latino music scene had showed a structure and personality (two huge components of marketability) previously unbeknown to most. I, along with many other Nuyoricans and Latinos alike, championed its overnight success and the fact that these artists were being taken in by the mainstream urban machine (hearing Daddy Yankee and Pitbull completely demolish Lil' Jon's "What You Gonna Do" appealed to hip-hop, crunk, and reggaeton fans alike in one fell swoop). Other signs of it's apparent proliferation: DJs in NYC had replaced the amount of dancehall reggae they played on a normal club night with reggaeton, reggaeton mixshows were popping up on hip-hop stations, and Univision Radio switching the formats of many of its affiliate networks to cater to the new demand of its listeners' (the birth of "La Kalle").
And then came "Gasolina"… The popularity of Daddy Yankee's 2004 hit spread like wildfire, and was the dominant catalyst in casting the genre into the American eye. Then, in the tradition of American commercialism with anything naturally popular, the major labels came calling with arms wide open: some signing artists directly (Interscope with DY and Atlantic with Tego), and some creating boutique labels to cater to the budding subgenre (Roc La Familia, Wu-Tang Latino, and Bad Boy Latino). Heaps of investment capital was thrown into the culture at an almost alarming rate, and subsequently, the product placement and endorsement deals came: Don Omar and Daddy Yankee had their respective sneaker deals (RBK & Umbro), while Tego was featured in a prominent Hennessy print ad campaign. Musically, the hits were being pumped out rapidly, and the masses continued to digest: everyone, including Paris Hilton, wanted a reggaeton track with hopes of syncing themselves into the latest fad and the good graces of the young Latino listener. And that's where the apparent downfall had started. Rather than growing on its own, the genre was immediately and prematurely deemed as the "next big thing", yet the music remained horrendously formulaic in nature:
THUNDEROUS INTRO + SYNTHESIZER (OR BACHATA GUITAR) + DEMBOW + MOANING GIRL ON HOOK + REPITITIOUS SUBJECT MATTER = REGGAETON SINGLE
[To be frank, that's where the genre is losing many of their immediate fans: people (not necessarily only Latinos) feel the music is redundant and monotonous. And to the ear of the casual fan, it is. People feel reluctant to grow with the music because it's sense of artistry has become extremely one-dimensional.]
Despite the recent efforts of a few albums (Calle 13, The Underdog), reggaeton's sound hasn't changed much in the last few years. In a recent issue of the FADER magazine, Tego Calderon acknowledged producer Danny Fornaris (Don Omar's "Jangueo", Tego's "Mardi Gras", Calle 13's "Se Vale To To") as the "savior of reggaeton". While that statement is bold (and perhaps impulsive given the genre's current state), certainly only a forward-moving genre will accept a producer who appears and sounds nothing like the norm (Fornaris, who sports a faux-hawk and track jackets, appears more SoHo than San Juan).
As a quick sidebar, let's compare the genre to it's distant cousin, dancehall. In origin, they are similar in many ways: the sounds come from impoverished communities within Carribean islands, both are festive in nature and implement traditional sounds (dancehall has roots reggae, while reggaeton boasts a blend of salsa/bachata & roots reggae) and both have achieved American & global success.
Though its peak in popularity occurred in 2002/2003 (with the emergence of Sean Paul and Elephant Man), dancehall continues to flourish because it's constantly evolving. The riddims (beats/pistas) are innovative and ever-changing, and the artists actually want to sound different from each other (Baby Cham, Vybz Kartel, Assassin, Busy Signal, and Movado might all show up on the same riddims, but you can easily distinguish one from another). Most importantly, their heritage is the fuel and passion for their music while the music remains an enjoyable force for the masses. (e.g. Cham's 2006 hit "Ghetto Story" was banned in Jamaica for its raw lyrics, but we all grinded to that song at every nightspot we frequented!)
Reggaeton's big singles rarely acknowledge nuestra hispanidad anymore: Don Omar's "Reggaeton Latino" hit it on the head (with an emotionally captivating music video as a bonus), but why did it stop there? Hispanics are the fastest growing demographic in the U.S., but until we all realize our worth and begin dictating our culture, we're just crabs in a bucket. Through entertainment we've gained attention, but haven't achieved much influence! How many of these artists flashing sh*t in their videos own their masters? With the murder rate in Puerto Rico extremely high as of late (45 murders in the first 2 weeks of 2007), have they or their labels done anything to help their suffering communities? There is too much sh*t going down for Puerto Rico's musical ambassadors to consistently keep their subject matter only inside la diskoteka, la calle, y la cama.
And it isn't only the artists, poor representation falls within mass media. Don't get me wrong, there isn't anything wrong with being festive and pushing the envelope (in fact, I'm all for it…it's in our nature!), but when creativity is stigmatized and objectiveness is stifled, barriers to progression will arise. Without progression and the ability to adapt, any industry will falter, especially one as volatile as the music business.
To the here and now: stations are quickly writing off reggaeton as a fad due to suffering ratings and decreasing album sales, and are trying other methods to grasp the attention of the 18-34 Latino/a. On Game's "One Blood" (Remix), NORE, who only a year-and-a-half ago claimed to "introduce reggaeton to Americans", boldly states, "…reggaeton ain't hot in the building/its okay/I get it poppin'". It might not be a direct diss, but it's definitely a sign of the times. I wonder what happened to the extremely emotional war cries that seemed wholehearted at the time: "this is a movement!," "it's about making history!"… "it's more than music!".. Hmm.
Believe me, like most of these artists and label execs, I'm out for the guap also. I'm a firm believer in the basic ideal that consumers will ultimately favor good product regardless of how manipulative marketing might be and how industry politics create smoke-and-mirrors for what's really dope. However, I don't have the answers, only calculated suggestions. But understanding that mastering the industry won't happen overnight is vital, and we need to make moves and take steps forward to save a genre with unlimited potential for success.
A friend recently forwarded an email he received with some provocative thoughts by Brigante. Here they go.
So What Now?
By Bernardo Brigante
It captivated Latinos in 2003, and reached the masses in early 2005. Now, with everyone all but renouncing their interest in the music, the genre of reggaeton has hit a fork in the road, and has to make the decision to sink or swim. Here is a reggaeton fan's attempt to look at the music (and its social implications) holistically.
Growing up in the 80s and 90s, I didn't know much about reggaeton outside of Playero tapes (which I hated with a passion, by the way) and El General. Being that no concrete promotional platform existed, I'd watch what was offered to me: low-budget Boricua Guerrero videos on UHF (channel 39: HTV or something like that) along with Proyecto Uno, Sancocho and DLG. Yea, I knew it was kinda corny compared to everything else I was listening to at the time (Biggie, Wu-Tang, Supercat, Mad Lion, Nas), and the artists had no style to save their lives, but they were from Puerto Rico, stirring not just immediate interest, but also a realm of mystique to their 120 BPM songs.
Eventually (and out of nowhere), being a U.S. acculturated Latino became "cool"; most notably around 1998. They called it the "Latin Explosion" (or some nonsense like that): Jennifer Lopez, Marc Anthony, Big Pun, and Ricky Martin made HUGE strides in the Anglo mainstream music scene and everyone was captured by the hype created. And then, almost as fast as we "arrived", Latinos faded back into obscurity (in terms of the American mainstream) as if we were a change of season.
Fast forward to 2004: the once-underground genre of reggaeton is flourishing amongst America's "it" demographic: the 18-34 year-old acculturated Latino who represents billions of potential dollars in buying power. Tego Calderon lead the new wave of "contemporary" reggaeton artists (Daddy Yankee, Ivy Queen, Wisin y Yandel, Nicky Jam, etc..), and a subgenre which was once ostracized within the general Latino music scene had showed a structure and personality (two huge components of marketability) previously unbeknown to most. I, along with many other Nuyoricans and Latinos alike, championed its overnight success and the fact that these artists were being taken in by the mainstream urban machine (hearing Daddy Yankee and Pitbull completely demolish Lil' Jon's "What You Gonna Do" appealed to hip-hop, crunk, and reggaeton fans alike in one fell swoop). Other signs of it's apparent proliferation: DJs in NYC had replaced the amount of dancehall reggae they played on a normal club night with reggaeton, reggaeton mixshows were popping up on hip-hop stations, and Univision Radio switching the formats of many of its affiliate networks to cater to the new demand of its listeners' (the birth of "La Kalle").
And then came "Gasolina"… The popularity of Daddy Yankee's 2004 hit spread like wildfire, and was the dominant catalyst in casting the genre into the American eye. Then, in the tradition of American commercialism with anything naturally popular, the major labels came calling with arms wide open: some signing artists directly (Interscope with DY and Atlantic with Tego), and some creating boutique labels to cater to the budding subgenre (Roc La Familia, Wu-Tang Latino, and Bad Boy Latino). Heaps of investment capital was thrown into the culture at an almost alarming rate, and subsequently, the product placement and endorsement deals came: Don Omar and Daddy Yankee had their respective sneaker deals (RBK & Umbro), while Tego was featured in a prominent Hennessy print ad campaign. Musically, the hits were being pumped out rapidly, and the masses continued to digest: everyone, including Paris Hilton, wanted a reggaeton track with hopes of syncing themselves into the latest fad and the good graces of the young Latino listener. And that's where the apparent downfall had started. Rather than growing on its own, the genre was immediately and prematurely deemed as the "next big thing", yet the music remained horrendously formulaic in nature:
THUNDEROUS INTRO + SYNTHESIZER (OR BACHATA GUITAR) + DEMBOW + MOANING GIRL ON HOOK + REPITITIOUS SUBJECT MATTER = REGGAETON SINGLE
[To be frank, that's where the genre is losing many of their immediate fans: people (not necessarily only Latinos) feel the music is redundant and monotonous. And to the ear of the casual fan, it is. People feel reluctant to grow with the music because it's sense of artistry has become extremely one-dimensional.]
Despite the recent efforts of a few albums (Calle 13, The Underdog), reggaeton's sound hasn't changed much in the last few years. In a recent issue of the FADER magazine, Tego Calderon acknowledged producer Danny Fornaris (Don Omar's "Jangueo", Tego's "Mardi Gras", Calle 13's "Se Vale To To") as the "savior of reggaeton". While that statement is bold (and perhaps impulsive given the genre's current state), certainly only a forward-moving genre will accept a producer who appears and sounds nothing like the norm (Fornaris, who sports a faux-hawk and track jackets, appears more SoHo than San Juan).
As a quick sidebar, let's compare the genre to it's distant cousin, dancehall. In origin, they are similar in many ways: the sounds come from impoverished communities within Carribean islands, both are festive in nature and implement traditional sounds (dancehall has roots reggae, while reggaeton boasts a blend of salsa/bachata & roots reggae) and both have achieved American & global success.
Though its peak in popularity occurred in 2002/2003 (with the emergence of Sean Paul and Elephant Man), dancehall continues to flourish because it's constantly evolving. The riddims (beats/pistas) are innovative and ever-changing, and the artists actually want to sound different from each other (Baby Cham, Vybz Kartel, Assassin, Busy Signal, and Movado might all show up on the same riddims, but you can easily distinguish one from another). Most importantly, their heritage is the fuel and passion for their music while the music remains an enjoyable force for the masses. (e.g. Cham's 2006 hit "Ghetto Story" was banned in Jamaica for its raw lyrics, but we all grinded to that song at every nightspot we frequented!)
Reggaeton's big singles rarely acknowledge nuestra hispanidad anymore: Don Omar's "Reggaeton Latino" hit it on the head (with an emotionally captivating music video as a bonus), but why did it stop there? Hispanics are the fastest growing demographic in the U.S., but until we all realize our worth and begin dictating our culture, we're just crabs in a bucket. Through entertainment we've gained attention, but haven't achieved much influence! How many of these artists flashing sh*t in their videos own their masters? With the murder rate in Puerto Rico extremely high as of late (45 murders in the first 2 weeks of 2007), have they or their labels done anything to help their suffering communities? There is too much sh*t going down for Puerto Rico's musical ambassadors to consistently keep their subject matter only inside la diskoteka, la calle, y la cama.
And it isn't only the artists, poor representation falls within mass media. Don't get me wrong, there isn't anything wrong with being festive and pushing the envelope (in fact, I'm all for it…it's in our nature!), but when creativity is stigmatized and objectiveness is stifled, barriers to progression will arise. Without progression and the ability to adapt, any industry will falter, especially one as volatile as the music business.
To the here and now: stations are quickly writing off reggaeton as a fad due to suffering ratings and decreasing album sales, and are trying other methods to grasp the attention of the 18-34 Latino/a. On Game's "One Blood" (Remix), NORE, who only a year-and-a-half ago claimed to "introduce reggaeton to Americans", boldly states, "…reggaeton ain't hot in the building/its okay/I get it poppin'". It might not be a direct diss, but it's definitely a sign of the times. I wonder what happened to the extremely emotional war cries that seemed wholehearted at the time: "this is a movement!," "it's about making history!"… "it's more than music!".. Hmm.
Believe me, like most of these artists and label execs, I'm out for the guap also. I'm a firm believer in the basic ideal that consumers will ultimately favor good product regardless of how manipulative marketing might be and how industry politics create smoke-and-mirrors for what's really dope. However, I don't have the answers, only calculated suggestions. But understanding that mastering the industry won't happen overnight is vital, and we need to make moves and take steps forward to save a genre with unlimited potential for success.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Reggaetonica Vault - 1994
It's almost the end of the year and I'm in a retrospective mood. So I've decided to create a Reggaetonica Vault. Below is the first article I ever wrote. It was originally a letter to the editor that was eventually published as an opinion piece in Claridad in March 1994. I was twenty-one and upset about the treatment rap and reggae were getting on the Puerto Rican press.
That first article led to the creation of the Garabatas al Cruce youth supplement of Claridad. (For an intro to Las Garbatas check my post "Why Reggaetonica?") Here is the Garabatas premier issue (June 1994), dedicated to (surprise surprise) the rap and reggae scene in PR.
The first article was a Garabatas collective effort titled "Pagan raperos por pecadores." It explored the criminalization of young men who fit the "rapero" profile.
The second article of our premier Garabatas issue was titled "Rapeando en puertorriqueño" and was co-written by Carmen Oquendo Villar and myself. Click here for Part I. Click here for Part II. Click here for Part III. Click here for Part IV. Missing is the third article of the supplement, dedicated to the growing Christian rap scene and titled "Raperos para Cristo." I still have to scan that one.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
La Sista: “Mucha yegua pa poco chongo”
La Sista’s debut CD is in stores! It's titled Majestad Negroide and just came out 2 weeks ago on Machete Music.
The Loiza native’s rhymes are well-crafted and laced with sharp wit, rage, pain, insight and smugness. She’s got a nice singing voice too. There’s a surprisingly good dose of bomba in it, a bit of salsa, pop-ballad, hip hop and reggae roots, and much much reggaeton.
I feel like when Tego’s album came out! Relieved. Elated. Proud.
Her wordplays are top-notch. La Sista is better than “chulería en pote,” she boasts. Big, strong and with no pretensions of refinement, she’s the “jodienda en cacharro.” Way ahead of simple-minded folks who will attack her with the obvious, she lays it out: she’s not the light-skinned, rail-thin model type. And?
Que tu esperabas, ¿la Tañón?
Con un bustier, cantándote esta canción
¿Porqué será para to hay un prototipo?
Qué tu pretende, ¿que La Sista se haga una lipo?
Tipo si te ‘ua dar de lo que soy
No pare ma, yo no vine a modelar
Bling? Money? Stinks like tallow, she says.
Mere, yo ando sin chaucha y sin ningún blinblineo
Y con unos africanos encaramaos en el cuello
El congo llama la sangre negra que llevo
El dinero no me llama porque apesta a sebo
The album starts with “Tu no puedes ver,” a fiery seis corrido (one of many bomba sub-genres) featuring the Ayala family and La Sista’s boasting. Next is “Rulé candela,” a nice reggaetoney take on the traditional bomba of the same title.
Dale rulé candela
Pa ver si el gas pela o no pela
Then “Anacaona,” an homage to Quisqueya’s Taíno leader. Thankfully, there is none of the playing up the Native element while playing down the African. La Sista likens herself to Anacaona, but says straight out she’s the African version.
Aquí está tu cimarrona[…]
Versión africana, yo soy tu Anacaona
Next up is a love song to reggaeton titled “Mi reggaeton.”
Tu eres mi desahogo, contigo canto y lloro
Contigo bailo y río, por ti me desvivo
Tu eres mi consuelo, por ti yo me desvelo
Then comes “Calabo & Bamboo.” The title is derived from a Luis Palés Matos poem but thankfully takes it where Palés certainly didn’t.
Recoge tus casquibaches
No frego más un caldero
No te hago más comía
Ve en caje de tu tía
No te tengo más la ropa al día
Avanza y lárgate déjame la percha vacía
Qué tú te crees, ¿que están a dos por vellón?
Si cuando tu iba yo venía por el callejón
So many things about so many of the other songs strike me. But if I keep waiting to have time to write all that down, you might not get the chance to get this album for Christmas or Reyes. And I think the sooner the better, since we all should give La Sista the support she deserves. Spread the word.
I can’t help but end citing the hip hop-heavy “This Is My Game,” by far my favorite.
Yo vengo del congo
Yo soy mucha yegua pa poco chongo
She is!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Why “Reggaetonica”?
I’ve been asked about this blog’s title.
It’s not so much that I am reggaetonic—although I do like that play on words—but that reggaeton is the “tonic” of our times.
“Tonic” as in “nota tónica” (tonic note):
1. Primera de la escala del tono en que está compuesto un trozo
2. The first note in a scale and the harmony built on this note
“Tonic” as in “sílaba tónica” (tonic syllable):
1. Que recibe el tono o acento
2. The syllable that has the main stress in a word
“Tonic” also as in:
1. Something that lifts the spirits or makes somebody feel better generally
2. A medicine that purports to make patients feel stronger, more energetic, and generally healthier
Gendering the word female in “reggaetonica” instead of using the implicitly masculine “reggaetonic” is also my homage to a group of young writers in the early 1990s in Puerto Rico that named ourselves Garabatas al Cruce in order to rant from the pages of Claridad newspaper. Even though we were a mixed group, we chose to gender our name female: Las Garabatas rather than Los Garabatos. We figured: Why not?
Gallego, a.k.a. Jose Raul Gonzalez—who later rose to fame as reggaeton’s Resident Poet—was part of it. So was Harry Hernandez, Carmen Oquendo Villar, Damaris Estrada and Rossana Vidal.
Much of Las Garabatas' initial motivation was our feeling that rap, reggae, graffiti and other art forms cultivated by our generation were being dismissed and shortchanged. Our name was indebted to a University of Puerto Rico professor who, during a lecture, called graffiti “garabatos en la pared” (scribbles on the wall). Our name was also an homage to proto-reggaeton artist Falo’s anthem “Pa’l Cruce.”
Reggaetonica, in turn, is indebted to Las Garabatas. Vuelvo a tirarme a pié.
It’s not so much that I am reggaetonic—although I do like that play on words—but that reggaeton is the “tonic” of our times.
“Tonic” as in “nota tónica” (tonic note):
1. Primera de la escala del tono en que está compuesto un trozo
2. The first note in a scale and the harmony built on this note
“Tonic” as in “sílaba tónica” (tonic syllable):
1. Que recibe el tono o acento
2. The syllable that has the main stress in a word
“Tonic” also as in:
1. Something that lifts the spirits or makes somebody feel better generally
2. A medicine that purports to make patients feel stronger, more energetic, and generally healthier
Gendering the word female in “reggaetonica” instead of using the implicitly masculine “reggaetonic” is also my homage to a group of young writers in the early 1990s in Puerto Rico that named ourselves Garabatas al Cruce in order to rant from the pages of Claridad newspaper. Even though we were a mixed group, we chose to gender our name female: Las Garabatas rather than Los Garabatos. We figured: Why not?
Gallego, a.k.a. Jose Raul Gonzalez—who later rose to fame as reggaeton’s Resident Poet—was part of it. So was Harry Hernandez, Carmen Oquendo Villar, Damaris Estrada and Rossana Vidal.
Much of Las Garabatas' initial motivation was our feeling that rap, reggae, graffiti and other art forms cultivated by our generation were being dismissed and shortchanged. Our name was indebted to a University of Puerto Rico professor who, during a lecture, called graffiti “garabatos en la pared” (scribbles on the wall). Our name was also an homage to proto-reggaeton artist Falo’s anthem “Pa’l Cruce.”
Reggaetonica, in turn, is indebted to Las Garabatas. Vuelvo a tirarme a pié.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
SEEKING writings on Panama’s reggae/reggaeton scene
My co-editors and myself (for the anthology Reading Reggaeton) have had a very hard time identifying folks writing on Panama’s reggae/reggaeton scene. We are interested in both academic and journalistic writings. We welcome recent articles, but we are particularly seeking articles written in the 1990s (and even earlier).
Any suggestions? Please forward the info to raquelzrivera@gmail.com
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Reggaeton in "Tha Global Cipha"
Yesterday, I walked into my classroom at Columbia to find a greatly pleasant surprise: James G. Spady and Samir Meghelli came to visit!
James and Samir are two of the co-editors (the third is H. Samy Alim) of the newly-released book Tha Global Cipha: Hip Hop Culture and Consciousness, a collection of interviews with artists from all over the world—from U.S.-based MCs and DJs, to dancehall, rai, shaabi and reggaeton artists. Ivy Queen, Tego Calderon, Yaga & Mackie speak from these pages right alongside Jay Z, Eve, Talib Kweli, Trina, Pitbull, Fat Joe, DJ Kool Herc, Lady Saw, Sean Paul, among many, many others. Even Sonia Sanchez, George Clinton and Rick James!
I have my copy and can't wait to dig into its pages.
It was perfect timing for James and Samir’s surprise visit, given that Carlos “REC” McBride had accepted my invitation to come speak about his work as the Director of The Teen Resource Center in Holyoke, Massachusetts—particularly about the ways in which he is integrating hip hop and reggaeton into his programs. To top it off, REC brought one of the young members of the Center, Juan a.k.a. Knowledge.
Juan and REC gave us a very focused picture of the way reggaeton and hip hop play out in an economically-depressed, largely Puerto Rican town in the U.S.’s Northeast. Meanwhile, James and Samir took us on a global tour, exploring many of the “children” and even “foreparents” of hip hop.
I have yet to get feedback from the students (which I will be sure to ask for during our next class session). But judging by the way they enthusiastically interacted with our guests, I suspect they might agree with me that it was the most dynamic class all semester.
Juan, REC, Samir and James: I can’t thank you enough.
Monday, November 27, 2006
La Bruja and "Mi Gatita Negra"
Last Tuesday in the class I am teaching at Columbia University, we watched two segments of The Chosen Few, El Documental (Part I): Sex & Reggaeton and Women in Latin Hip Hop / Reggaeton.
La Bruja is featured in both, speaking her sharp mind.
In the discussion that followed, many students expressed that for them La Bruja had been the main voice of reason in those sections, particularly because of the way she criticized the portrayal of women in popular music as one-dimensional objects of lust.
It occurred to me that showing La Bruja's risqué Mi Gatita Negra video might provide some counterpoint to the discussion, since lust is very prominent in that video's imagery.
One of the students had her laptop, so she searched for the video on youtube and we all crowded around her screen to watch.
Posted By:LA BRUJA
Get this video and more at MySpace.com
The ensuing debate was fascinating. Some argued La Bruja was contradicting herself by producing the usual kind of images that exploit female bodies as bait. Others said the images were innovative because the video's milkman was being equally exploited. Others argued that maybe La Bruja was just showing her sexy side; she may be righteous and socially-conscious but that does NOT and should NOT cancel out her sensual existence. Others speculated maybe the video was just a promotional ploy to hook viewers; once they became La Bruja fans, she would have them captive to receive the knowledge she can drop.
One of the students, who goes by Poet Warrior in myspace, had the fine idea to try to contact La Bruja and get answers straight from the source. And get answers she did! You can read their exchange in La Bruja's latest myspace blog titled How Could You Bruja?
Much respect to La Bruja. And to Poet Warrior.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
The Myth of Latino Brown-ness
Language conspires against us. How to make ourselves understood and at the same time speak in a way that does not perpetuate crazy myths?
For example: “Black” is used as a synonym for African American in the U.S. and, more and more often African Americans and Latinos are spoken about using the language of skin color: “Blacks and Browns.”
But is brown a useful label when so many Latinos are (whether by looks or by ancestry) just as black or even “blacker” than many African Americans? Is brown a useful label to describe Latinos ranging from the milkiest skin-toned to the ebony complexioned?
(Below, a great and scary example of racial disparities and myths in Latin America, courtesy of a Colombian travel site.)
The work of photographer Luis M. Salazar, born in El Salvador in 1974, was showcased last year at the S-Files collective exhibit at El Museo del Barrio in East Harlem.
The photo series is titled Spark La Música: Hip Hop en español in New York City, 2003-2005 and features artists like La Bruja, Enemigo, Don Divino, Inti and El Meswy. Considering the huge range of skin tones evident in the photos (from Don Divino and Inti’s deep brown skin to La Bruja’s and El Meswy’s cream-colored complexions) the text accompanying the photos struck me: “They come from [description of their various regional backgrounds]. And besides their color of skin and mother tongue, they all share the love of hip-hop culture.” I wondered: How can the text state these artists share a “color” while the photographic evidence right next to those words screams to the contrary?
“They are the ‘brown’ people,” states the exhibit text, curiously placing “brown” in quotation marks, but still describing their skin color as uniform.
To add yet another spin to the matter, while the above mentioned hip hop artists featured in Salazar’s photo series are from Latin America (Puerto Rico and Colombia), El Meswy is from Spain. So not only is this European artist being incorporated into the definition of Latino, but he is also endowed with the mythical brown-ness of Latinos and Latin Americans. It is a brown-ness that, though using the language of racial phenotypes (looks), stands as a synonym for a Latino pan-ethnicity that reaches across the Atlantic to Spain: to the “motherland” or “evil stepmotherland” of Latin Americans, depending on who you ask.
Some people insist that describing Latinos as brown is appropriate because we are supposedly all mixed. Yet, describing all Latinos as brown is tricky considering some of us are more mixed than others; also considering that some of us are just as mixed as African Americans, Native Americans, Asians or whites in the U.S.; also considering that some of us are not mixed at all; AND, also considering that depending on how mixed you are, you get treated differently, courtesy of Latino and Latin American-style racism and self-hatred.
Other people say that Latino brown-ness is just a convenient label that uses the language of skin color but really points beyond race. They say that brown-ness is a good symbolic way for Latinos to bridge our racial differences. But I do not buy it. This all sounds way too much like Mexican writer Jose Vasconselos’ dangerous myth of the “cosmic race” from back in the 1920s or like 1930s Puerto Rican writer Tomas Blanco playing down Latin American racism as “a kid’s game” compared to racism in the U.S.. Using the label brown to describe all Latinos sounds like a re-packaging of the old myth of “racial democracy” in Latin America.
As long as white is the color of privilege among Latinos and Latin Americans, pretending we are all brown sounds like a terrible idea to me. How can we address racial conflict, differences and inequality among Latinos if, supposedly, we are all brown?
For example: “Black” is used as a synonym for African American in the U.S. and, more and more often African Americans and Latinos are spoken about using the language of skin color: “Blacks and Browns.”
But is brown a useful label when so many Latinos are (whether by looks or by ancestry) just as black or even “blacker” than many African Americans? Is brown a useful label to describe Latinos ranging from the milkiest skin-toned to the ebony complexioned?
(Below, a great and scary example of racial disparities and myths in Latin America, courtesy of a Colombian travel site.)
The work of photographer Luis M. Salazar, born in El Salvador in 1974, was showcased last year at the S-Files collective exhibit at El Museo del Barrio in East Harlem.
The photo series is titled Spark La Música: Hip Hop en español in New York City, 2003-2005 and features artists like La Bruja, Enemigo, Don Divino, Inti and El Meswy. Considering the huge range of skin tones evident in the photos (from Don Divino and Inti’s deep brown skin to La Bruja’s and El Meswy’s cream-colored complexions) the text accompanying the photos struck me: “They come from [description of their various regional backgrounds]. And besides their color of skin and mother tongue, they all share the love of hip-hop culture.” I wondered: How can the text state these artists share a “color” while the photographic evidence right next to those words screams to the contrary?
“They are the ‘brown’ people,” states the exhibit text, curiously placing “brown” in quotation marks, but still describing their skin color as uniform.
To add yet another spin to the matter, while the above mentioned hip hop artists featured in Salazar’s photo series are from Latin America (Puerto Rico and Colombia), El Meswy is from Spain. So not only is this European artist being incorporated into the definition of Latino, but he is also endowed with the mythical brown-ness of Latinos and Latin Americans. It is a brown-ness that, though using the language of racial phenotypes (looks), stands as a synonym for a Latino pan-ethnicity that reaches across the Atlantic to Spain: to the “motherland” or “evil stepmotherland” of Latin Americans, depending on who you ask.
Some people insist that describing Latinos as brown is appropriate because we are supposedly all mixed. Yet, describing all Latinos as brown is tricky considering some of us are more mixed than others; also considering that some of us are just as mixed as African Americans, Native Americans, Asians or whites in the U.S.; also considering that some of us are not mixed at all; AND, also considering that depending on how mixed you are, you get treated differently, courtesy of Latino and Latin American-style racism and self-hatred.
Other people say that Latino brown-ness is just a convenient label that uses the language of skin color but really points beyond race. They say that brown-ness is a good symbolic way for Latinos to bridge our racial differences. But I do not buy it. This all sounds way too much like Mexican writer Jose Vasconselos’ dangerous myth of the “cosmic race” from back in the 1920s or like 1930s Puerto Rican writer Tomas Blanco playing down Latin American racism as “a kid’s game” compared to racism in the U.S.. Using the label brown to describe all Latinos sounds like a re-packaging of the old myth of “racial democracy” in Latin America.
As long as white is the color of privilege among Latinos and Latin Americans, pretending we are all brown sounds like a terrible idea to me. How can we address racial conflict, differences and inequality among Latinos if, supposedly, we are all brown?
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Los boricuas no comen mangu… Thoughts on Ethnic Chauvinism and Racial Exclusion
The other day I attended an amazing Boricua roots music block party at the Casita de Chema in the Bronx: plena and bomba galore, courtesy of Bomplenazo 2006. I was intensely enjoying myself until one of the verses sung from the stage got caught in my ears, my brain, my heart.
I wish I could remember verbatim what the singer said in Spanish, but it was something to the effect of: I dont eat mangu; I eat mofongo because I am a proud Puerto Rican.
Huh?
Now really, what is the relevance or purpose of basing our Puerto Ricanness on the food we (supposedly) do not eat? Specially, when that food (though mofongo's cousin) has its incomparable charms and, we could argue, is just as much ours, since it is Caribbean. (And, last time I checked, we are still all Caribbean.)
Chill, I told myself. Its just a silly, unimportant statement. But it was so silly that it worried me. Its upon this kind of silliness that larger silliness rests on. And on and on until it turns into a big ludicrous situation. Those silly verses catapulted me into a flashback.
Twas the night of the Puerto Rican Day Parade. Lets call this story: El mini-Tego y la presunta no-boricua
Estamos en el Club Exit la noche del Desfile Puertorriqueño. La discoteca esta forrada de jovenes que perrean con desenfreno y cantan euforicos a la par del Abayarde. Tego recorre el escenario con su gracia y aplomo caracteristicos, inclinandose microfono en mano frente a alguno de los asistentes para dejarlo o dejarla rapear varios versos.
Alguien imita las inflecciones vocales (el mentadisimo flow) de Tego de manera tal que este le tiende la mano y lo sube al escenario. De entre la muchedumbre surge un joven minusculo, aun mas bajito que Tego, coronado por un gloriosamente enorme afro. El look y la habilidad rapeadora del muchacho arranca enardecidos aplausos, brincos, silbidos y gritos a los presentes. Al final de la intervencion de su mini-doble, Tego le da las gracias y le pregunta su nombre. Casi no escucho el nombre que ofrece en respuesta, pero si los gruñidos y suspiros desencantados del publico cuando dice: yo soy dominicano pero...
Ya violadas las presunciones nacionales del publico, de nada le sirve al mini-Tego su declaracion de amor y respeto por los puertorriqueños y su musica. La leccion? El Dia del Desfile Puertorriqueño las frustraciones se canalizan orgulleciendonos de ser lo que otra gente (supuestamente) no es. Ese dia no es buen momento para intentar cruzar fronteras, por inmateriales que sean.
Y eso que el rapeador dominicano mantuvo su credibilidad intacta hasta que declaro ser de la isla no homenajeada de la noche. Peor suerte tuvo la muchacha que antes de Tego subir al escenario se habia encuerado hasta mostrar sus grietas mas reconditas (ninguna de las otras dizque concursantes se atrevio a tanto) para deleite de la perreadora concurrencia.
De hecho, los aplausos del publico la habian declarado ganadora hasta que al presentador se le ocurrio decir: Pero esta mujer no me tiene cara de boricua. Ustedes creen que esta mujer es boricua?
Un rumor interrogativo recorrio la multitud y acto seguido se empezaron a oir los abucheos. Que le decimos a esta?, pregunto el presentador al bien entrenado publico. El gentio estallo a coro: Pintate pal carajo!
A mi alrededor zumbaban los detalles: Esa seguro era dominicana, dijo una. She is obviously African American, dijo otro. La primera respondio: Claro, una puertorriqueña no iba a ser tan fresca.
El mini-Tego quedo descartado cuando abrio la boca y dijo que era dominicano. Pero a la muchacha la descalificaron mucho antes de poder pronunciar palabra. Mientras que la piel acaramelada del mini-Tego no desperto mayores sospechas, la piel de la presunta no-boricua era reluciente azabache. Y asi, ella tambien fue desterrada del colectivo que esa noche celebraba su orgullo nacional, quien sabe si con su puertorriqueñidad clavada en su negra garganta.
All I have left to say is:
Too black to be Puerto Rican?!
(Award-winning writer (and one of my heroes), Mayra Santos Febres.)
And, is this what Puerto Ricans must deny for the sake of national pride?
If we insist on being so narrow-minded, we will keep missing out on most of what WE are.
I wish I could remember verbatim what the singer said in Spanish, but it was something to the effect of: I dont eat mangu; I eat mofongo because I am a proud Puerto Rican.
Huh?
Now really, what is the relevance or purpose of basing our Puerto Ricanness on the food we (supposedly) do not eat? Specially, when that food (though mofongo's cousin) has its incomparable charms and, we could argue, is just as much ours, since it is Caribbean. (And, last time I checked, we are still all Caribbean.)
Chill, I told myself. Its just a silly, unimportant statement. But it was so silly that it worried me. Its upon this kind of silliness that larger silliness rests on. And on and on until it turns into a big ludicrous situation. Those silly verses catapulted me into a flashback.
Twas the night of the Puerto Rican Day Parade. Lets call this story: El mini-Tego y la presunta no-boricua
Estamos en el Club Exit la noche del Desfile Puertorriqueño. La discoteca esta forrada de jovenes que perrean con desenfreno y cantan euforicos a la par del Abayarde. Tego recorre el escenario con su gracia y aplomo caracteristicos, inclinandose microfono en mano frente a alguno de los asistentes para dejarlo o dejarla rapear varios versos.
Alguien imita las inflecciones vocales (el mentadisimo flow) de Tego de manera tal que este le tiende la mano y lo sube al escenario. De entre la muchedumbre surge un joven minusculo, aun mas bajito que Tego, coronado por un gloriosamente enorme afro. El look y la habilidad rapeadora del muchacho arranca enardecidos aplausos, brincos, silbidos y gritos a los presentes. Al final de la intervencion de su mini-doble, Tego le da las gracias y le pregunta su nombre. Casi no escucho el nombre que ofrece en respuesta, pero si los gruñidos y suspiros desencantados del publico cuando dice: yo soy dominicano pero...
Ya violadas las presunciones nacionales del publico, de nada le sirve al mini-Tego su declaracion de amor y respeto por los puertorriqueños y su musica. La leccion? El Dia del Desfile Puertorriqueño las frustraciones se canalizan orgulleciendonos de ser lo que otra gente (supuestamente) no es. Ese dia no es buen momento para intentar cruzar fronteras, por inmateriales que sean.
Y eso que el rapeador dominicano mantuvo su credibilidad intacta hasta que declaro ser de la isla no homenajeada de la noche. Peor suerte tuvo la muchacha que antes de Tego subir al escenario se habia encuerado hasta mostrar sus grietas mas reconditas (ninguna de las otras dizque concursantes se atrevio a tanto) para deleite de la perreadora concurrencia.
De hecho, los aplausos del publico la habian declarado ganadora hasta que al presentador se le ocurrio decir: Pero esta mujer no me tiene cara de boricua. Ustedes creen que esta mujer es boricua?
Un rumor interrogativo recorrio la multitud y acto seguido se empezaron a oir los abucheos. Que le decimos a esta?, pregunto el presentador al bien entrenado publico. El gentio estallo a coro: Pintate pal carajo!
A mi alrededor zumbaban los detalles: Esa seguro era dominicana, dijo una. She is obviously African American, dijo otro. La primera respondio: Claro, una puertorriqueña no iba a ser tan fresca.
El mini-Tego quedo descartado cuando abrio la boca y dijo que era dominicano. Pero a la muchacha la descalificaron mucho antes de poder pronunciar palabra. Mientras que la piel acaramelada del mini-Tego no desperto mayores sospechas, la piel de la presunta no-boricua era reluciente azabache. Y asi, ella tambien fue desterrada del colectivo que esa noche celebraba su orgullo nacional, quien sabe si con su puertorriqueñidad clavada en su negra garganta.
All I have left to say is:
Too black to be Puerto Rican?!
(Award-winning writer (and one of my heroes), Mayra Santos Febres.)And, is this what Puerto Ricans must deny for the sake of national pride?
If we insist on being so narrow-minded, we will keep missing out on most of what WE are.
Monday, October 02, 2006
As if "Blackness" and "Latino-ness" Don't Intersect
Last week in class, I had a hell of a hard time explaining that blackness and the African diaspora in the Americas include LatinAmericans/Latinos. Students were very resistant to the concept that "The Black Atlantic" can include Latin America. The most difficult assumption to break (in their case) is that the music of the English and French-speaking Caribbean is somehow "blacker" (across the board) than the music of the Spanish-speaking Caribbean.
It was an odd discussion we had. Their objections were based more on preconceived notions than facts but they were nevertheless very resistant to the facts. I had no audiovisual material at the moment (aside from reggae and reggaeton tracks) to make it all more concrete for them, so I have been looking for the best ammunition possible to put the matter to rest once and for all. I am confident some musical/visual material will persuade them.
I have access to some early 90s documentaries on music and the African diaspora, like Routes of Rhythm. I can also play clips from the JVC/Smithsonian video collection on Caribbean roots music. But I am wondering if anyone has anything else to recommend.
A recent documentary that illustrates musically The Black Atlantic (Paul Gilroy's book) or "The Caribbean as a Musical Region" (Kenneth Bilby's article) would be ideal, particularly if it includes more contemporary expressions like hip hop and reggaeton.
Where is that documentary? I can't find it! Does it just not exist? Does this mean that it is up to one of us to make it (or somehow facilitate the making of it)?
It was an odd discussion we had. Their objections were based more on preconceived notions than facts but they were nevertheless very resistant to the facts. I had no audiovisual material at the moment (aside from reggae and reggaeton tracks) to make it all more concrete for them, so I have been looking for the best ammunition possible to put the matter to rest once and for all. I am confident some musical/visual material will persuade them.
I have access to some early 90s documentaries on music and the African diaspora, like Routes of Rhythm. I can also play clips from the JVC/Smithsonian video collection on Caribbean roots music. But I am wondering if anyone has anything else to recommend.
A recent documentary that illustrates musically The Black Atlantic (Paul Gilroy's book) or "The Caribbean as a Musical Region" (Kenneth Bilby's article) would be ideal, particularly if it includes more contemporary expressions like hip hop and reggaeton.
Where is that documentary? I can't find it! Does it just not exist? Does this mean that it is up to one of us to make it (or somehow facilitate the making of it)?
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