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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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?

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.

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)?

Friday, September 15, 2006

From Hip Hop to Reggaeton - Syllabus

I have received a lot of requests for the syllabus of the class I am currently teaching at Columbia University. I am posting it here for easy access.

Any suggestions for further readings or other resources are greatly appreciated.

RZ


Latino Studies W3920 section 001
Topics in the Latino Experience

From Hip Hop to Reggaeton:
New Directions in Latino Youth Cultures


Fall 2006

Professor Raquel Z. Rivera
rzr2102@columbia.edu

COURSE DESCRIPTION

This seminar will examine two of the newest trends in Latino youth cultures: hip-hop and reggaeton. This course will attempt to complicate the largely a-historical treatment of hip hop and reggaeton in mass-mediated portrayals by engaging in a cultural studies critique of youth cultural formations. Given the dearth of scholarly analysis of these topics, students will: research and critically examine the literature that is available, both academic and popular; identify necessary areas of study; and embark on a semester-long research project designed to expand the body of knowledge available on the subject. Students will develop individual research projects, while working closely with one another, sharing ideas and resources, and critically analyzing each others’ work.

TOPICS

Sept. 5
Introduction


Sept. 12
Media Coverage of Reggaeton

Read recent magazine and newspaper articles posted in Assignments.

Deborah Pacini-Hernandez, “The Name Game: Locating Latinos, Latins and Latin Americans in the US Popular Music Landscape, forthcoming in Juan Flores and Renato Rosaldo (eds.), Latino Studies Reader, Blackwell Publishing, pp. 1-26.

Juan Flores, "Pan-Latino/Trans-Latino: Puerto Ricans in the 'New Nueva York'" in From Bomba to Hip Hop: Puerto Rican Culture and Latino Identity, New York: Columbia University Press, 2000, pp. 140-165.


Sept. 19
Proto-Reggaeton: Puerto Rican “Underground” and Panamanian “Reggae en Español”

Mayra Santos, “Puerto Rican Underground,” Centro, vol. 8, no. 1 & 2, 1996, pp. 219-231.

Raquel Z. Rivera, “Policing Morality, Mano Dura Stylee: The Case of Underground Rap and Reggae in Puerto Rico,” forthcoming in Raquel Z. Rivera, Deborah Pacini-Hernandez and Wayne Marshall (eds.), Reading Reggaeton

Joseph Pereira, “Translation or Transformation: Gender in Hispanic Reggae,” Social and Economic Studies, 47: 1, March, 1998, 79-88.

Dancehall Reggaespañol liner notes, 1991.


Sept. 26
Class and Race: Parallels Between Salsa and Reggaeton

Keith Negus, “Introduction” and “Identities” in Popular Music in Theory: An Introduction, Hanover: University Press of New England, 1996, pp. 1-6, 99-135.

Jorge L. Giovannetti, “Popular Music and Culture in Puerto Rico: Jamaican and Rap Music as Cross-Cultural Symbols,” in Frances R. Aparicio and Cándida F. Jáquez, Musical Migrations: Transnationalism and Cultural Hybridity in the Americas, New York: Palgrave, 2003, pp. 81-98.

Frances Aparicio, “Situating Salsa,” Chapter 4 in Listening to Salsa: Gender, Latin Popular Music and Puerto Rican Cultures, Hanover: Press of New England, 1998, pp. 142–153.

Zaire Dinzey-Flores, “From the Disco to the Projects: Urban Spatial Aesthetics and Policy to the Beat of Reggaeton,” forthcoming in Raquel Z. Rivera, Deborah Pacini-Hernandez and Wayne Marshall (eds.), Reading Reggaeton

Raquel Z. Rivera, “Will the Real Blanquitos Please Stand Up?: Class, Race and Reggaeton, www.reggaetonica.blogspot.com


October 3
Reggaeton, Hip Hop and Popular Music Theory

Keith Negus, “Audiences” and “Geographies” in Popular Music in Theory: An Introduction, Hanover: University Press of New England, 1996, pp. 7-35, pp. 164-189.

Ejima Baker, “A Preliminary Step in Exploring Reggaetón,” in Ellie M. Hisama and Evan Rapport, Critical Minded: New Approaches to Hip Hop Studies, Brooklyn: Institute for Studies in American Music, 2005, pp. 107-123.

Ejima Baker, “Remixing and Reshaping Latin@s on Black Entertainment Television,” forthcoming in Raquel Z. Rivera, Deborah Pacini-Hernandez and Wayne Marshall (eds.), Reading Reggaeton


October 10
Race, Nation, Ethnicity

Norman E. Whitten, Jr. and Arlene Torres, “Blackness in the Americas,” NACLA, vol. XXV, number 4, February 1992, pp. 16-22.

John Burdick, “The Myth of Racial Democracy,” NACLA, vol. XXV, number 4, February 1992, pp. 40-44.

Ramón Grosfoguel and Chloé Georas. “The Racialization of Latino Caribbean Migrants,” Centro, 1996, pp. 97-118.

Raquel Z. Rivera, “Between Blackness and Latinidad in the Hip Hop Zone,” forthcoming in Juan Flores and Renato Rosaldo (ed), Latino Studies Reader, Blackwell Publishers, pp. 1-20.

Deborah Pacini-Hernandez, “Are Dominicans in the Mix?: Reflections on Dominicans and Reggaeton,” forthcoming in Raquel Z. Rivera, Deborah Pacini-Hernandez and Wayne Marshall (eds.), Reading Reggaeton


October 17
Rap and Reggaeton in Cuba

Geoffrey Baker, “¡Hip hop, revolución! Nationalizing Rap in Cuba,” Ethnomusicology 49 (3), 2005, pp. 368-402.

Geoffrey Baker, “The Politics of Dancing: Reggaeton and Rap in Havana,” forthcoming in Raquel Z. Rivera, Deborah Pacini-Hernandez and Wayne Marshall (eds.), Reading Reggaeton

Alberto Faya Montano, 2005, “Some Notes on Reggaeton,” www.afrocubaweb.com/rastas.htm

Margaux Joffe, "As Free as the Words of a Poem: Las Krudas and the Cuban Hip-Hop Movement,” 2006, http://mrzine.monthlyreview.org/joffe130206.html


October 24
Rap and Reggaeton in Miami

Jose Dávila, “Reggaeton and the Miami Urban Scene,” forthcoming in Raquel Z. Rivera, Deborah Pacini-Hernandez and Wayne Marshall (eds.), Reading Reggaeton

George Yudice, "Miami: Images of a Latinopolis.” NACLA Report on the Americas 39.3 (Nov-Dec 2005): 35(6). Expanded Academic ASAP. Thomson Gale.


October 31
U.S. Latinos in Hip Hop

Raquel Z. Rivera, New York Ricans from the Hip Hop Zone, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003, pp. ix-96.

Raegan Kelly, 2004, Hip Hop Chicano: A Separate but Parallel Story, in That’s the Joint!: The Hip Hop Studies Reader, New York: Routledge, pp. 95-103.


November 14
U.S. Latinos in Hip Hop (cont.)

Raquel Z. Rivera, New York Ricans from the Hip Hop Zone, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003, pp. 97-195.


November 21
Gendering Reggaeton

Felix Jiménez, “Wrapped in Foil: Glory at 12 Words a Minute,” forthcoming in Raquel Z. Rivera, Deborah Pacini-Hernandez and Wayne Marshall (eds.), Reading Reggaeton

Alfredo Nieves, “A Man Lives Here: Reggaeton’s Hypermasculine Resident,” forthcoming in Raquel Z. Rivera, Deborah Pacini-Hernandez and Wayne Marshall (eds.), Reading Reggaeton

Jillian Baez, “’En mi imperio’: Competing Discourses of Agency in Ivy Queen’s Reggaeton,” forthcoming in Centro Journal


November 28
Gendering Hip Hop

Imani Perry, Chapter 5 in Prophets of the Hood: Politics and Poetics in Hip Hop, Durham: Duke University Press, 2004, pp. 117-154, 155-190.

Mark Anthony Neal, “I’ll be Nina Simone Defecating on Your Microphone,” in That’s the Joint!: The Hip Hop Studies Reader, New York: Routledge, 2004, pp. 247-250.

Cheryl L. Keyes, “Empowering Self, Making Choices, Creating Spaces: Black Female Identity via Rap Music Performance,” in That’s the Joint!: The Hip Hop Studies Reader, New York: Routledge, 2004, pp. 265-276.

Joan Morgan, “Hip Hop Feminist,” in Murray Forman and Mark Anthony Neal (ed.), That’s the Joint!: The Hip Hop Studies Reader, New York: Routledge, 2004, pp. 277-281.

Gwendolyn D. Pough, “Seeds and Legacies: Tapping the Potential in Hip Hop,” in That’s the Joint!: The Hip Hop Studies Reader, New York: Routledge, 2004, pp. 283-289.


December 5
Gendering Dancehall

Carolyn Cooper, 2004, Chapters 2-3 in Sound Clash : Jamaican Dancehall Culture at Large, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 73-123.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Half-Puerto Rican?!

What and who is half-Puerto Rican?

The question has a pretty clear answer in the U.S., but not in Puerto Rico and many other parts of Latin America. While in the U.S. it is common for people to be half this, a quarter this and a quarter that, the same is not true in other places.

I grew up the child of a Puerto Rican father and a Cuban mother in Puerto Rico. It never occurred to anyone to tell me that I was half Cuban. I was Puerto Rican, just like my Puerto Rican-born neighbors whose parents were Haitian immigrants, and like my friend Vilina whose mom was Dominican, and just like Trina the bully with Virgin Island parentage who tortured me all through evangelical grade school. We were all Puerto Rican. It was our parents who were something else.

The only Puerto Rican-born kids who I ever heard referred to as something else were the extremely wealthy Cuban friends of a friend who went to an elite private school.

It was once I moved to New York at twenty-two that, to my surprise, someone described me as half-Cuban. Half-Cuban? I thought that was real funny. How could I possibly be half-Cuban when I was born and raised in Puerto Rico and knew nothing about Cuba? Whatever, I thought. If that is how heritage was measured in the U.S., then o.k..

But then I thought: my Cuban Mom is the child of my Cuban-born Grandmother whose both parents were Puerto Rican immigrants to Cuba in the early 1900s. Ha! That means, according to U.S.-standards, my Grandmother is Puerto Rican and my Mother half-Cuban. So technically, that makes me only one-quarter Cuban, according to U.S. standards, of course.

Those U.S. standards (though influencing the way ethnicity is increasingly perceived in Puerto Rico) are still different from ethnicity standards in the island.

I have been thinking about these differences a lot lately, since my friend and mentor Deborah Pacini-Hernandez has been writing about Dominicans in reggaeton. She is faced by a curious challenge: how to properly explore the Dominican dimension of Puerto Rican reggaeton and/or hip hop? How to address the Dominican ancestry of the many artists born and/or raised in Puerto Rico without imposing U.S. identity standards on the analysis?

How should we think of the following artists?



Lisa M., a pioneering rap artist born and raised in PR, about to drop a new album. One of her parents is Dominican, the other is Puerto Rican.



Nicky Jam, a reggaeton artist born in the Dominican Republic to a Dominican parent and a Puerto Rican one, who moved as a child to Puerto Rico.



Sietenueve, a hip hop artist born and raised in Puerto Rico.

Both Sietenueve's parents are Dominican. His song Jibaro Jop (with E.A. Flow) from his album El progreso blew my mind, not only because the track is excellent lyrically and musically, but also because of how he identifies on the national/ethnic tip. In it, Sietenueve highlights his commitment to Puerto Rican national liberation by boasting he is a cibaeño aguzao (a sharp-witted man from El Cibao, Dominican Republic). He is proudly celebrating that he is Puerto Rican and Dominican. Not any less of one, because he is also the other. 100 percent jibaro real. 100 percent c ibaeño aguzao. If we were to define him solely by his parents' ethnicity, where would that leave his Puerto Ricanness?

There are many more examples, but this is my last one: Welmo, a hip hop artist born and raised in Puerto Rico. One of his parents is Haitian and the other Dominican.



If we applied the half-this and half-that U.S. standards, Welmo would be half Dominican and half Haitian. Again, where would that leave his Puerto Ricanness?

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Email Conversation With Felix Jimenez on my Blanquitos and Reggaeton Post

Felix Jimenez is a journalist, professor and author of Las practicas de la carne (2005) and Vieques y la prensa (2001).


Mi Querida Raquel: LOVED YOUR BLOG! Las preguntas que tienes son pertinentisimas. But add this to the mix: The problematic reality of self-description. I wonder how many of the wildly successful, platinum-record winning regaetoneros would have self-destructed without an initial barrio-bound, non-blanquito description that was concocted to give them an early sympathy factor at the start of their careers. The fact that property values (and other financial and educational opportunities that might have been offered by their parents) are concealed from the equation REGGAETONERO=DEL PUEBLO=GENUINO=REAL=DE LA CALLE is a function of the ever-present "reggaetonero template" which eases the way for many a reggaetonero-hopeful to enter the musical world. As Cuba Gooding's character in Jerry McGuire, the template shouts "Show me the money!"

The myth of the street is a vital factor of reggaeton's "identity litmus test." It is an item on the essential check-list. How real and genuine can you be - in reggaeton's "identity litmus test" - if you have lived in a five-bathroom, gold-fixtured house in a gated community? The conflation of "genuine" and "real" with perceived barrio roots (and, thus, non-blanquito origins) is the ideal PR/PR (Puerto Rican Public Relations) ploy for nascent careers. WITH IT THEY AVOID QUESTIONS AND CEASELESS INTERROGATIONS ABOUT "WHY NOT ROCK?" OR "WHY NOT BALLADS, OR SALSA" OR "WHAT MADE YOU CHOOSE REGGAETON?" Public relation machines here dictate that reggaeton is not a choice, or should not be perceived as one - it must be a natural outgrowth of a performer's "background." So performers act accordingly, even if reggaeton is a choice for them over other musical rhythms. As long as reggaeton seems to be an inevitability (meaning said reggaetonero HAD to go that route because it fits with his socioeconomic and cultural non-blanquito, barrio-caserío background) less questions are asked, and the reggaetonero acquires a more natural stance, a patina of "inevitability,", of being "the real thing," "the genuine item."

Daddy Yankee's Villa Kennedy-to-riches story, for example, includes the tid-bit that he did finish his associate degree. But his geographical milieu to a certain extent dictated his natural selection of reggaton. It was not choice. This "white' poor boy, (and OH SO HANDSOME) has said so himself: Era la musica que oia en mi calle. Yo adoraba a Vico C.

Ivy Queen recounts how she had to ask for money in stop lights to help feed her family when she was living in Añasco. Her story gives texture to her present. How many reggaetoneros (and there are many, which is weird) have been barbers or stylists? That does not necessarily correlate with the educational and financial opportunities they might have had (and discarded or missed or blatantly ignored) when they were growing up. It means that - again, in the realm of the "perceived "- that they are somewhat wayward. Thuggish. Not conventional. The "thugness" factor- cosmetic as it might be in some cases - pays off.

By the same token, Residente Calle 13's perceived intelligence is a function of his cashing in on the educational/financial opportunities that his lawyer father and actress mother lavished on him. Not that he was silver-spooned, but that he acted upon the possibilities that were there, afforded by whatever metal the spoon was made of. He is and was intelligent. Not thuggish enough. That is why people have such a difficult time pinning him down on his kind of music. And he hasn't labeled himself a full-blown reggaetonero either. From the outside perspective, and also from Calle 13's perspective, that would be an impossibility. He is cashing in on that impossibility. He knows the rules.

I think that the discarded opportunities that Tego, Voltio, Mexicano, and the like have are part of what they sell. Example: the public discussion about Gov. Anibal Acevedo Vila's invitation to Don Omar to serve as a spokesperson for the Department of Education. At the end of the big brouhaha, when he was "disinvited," the question was, "So who can inspire the kids to stay in school, the one who did stay and graduated or the drop-out who feels he made the wrong decision and wants to warn would-be drop-outs"? The answer seemed obvious to 12 reggaetoneros who discussed the topic in a TV program: Drop-outs do it better because - all of them said - they have THE EXPERIENCE of having dropped out/

The entitlement of the street trumps the entitlement of education. Choosing to be DE LA CALLE classifies you as non-blanquito. The real blanquitos will never stand up.

What do you think? I'm curious. Contestame cuando puedas. Soon.

BESOTES,
Felix


Hi Felix.

Que bueno estar en dialogo sobre esto contigo!

Me parece bien acertado eso que dices de la estrategia de relaciones publicas de la "inevitabilidad" del reggaeton para artistas "reales" "de la calle".

"I think that the discarded opportunities that Tego, Voltio, Mexicano, and the like have are part of what they sell. "

Your above quote is fascinating. Its not only about the thug persona they adopt, but about the opportunities discarded. YES!

Este mito y romantizacion de "la calle" es mind-blowing. As you say, to discard those opportunities to have a conventionally successful life, is celebrated as a sign of thuggish chic, an emblem of sexy rebelliousness. But is there more than front and image to all this?

Ultimately this is all about WHAT? What can we boil down this romantic "myth of the street" to? A symbol of youthful "rebelliousness", late 20th/early 21st Century style? A sign that the "traditional" way success was defined (and said to guarantee happiness) is bankrupt? Why is it bankrupt? Because its a socio-economic impossibility for many? Because its perceived to be too hard? Too unsexy? Is it because once you become "successful" then you are a slave to your "success" and happiness remains ever-elusive?

What does this all say about the way a sector of the youthful population is constructing/perceiving happiness? What does this all say about the conditions a sector of the youthful population is growing up in?

Where does pride in your community end and self-serving myth-making begin?

The street is a myth. And a reality. Shit, this is making my head spin.

"Choosing to be DE LA CALLE classifies you as non-blanquito. The real blanquitos will never stand up."

Another mind-blowing concept: "choosing to be de la calle". YET it is a choice that has to be camouflaged in the language of inevitability. Why?

I completely agree "the real blanquitos will never stand up." As long as authenticity in reggaeton is defined the way it currently is, no one in their right mind will "stand" against the interest of their bread and butter (and cars, and women, and bling).

te abrazo,
RZ

On Appropriation, Class and Reggaeton

This post is inspired by David's, Negrura's and TatoBrujo's comments to my previous blog post (on www.myspace.com/raquelzrivera).

Appropriate:
1. To take to or for oneself; take possession of
2. To take without consent; seize; expropriate

Expropriate:
1. To dispossess a person of ownership

It has become increasingly common to talk about racial appropriation in the U.S. (particularly appropriation by whites of black cultural expressions). But, as David points out, there are class divisions among racial groups; divisions that sometimes get sidelined. When middle-class African Americans across the U.S. became engaged with hip hop, was that not "appropriation"? Yes indeed. We don't have to ignore class fault lines in order to highlight racial/ethnic unity. (Though, unfortunately, we often do. Acknowledgement of class, gender and sexual power dynamics is often suppressed in the name of racial/ethnic unity.)

Of course, when middle and upper-class African Americans adopt a cultural expression born from marginalized African American communities, though there may be some friction, the result is usually perceived as "appropriation" (meaning #1, above) rather than "expropriation" (meaning #2, above. classic example: the history of Rock and Roll).

In Puerto Rico, since there is a perception of a shared national/ethnic identity (save for immigrants, particularly Dominicans), it is a bit more common for class fault lines to be acknowledged (when compared to the States).

It fascinates me how those class distinctions are purposely blurred in contemporary reggaeton.

Reggaeton has a mythical alliance to "the street," an interesting metaphor considering even the most expensive neighborhoods have streets, as Felix Jimenez (author of Las practicas de la carne) pointed out to me in a recent conversation.

Reggaeton artists purportedly represent "the street," the barrios, the caserios. Some of these representatives grew up or live in those places, while others, though not having grown up or lived there, become representatives by virtue of being perceived to be down.

If an artist did not grow up in those neighborhoods he/she "represents," then: What exactly does it mean to be down with the street? What does it mean to have street credibility? Is it about adopting/appropriating a culture? Is it about assuming a street identity through your sympathies and solidarities? Is it a costume you can take on and off? All of the above? None of the above?

If you are down with the street do you then eventually become "from the street"? Is "tener calle" (literally, having street) the same as "ser de la calle" (being from the street)?

Since both share an obsession with street credibility, the following questions apply as much to hip hop in the U.S. proper as to reggaeton in Puerto Rico: How much of contemporary street credibility is about surface aesthetics and how much about culture, community and solidarity? Does that solidarity entail certain responsibilities? Or can you just adopt the mannerisms, don the clothing, hire a good Public Relations machine, and PRESTO?