“Welcome to the calentón”!: A Reflection On Bad Bunny’s Latest Album
by Melissa Martínez-Raga
A stark difference from his establishing solo album X100pre, YHLQMDLG situates a Stranger Things retrowave aesthetic in a dystopian Puerto Rico.
Since the release of X100pre (pronounced Por siempre, which means “forever”) on Christmas Eve 2018, I wondered how Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio, better known as Bad Bunny, could possibly one-up his debut album. Unsurprisingly, his explosive second record YHLQMDLG, released on Leap Day, is now the highest entirely Spanish language album ever in the Billboard charts. The title acronym stands for Yo hago lo que me de la gana, or “I do whatever I want;” a quick surf through his Instagram reveals just how fitting and empowering this phrase is for a Millennial and Gen Z crowd.
Riddled with late ‘90s and early 2000s nostalgia, YHLQMDLG is twenty songs of genre-blending delight, honoring reggaetón’s past and future. “Si Veo A Tu Mamá” (“If I See Your Mother”) starts off with video game beats accompanying a stoned Bad Bunny reminiscing on a past relationship he lies to himself about not missing—asserting that, if he saw his ex’s mom, he would ask if there is already someone else who makes her happy. One of my favorites, this track appears so cheery despite the sad sentiment, a hymn for a twenty-first century youth. Similar songs include Daft Punk-esque “Soliá” (“Lonely [Woman]”), reggae-infused “A Tu Merced” (“At Your Mercy”), rock-climactic “Hablamos Mañana” (“We’ll Speak Tomorrow”), and sentimental “<3,” where he thanks his longtime fans’ support and promises his best songs aren’t even out yet.
A fire follow-up, “La Díficil” (“The Difficult [Woman]”) personally evokes a reggaetón hit of 2013, "More" (a shortening of pa’ que te enamores or “so that you fall in love”). At first glance, this song is about a woman who enchants men and women alike, calling for them while negating any advances. With the context of the video, she is understood as a hard-working model of odd jobs raising a daughter on her own. Similar tracks: “La Santa” (“The Saint [Woman]”), “La Zona” (“The Zone”), “Que Malo” (“How Bad”), and “Una Vez” (“One Time”).
“Pero Ya No” (“But Not Anymore”) is a tune of self-love. A perhaps more upbeat trap track than a classic from Drake, it is still as emotional as the Canadian rapper’s songs. The video attaches you to the cutest young couple on a beach-and-Caribbean-Cinemas date with the bittersweet knowledge that it ends in heartbreak. Similar tracks: “Vete” (“Leave”), “Ignorantes” (“Ignorants”), “Está Cabrón Ser Yo” (“It’s Awesome To Be Me”), “Puesto Pa’ Guerriar” (“Ready For War”), “P FKN R,” and “25/8,” my personal favorite.
On the other hand, “Yo Perreo Sola” (“I Twerk Alone”) is a dembow anthem for the woman who needs no man. The featured voice in the pre-chorus and chorus, Génesis Ríos alias Nesi preaches a turn of tables—a man (Benito, in the background) who never wanted her until now—to which she answers chill, I dance by myself. Like Ricky Martin’s heavenly vocals in X100pre’s “Caro,” Nesi is not credited in this song, which raises questions about artistic legitimacy and the work yet to be done to recognize underrepresented voices. Thankfully, the era of social media allows us to find and follow these voices without much hassle. Significantly using his platform to give light to social injustices, the video centers on a Bad Bunny dressed up as both a man and a woman, incorporates phrases from recent feminist anti-violence protests such as "Ni Una Menos" (Not one less) and "Las Mujeres Mandan" (Women lead), and culminates in a vital lesson: Si no quiere bailar contigo, respeta, ella perrea sola / If she doesn't want to dance with you, respect her, she dances alone." Similar tracks: “Bichiyal” (“Bitchy girl”—a contentious coinage addressed in this NPR article by Frances Solá-Santiago) and “Safaera” (roughly “Looseness” or “Lack of Control”), which theneedledrop appropriately calls the “Sicko Mode” of this album, and of música urbana in general.
With psychedelic techno in some and ethereal instruments in others—sometimes both—each tune offers a lot to unpack. Música urbana, an umbrella term for reggaetón, dembow, and trap Latino—the products of mixing Spanish, English, hip-hop, and reggae—is as sexy and entertaining as it is sexist and controversial. Bad Bunny’s lyrics may be problematic at times, but his take on música urbana, his gender-bending sense of fashion, and his feeling of responsibility as an influential figure touches upon the cynical yet empowered attitude of the Puerto Rican youth—a fuck it outlook that nonetheless cares deeply for our collective community and the social injustices we face, be that at home or in the diaspora. After facing Hurricane María in fall 2017 and being disregarded because of an illegal billion-dollar debt, after protesting for weeks in summer 2018 against a corrupt governor (now ex) and the rampant domestic violence he ignored, after feeling thousands of earthquakes this winter while thousands of disaster relief donations were found secretly warehoused across the island, Bad Bunny continues to be a source of hope and inspiration.
No se hagan los ciegos y los sordos/Como el gobierno que todavía tiene las casas con toldos
Don’t act blind and deaf/Like the government that still has houses with tarps (“25/8”)
Listening to Bad Bunny’s music in a country where there exists a predominant discourse of exclusion associated with my mother tongue enables new understandings of language and identity as multifaceted and intersectional. Deconstructing Benito’s vocals with my friends in Spanglish, our most naturally flowing speech, is thus an act of resistance—a resistance to cultural assimilation and marginalization that allows new spaces of expression to flourish. What I feel jamming to Bad Bunny is nothing short of pride for a singer who transmits the multiple and contradictory identities of young Puerto Ricans—singing about parties, money, drugs, and sex while highlighting the queer bodies, badass mothers, and Afro-Latinx that enjoy this space all the same. And his songs aren’t just it, as you might’ve deduced from my pointers above; Bad Bunny’s official videos almost always change the meaning of the lyrics, placing himself as a secondary character to women, the real protagonists of reggaetón, a nonetheless male-dominated genre.
X100pre kept me sane during a depressing sophomore year and brutal winter of polar vortices. YHLQMDLG now eases my coronavirus anxiety and my junior year’s uncertainty. Whether you spend quarantine exercising, studying, working, or lazing in bed, gift yourself an hour to listen to Bad Bunny’s latest album.
Further reads:
https://www.billboard.com/articles/news/latin/8498239/bad-bunny-billboard-cover-story-2019
https://www.gq.com/story/bad-bunny-good-times-profile
https://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/bad-bunny-yhlqmdlg/
https://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2020/03/17/816479053/the-classist-history-behind-bad-bunnys-bichiyal