En verdad, si sentí tristeza cuando aprendí que Willie Colón falleció. Yo crecí escuchando a Willie Colón con mi familia. Su música siempre sonaba en las fiestas y reuniónes. Tambien estaba su música para escuchar mientras hacía el aseo en casa. Willie era una de esas figuras que nunca piensas que algún día no va estar ahí.
“Oh, Que Sera” es la canción favorita de Willie Colón de mi mama. Las mías son “Aguanile” y “La Murga.” “Ché Ché Colé” y “El Día De Mi Suerte” me traen los mas recuerdos de las fiestas y reuniónes de mi niñez.
Willie Colón: Que Descanse en Paz.
Since before Willie Colón passed away, I had been planning to do a deep dive on his impact on salsa music, his relationships with Héctor Lavoe and Ruben Blades, and the history of Fania Records. There are so many rabbit holes do go down that I will save a close look at Willie Colón’s story for that post. In the meantime, I liked this New York Times article in memory of Willie Colón the most.
Tres canciones nuevas de las primeras semanas de 2026.
“Como en el Idilio” – Marc Anthony ft. Nathy Peluso. Marc Anthony’s FIRST salsa duo with a female singer in more than 30 years. Marc Anthony’s release of this song shows he’s still the influential hitmaker he’s always been ahead of his Las Vegas residency at Fontainebleu, which he kicked off on February 13. The song also cements Nathy Peluso’s spot as a legitimate salsa singer (with even Marc Anthony’s attention and respect) following her release of Malportada.
“Jujuy Estrellado” – Cazzu. Cazzu’s new song fits perfectly with the new chapter in her music career that Latinaje kicked off. Jujuy Estrellado is a song about Cazzu’s home region in Argentina, Jujuy. The song release coincides with the start of el Carnaval de Jujuy, a nine-day carnival in northern Argentina that mixes indigenous and Catholic customs leading up to the start of lent. Cazzu’s song draws on the tradition of the carnaval but reinvents the pulljay (the devil) as a woman, giving a new perspective to an old tradition.
A few hours from now, I would have been walking up to the entrance of Estadio Atanasio Girardot for the single greatest night of my life.
Except.
My dog, Checo, ripped off one of his dew claws the day before I was supposed to fly to Medellín.
I took him to the vet. I hoped it wouldn’t be serious. The vet sedated him to clean up the nail and his paw. We were sent home with strict instructions to give him painkillers and antibiotics every 12 hours, and to not let him play outside or with his friends for a week while he healed.
But…what about the bad bunny concert in four days??? The concert I had been waiting for for months??? SURELY I wouldn’t miss that concert, right???
The vet’s instructions were the death sentence for my travel plans–Checo is terrified of strangers, so I couldn’t leave him with just anyone, and everyone I could have left him with has their own dog that he couldn’t play with and probably would be aggressive toward because he was in pain from losing his claw.
I recognize that missing a concert is a 1 out of 10 on the scale of problems I could have. But I was SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO sad. I’ve shed a few tears this weekend while telling myself it’s not a big deal. I couldn’t listen to Bad Bunny for a few days because it was too painful (dramatic but true). I couldn’t listen to any music in Spanish at all for a few days because it was too painful (even more dramatic but also true). That was hard because 92% of the music I listen to is in Spanish. Was I supposed to listen to Blink 182 while I recovered emotionally?
DTMF is a really meaningful album to me, and going to Bad Bunny’s concert in Colombia was even more meaningful to me. Traveling to this concert felt like the most outwardly Latina thing I’d ever done, in the context of a worldwide superstar that even my non-Spanish speaking friends are aware of and impressed with. Getting to go to the concert in Colombia specifically felt like a personal affirmation of how far I’ve come in celebrating (instead of hiding) being Latina. So not getting to go made me feel like a fraud. A very sad fraud. This was mi gran tragedia.
On Friday night, I watched Marcello Hernandez’s American Boy on Netflix. So many of Marcello’s jokes are spot on with experiences that I and my brother had growing up. It helped me get over my sadness to connect with Marcello’s jokes; I guess ear twists and getting in trouble at the mall are universal experiences for Latinos :’) I’m back to listening to Bad Bunny again, though I refuse to be on instagram this weekend in case I see videos from the Medellín concerts.
But like Karol G says, LATINA FOREVA. Missing a concert doesn’t change that. . . right?
Música popular began as a fusion of Mexican rancheras with Colombian carrilera music in the coffee-growing region of Colombia in the 1930s and 1940s. Música popular es música de despecho. I’ve been exposed more to the Mexican influences of this genre growing up in USA, and with many música popular songs, I picture a lonely man sitting in a dim cantina at 3 AM trying to get over a breakup after 10 tequila shots.
Música popular grew in popularity in Colombia slowly. At first, it was only popular in small pueblos in Colombia, and it was seen as music firmly for the lower class members of society. Artists like Darío Gomez, El Charrito Negro, and Luis Alberto Posada helped make the genre more nationally popular beginning in the 1970s when their songs made it to the radio. But the genre’s popularity stalled out in the early 2000s because its famous singers were aging, and new, younger música popular singers were few and far between.
Artist Pipe Bueno is credited with leading the push to repopularize the genre in the late 2000s/early 2010s, paving the way for other musicians like Yeison Jiménez.
Yeison released his first song in 2013, and across the course of his career, he wrote and recorded 70 songs. He sold out Bogotá’s Movistar Arena three nights in a row in 2024. He also sold out El Campín stadium in Bogotá in 2025. When news of Yeison’s death broke, artists like Carlos Vives and Fonseca posted tributes on social media. But I had never heard of him. My dad had never heard of him, and my mom had only heard of one of his songs, Aventurero. The family Whatsapp group was silent, when usually mi abuelita is always on top of breaking the latest news and prayer chains to the family. Who was Yeison and why did my favorite artists know of him but I didn’t?
Colombia is an extremely socioeconomically divided country, and I grew up seeing my immediate and extended family taking great pains to show we weren’t part of the lower class. I think I hadn’t heard Yeison’s music because my family would hate to be seen listening to music made “for the masses.” So this week, I spent time listening to Yeison’s music and music by other música popular artists like Jessi Uribe and Paola Jara. I also learned about the origin and evolution of música popular generally. It’s unfortunate it took Yeison’s death for me to learn of him, but I am happy he unlocked a whole new genre of Colombian music for me to explore and add to my list of go-to songs.
My favorite Yeison Jiménez songs are:
Guaro (with Pipe Bueno and Jessi Uribe)
Hasta La Madre
Aventurero
Como No Voy a Decirlo (with Luis Silva)
On January 14, 2026, fans gathered at Movistar Arena for a free concert honoring Yeison’s life. Pipe Bueno, Henao Alzate, Paola Jara, and other musicians sang songs they had collaborated with Yeison on. Yeison’s mother and his daughter also spoke to fans about the legacy on the Colombian music scene that Yeison left.
Note: Colombian singer, Yeison Jiménez, passed away yesterday. I am not familiar with Yeison’s music. This coming week will be a week for me to listen to his music and learn more about him. I will publish a post discussing Yeison’s music and cultural impact on January 18.
Whenever I hear Willie Colón’s “Talento de Televisión,” I always think of Kim Kardashian saying “not bad for a girl with no talent” after she made it onto the cover of Forbes magazine in 2017. I mean, if someone has been blindly and consistently stereotyped as “supo ganarse la admiración” “con su trasero,” the first person that comes to mind is Kim K., right?
Willie Colón released salsa song “Talento de Televisión” in 1995 (the year I was born :’)). The song tells of a young, beautiful actress who always secured the best roles in TV shows based on her body rather than her acting skills.
Venezuelan composer Amílcar Boscán got the inspiration from the song while watching tv show “Súper Sábado Sensacional.” Súper Sábado Sensacional is a variety show that has been running since 1968. In the 90’s, the show’s cast included model Yuyito Gónzalez. To Amílcar, Yuyito was extremely beautiful, but she was a terrible salsa dancer. Amílcar thought to himself that, while she may be talented for certain things, she lacked talent when it came to dancing salsa. (This article has a link to see Yuyito Gónzalez dancing.) And thus a song was born.
One day, Willie called Amílcar and shared with him the new album he was working on with Ruben Blades. Willie was looking for songs for the new album, and asked Amílcar for a hit. Amílcar shared “Talento de Televisión,” and Willie snapped it up. “Talento de Televisión” has remained consistently popular since it was released, and it’s thought of as one of the classics of salsa. Spotify tells me the song has 393,917,415 listens since Spotify started tracking streams around 2014. I would estimate I’m 35 of those streams (in 2025).
Mi Diccionario Entry: Moza-noun. Girl, young woman. “No tiene talento pero es muy buena moza.” – Willie Colón.
“Pájaro Cenzontle,” by Son Rompe Pera (a Mexican fusion band formed in 2017) is a very interesting song. It was an instant add-to-liked-songs decision the first time I heard it, because I love the sound of the marimba throughout the song.
The song was originally written and released by Super Grupo Colombia in 1982, in a Mexican cumbia sonidero style. Since then, it’s been recorded by other musicians like Grupo Kual, Alberto Pedraza, and Chon Arauza y Su Furia Colombiana. But Son Rompe Pera’s 2018 version is my favorite. It feels authentic to the original, but it’s still completely unique with the marimba and the singers’ voices that sound like a chant.
Cenzontle is Nahuatl for mockingbird. Nahuatl was the language of Aztec and Toltec civilizations in Mexico in the 16th century. These small pájaros can mimic other birds, insects, frogs, barking dogs, squeaky hinges, and machinery.
My research for this post introduced me to two other birds: pava congona and corcovado.
The lyrics of “Pájaro Cenzontle” are “canta en el monte la pava congona, se oye su lamento y se esparce en la ladera.” In English, pava congona is crested guan. Crested guans are found from central Mexico down through Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Venezuela. They feed on fruit, leaves, and insects.Their vocalizations are much more limited than a mockingbird’s, and they sound unlike other birds I’ve heard.
Corcovados are quail (several different species of quail, like Corcovado Venezolano or Corcovado Pechirrufo). The song does not reference quail directly. But Son Rompe Pera draws a lot of inspiration in their music from Andrés Landero, a Colombian musician known as El Rey de la Cumbia. Andrés Landero has a song called . . . “Pava Congona” (it’s all connected!!) . . . which says “yo, una tarde en la montaña, oí cantar el corcova’o.” Corcovados are found in forests in Central and South America. They’re ground dwelling birds, and tend to be heard more than they’re seen. I think they’re also the best-looking of the three birds in this post (and pava congona are the coolest looking).
Mi Diccionario Entry: Ladera, which means hillside. Like when Son Rompe Pera sings that la pava congona’s song “se esparce en la ladera.”
Debi Tirar Más Fotos has been my deepest dive into Bad Bunny’s music. I’ve enjoyed some of his earlier songs, but this album felt different. I’m drawn to songs that echo the music that filled the air at family parties growing up—like Fruko y Sus Tesos, Grupo Niche, and Elvis Crespo. Bad Bunny’s ability to blend fresh sounds with classic influences makes this album feel like a musical bridge between my childhood and my adulthood.
Benito wrapped up his PR residency in August. I listened to the “Bad Bunny Closes Out His Residency” episode of the Alt.Latino podcast to hear how it went. It’s an entertaining episode that includes short interviews of local PR residents discussing Bad Bunny’s huge cultural, political, and economic impact.
It made me happy to hear that the Colombian flag was one of the top 3 flags a vendor had sold outside the venue during the residency (Top 3 flags in order: PR, Mexico, and Colombia).
The podcast featured a Puerto Rican resident reflecting on the mixed emotions she felt when she saw a tourist wearing a pava, a traditional Puerto Rican hat. I’ve felt what she’s talking about when I see tourists in Colombia wearing a sombrero vueltiao at the airport as they head back to the U.S. On one hand, I feel pride seeing a piece of my culture recognized and appreciated. But it’s also layered with a feeling of “you don’t really get it”—a discomfort that comes from seeing a real piece of culture reduced to a souvenir that will probably end up wrinkled and dusty in the back of a closet somewhere in America.
The Alt.Latino hosts felt an incredibly strong sense of community during the concert. That’s what I’m most excited for at the concert in January. I plan on losing my voice singing WELTiTA with 45,000 other fans at Estadio Atanasio Girardot in Medellín.
Mi Diccionario Entry: Petardo. Means firecrackers. I learned this word listening to Debi Tirar Mas Fotos, when Bad Bunny says, “no se si son petardos o si son tiros.”
This past workweek felt chaotic for me. By day, I’m an attorney. I’m five months into a new job at a new firm, and I’ve been experiencing a lot of culture clash moments as I learn how to navigate this firm’s office politics and take on more responsibility as a mid-level associate. In the past few months, I’ve had a lot of “WTF is going on” moments, a lot of “WTF am I doing” moments, and a lot of “WTF was I thinking” moments.
By mid-week, my typical song rotation was not matching my mood. “DE MARAVISHA,” by Nathy Peluso and Tokischa, came up on shuffle and then I was down a Tokischa rabbit hole. Tokischa’s songs really scratch the itch for music that feels abrasive. I like her songs because the lyrics feel completely uninhibited and unconcerned with ruffling feathers.
Tokischa seems like that in real life too, in a very likeable way. On “Tokischa Antes de Ser Tokischa,” from the podcast Escuela de Nada, Tokischa was open about her past drug use, getting kicked out of school, and her early sexual experiences. She also showed her sense of humor and an authenticity that felt genuine.
Tokischa’s Background
Tokischa is Dominican. She released her first single in 2018; in 2021, her first song that hit the charts was “Perra” with J Balvin, which made it to number 48 on Billboard Hot Latin Songs.
2021 was a big year for Tokischa. Not only did “Perra” make it on Billboard Hot Latin Songs, but so did one of my two favorite Tokischa songs, “Linda,” which she sings with Rosalía. She released my other favorite song, “Estilazo” with Marshmello (should’ve made it on the charts as well) in 2021 too.
Tokischa has been nominated for 18 different music awards. She’s got one Latin GRAMMY to her name in connection with Rosalía’s album Motomami. She was nominated for another Latin GRAMMY this year with Nathy Peluso for “DE MARAVISHA,” as Best Urban/Urban Fusion Performance. Bad Bunny’s “DtMF” is also nominated in that category, so I’ll be interested to see who ends up winning it.
Mi Diccionario Entry: Rulay. Good/great, chilled, relaxed, carefree, etc. in Dominican slang. I heard “rulay” in a Bad Bunny song, but I didn’t pick up on it. Then I heard the same word in Tokischa’s song “MIAMI”: “Yo estoy rulay, estoy en Miami.”
The first Nathy Peluso song I heard was “BUENOS AIRES,” from her 2020 debut album Calambre. If “Most Likely to Love A Sad but Fun Song” was an Award, I would win it by a landslide (I call these songs Wistful Bangers). Nathy impresses me with how strong she is across genres: my Liked Songs playlist on Spotify includes rap, jazz, and salsa songs by her, and my current favorites are:
EROTIKA
CORLEONE
MAFIOSA
PURO VENENO
TODO ROTO
Nathy Peluso’s Career to Date
Nathy was born in Argentina and grew up in Spain. At 16, she started performing at hotels and restaurants in Torrevieja, Spain. In 2017, Nathy self-released her first mixtape, Esmeralda. In 2018, she self-released her first EP, La Sandunguera.
She then signed a record deal with Sony Music Spain in 2019, and released Calambre in 2020. Between Calambre and her second album, Grasa, released in 2024, she’s won 5 Latin GRAMMYs and has collaborated with Bizarrap, Karol G, C. Tangana, Tokischa, and Mon Laferte.
Nathy’s known for having a big theatrical personality onstage (very apparent in her music videos). I will 100% be going to a show the next time she’s on tour so I can experience it in person.
Mi Diccionario Entry: Labia. Means rizz. Like when Nathy Peluso sings “mucho lujo, pero de segunda; mucha labia, pero se te inunda” in “APRENDER A AMAR.”
October 19, 2025 Update —
Nathy’s latest EP, Malportada, was just released on October 16. It’s six songs of all salsa and I give it a 8/10. I like the songs overall, and Nathy Peluso is reliably good at mixing old sounds with new. I identify with the lyrics in MALPORTADA, and I bet a lot of latinas identify with them as well. My favorite song is A CABALLO.
“Baracunatana” is one of those songs where, for at least 25% of the lyrics, I either don’t know what they mean or I have no clue what they’re saying so I just make something up. But it’s catchy!
I googled the song in prep to draft this blog post and realized the song has a much richer background than I thought. It was composed by Colombian musician Leonidas Plaza and made popular by Lisandro Meza (an icon of Colombian music) in the 80s. Then, Aterciopelados recorded it in the 90s in more of a rock style.
So what does baracunatana mean? It’s not a real word. Turns out, the Colombian Caribbean has its own form of pig latin. Actually, across the Spanish speaking world, there are many versions of “pig latin” called “jerigonza.” (And of course I am just learning about this now). In the Bolívar region of Colombia, where Cartagena is located, merchants used jerigonza to communicate amongst themselves without potential buyers understanding what they meant.
In the Colombian Caribbean’s version of jerigonza, syllables like “cunico” or “cuneco” are inserted into words. The root word of baracunatana is “barata” (meaning “cheap”/”cheapskate”), and then extra syllables were inserted around the word. Leonidas Plaza got the inspiration for “Baracunatana” from a beautiful woman who lived in Cartagena. She flirted with all of the men in her neighborhood, but never became serious with any of them. Instead, each night, a doctor would come by to pick her up on his motorcycle for a Jada Pinkett Smith-style “entanglement.” Leonidas used the term “baracunatana” instead of referring to this woman as “barata” directly. (Me: is she cheap because she would only pay attention to a doctor? Is she cheap in a “talk is cheap” way because she would flirt with other men? Both? This is still above my head.)
Mi Diccionario Entry: Retrechera(o). This word describes someone as charmingly evasive or unreliable, crafty, unpredictable. Like when Aterciopelados sing “por eso tú eres garulla, retrechera, abeja, bergaja, fulera, guaricha, baracunatana, cucharamí.”
